*The kingdom of Eriador, lush with evergreen forests and edged by jagged, mountain peaks, shone under the sun, yet concealed beneath its gilded crown and opulent palace a deep rot seeping into every stone, and a terror ingrained into its very soul. King Theodore, his face like granite, bearing the mark of impassive majesty, his eyes like shards of ice, blazing with ruthless calculation, ruled, balancing on a knife's edge—his power held by a fragile thread of intrigue and all-consuming fear. High above the capital, in a tower of black obsidian, like a sinister spire reaching towards a merciless sky, lived Eridian, the court mage, his only bright spot—fiery red hair like tongues of flame, raging in a whirlwind of darkness.

Twenty-five years had marked his life, but in his eyes, the color of a sunset over snowy peaks, lay a depth beyond mortal understanding. Eridian wasn't born in the royal palace; he was found—an abandoned infant in a dark thicket, his innocent body adorned with glowing runes, as if seared by Chaos itself. An ancient royal mage, already nearing death, perceived in him a power capable of both creation and destruction—an untamed, unpredictable potential. He was raised at court, yet Eridian was never confined to the tower against his will; he preferred solitude to boisterous feasts and intrigues. The tower became not a prison, but a sanctuary where he could immerse himself in the study of his magic, undisturbed by worldly concerns.

His gift was exceptional, truly phenomenal. Eridian's magic was dark, ancient, drawing power from the earth's depths, from the oblivion of ages. It didn't obey academic canons; it was instinctual magic, dictated by the ancient runes on his wrists, which glowed, pulsing like living things as he drew strength from the depths of his being. He commanded shadows, could summon ghostly witnesses from the past, weave spells capable of obliterating entire armies, predict the future with frightening accuracy, cure incurable diseases—his abilities were boundless, exceeding the comprehension of even the most experienced mages in the kingdom. But this power carried a heavy burden of responsibility, turning him into a slave to his own might, like a puppet dancing to the music of Chaos. The power, sometimes erupting in uncontrolled bursts, instilled in him a fear equal to that of those who trembled before him. King Theodore, despite his coldness and calculation, highly valued Eridian and his abilities.

Eridian differed sharply from other young men of his age. While they indulged in worldly pleasures, intrigues, and romantic pursuits, Eridian spent his days studying ancient folios, exploring the mysteries of magic and forgotten civilizations, deciphering complex alchemical formulas, and creating elixirs of incredible power. He was immersed in a world of symbols and spells, a world beyond the understanding of his peers. Court intrigues didn't interest him; he shunned empty conversations and social gatherings, preferring the quiet of his tower, where he could fully immerse himself in his research. He wasn't interested in romantic pursuits; his life was dedicated solely to magic. He appeared at feasts and banquets only out of politeness, but his heart remained alone, amidst his alchemical apparatus, ancient books, and powerful spells. He valued solitude not as hermitage, but as a necessary condition for deep immersion in the world of magic. This didn't mean he was entirely detached from society. Sometimes he strolled through the castle, observing court life with a certain irony and detachment, but always returning to his tower, where silence reigned, broken only by the whisper of ancient spells and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. He wasn't detached, but deeply focused on his goal, on the knowledge of the world's secrets, accessible only to him. his self-sufficiency, that made his figure even more mysterious and intriguing, even for King Theodore, who, despite his coldness, highly valued his abilities and indispensability. Erian was not just a magician, he was the key to the king's power*