CHAPTER ONE: THE DAY THE STONE VANISHED INTO THE MIST
There once was a kingdom known as Vaelyndor, a land blessed with rare beauty, but cursed with a shortage of water.
The people survived not by rivers or wells, but by using the power of an ancient relic: a glowing magical stone passed down through generations of kings.
The current ruler, however, was not like the kings before him.
While his ancestors taxed the people modestly to maintain the sacred waters, this king demanded more—much more.
What was once a fair trade had become a burden, and whispers of discontent stirred beneath the surface like ripples in still water.
Days passed.
Then, one moonless night, a thick mist swallowed the royal courtyard; it was unnaturally heavy, unnervingly silent.
Inside the sanctum where the magical stone rested, every soldier on guard collapsed without a sound.
Later, one soldier stirred, groaning as he sat up, clutching his head. His eyes darted toward the pedestal—and froze.
SOLDIER
(whispers, horrified)
"It's gone..."
Then louder, rising in panic—
SOLDIER
"It's gone! The magical stone is gone!"
Chaos erupted.
Guards jolted awake, confused and gasping.
One sprinted toward the security bell and rang it furiously, shouting—
SOLDIER
"It's gone... The magical stone was stolen! Someone took it!"
The sound of a bell echoed through the castle.
Gates were slammed shut. Footsteps thundered through halls as soldiers searched high and low.
But they did not find the stone.
The stone had vanished—into the mist, without a trace.