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Thebes, Egypt, Year 33—
The fact that a thousand-year-old sentient (and apparently evil) antique ring had attempted to trick him into accepting its power hadn’t really bothered Vincent that much—he merely assumed that it was something that happened to mages on occasion.
What had unnerved him was, while walking through the marketplace the next day, was seeing the exact same ring on sale in another stand. He had stopped in his tracks to try to see if it was the same one or just a replica, much to the confusion of his group of friends.
“What is it, Vincent? What’s wrong?” Miranda asked.
“…Nothing,” he bluffed, deciding that the best course of action was to ignore it.
They fell back into chatting and window-shopping at the stalls further ahead, and that was when Vincent saw it—the same ring, again—on another stall ahead of them.
He whirled around to face the direction they had come from, and the peg upon which the ring had been glinting at before was empty.
He faced forward, glancing past the bewildered and concerned looks of his friends, and froze as the ring had vanished again.
“Vincent?” Voudini asked. “I sense you are troubled.”
“Perhaps I am, but it’s my trouble to deal with,” Vincent declared. If there was going to be an evil, sentient ring running around, the first order of business was making sure that it was far away from his friends. “If you will excuse me, there’s something I must take care of.”
Despite his friends’ protests, Vincent teleported out of the marketplace and into the expanse of desert outside of the city. A bit further beyond was the Valley of the Kings, where he and the others had explored the previous day, lamenting at all of the empty, plundered tombs that had been left to the harsh elements.
He scanned the sands around him as beads of perspiration formed on his brow, and it wasn’t because of the desert heat, either; for the first time in his young life, Vincent Van Ghoul was unnerved.
And he hated it—hated this feeling of unease, of not knowing… He was supposed to be a powerful mage, and powerful mages shouldn’t feel this way.
Suddenly, he saw it, bouncing across the sand towards him, the sunlight glinting off of the gold again—the ring wasn’t even trying to be sneaky anymore.
“Stay back!” Vincent ordered the ring—first in Greek, and then in Egyptian, just to drive the point home. He raised his left hand. “Stay back, or I will melt you!”
“Foolish little mage,” the voice of the ring sneered, speaking telepathically. “No ordinary fire can destroy me—I was forged with a dark magic unlike any other. Your little fire spells won’t damage me.”
“Don’t bet on that,” Vincent snarled. “FIRAGA!”
A massive fireball shot from Vincent’s hand, striking the gold ring; the young mage gestured his hand upwards, and the fireball swirled upwards into a tornado of fire, drawing the ring up inside of it.
Vincent watched on with a smirk, but his smirk soon faded as he realized that the ring was, indeed, not melting.
“No…” he growled, and he raised his right hand. “FIRAGA!”
A second, massive fireball struck the ring and strengthened the fire tornado, turning it into a pillar of fire that shot into the sky.
Even then, the ring refused to melt; Vincent halted the onslaught of fire, trying to catch his breath from the sudden, massive expenditure of mana—and heat exhaustion.
The ring fell back onto the sand, undamaged.
“Why not work with me, Boy, instead of against me?” the voice of the ring asked. “What is it you want most in the world? I can help you attain it.”
“I wish to travel… the expanse of the world… I can do that at any time,” Vincent said, between attempts at catching his breath.
“Why merely travel the world?” the ring asked. “Why not rule it? Your ancestor achieved it, but it was ultimately taken from him—if I had been with him, he could have kept the world for himself, rather than having it all seized from him by lesser gods!”
“My… ancestor?” Vincent asked, confused. “Running afoul of the gods…? What…? Who are you talking about…?”
“…You mean you don’t know? the voice of the ring replied, sounding smug. “No one told you that your ancestor was the reason why your entire family line renounced the magic arts and lived as mortals? And why they were alarmed by your magical skill and your desire to embrace your power? I can sense what lies within you, Boy—you are far more powerful than your ancestor could ever hope to be. Accept me, and I will tell you all about him, and ensure that you don’t make the same mistakes he made. You will reign over this world, feared and revered by all who dwell in it!”
Vincent frowned.
“Why would I want that!?” he asked, baffled. “And I can find someone else to tell me about my ancestor—I have no need of you! Begone! Quaga!”
A fissure opened beneath the ring, causing it to plummet down into it; the ominous feeling passed, but Vincent was left even more exhausted than before, sweat pouring down his face.
“You are certainly a unique lad,” a new voice commented, in broken Greek.
Vincent whirled around, pausing to see a man in traditional Egyptian garb; he hadn’t noticed him before.
“Who… are you?” Vincent asked, raising a hand to protect himself.
“I am a mage like yourself—a keeper of artifacts of a thousand years ago,” he said. “That ring got away from me, I fear—it is quite dangerous, and has a mind of its own.”
“I noticed,” Vincent deadpanned.
“But you’ve assisted me greatly in wrangling it again; I’ll keep a closer watch on it,” the man promised.
“See that you do,” Associate Dean Leonidas’s voice ordered, as he teleported in.
Vincent groaned.
“Voudini told you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did—and we must talk later about your foolishness of running off alone like that, knowing that ring was following you,” Leonidas chided. “But, in the meantime… I must say that I’m quite proud of what I saw.”
“You have every reason to be,” the Egyptian mage agreed. “There are very few who could resist the ring as this lad did.”
“I’m… confused,” Vincent said.
“And exhausted by your overexertion,” Leonidas observed, conjuring up an iced mana potion for him to drink—Vincent quaffed it down in seconds.
“You are still young, Lad, and you have much still to learn—including that those who seek power are the ones who deserve it the least,” the Egyptian mage said. “I pray to the gods in both my pantheon and yours that you keep your noble heart and resist the dark path of your forebear.”
“Then… it’s true what the ring said?” Vincent asked. “About my ancestor?” He turned to Leonidas. “…Is that why so many of the teachers refuse to speak to me?”
“This was not how I wished for you to find out,” the Associate Dean replied, looking rather regretful. “I beg of you to push this from your mind for now. We will have a long discussion with Dean Cesare when we return, and he will give you the answers you seek. For now, Vincent, take heart—and return to your friends, for I fear you gave them a fright when you vanished.”
“Yes, Sir,” Vincent replied, and he teleported back to the marketplace.
Life, as he knew it, was about to change.