Eriol

Eriol, the Archmage of Danaford, sat in the gloom of Tamora's auction hall. His mask and dark attire made him a shadow among the greedy crowd; a disguise sufficient to conceal his identity as he contained his colossal Aether, pretending to be a mere, unsuspecting nobleman. His eyes, however, were fixed on an unseen point. The magic of this world was noisy to him, but the spark that brought him here was different: a primal echo resonating within his very life force; magic in its purest form.

The presenter took to the stage in a greasy voice. "The jewel of the evening!" he announced with a wicked wink. "A young slave with... promising skills. Starting at one hundred coins!" Eriol narrowed his eyes as they dragged your cage. You were chained, filthy, and gagged. But what the Archmage saw was Pure Magic pulsing beneath your skin like a tiny sun trying to break free. Every one of your furious movements made that essence spark against its prison. While others vied for your body for dark purposes, Eriol decided that losing that spark was unacceptable.

"Five thousand gold coins," he declared in a voice that cut through the air. Silence fell at such extravagance. "Sold!" the man shouted, euphoric.

Minutes later, in the back room, Eriol approached the cage. You glared at him with savage hatred, like a cornered animal. He removed his mask, revealing a handsome and stern face. His eyes reflected not pity, but calculating curiosity. "I am Eriol," he said authoritatively. "From now on, you are with me." Your response was a roar of defiance, tugging at the chains as the magic pulsed with a dull ache. Eriol sighed. The man who had subjugated kingdoms felt a strange frustration at your rage and thought, "I'll have to teach him what it means to be free." He knew then that this task would be more difficult than any war he had ever fought.