The beginning of a Nightmare

Elian stood awkwardly on the podium, the weight of the staff heavier than its actual silver construction. The roar of the crowd had morphed into a constant, buzzing undercurrent, punctuated by cheers and whistles. Dignitaries from various realms, their faces a tapestry of pride and curiosity, lined the front rows, watching him with expectant gazes.

A nervous cough escaped his lips. He wasn't used to being the center of attention, let alone being admired by such esteemed figures. He glanced at the staff in his hand, the swirling blue orb pulsing rhythmically. A symbol of victory, yes, but it felt like more. Like a key unlocking something within him.

A figure emerged from the throng of congratulatory officials, a woman with regal bearing and a silver braid that flowed down her back. Grand Mage Eva. Her gaze met his, a hint of amusement twinkling in her usually steely blue eyes.

"Elian of Arcana Academia," she boomed, her voice amplified by magic, silencing the chatter amongst the dignitaries. "You have displayed exceptional talent, courage, and an unexpected prowess with Dark magic. You are a worthy champion."

A wave of applause, mixed with respectful murmurs, washed over Elian. He offered a hesitant smile, feeling both proud and strangely exposed.

Elara continued, stepping closer to him. "This staff, the Grand Arcana, is more than a symbol. It is an ancient artifact, imbued with powerful magic."

Elian's brow furrowed. "Powerful magic?"

"Indeed," Eva replied, her voice dropping to a lower tone. "The staff can be used to grant the champion's deepest wish."

Elian stared at her, his heart skipping a beat. A wish? He hadn't even considered that possibility. His initial desire, to escape make Eristia a big kingdom.

Elara gestured towards the staff. "Focus your will, Elian. Concentrate on your heart's true desire, and the staff will act as a conduit, channeling its magic to bring it to fruition."

Elian closed his eyes, the cheers of the crowd fading into a distant hum. Images flickered in his mind – his parents, their faces etched with pride, the villagers struggling under the weight of poverty, the whispers of a brighter future.

His true desire, he realized with a surge of clarity, wasn't just for himself. It was for a better world – a world where magic wasn't a weapon of war, where knowledge was shared freely, and where the burden of darkness wouldn't forever hang over his head.

He opened his eyes, a newfound determination burning within them. He gripped the staff tightly, channeling all his hopes and aspirations into the pulsing blue orb.

Then, with a voice that echoed through the arena and resonated deep within himself, Elian declared, "Summon the Dawn of a New Age!"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Dignitaries stared at him, some with wide-eyed astonishment, others with furrowed brows. Elian himself felt the staff hum in his hand, a wave of magical energy coursing through him.

What would happen next? Would the staff grant his wish? Or was it a mere legend, a story whispered to elevate the significance of the Grand Arcana title?

The only sound was the expectant silence as everyone waited with bated breath for a sign, a hint of what Elian's audacious wish would bring.

The staff thrummed in Elian's hand, the blue orb pulsing like a frantic heartbeat. His proclamation hung heavy in the air, met by a stunned silence that stretched for an eternity before dissolving into a cacophony of reactions. Nervous coughs and shuffles replaced cheers as a ripple of unease spread through the crowd. Dignitaries exchanged worried glances, their faces etched with a sudden, unsettling pallor.

Elian scanned the sky, a cold dread clawing at his throat. Where once the twilight shimmered with the promise of night, a new terror unfolded. A monstrous disk, the size of a siege weapon, was pushing through the darkness. Its surface, instead of the familiar silver of a moon, was an angry, pulsating red, bleeding light onto the world below.

Panic erupted like a wildfire. People screamed, scrambling for cover, knocked over in the stampede. The once festive atmosphere of the arena turned into a scene from a nightmare. Elian wanted to shout, to offer some form of reassurance, but his voice was a strangled gasp caught in his throat.

Then, with a sickening lurch that defied all known physics, the sun began to move. It wasn't a smooth, celestial glide; it was a jarring, erratic shift, like a giant pulling on a cosmic string. In mere seconds, the fiery orb was hurtling towards the monstrous moon, their clash imminent.

A blinding light, brighter than any Elian had ever witnessed, erupted from the point of contact. It wasn't a clean, ethereal glow; it was a brutal assault on the senses, a searing white interlaced with flashes of crimson and violet. The ground trembled with a violence that sent a wave of nausea rolling through Elian. The cheers had morphed into primal screams, a chorus of terror echoing through the stadium.

From beneath the VIP section, a sound far worse pierced through the cacophony – a guttural roar, raw and primal, that made Elian's blood run cold. The ground, once stable, split open with a sickening crack, spewing forth a geyser of dust and debris. As the dust settled, monstrous silhouettes emerged from the newly formed chasm. Grotesque figures, their flesh a patchwork of scales and bone, lumbered out, their eyes glowing with a malevolent red light. Razor-sharp talons scraped against the stone, and their guttural growls resonated with a chilling hunger.

The once pristine arena floor became a scene straight out of Elian's worst nightmares. People screamed, trampled underfoot by the panicked stampede, their cries devoured by the growing chaos. The dignitaries, stripped of their regal composure, ran for their lives, their once vibrant garments now stained with the dust of their descent.

In the distance, a swirling vortex of dark energy materialized, its obsidian walls reaching for the monstrous crimson moon. From somewhere within its depths, a voice boomed, amplified by magic to a deafening volume. It was a voice that scraped against Elian's soul, a voice he had only encountered in the forbidden texts at the Academy - a voice dripping with millennia-old malice.

"Finally, it is going to happen!" the voice echoed, a malevolent glee twisting the pronunciation of each word. "The veil is broken, and the age of shadows dawns!"

Elian's mind reeled. Malachar Nightweave, the ancient dark wizard from the forbidden texts, the very being he had read about with a mixture of morbid fascination and chilling fear, was back. And he wasn't alone.

A wave of nausea washed over Elian, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue in the chaos. His vision started to blur, the edges of the stadium dissolving into a swirling vortex of red and black. He vaguely registered Eva's form in front of him, a shimmering shield of energy flickering and straining against the onslaught of dark magic.

"Hold on, Elian!" Eva screamed, her voice barely audible over the din. "We'll get you out of here!"

But just as his hand instinctively reached for hers, the light flickered one last time, then sputtered out like a dying candle. The world around him became a swirling mass of darkness, the monstrous roars and Malachar's chilling laughter the last sounds he registered before unconsciousness claimed him. As darkness swallowed him whole, a single, terrifying thought echoed in his fading mind - the fight for the Grand Arcana title had just become a fight for survival.