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- Herausgeber: Felix Seilerz
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
Elias Thorne, a quiet librarian, has always been the unassuming last scion of a forgotten lineage. But when his grandfather's cryptic journal reveals a centuries-old secret, Elias is thrust into a world he never knew existed—a world where ancient legends are very real.
On the night of the Blood Moon, the ancient pact that keeps the magical world in balance begins to fray. Elias finds himself at the heart of a "Convergence," a terrifying gathering of mythic beings: a calculating vampire queen, a furious Lycanus king, a malevolent mummy seeking to unmake the world, and a heartbroken creature of stitched flesh who believes Elias is its destined "Bride."
Caught in the middle of their struggle for a powerful artifact known as the Orb, Elias is forced to forge an unlikely alliance and flee into a hidden world of magic and monsters. As he uncovers the true purpose of his family's legacy and the Orb's immense power, Elias must rise from a simple pawn to the last hope for a dying world. He must face his fears, confront powerful enemies, and find a way to bind the magical world once more, before the chaos of the Convergence consumes them all.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Chapter 1: The Whispering Woods
Elias stopped at the edge of the clearing, a natural amphitheater where the moonlight, now nearly full, spilled in a silver cascade. The air here was colder, carrying with it a faint, metallic tang that Elias recognized with a shudder. He’d seen this before, felt this presence, though never quite this strong. His grandfather, Arthur Thorne, had described it in painstaking detail, his words etched into Elias’s memory like an old scar. “They stir when the veil thins, Elias. When the ancient pact begins to fray. Always watch the moon, my boy. Always heed the whispers of the blood.”
The journal fell open to a page marked with a dried, pressed wolfsbane flower. Arthur’s shaky hand had scrawled: “The Convergence – Night of the Blood Moon. The Beast will rise. The Shadow Lord will claim his due. The Bride, the key. Protect the Orb.” Elias frowned. The Orb. Another family heirloom, locked away in the deepest vault beneath their ancestral home, a polished sphere of obsidian that pulsed with a faint, internal light. He’d dismissed it as a mere curio for years, another one of his grandfather’s eccentricities, but the urgency in Arthur’s final entries had given him pause. Arthur had died in his sleep, peacefully, or so it seemed. But Elias couldn't shake the feeling that his grandfather had known something was coming, something grand and terrifying.
A twig snapped behind him. Elias spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the silver-handled dagger concealed beneath his coat. His breath hitched in his throat. Standing at the edge of the trees, cloaked in shadow, was a figure that defied easy categorization. It was too tall to be human, too gaunt, and its eyes, even in the dim light, seemed to glow with an unnatural, predatory hunger. Its presence exuded an ancient chill, a sense of timeless power that pressed down on Elias, making his knees tremble.
“You carry the Thorne mark, boy,” a voice, dry as parchment and cold as grave dust, rasped from the shadows. “The scent of your lineage is… unmistakable.”
Elias swallowed, his heart thundering against his ribs. “Who are you?” he managed, his voice barely a whisper.
The figure stepped forward, revealing more of itself. It wore tattered, yet regal, clothing that seemed to have been excavated from a forgotten tomb. Its skin was like dried leather stretched over bone, its lips a thin, pale line. But it was the eyes that held Elias captive – deep, fathomless pits that seemed to hold the weight of millennia within them. A mummy. Not a bandaged, shambling caricature, but something far more ancient, far more potent.
“I am known by many names,” the mummy said, its voice gaining a strange, resonant quality. “But to your ancestors, I was Imhotep. And I have come for what is mine.”
Elias knew what that meant. The Orb. His grandfather’s warnings echoed in his mind. “The Orb is a focal point, Elias. A nexus of ancient energies. In the wrong hands, it could tear the very fabric of reality.”
“It’s not yours,” Elias retorted, finding a surprising surge of defiance. “It belongs to the Thorne line.”
Imhotep let out a sound that might have been a laugh, a dry, rattling hiss. “Belongings are temporary, mortal. Power… power endures. And the Orb’s power is what I seek to finally break the bonds that confine me, to unleash the true glory of my kind upon this pathetic world.”
Suddenly, the air grew thick with a different kind of tension, a primal energy that resonated deep within Elias’s bones. A low growl, deep and guttural, rippled through the woods. It wasn’t Imhotep. This was something else, something wilder, something untamed.
Imhotep’s glowing eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing its ancient features. “It seems we have… company.”
From the deeper shadows of the clearing, a massive, lupine shape emerged. It moved with an impossible grace, its fur the color of midnight, its eyes glowing with an intelligent, fierce amber light. It was larger than any wolf Elias had ever seen, its muscles rippling beneath its hide. A werewolf. And it was clearly not pleased by Imhotep’s presence.
The werewolf let out another warning growl, a challenge directed squarely at the ancient mummy. Its fangs, long and sharp, were bared in a silent threat.
Imhotep merely regarded the creature with disdain. “A mere brute, easily dispatched. You interfere with matters far beyond your comprehension, dog.”
Before Elias could process the rapidly escalating situation, another presence made itself known. A figure materialized from the shadows near the werewolf, almost as if it had always been there, just out of sight. It was a woman, impossibly beautiful, with long, dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders and eyes like polished rubies. Her skin was alabaster, her movements fluid and deadly. She wore a gown of dark velvet that seemed to drink the moonlight. A vampire. And her gaze, when it fell upon Elias, was both mesmerizing and chilling.
“Such uncivilized squabbling,” the vampire purred, her voice like silk over shattered glass. “And here I thought this evening would be… entertaining.” She took a step closer to the werewolf, a possessive gesture. “The Orb, Imhotep. We know of its significance. And we will not allow you to claim it so easily.”
Elias felt a dizzying swirl of disbelief and terror. He was caught in the middle of a gathering of creatures from myth, each more terrifying than the last, all converging on the very artifact his family had sworn to protect. The journal’s words, once distant warnings, now screamed with chilling prophecy. The Convergence.
The werewolf, recognizing the vampire’s implicit alliance, let out a huff of agreement, its gaze flicking from Imhotep to Elias, an unspoken question in its eyes.
Imhotep’s dry chuckle filled the clearing. “So, the Lupine King and the Crimson Queen conspire. A predictable alliance, though ultimately futile. You lack the understanding, the ancient knowledge required to wield the Orb’s true potential.” Its gaze returned to Elias, a predatory gleam in its eyes. “The boy, however… the boy carries the blood. The blood of the Thorne, the last link to the pact. He is the key.”
Elias felt a cold dread spread through him. He was not just an observer; he was a vital piece in this ancient, terrifying game. The weight of his lineage, of his grandfather’s warnings, suddenly pressed down on him with overwhelming force.
The vampire, her eyes still fixed on Elias, took another step forward. “The boy is merely a mortal, Imhotep. He will serve his purpose, or he will be… removed.” There was a subtle threat in her tone, a promise of swift and brutal violence.
“He is more than a mortal,” Imhotep countered, a flicker of something that might have been respect in its ancient gaze. “His ancestors were instrumental in the original binding. Their blood runs true, and it remembers. He holds the echoes of the ancient magic within him, dormant, perhaps, but present.”
Before any of them could make another move, a new, jarring sound ripped through the stillness of the woods. It was a guttural roar, not animalistic like the werewolf’s, but something more primal, more… constructed. The ground trembled slightly. The trees groaned.
All eyes, including Elias’s, turned towards the source of the noise. From the darkest part of the woods, where the canopy was thickest, lumbered a truly monstrous figure. It was impossibly large, stitched together from disparate parts, its skin a patchwork of greens and grays. Bolts of metal protruded from its neck, and its wide, flat head seemed perpetually locked in a grimace of pain and confusion. Frankenstein’s monster.
Its arrival was met with a moment of stunned silence from the three ancient beings. Even Imhotep seemed momentarily taken aback. The creature, however, seemed to ignore them all, its gaze fixed on the center of the clearing, on the very spot where Elias stood.
“Mine,” the monster rumbled, its voice deep and resonant, laced with a strange sorrow. “She… she is mine.”
Elias blinked, thoroughly bewildered. “She? Who are you talking about?”
The monster pointed a massive, crudely-formed finger directly at Elias. “The Bride. My Bride.”
A collective gasp, almost imperceptible, went through the clearing. The vampire’s ruby eyes widened slightly. The werewolf stiffened, a low growl rumbling in its chest. Even Imhotep’s ancient features seemed to show a fleeting expression of… surprise.
Elias felt a chill deeper than the night air. The Bride. His grandfather’s journal. “The Bride, the key.” He was male, undoubtedly. So who was the monster referring to? And why was it pointing at him?
