Exile had been brutal for Eleonora. Stripped of her magic, she felt like a bird with clipped wings, a shadow of her former self. The mundane world, which she had renounced so long ago, greeted her with indifference and, at times, hostility. The former Mistress of Umbria, accustomed to respect and reverence, was now a lonely old woman, forced to earn a living with menial labor, constantly reminded of her fall from grace.
She wandered aimlessly, consumed by resentment and bitterness. She had dedicated her life to Umbria, and in return, she had been betrayed, humiliated, banished. The image of Aria, triumphant, replayed in her mind like a constant torture.
One night, as she took shelter from the rain under the eaves of an abandoned tavern, she heard voices. Voices that spoke of magic, of power, of revenge.
Intrigued, Eleonora cautiously peered inside. Inside the tavern, by the light of a single candle, she saw a group of people gathered around a table. They wore red robes, with hoods hiding their faces. Twelve figures in all.
"…the Lumina Stone is just one of many," said one of the figures, a deep, resonant male voice. "There are other artifacts, other sources of power, much older, much more powerful."
"And what about Umbria?" asked another voice, this time female, with a hissing tone. "The weakness of its leaders is evident. It is time to act."
"Patience," replied the first voice. "Umbria will fall, but first, we need to recruit those who have been rejected, those who crave the power that has been denied them."
At that moment, one of the hooded figures turned and looked directly at Eleonora. A red-gloved hand gestured, inviting her to enter.
Eleonora, feeling a mixture of fear and hope, obeyed.
As she approached the table, the hoods were removed, revealing the faces of the twelve magi. They were diverse, some young, some old, some scarred by battle, some hauntingly beautiful. But they all shared one characteristic: an intense gaze, filled with boundless ambition.
"Welcome, Eleonora," said the mage with the deep voice, who appeared to be the leader. "We have been watching you. We know your story, your fall, your desire for revenge."
Eleonora straightened, trying to maintain her dignity despite her deplorable condition. "Who are you?" she asked.
"We are the Red Mages," the leader replied. "An ancient circle, dedicated to the pursuit of primordial power, the power that existed before schools, before rules, before the weakness of 'tamed magic.'"
"And what do you want from me?"
"We offer you a chance, Eleonora," the leader said. "A chance to reclaim your power, to take revenge on those who betrayed you, to join a greater cause."
Eleonora felt a chill run down her spine. The offer was tempting, too tempting. But it was also dangerous. She could feel the darkness emanating from these mages, the cruelty in their eyes.
"What would I have to do?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Join us," the leader replied. "Undergo initiation. Embrace the power of Chaos."
The initiation, as Eleonora soon discovered, was a brutal ordeal, designed to break her spirit and rebuild it in the image of the Red Wizards. She was subjected to painful rituals, terrifying visions, and tests of loyalty that forced her to renounce everything she had once valued.
She was deprived of sleep, food, and water. She was forced to witness acts of unimaginable cruelty. She was tortured, physically and mentally, until she was on the verge of losing her sanity.
But Eleonora endured. Her resentment, her hatred of Umbria, her desire for revenge kept her alive. She clung to the promise of power, to the idea of regaining what she had lost.
The climax of the initiation came on a moonlit night. Eleonora, naked and trembling, was led to a clearing in the forest, where the twelve Red Magi awaited her around a stone altar.
In the center of the altar, a crimson fire burned, emitting an unnatural heat. The leader of the Red Wizards, holding an obsidian dagger, approached Eleonora.
"You are ready to be reborn, Eleonora," he said. "You are ready to embrace the power of Chaos."
Eleonora nodded, her eyes fixed on the fire.
The leader raised the dagger and, with a swift, precise motion, made a cut across Eleonora's arm. Bright red blood gushed from the wound and fell into the fire.
Instantly, the flames leaped up, roaring with supernatural force. Eleonora felt a surge of energy—a raw, savage energy unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
The pain vanished. The weakness vanished. Instead, she felt immense strength, boundless power flowing through her.
The leader of the Red Wizards smiled. "
"Welcome, Sister Eleonora," he said. "You are one of us now."
Eleonora opened her eyes. They were no longer the eyes of the defeated and humiliated old woman. They were the eyes of a reborn sorceress, filled with a red light, cold and merciless. Her magic, which had been ripped from her, had returned, but transformed, corrupted, fueled by Chaos.
Eleonora, the former Master of Umbria, had died. In her place, a new Eleonora had been born, a Red Mage, ready for revenge, ready to reclaim her power, ready to unleash Chaos upon the world. And Umbria, the school that had betrayed her, would be the first to feel her fury.