Raymond Quinis is living on small cottage deep in the forest near Iris Kingdom. One day when he searching for food in the forest, he found a strange glowing Staff. And when he grab it that was his story about to begin.
Raymond stumbled upon the staff in the midst of a dense, misty forest. As his fingers grasped the smooth, polished wood, an arcane energy surged through his body. The staff glowed with an intense, ethereal light, and ancient runes etched into its surface began to pulse with an inner fire. The sudden magical surge caused him to stumble backward, and he crashed into a nearby tree. As he caught his breath, he noticed the runes on the staff had begun to swirl and dance, forming patterns that seemed to tell a story. A voice - ancient, powerful, and female - reverberated in his mind. "You have been chosen, young one."
"To wield this Staff of Destiny, you must prove your worth. Face the challenges that await, and the power will be yours." The voice faded, leaving Raymond in stunned silence. He looked around, suddenly aware of how alone he was in the darkening forest. The staff continued to glow, casting an eerie light that pushed back the gathering shadows. As he tried to process what had just happened, a twig snapped nearby. The sound was followed by the distinctive snarl of a goblin. Several more goblins emerged from the underbrush, their small, wizened forms advancing with drawn weapons. The lead goblin, slightly larger than the others, pointed a rusty sword at Raymond and spoke in broken Common.
"Staff! Give us! Now!" The goblins advanced menacingly, their small, wizened forms creeping ever closer, weapons at the ready. Their leader, a particularly nasty-looking specimen with a scarred face and a rusty sword, barked out orders in their guttural tongue. The other goblins spread out, trying to flank Raymond. The ancient voice in his head returned, its words echoing with power and purpose. "Defend yourself, young one. The first test begins now."
The staff pulses in Raymond's grip as the goblins close in, their yellow eyes reflecting the ethereal glow. The leader snarls something in their guttural tongue, and two goblins rush forward, crude spears leveled at Raymond's chest. Your instincts scream to move, and without thinking, you twist aside as one spear grazes your side, tearing fabric but missing flesh. The second thrust goes wide as you jerk back, the point scraping against the tree you'd stumbled into earlier. The leader, emboldened by his subordinates' attacks, charges forward with his rusty sword.
The ancient staff thrums with power in your hands, its runes blazing as you instinctively channel your newfound magic. A sphere of crackling, orange flame erupts from your outstretched palm, hurtling towards the goblin leader with devastating force. The fireball explodes in a blinding flash, engulfing the lead goblin and two others in flames. Their agonized shrieks fill the air as they thrash about, their charred corpses tumbling to the forest floor. The remaining goblins scatter in terror, dropping their weapons and fleeing into the underbrush. The staff's glow intensifies, pulsing with satisfaction.
The forest air crackles with residual heat as the last echoes of the goblins' shrieks fade into the distance. The acrid stench of burnt flesh mingles with the damp smell of the forest floor. Your hands still tingle from the magical discharge, the staff pulsing faintly like a heartbeat in your grip. The ancient voice returns, this time with a note of approval. "Well done, young one. The Staff of Destiny recognizes a worthy wielder." The runes along its length glow brighter, their patterns shifting into new configurations. "You have passed the first test, though it was mere child's play for one of your potential."
You stumble back to your cottage, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. The magical backlash from using the staff has left you drained, and your muscles ache from the adrenaline-fueled fight. The fireball's afterimage still burns in your vision as you push open the rough wooden door. Inside, the single room seems smaller than usual, with the cold hearth looming dark and empty. You collapse onto your bed, still wearing the clothes that stink of smoke and sweat. Sleep comes immediately, but it's fitful. You toss and turn, haunted by fragmented images—flames consuming goblins, the staff pulsing with ancient power, and a voice that isn't quite your own whispering promises of greatness.
As dawn breaks, you wake to find yourself still fully clothed, with an enormous thirst and a throbbing headache. The staff lies beside you, its runes dark but somehow still pulsing with an inner light. Your cottage feels smaller, more cramped than before, as if the staff's presence has transformed the space around it. Through the window, you can see the forest's edge, now tinged with an otherworldly glow that wasn't there yesterday.
The forest seems closer now, pressing against the cottage like a living thing. Your stomach growls with hunger, reminding you that you never ate last night. As you rise, the staff shifts slightly on the bed as if it were a living thing, its polished wood catching the morning light. The cottage's single room is cold despite the summer heat outside. You move toward the hearth and stare at the cold ashes, realizing with a start that you never tended the fire last night. The realization sends a ripple of unease through you—normally, fire is the first thing you do when you come home. You've never been so distracted as to forget something so basic. The staff must be affecting you more than you realized.
You step out of the cottage, the staff in hand, and the forest seems different now—more alive, more aware. The trees bend slightly in a nonexistent wind, their leaves whispering secrets you can almost understand. The path you normally take to the foraging spots appears wider, almost inviting, with less underbrush than you remember. As you walk, the staff pulses in your grip, its runes occasionally flaring with an inner light that catches the sunlight. You find mushrooms growing in perfect circles—no less than a dozen varieties, many you don't recognize but that seem to call to you. The staff vibrates as you reach for them, and suddenly you know which are safe to eat and which will poison you.
Your hands move with certainty, gathering the edible mushrooms into your cloth bag. The forest floor yields ripe berries, their sweetness intensified by the staff's presence. A small rabbit darts across your path, and without thinking, you raise the staff. A thin beam of light shoots from its tip, striking the creature mid-leap. It drops instantly, the light having somehow stopped its heart. As you kneel to retrieve it, you notice the staff's runes have shifted, forming what appears to be an image of a hunter. The rabbit feels heavier in your hands than it should, almost as if the staff is drawing power from it.
You sit at the rough-hewn table in your cottage, the staff leaning against the wall beside you like a silent observer. The rabbit meat is perfectly cooked, as if by some unseen hand, falling apart in tender shreds. The mushrooms release a rich, earthy aroma as you bite into them, flavors bursting across your tongue with unexpected complexity—savory and sweet all at once. You eat with single-minded focus, the staff's presence making the simple meal feel almost ceremonial. As you chew, the staff's runes pulse in time with your heartbeat, the wood taking on a faint warmth. When you're finished, you notice something odd—your hunger has vanished completely.
You don't just feel satisfied, but rather as if you've consumed something far more substantial than mere food. The staff's runes glow brighter now, and you notice tiny motes of golden light drifting from your skin and flowing into its surface. An ancient and distant voice speaks in your mind: "The staff feeds with you. The power grows. You grow." The voice is no longer just words, but a presence—like a shadow moving in your thoughts, an awareness that isn't quite yours but isn't separate either. It feels both alien and familiar at the same time, like remembering a dream you've never had.
You lie down on your bed, the staff settling beside you as if it belongs there. The moment your head touches the pillow, exhaustion pulls you under. The world dissolves into darkness, and then - You're standing in a grand hall, its marble floor glowing with ancient magic. Torches burn with unnatural blue fire along the walls, casting dancing shadows. Before you stands a towering figure in ornate armor, their face hidden by a golden helm shaped like a dragon's head. The figure raises one armored hand, palm up. A golden staff appears in your hands, its runes pulsing with familiar energy. "Your time has come."
The words are deep and resonant, echoing with power. "The Staff of Destiny has chosen you, as it chose me eons ago. You will be its wielder, its champion, its avatar. The world will tremble before you, and all will bow to your power." The figure raises their other hand, and a swirling vortex of light appears above their palm. "But first, you must prove worthy. The path ahead will be difficult, filled with trials and temptations. Will you accept the burden of destiny? Will you wield the Staff with honor and purpose, or will you succumb to its darker aspects?" The vortex expands, its edges now touching the ceiling.
You open your eyes to the familiar ceiling of your cottage, the afternoon light streaming through the small window. Your muscles feel heavy, as if you've been walking for hours, and your head aches as if something has taken up permanent residence inside it. The dream still clings to your thoughts—the grand hall, the armored figure, the Staff of Destiny. The staff itself now sits at the foot of your bed, its runes glowing steadily, like embers in the dark. As you sit up, a sudden wave of nausea sweeps through you. You reach for the staff instinctively, and the moment your fingers touch its polished wood, the sickness eases. Instead, clarity floods your mind—sharp, overwhelming clarity.
You rise from the bed, still feeling the staff's presence in your mind like a second heartbeat. Its influence guides your steps as you move to the center of the cottage. The afternoon sun darkens as you look up, casting the space in shadow. Your muscles tense in preparation. With the staff in both hands, you focus your will. The runes flare to life, glowing with an inner fire. You know what you want—light, simple and clean. The staff hums in your grip as energy builds at its tip. Then, with a thought, a perfect sphere of warm golden light blooms from the staff, hovering at chest height. It's steady, bright, and perfectly balanced.
The light bobs slightly as you move, casting stark shadows across the cottage walls. As you hold it, you realize you're not straining to maintain it—it simply is, an extension of your will. A pulse of satisfaction runs through the staff and into your body. You feel... connected to it in a way that's both alien and deeply right. Your gaze shifts to the door. Beyond it, the forest waits. The staff's power is there, calling to you—promising more if you venture out. You know you could go deeper into the woods now, past the familiar paths, and find... something. The question isn't if you should, but when. And what you'll find when you do.
The light hovers before you, steady and bright, as if waiting for your next command. You step toward the door, each footfall deliberate. The staff pulses in your grip, its energy thrumming through your body like blood flowing through veins. You can sense the forest beyond the threshold—its depths alive with unseen forces. You push open the door and step out into the late afternoon. The moment your foot touches the soft earth of the forest path, the world shifts. The air grows heavier with magic, like the promise of a storm. The trees seem taller, their trunks glowing faintly with inner light. The staff hums as it draws power from the land, and from you.
You stand in the middle of the forest path, the staff humming in your grip. The air feels charged, almost alive, as the last rays of sunlight filter through the canopy above. You close your eyes, focusing on the steady thrum of power flowing through the staff and into your body. The voice—not the dream figure, but the staff itself—whispers in your mind: "More. Push further." Your fingers tighten around the polished wood, and you direct your thoughts. This time, instead of a simple light, you picture fire—controlled, intense, and purposeful. The runes flare brilliant red, the wood darkening like a branding iron. Heat blooms from the staff, rolling outward in waves.
The surrounding grass withers and blackens as you maintain the spell. Your muscles quiver with effort, sweat beading on your forehead despite the cool evening air. The staff pulses with approval, its energy flowing back into you. The voice speaks again, more insistent this time: "The power is yours. Take it. Control it." You open your eyes to see a ring of scorched earth surrounding you, blackened vegetation forming a perfect circle. The staff has grown heavier, its runes pulsing with an inner fire that matches the magical flame you've created. As you hold the spell, you notice something else—the forest around you has gone eerily silent.
The first week is a struggle. Your body aches with magical exhaustion, the staff's power surging through you like wildfire. You cast simple spells repeatedly—light, heat, tiny bursts of flame—until your fingers burn and your vision blurs. The staff whispers encouragement, but its satisfaction is a cruel master, driving you beyond what your body wants to endure. By the end of that first week, you can hold a fireball steady for minutes at a time, but the cost is clear in the dark circles under your eyes and the shaking of your hands. The second week, your control sharpens. You can conjure multiple flames at once, shape them, direct them. The forest around your cottage becomes your proving ground.
Trees burn and regrow under your command as you test the staff's limits. The voice in your mind grows stronger, more commanding. "Deeper," it urges. "More." You push yourself beyond exhaustion daily, forcing your body to adapt to the flow of magic. Your skin glows faintly when you cast now, the staff's power seeping into you, changing you. By the third week, you're no longer just practicing—you're mastering. The forest bends to your will. Mushrooms glow with an inner light when you touch them, their spores responding to your magic. A stag stands frozen as you walk past, its breathing suspended in time.
The final week brings clarity. Your body has adapted to the magical flow, moving with it rather than against it. You can cast without thinking now, the staff responding instinctively to your intentions. One morning, you walk into the forest and find a clearing where the grass glows gold in your wake, each blade bending toward you as you pass. The air vibrates with potential, and when you raise the staff, a vortex of leaves and wind forms around you, swirling in perfect spirals. The staff hums with satisfaction. "You are ready," it says, and the voice no longer feels distant—it is part of you now. You feel changed, stronger.