Читать книгу The Oyxia Chronicles: Shadow of Lorian - - Страница 1

No one came to Lorian by accident. Those who crossed its gates either mastered fire – or were broken by it. Elissa knew this long before the carriage jolted on the mountain road and the scarlet towers of the Castle of Fire rose before her.

The carriage jolted suddenly as the wheels struck a large stone with a dull thud.

Elissa lurched forward and instinctively grabbed the edge of the seat.

“Damn it—” slipped from her lips, but she cut herself short.

A mage was sitting opposite her.

Elissa cast him a quick glance and immediately turned toward the window, biting her tongue. The court wizard looked as though the shaking, the road, and the journey itself had nothing to do with him. He sat perfectly still, back straight, fingers clasped on his knees, staring straight ahead.

I hate this journey, Elissa thought. This road. This winding path. This waiting. When will we finally reach the Castle…

The carriage creaked again as it climbed higher, and at last the view outside stole Elissa’s breath.

A scarlet sun rose above the horizon, bathing the walls of Castle Lorian in burning hues. Its towers, as if grown from frozen lava, glimmered with an inner light, as though living fire flowed within the stone. The castle stood atop a volcano—grim, majestic, terrifyingly beautiful.

A mix of awe and unease tightened Elissa’s chest.

She had always known Lorian was vast. Since childhood, she had seen it from Pyrenholm—distant, almost unreal. But now, so close, its sheer scale was overwhelming.

“We’re almost there,” the mage said quietly.

Elissa didn’t answer. She gripped the edge of her cloak, trying not to betray her anxiety.

Will I be enough? What if my magic isn’t strong enough? What if I fail their expectations…

She stole a glance at her companion. Tall and gaunt, with sharp, almost carved features. His gray hair was tied back in a short tail, and his black robe was adorned with dark crimson accents.

A high-ranking mage, Elissa thought. Father said only the strongest wear such mantles.

She had known his name for a long time.

Malker Airon.

The thought of him brought memories flooding back, sudden and vivid.

The room had been lined with black basalt slabs that held warmth even at night. Malker Airon stood in the center, motionless as a statue.

“You are a sorceress,” he had said then. “A Fire mage.”

He slowly opened his palm, and dark crimson flame flared between his fingers.

Elissa noticed, just for a moment, the thin white lines on his wrists—old burn scars.

“Power is not responsibility,” he continued. “That’s what the weak like to say. Power is a right.”

Fire reflected in his eyes, turning his pupils into tiny sparks.

“The right to reshape the world as you see fit.”

The flame condensed into a glowing sphere, lighting his face.

“And if you have the courage to claim that right… Lorian will give you everything. Everything you dare not dream of. And everything you will fear.”

He clenched his fist, extinguishing the fire. The air filled with the scent of ozone.

“The sweetest and the most dangerous thing in our craft,” he added, turning toward the window where the castle’s peaks burned.

The carriage swayed again, pulling Elissa back into the present.

Outside, the volcano loomed. Its slopes were covered in hardened lava, but here and there living streams of fire glowed red, like the pulsing blood of the land. The wind carried the smell of sulfur and heated stone.

Below, at the foot of the mountain, lay Pyrenholm. Forges glimmered in the dusk like scattered stars, and the echoes of hammer blows reached even this height. The city felt distant—like a fragment of a former life.

Ahead lay Lorian.

The carriage continued up the winding road. The heat grew more noticeable, as if the volcano itself were testing the travelers’ resolve.

That was when Elissa noticed two figures by the roadside.

One was clearly a mage—something in his stride and posture gave him away. The other looked younger, slightly hunched. His fiery red hair was unkempt, his travel cloak dusty, and his fingers stained with ink or traces of spellwork. Despite his unsteady steps, determination burned in his bright green eyes.

Just like me, Elissa thought.

“Students come to Lorian from every corner of the world,” Malker said, as if reading her thoughts. “And each must walk this path alone.”

The carriage left the travelers behind.

The gates appeared ahead.

Massive doors of dark metal, adorned with patterns of living flame, towered over the road. Arcane runes traced their surface, glowing with a warm crimson light.

The carriage slowed and came to a halt.

“We’ve arrived,” Malker said.

Elissa’s heart began to race. She had imagined this moment countless times, yet now that it was real, she felt an odd blend of exhilaration and fear.

The gates slowly parted. Waves of hot air rushed outward, tugging at her cloak.

Malker stepped out first and turned back toward her.

“Welcome to Lorian.”

Elissa took a deep breath and stepped forward.

When the gates opened fully, the castle revealed itself in all its power. Black obsidian walls shimmered with inner light, towers pierced the burning sky, and somewhere deep within the fortress ancient fire rumbled.

The heat here was stronger than in Pyrenholm. The air trembled, and the scent of sulfur stung her nose.

“You seem frozen,” Malker remarked.

Elissa exhaled slowly.

“I’m just… adjusting.”

He nodded and moved ahead.

Elissa followed, crossing the threshold.

At last, the day had come.