Hey guys,
Following on from my “One Gate Too Far?” post in General, I thought I’d share a little piece of the world I’ve been building these past months.
Nothing too loud, nothing promotional, just some writing.
This is the opening scene of Bound Wars, written in-story, in prose, the moment the Binding War was thought won and the moment the Tidebound first arrived on Cael Morren.
(I’m not a writer or anything, just putting the world in my head into words, so please forgive any rough edges.)
No context needed. Just read it as fiction.
The Arrival
Opening Cutscene in Prose
The storm broke like a war.
Wind howled across the shattered battlefield, tearing banners to rags and driving ash through the air. All around, the dead writhed, spirits lashed to corpses, chains glowing, eyes hollow with endless torment.
The Lich-Lord towered above them, arms spread wide, dragging both living and dead in his wake. His laughter was the grinding of stones, his breath a plague. Warriors broke beneath him, their blades shattering against the weight of his bindings. Elemental fire burned away in his shadow, swallowed whole. Even the bravest faltered when his chains reached for their souls.
But on that day, desperation burned hotter than fear. They hurled themselves at him, soldiers and mages and civilians alike, striking from all sides in one last frenzy. Steel tore. Flame cracked. The Lich-Lord fell, body split, chains snapping one by one with shrieks like rending earth.
And then his spirit burst free, vast, terrible, flung to the storm. The skies convulsed, thunder swallowing the world. Rain lashed down in sheets, washing blood from the ground, drowning the cries of the dying. His body lay broken, but his shadow lingered, carried on every gale.
The storm rolled on.
The Custodian remembered it well. He remembered standing on the high dunes of the Academy isle when the bells began to toll, their clangor drowned by the roar of wind and sea.
He looked down to the shore and his heart broke.
Children. So many children.
They staggered out of the surf, bare feet sinking into wet sand, clothes clinging to their skin. Some were sobbing, eyes wide with terror. Others simply stared ahead, dazed, as if their souls had been scoured hollow by the storm. Their small hands clutched at each other, clinging to sleeves, to wrists, to hair. Some collapsed on the sand and did not rise until another dragged them up.
Pairs were everywhere, a boy dragging his sister from the waves, a girl pulling another close, their faces pressed together as if to be sure they were real. Others wandered in confusion, but when their eyes met, when their hands touched, they stilled. They knew. The bond had already chosen them.
The Custodian’s throat tightened. He could not move. He could only watch as the scene unfolded below, as the bells rang on.
From either side of the dunes, lanterns bobbed through the storm. Civilians, soldiers, fishermen, mothers, fathers, all running down, blankets clutched to their chests, cloaks thrown over their shoulders. Some stumbled in the sand, but rose again, driven by the cries of the children.
“Here!” voices shouted, breaking against the gale. “This way! Quickly!”
Torches flared. Cloaks spread. Arms wrapped trembling bodies, lifting them from the tide.
The storm raged, but the shore was filled now with light and movement, the rush of those who had come to save them, and the scattered cries of children carried up the dunes in arms.
The Custodian closed his eyes, the salt wind cutting his face. He knew, even then, what they were. Not shipwrecked orphans. Not lost wanderers. Something else entirely.
Tidebound.
Chosen by a bond no one commanded, no one understood.
And as the rain poured and the bells tolled, he knew he would remember this moment for as long as he lived.
If anyone wants more pieces like this, or wants to know anything about it, just ask.
If not, I hope you enjoyed the read all the same.
Cheers,
Crow
