The grand ballroom of House Marlowe glittered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over the elite of society, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of music. Luminescent vine carvings pulsed gently along the towering columns, the magic woven into them shifting with the ambient energy of the room. Silk tapestries depicting the family's legendary victories draped the walls, reminding all of the Marlowes' enduring power.

  Erik Marlowe stood at the periphery, a solitary figure amid the swirling elegance. Despite his noble name, he felt like a ghost in his own home. As curator of magical artifacts at the governor's mansion, a role heavy with responsibility but devoid of real influence, he was more comfortable among ancient relics than these glittering courtiers. Unlike the guests who wielded magic with a casual flick of the wrist, Erik had no innate abilities. His mastery lay in rune magic, an art that required knowledge and precision rather than raw power.

  He sipped his champagne, eyes drifting to his cousin Lucien, who basked in the adoration of a captivated circle. Lucien, with his effortless charm and potent magic, embodied everything Erik despised about the nobility.

  "Well, if it isn't my elusive cousin," Lucien called out, striding toward him with a smug grin.

  His robes shimmered with enchantments, patterns shifting like trapped starlight.

  "Enjoying the shadows, are we?"

  Erik met his gaze evenly.

  "They offer respite from the glare."

  Lucien chuckled. "Still hiding behind wit, I see. Tell me, how fares the life of a... what was it? Curator?"

  "Fascinating work, actually," Erik replied coolly.

  "Unearthing secrets beyond the grasp of mere showmen."

  Lucien's smile faltered. "Careful, Erik. Jealousy doesn't become you."

  "Jealous? Of parlor tricks?" Erik raised an eyebrow. "Hardly."

  Lucien's eyes flashed. With a subtle gesture, he attempted a minor spell to unsettle Erik, a simple enchantment to make him spill his drink. But the spell backfired spectacularly. The champagne erupted from Erik's glass, arcing through the air and splashing down onto Lady Eveline, Lucien's mother.

  A hush fell over the ballroom as all eyes turned to the scene. Lady Eveline stood rigid, her exquisite gown drenched. Her eyes narrowed to icy slits.

  "Mother, I—" Lucien began, but she silenced him with a sharp glance.

  "Erik Marlowe," she said coldly, each word dripping with disdain.

  "Even in silence, you manage to cause chaos."

  "My apologies, Lady Eveline. Though I wonder who truly sparked the mishap."

  Her lips thinned.

  "Insolent as ever. Your kind are a blight on our name."

  "Perhaps if the 'kind' you refer to were shown a modicum of respect..." Erik suggested.

  Her gaze hardened. Without warning, she lifted her hand, and a surge of magic yanked the wine from her dress, forming it into a hovering sphere before she flung it onto Erik. The liquid drenched him, chilling against his skin.

  Sir Aldric stepped forward.

  "Lady Eveline, that's uncalled for."

  "Stay out of this, Aldric," she snapped.

  He stood firm. "The governor won't stand for this treatment of his son."

  She sneered. "The governor can barely stand his son's existence."

  Erik felt the weight of every gaze, the familiar sting of humiliation. He turned on his heel annoyed more than anything and strode out of the ballroom, leaving murmurs in his wake.

  ***

  Sunlight filtered through heavy velvet drapes, casting a dim glow over the cluttered room. Scrolls and ancient texts lay scattered across tables, mingling with empty wine bottles and half-burned candles. The scent of aged parchment mixed with the lingering aroma of spiced wine.

  Erik stirred beneath a tangle of sheets, the soft warmth of another body pressed against him. He blinked groggily, turning to see Seraphine, a local musician with fiery red hair, asleep beside him. Her presence was a hazy memory from the previous night's excesses.

  A sharp knock resounded from the door, followed by the creak of hinges as it opened. A young servant, Thomas, stepped in hesitantly.

  "Erik?" Thomas began, eyes darting between the disheveled room and the still-sleeping Erik.

  Erik sat up, rubbing his temples. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

  Thomas cleared his throat, attempting to maintain decorum.

  "It's nearly midday. Your father has summoned you."

  Erik groaned.

  "Of course he has."

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for a discarded shirt.

  "Did he mention why?"

  Thomas approached cautiously, extending a sealed letter.

  "He asked that you read this immediately."

  Erik took the letter, noting the official seal of the Provincial Eastern Governor, his father. The parchment was crisp, the handwriting precise and formal.

  "By order of Governor Marlowe, you are hereby summoned to the governor's mansion at once. Your immediate presence is required on matters of utmost importance."

  He scoffed.

  "Matters of utmost importance? Likely another lecture on family duty."

  Thomas shifted uncomfortably.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Shall I arrange for a carriage?"

  "No need," Erik replied, pulling on his boots.

  ?? A walk might do me good."

  As Thomas exited, Erik glanced around his room. It was a reflection of himself, books and artifacts crammed onto shelves, runic symbols sketched on parchment pinned to the walls, and personal belongings strewn about in organized chaos. A large window overlooked the bustling city streets below, the sounds of merchants and townsfolk drifting up.

  The city's vibrant energy enveloped him as he stepped onto the cobblestone streets. Market stalls lined the thoroughfare, vendors hawking exotic goods and fresh produce. The scent of baked bread mingled with the sharp tang of spices.

  Erik purchased a crisp apple from a fruit seller, tossing a coin onto the cart. As he bit into it, a sneering voice called out.

  "Look who decided to grace us with his presence, the magicless Marlowe."

  Erik turned to see Marcus, a local mage known for his arrogance, flanked by a few sycophants.

  "Good morning to you too, Marcus," Erik replied dryly.

  "Surprised you're out in daylight," Marcus taunted. "Shouldn't you be hiding in some dusty archive?"

  Erik smirked. "I thought I'd give the city a chance to bask in my charm. Seems it's working..you've noticed me."

  He continued on, leaving Marcus fuming. The governor's mansion soon loomed ahead a sprawling estate of stone and marble, guarded by towering iron gates adorned with the Marlowe crest.

  The guards recognized him and stepped aside without comment. As he approached the grand entrance, a sense of unease settled over him. The mansion felt colder, the usual bustle subdued.

  Inside, a servant led him to his father's study. The room was dimly lit, heavy drapes drawn despite the midday sun. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and magical artifacts cast long shadows.

  Governor Arterian Marlowe stood by the fireplace, his once imposing figure now gaunt. His skin was pallid, dark circles under his eyes. Behind him loomed a figure shrouded in a black robe, face obscured by a deep hood.

  "Father," Erik began cautiously.

  "You wished to see me?"

  The governor turned slowly, his gaze unfocused. "Erik..."

  "I came as soon as I received your letter," Erik replied, eyeing the hooded figure warily.

  "Is everything alright?"

  The governor's voice was strained.

  "Lucien is dead."

  Erik's heart skipped a beat.

  "Dead? I just saw him last night."

  Erik frowned. "We spoke briefly at the ball, and I left early since my clothes were soaked with wine."

  "Convenient," the hooded figure interjected, his voice cold.

  "Witnesses saw you arguing."

  Erik bristled.

  "A disagreement, nothing more. Are you accusing me of something?"

  The hooded figure stepped forward pointing his finger at Erik. "Evidence points to you, Erik. This cannot be ignored."

  "Father, this is absurd!" Erik protested.

  "Why would I harm Lucien?"

  "Jealousy, perhaps," the hooded figure suggested.

  "Resentment towards those with true power."

  Erik shot him a glare.

  "who exactly are you… and why are you here with my father?"

  "Greydawn is my new counselor," the governor answered.

  "His insights have been... invaluable in preparing our defenses and securing wealth for the war to come"

  Erik took a deep breath, trying to steady his rising frustration.

  "war to come? What are you talking about? Father, you know me. I have no reason to harm Lucien. There's something off here; look at yourself. You're unwell."

  the governors expression twisted. "Do not presume to tell me what I am!"

  Erik raised his hands placatingly.

  "you’re pale and you don’t sound like yourself… perhaps some rest and a bit of good food would do you well. And maybe some time away from this new advisor of yours-"

  "Enough!" the Greydawn shout echoed in the chamber.

  "You will answer for your actions."

  Greydawn stepped forward, and Erik felt a chill run down his spine.

  "He must be taken into custody."

  "On what grounds?" Erik demanded.

  "This is madness!"

  Two guards appeared at the doorway, their faces impassive. Before Erik could react, Greydawn raised a gloved hand. An unseen force slammed into Erik, driving him to his knees.

  "Father!" Erik gasped, struggling against the pressure.

  "Please, listen to me!"

  The governor turned away in his seat as if he was hiding from the whole ordeal.

  Iron cuffs etched with dark runes materialized, snapping around Erik's wrists. A searing pain shot through him as the runes flared to life.

  As he was dragged from the study, Erik locked eyes with his father one last time.

  "This isn't you," he whispered.

  "Something's wrong."

  But the governor remained silent, his gaze distant.

  Dragged from the study, Erik was propelled through the mansion's dim corridors. Servants averted their eyes, and the usual hum of activity was replaced by an unsettling silence. The guards' grips were unyielding, their faces expressionless beneath their helms.

  As they emerged into the courtyard, Erik's breath hitched. A line of covered wagons stood waiting, each one flanked by more guards and hooded figures like his father's advisor. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and an undercurrent of something foul. He was shoved toward a wagon at the end of the line. The canvas covering was pulled back, revealing a cage of iron bars.

  A caravan guard struck him across the face with the hilt of his sword. "move!."

  Dazed, Erik was thrown into the cage, the iron door clanging shut behind him. The runes on his cuffs pulsed in sync with his racing heartbeat, each throb sending a jolt of pain through his arms.

  The wagon lurched forward, wheels creaking as they rolled over the cobblestones. Through the bars, Erik saw the mansion receding, its grandeur now tainted by the darkness he had witnessed within.

  As they moved through the city, the vibrant streets he had walked earlier were now shrouded in twilight

  Erik's mind raced.

  “none of this makes any sense…” he echoed to himself

  His father's sudden turn, the advisor's influence, the death of Lucien, it was as if a dark cloud had descended over everything he knew.

  The wagons emerged from the maze of streets onto a wide avenue that led toward the docks. The distant cries of gulls mingled with the sound of waves crashing against the harbor walls. The scent of saltwater grew stronger, mingling with the pungent odors of fish and tar.

  As they approached the seaport, the scale of the operation became evident. Dozens of ships lined the harbor, their dark sails billowing like storm clouds. Crews of rough-looking men moved with purpose, loading crates and herding other prisoners onto the vessels.

  ”Get up!”

  Erik was yanked from the cage, stumbling as his feet hit the slick wooden planks of the dock. The sun was setting, casting the sky in hues of blood red and deep purple. The water reflected the ominous colors, the surface churning as if unsettled.

  "Move," a guard barked, prodding him forward with the butt of a spear.

  Erik's gaze darted around, taking in the chaotic scene. Fires burned in large braziers, casting flickering light over groups of captives huddled together. Chains rattled, and the air was filled with the murmur of despair.

  ”help us.” A few people said as he stumbled by. They were all slaves, or perhaps soon to be salves.

  He was herded toward one of the largest ships, a towering vessel with blackened wood and iron reinforcements. Its figurehead was a grotesque creature, part dragon and part serpent, its eyes set with gleaming green stones that seemed to glow from within.

  A gangplank led up to the deck, guards stationed at intervals to prevent any attempt at escape.

  “Move faster” the guard blankly said as the butt of the spear continued to push Erik forwards.

  Erik was pushed toward a hatch leading below deck. The smell hit him first, a foul combination of sweat, unwashed bodies, and the lingering odor of mold and rot.

  Erik began to cough and gag.

  ”look at this highborn, never been on a proper slave ship have we?” The guard behind said as he finished the end in laughter

  Descending into the dimly lit hold, he was met with the sight of cramped spaces where hammocks were strung haphazardly, and the floor was strewn with straw that did little to cushion the hard planks.

  Erik was prodded at spear point until he arrived at an empty spot along the wall, an iron ring bolted into the wood beside him. A guard secured his cuffs to the ring with a heavy chain, ensuring his limited movement.

  "Get some beauty rest will ya?," the guard turning to leave with a smirk on his face.

  Erik sank against the damp wall, his senses overwhelmed. The ship's hull groaned with the swell of the sea, and the distant sounds of the harbor began to fade as the vessel prepared to set sail.

  Above, the muffled commands of the captain and the creaking of rigging signaled their departure. The ship lurched as it caught the wind, the motion causing the lanterns in the hold to sway, casting dancing shadows.

  Around him, other captives whispered among themselves or sat in resigned silence. A young woman with a tear-streaked face clutched a pendant around her neck, lips moving in silent prayer. An older man stared blankly ahead, his eyes reflecting the dim light like dull coins.

  Erik sat there studying the symbols etched into the metal on his shackles recognizing some, puzzling over others. They were designed to suppress magic, to bind those with power. But what if they could be subverted?

  ”Rune of power, and control… linked by an etch and controlled by a sigil..”

  Whispers of a plan began to form in his mind. If he could manipulate the runes, alter their sequence, perhaps he could weaken the cuffs' hold. It was a slim hope, but it was something to cling to.