The Chronicles of Onyx: Book 1

Prologue - One Year Ago

Freedom, the root of all dreams. To many, it remains an elusive concept, a distant experience that may never materialize in their lifetime. A mere thought, forever confined within the cruel cage of circumstance. But to others, freedom is the very essence of life itself—the meaning and purpose they tirelessly pursue. It is the beacon of hope that guides their every step. So, I ask, what is freedom to you?

The Queen paced back and forth in her chamber, her violet eyes reflecting weariness and contemplation. Surrounded by three of her most trusted Orcs, she pondered the recent events involving the young necromancer, Onyx. The cuffs that had restrained her powers were briefly removed, but the aftermath was undeniable. Onyx had lay collapsed on the ground, clutching her head in pain as blood trickled from her nose—the cost of untamed dark Magik coursing through her veins.

"I don't understand why the cuffs weakened her," the Queen said aloud, seeking answers to this mysterious development. "They were only meant to keep her power concealed not weaken her,"

Gollik, one of the Orcs, regarded her with a mix of concern and relief. "Perhaps it is for the best, my Queen," he replied, his voice tinged with a modicum of kindness. Gollik had always been wary of Onyx and her potent necromantic abilities. He had dared to question the wisdom of keeping her within the castle walls. Even when the Queen had found a powerful spell to control her, Gollik remained skeptical of the implications.

"For the best?" the Queen smirked, masking her irritation. "If she cannot harness the full extent of her Magik, then she is of little use to me." Her mind raced with the implications of Onyx's vulnerability. "Why have I invested so much time training her as a gladiator?" she questioned rhetorically.

"She is an entertaining asset?" one of them ventured hesitantly.

"Entertaining?" the Queen retorted with a touch of disdain. "Yes, she may provide some amusement, but her true value lies in her power. She must become a formidable weapon at my command, not a mere source of amusement." She closed her eyes momentarily, a deep sigh escaping her lips. "A war is on the rise, and she may be our only—"

Her words were cut short as the sound of shattering glass pierced the air. Instinctively, she raised her hand to her cheek, feeling a sharp pain as blood trickled down her unscarred face. Her eyes widened in fear as she turned to see an arrow embedded in the stone wall. Its iron head, embedded deeply in the stone, was unlike anything she had seen before.

The Queen's violet eyes narrowed, her once-weary demeanor replaced with a fierce determination. Her thoughts raced, trying to piece together the identity and motive of the would-be assassin. She motioned to the Orcs to stay alert and guard the chamber. Her heart pounded with every step as she approached the window, cautiously peering out to catch a glimpse of the assailant. But to her dismay, all she saw was a cloaked figure throwing itself to the ground below. A second figure, who had held two ready horses, rushed to the fallen assassin's side, whom appeared—lifeless for a moment.

Seizing the opportunity, she rushed to her guards. "Gather a troop, find and bring back those responsible for this!" she commanded, angrily motioning to her injured face. However, when she glanced back out the window, the figures had disappeared into the night, like two shadows lost and never to be found again. The mystery of the attack lingered, leaving the Queen determined to uncover the truth and ensure that her justice prevailed, no matter the cost.