Legend of Ran

By Willow Everly

Embark on an epic journey through the mystical world of Atravania, where the echoes of a 200-year conflict reverberate through the air. In the midst of the oppressive reign of Emperor Narak, a young man named Ran is thrust from ordinary life into a maelstrom of war and magic. Witness his growth, courage, and resolve to stand against the unfathom

• Language: English
• Publisher: Willow Everly
• Release date: Oct 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798868926471

Book preview

Legend of Ran

Book I

**

Willow Everly

Copyright © 2023 Cody Hicks (Willow Everly)

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9798868906459

Acknowledgements

To my beloved wife, whose unwavering support and love have been my sanctuary. Your grace, patience, and strength have been the silent forces that propelled every word, every sentence, and every chapter of this journey. You’ve been the calm in my storms and the anchor in my tumultuous seas of creativity.

To my precious children, who have embarked on this journey with me with their endless enthusiasm and imagination. Each moment with you has breathed life into the pages of this tale, making the world of Atravania as vibrant and magical as the world we share together.

To my family, whose faith in me has been steadfast and unyielding. Your belief in my vision, even when it was but a faint glimmer in the vast expanse of possibilities, has been the wind beneath my wings. You’ve stood by me, a pillar of strength, echoing the resilience and courage that I’ve endeavoured to weave into the fabric of this story.

This book is not just a product of my imagination, but a tapestry woven with the love, sacrifices, and unwavering support of each one of you. In every page, in every character, and in every twist of this tale, you will find fragments of the love and warmth that you’ve surrounded me with.

Legend of Ran is as much yours as it is mine. Thank you for walking this path with me, for being my stars in the darkest nights, and for illuminating every step of this incredible journey.

Note from the Author:

As you turn the pages and embark upon this journey into the world of Atravania, I wish to extend a heartfelt welcome and share a few insights about this story that has been forged from the depths of my imagination.

Legend of Ran is not just a novel; it's a vessel that sails through a world imbued with wonder, mystery, and the conflict between light and dark. It's a testament to the power of courage in the face of tyranny, a tale of camaraderie forged in adversity, and an exploration of the nature of power and the price of freedom.

Throughout this narrative, you will journey alongside Ran, a young man thrusted from ordinary life into a maelstrom of war and magic, and the echoes of a 200-year conflict. You will experience his growth, his courage, and his resolve to stand against the unfathomable might of Emperor Narak. You'll bear witness to the resilience of the Magikin people, whose mystical abilities make them targets of the tyrant's relentless pursuit, but also, the hope for a brighter future.

This book is my heartfelt homage to the spirit of fantasy epics, imbued with personal reflections on courage, friendship, and the often-blurred lines between good and evil. As you venture into the world of Atravania and navigate the labyrinth of its history, you will, I hope, find fragments that resonate with your own experiences, dreams, and fears.

As the author, my wish is to transport you into another realm, to let you walk with Ran and his companions, to feel their struggles and their triumphs, and to leave you with the sense of having lived a thousand lives within the pages of this book.

So, dear reader, with this letter, I open the gateway to a world on the brink of a revolution. Stand with our heroes as they defy a destiny written in darkness and light the beacon of hope for an oppressed world. Welcome to Legend of Ran.

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Contents

Prologue: Echoes of the Past

Chapter 1: Simple Beginnings

Chapter 2: The Ill-Fated Journey

Chapter 3: Into Darkness

Chapter 4: Change of Fate

Chapter 5: Mana Reclaimed

Chapter 6: Empty Shell

Chapter 7: Beef Stew

Chapter 8: Queen of The Woods

Chapter 9: Streets of Mud

Chapter 10: Delivery Boy

Chapter 11: Wolf Bait

Chapter 12: Shadows of Elendil

Chapter 13: New Recruit

Chapter 14: Fires of Distraction

Chapter 15: No Delay

Chapter 16: Kingdom of L’Thanadriel

Chapter 17: Winter is Coming

Forward

Prologue: Echoes of the Past

Taaft, a jewel of the north, sprawled majestically along the coast of Vathael, its vast docks alive with the continuous ebb and flow of ships, merchants, and travelers from distant lands. A nexus of cultures and commerce, the city's heartbeat was palpable in the rhythmic cadence of trade negotiations, the harmonious cries of seagulls, and the distant hum of chatter from its teeming markets. Laid out in an intricate circular grid pattern, Taaft's streets and avenues were meticulously planned, reflecting the city's rich history and foresight of its architects.

The sun's rays bathed the whitewashed buildings in a golden hue, making them gleam with an air of affluence and prosperity. Yet, for all its architectural wonders, what truly stood out in Taaft was not its towering structures or winding alleys. At the very heart of the city, surrounded by bustling markets and vibrant cafes, lay the grand plaza. This vast open space, adorned with ornate fountains and cobblestone paths, was dominated by a singular monument: a soaring pillar, meticulously carved with intricate patterns and runes that told tales of old.

At the base of this pillar, carved from a single block of the finest marble, was the larger-than-life statue of a hero. His pose captured a moment of sheer valor and resilience, his eyes locked on some unseen horizon, and his stance defiant. It seemed as though the winds of time had frozen him in that very moment, his gaze unwavering, challenging the adversities of fate and history. This silent guardian stood as a testament to the city's spirit and resilience, an eternal symbol of hope and defiance for every soul that passed by.

The plaza echoed with a symphony of daily life; merchants hawked their wares with boisterous energy, children's laughter danced on the breeze, and the clatter of horse hooves mingled with the soft patter of footfalls on cobblestone streets. Taaft's residents, from nobles in their finery to workers in simple garb, weaved their narratives in this tapestry of routine. In this vast tableau, a poignant moment unfolded, standing out in its simplicity and depth.

Granny, why is he up there? questioned a young girl, her age not surpassing ten summers. Her raven-black hair danced in the wind, and her luminous eyes, alight with a child's innate curiosity, were firmly locked onto the statue's imposing figure.

Beside her stood an elderly woman. Time had etched its story on her visage, each wrinkle a testament to the years she'd lived and the tales she'd witnessed. She followed the direction of the young girl's finger, and as her gaze met the statue, a wave of memories washed over her, causing her eyes to shimmer with emotion. Ah, sweet child, she began, her voice quavering with a mix of reverence and nostalgia, That is the embodiment of hope from a time when shadows threatened to engulf our world. He is a hero from my own days of youth, one who dared to stand against the oppressive might of Narak.

The young girl's eyes widened in a mix of astonishment and curiosity, her small fingers playing with the edges of her dress. Did you know him, Granny?

The elderly woman paused, the city sounds fading into the background. She turned to face the girl, her eyes glazed with a film of tears and nostalgia. Taking a deep breath, she nodded slowly, Yes, my dear, I knew him. He was a beacon in our most desperate hours, a flame when all seemed consumed by darkness.

The girl's face contorted with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, But what happened to him? How did he become this... hero?

Drawing her shawl closer, the elderly woman let out a long, poignant sigh, the kind that comes from recalling memories long buried yet never forgotten. His story, my child, is not a simple one to tell. It's a tapestry, woven with threads of hope, despair, courage, and sacrifice. Vathael wasn't always like this, she began, her voice echoing with a hint of sorrow. For two long centuries, the fires of discord raged across our land, fueled by differing beliefs and ambitions. Queen Dawn, with her heart of gold, aspired to unite the fractured realms of the Magikin and humans. She dreamt of a world where both could coexist in harmony and mutual respect. But alas, her noble vision was met not with applause, but with skepticism. Many saw her dream as a threat, leading to murmurs of rebellion, and eventually, open defiance.

The young girl, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her simple dress, leaned in closer, her azure eyes unblinking as she clung to each syllable, each nuance, as if they were the very threads weaving the tapestry of history.

In the heart of this great land, a rebellion quietly took shape, the elderly woman began, her voice evoking the hush of secrets long buried. It was spearheaded by the enigmatic Nur, the very man who sired the ominous Narak. With ambition that burned brighter than the fiercest star, Nur tried with all his might to topple the reign of Queen Dawn. Initially, his efforts bore no fruit; the queen’s defenses and the love of her people held strong.

She paused, taking a moment to steady her breath, allowing the weight of the past to settle over them. But, as is often the case, where direct force fails, time and persistence may prevail. With unnerving patience, Nur dedicated over a century and a half, meticulously building his forces, collecting loyalists disillusioned by the dreams of unity, and plotting in the shadows.

Her gaze drifted, as if seeing beyond the plaza, to a time of betrayal and bloodshed. Though Nur's life waned before his grand designs could fully manifest, his legacy was far from over. For from his teachings, emerged his son — Narak, a force of malevolence unparalleled. With an iron will and an army bred on his father's doctrine, he achieved what Nur could not. He didn't just end Queen Dawn's life; he razed her court to the ground, extinguishing every vestige of the old era. In its place, he erected a world that bore the dark imprint of his vision.

The young girl's eyes widened, and a cold shiver trickled down her spine as the elderly woman's words painted a vivid picture in her mind. She could almost hear the haunting cries of the Magikin, feel the ground tremble beneath Narak's wrath, and see the dark skies that once loomed over Vathael.

Narak wasn't just powerful, he was malevolent in ways that stories can hardly capture, the elderly woman continued, her voice growing more intense. He wielded his magik not just with immense power, but with sadistic pleasure. The Magikin, blessed with their unique gifts, found themselves tormented by this tyrant. With his sinister ability to sense and track their energies, there was hardly a place they could hide. One by one, they were hunted, their cries echoing through the once-peaceful valleys of Vathael. Narak's influence grew stronger every day. His subjects, whether out of genuine loyalty or paralyzing fear, rallied behind him, forging an army that many believed was invincible. Thus dawned the bleak and somber Age of Narak.

Tears welled up in the elderly woman's eyes as she recalled the harrowing past. However, even in the deepest abyss of despair, there always flickers a flame of hope. Our hero emerged from this very darkness. It's a peculiar twist of fate; had the world been draped in harmony, perhaps he would have lived and died as any ordinary man in Vathael. But destiny, with its mysterious designs, had chosen him for a greater purpose. His tale unfurls in the year 28 A.N., when he was a naive child, his heart untainted, just like yours now, dear one.

The young girl turned her gaze back to the statue, its stony exterior now alive with the spirit of a hero's journey. The deep reverence in her eyes told of a newfound understanding. The legends might be chiseled in stone and whispered in hushed tones, but they were immortal, passed down through ages, ensuring that the valiant deeds and profound sacrifices of heroes would forever echo in the annals of time.

Chapter 1: Simple Beginnings

Ran's eyes fluttered open, the drowsiness of sleep gradually replaced by the comforting, familiar aroma of his mother's cooking. It was a scent that spoke of home and safety, a beacon that drew him from the world of dreams. The golden light of dawn began its gentle invasion, slipping through the small gaps in the wooden walls of their humble hut. These beams painted delicate, dancing patterns upon Ran's tan skin, making it glow in the room's semi-darkness.

His bed, though old and creaky, was a cocoon of warmth. As he sat up, his dark, unruly hair cascaded down, framing his youthful face and shielding his eyes. Each strand was a testament to his free spirit, an emblem of the countless adventures he had already had and those yet to come. He stretched, every muscle and bone protesting the morning's arrival. With a soft sigh, he yawned, his young voice echoing in the stillness of the room. The wooden floor felt cold beneath his feet as he descended the stairs, guided by the increasing clatter of kitchen utensils and the promise of a hearty meal.

His mother, a pillar of strength and love, was already hard at work in their quaint kitchen. Her hands, worn and experienced, moved with practiced ease, flipping eggs, and stirring concoctions. As Ran entered, she turned, her face breaking into a warm smile, eyes crinkling in the corners, a reflection of years filled with laughter and tears.

Good morning, sunshine, she greeted him, her voice musical and full of affection. As she spoke, she set down a steaming plate, piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs, their golden hue rivaling the morning sun. Beside them lay a few slices of leftover meat from yesterday's supper, its rich aroma mingling enticingly with the eggs.

Morning, Mom, Ran greeted with a tired but happy stretch, inadvertently tangling his fingers in his disheveled hair, making it stand up in comical tufts. He breathed in deeply, the comforting scents of the morning meal filling his senses. That aroma... it's always a good day when it starts with your cooking. You know, I think you truly make the best breakfast in all of Mana!

His mother chuckled, the familiar wrinkles by her eyes deepening as she did. With a loving hand, she gently patted his still-mussed hair into a slightly more presentable state, her fingers lingering for a moment as if trying to imprint the memory. Well, you always were my hungriest critic, she teased, her voice tinged with the fondness only a mother could muster. But you better eat up quickly. And eat all of it! With the energy you and Kaya burn, running around like a pair of wild hares, you'll need every bit of strength.

Thanks, Mom, Ran mumbled appreciatively, his cheeks bulging as he enthusiastically shoveled mouthfuls of the scrumptious meal, savoring every bite, even as he was eager to start his day.

After relishing the last bite of his meal, Ran rinsed his plate and set it aside. With a quick peck on his mother's cheek, he swung open the wooden door, and the familiar sights and sounds of Mana greeted him. The air, fragranced with the warmth of freshly baked bread and the distant scent of blooming wildflowers, caressed Ran as he took the first step outside. The sun, in its benevolent glory, painted golden hues upon the land, bestowing a lustrous gleam that seemed to breathe life into every brick and stone of the tranquil village of Mana. The convivial symphony of clinking dishes, murmuring voices, and the occasional distant bleat of the village’s sheep spun a comforting melody of homeliness.

Ran’s eyes squinted, adjusting to the splendid dance of sunlight, as the beams played gleefully between the leafy branches of the evergreen trees surrounding the village. With every step he took, memories, as vivid as the azure sky above, mirrored the tranquility and purity of life in Mana. He felt the pulse of the village, as rhythmic and constant as his own heartbeat.

Mrs. E’s hands, gnarled and tender with the passage of time, skillfully navigated through wet clothes. The soft clapping of wet fabric against her wooden washboard punctuated the air. Each garment held stories of days past and whispers of the mundane and extraordinary. She raised her wrinkled face and bestowed upon Ran a smile, rich with the silent tales of a lifetime.

Young Ben, not more than seven summers old, exhibited a warrior’s