Prism Calendar – 7th Cycle of the 7th Moon, Year 1350
In a dark room, ancient scrolls and shimmering magical inscriptions floated at the ceiling. A dark-robed man floated higher than the ground. He drew intricate shapes in the air with his fingers. Gradually, white particles swirled around him, coalescing into a brilliant light. With one sweeping motion, golden light flashed up and disappeared above the ceiling as if going through the very heavens.
"Not yet," he whispered, half-opening his eyes with intensity. He started drawing a complex magic circle in the air. His voice was steady but unyielding. "I am nearly there. Mortal restraints won't prevent me from attaining the divine. when I master the Twelfth Circle of Magic—"
Knock, knock.
The sudden interruption stilled his hand. He ceased performing his incantations and straightened his posture. Rotating his head slowly, he vigilantly observed as the elder walked in. Wearing outdated robes and covered in talismans of bygone times, the elder wore the presence of one steeped in forbidden lore, a Curser.
"Your Holiness," the old man bowed, "congratulations on your progress. We've discovered the. object you've been looking for. But it seems to be just a crystal with an unusual symbol."
"Bring it," the man commanded, his voice cool and absolute.
From a velvet-lined box, the elder took out a cyan crystal that glowed greatly in the dark. Hues of color shimmered on the surface while a symbol was carved at the center. The elder held it out with great care.
"We discovered it in Argon Cave. Local villagers say it is a relic of Argon himself yet the crystal showed no sign of reaction to mana."
With a flick of the man's hand, the crystal vanished from the elder's palm. It appeared in the air before the robed man.
He held it as he studied it closely, then smiled faintly. "Good."
"It is my duty, your Holiness."
The man stood up, revealing his towering height — well over six feet tall. Silky black hair cascaded down his back, and his piercing crimson eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. His beauty was almost divine, but it carried an icy, deathly aura, as if no warmth had ever touched him.
"Burn the village. Destroy all evidence of the cave."
"Understood," the elder nodded, unfazed.
Stepping closer, the man continued, "Inform the believers: from this day forward, you, Elder Hugen, will oversee the cult's daily affairs. None are to disturb me while I remain within the Hex Tower."
Hugen's expression twitched with surprise. "Your Holiness... may I ask why?"
Uzziah — the name whispered in fear across the continent, looked at him with that same chilling gaze. "I care not for mundane matters. My path lies beyond mortal concern. And besides... you desired this once, did you not?"
"I—" Hugen faltered. In truth, he had once longed for Uzziah's seat of power, but over the years, he had learned how small ambition looked beside Uzziah's overwhelming presence.
Uzziah turned his back without waiting for a response. "Go. Do not waste my time further."
As Hugen bowed and departed, Uzziah returned to his posture. The crystal now hovered before him, and with a subtle wave, its brilliant blue sheen faded to transparent, revealing a glowing insignia within.
"Northon's Rock," he whispered. "A relic crafted by the 11th Circle mage, hidden by his disciple Argon. So easily mistaken for a gem... but not by me."
This artifact, once believed to exist only in legends, held the power to shatter the mortal limits of magic. It could elevate a mage beyond the 12th Circle — a realm no living being had ever reached — transforming their very body into a vessel capable of channeling divine essence itself.
"The mage who forged it died before reaching the 13th Circle," Uzziah murmured, "a fate I will not share."
Sitting cross-legged midair, he began to channel energy. The crystal floated with him. A glow flared from the insignia, then moved from the crystal into his forehead, embedding itself. Golden veins lit his body, connecting the circle to his very soul. His form shimmered, transcendent, ethereal.
"MARVELOUS!" he cried. Energy flooded into him, filling every cell. His heart, mind, and soul formed a perfect Twelfth Circle.
Divinity.
The power to command the universe itself. To rule all of existence. He was no longer a man, but a god in the making. And then—
"Pft—?!"
Uzziah spat blood, eyes wide in disbelief. Looking down, he saw a sharp object embedded in his chest. A blade—black, crystalline, and unmistakably foreign.
"W-what… is this?" he gasped, stumbling.
The transparent crystal, once so, changed the instant he reached the 12th Circle, becoming a tainted blade that stabbed him through the heart. His power, which once surging, now evaporated like water from a broken dam. Deceived by his ambition, Uzziah merely stood by and watched as all that he had created turned to dust.
"Mortal."
A voice rang out. Uzziah turned and froze. The figure that stood before him was unlike anything he'd sensed. No mana, no life force, just... presence.
"Should I say former mortal?" the figure chuckled.
"Who... are you?" Uzziah hissed, collapsing to one knee.
The creature smiled — calm, elegant, but completely menacing. His hair shone like molten gold, his eyes silver and unyielding. Wearing robes that appeared to radiate with an otherworldly glow, he spoke with a voice imbued with the weight of millennia.
"I'm Ezbeck. One of the Gods. From the Sanctuary."
Ezbeck gestured toward the blade. "Once a mortal reaches the Twelfth Circle, that crystal activates. Clever little curse, isn't it? I made it myself."
"You—!"
"Oh, and it was labeled too. Cursed object. Do not touch. It was under the box, by the way." Ezbeck shrugged. "Not my fault your little servant can't read the bottom."
Uzziah: "..."
Somewhere far away, Elder Hugen sneezed unconsciously.
Ezbeck stepped closer, eyes gleaming. "I was sent to maintain balance. That crystal is forbidden—it kills even gods. And now... it's done its job."
"You snake..." Uzziah hissed, blood filling his mouth.
Ezbeck smirked. "I've been called worse. But at least I get results."
Uzziah could no longer stand. His body failed him, blood soaking through his robes as the cursed blade pulsed with sinister light. His vision blurred. The mighty Cult Leader, the man who once defied mortality itself, was dying, because he didn't check the bottom of a box.
'Elder Hugen, you useless—!'
With the last of his strength, Uzziah coughed out a single word. "You…"
Ezbeck crouched beside him, a grin playing at his lips. He leaned in, voice soft and venomous.
"Ambitious fool."
Then, everything stopped. In that final moment, Uzziah fell into a trance. A weightless, formless space between thought and nothingness.
He remembered something.
A child's voice. Soft, yet clear.
"Power is scary... but I hope you use yours to protect someone, Mister."