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A Taste of Things to come: This is the start of Crescent Moon. More can be read on Wattpad.com @DavidPartelow

Mathias Engleborn was, in every sense of the word, a dreamer. His father had surmised as much from the get go, when his son had opened his eyes for the very first time. The swell of pride and emotion had enveloped Mark Engleborn completely the moment he became a father. But even in such a moment, the spark in his new son’s eyes could not be mistaken. His wife had soon agreed, both knowing without knowing how or why. Their lives would never be the same, for they now had Mathias to share a new chapter of life together.

And hardly ever was there a dull moment.

From the moment he could walk and talk, young Mathias explored all that he could. He was a never-ending fount of questions, much to the joy and dismay of his parents. And always did Mathias wish to be read to, up until the day he could read it himself, of course. Such things made him sharp, but more importantly it sparked within him a near limitless imagination and curiosity. Truth be told, it often made him quite the handful. Yet through it all, Mathias was an earnest kid and a good son.

Now at the age of twelve, Mathias and his imagination offered no signs of slowing. With sports only a minor interest, father and son had contented themselves in sharing their common interest of the library. Mathias, or Matty as his father sometimes called him, could spend hours exploring the fiction, always ready to be whisked away on a new adventure. His appetite for it was voracious, often much to the disbelief of his waiting father and the annoyance of the old librarian Mr. Dackett. Every visit to the library was met with a disapproving remark or stern scowl from the ancient keeper of books, for the elder man had grown weary of the endless enthusiasm Mathias brought with his visits.

This of course, didn’t trouble Mathias in the least as he scoured the shelves for the next great undertaking.

Mathias’s most recent visit still rang heavy in his mind as it was the basis of his current troubles. Now back at home, the young man laid on his bed with his head draped over the end. With his arms crossed, Mathias stared sternly at the book sitting upon his desk. He had fully intended on spending the rainy Saturday reading to his heart’s content, yet this new acquisition was giving him fits. Currently, Mathias was replaying his time at the library, where he had procured his newest book in record time.

Still staring, Mathias growled at his quarry. “This is it, book. You and I are going to have to come to some sort of an understanding. I know you have a story in there and I intend to find it. And yes, I just might be crazy talking to you, but it’s just you and me here,” he said, never taking his eyes off the ancient-looking book before him. He couldn’t help but feel like it was taunting him somehow. Or at the very least whispering “try harder.”

Frustrated, Mathias rewound the library visit in his mind yet again. The drive there with his father had been slow and steady through the pouring rain. Mark had asked his son to not dawdle. Complying, Mathias had rushed right for the fiction section, much to the aggravation of Mr. Dackett. The old man had teased him with his usual manner, crossing his arms and focusing relentlessly through his battered glasses. To Mathias, Mr. Dackett had always felt like a grumpy guardian of books who had sacrificed his humor for miles of wrinkles somewhere along the way.

“You’re back. Again. I would like to say I was somehow surprised. So what rubbish shall you be exploring today? Will it be a foray with dragons and wizards? Perhaps you wish to galivant with some unicorns or storm a castle with a loathsome bunch of druids once more?” That had been Mr. Dackett’s greeting. He adjusted his sweater vest as he spoke, never taking his piercing gaze from his target.

Mathias had offered an honest smile and shrug, unaffected by the librarian’s jeering. “Well you will be the first to know when I find it, Mr. Dackett,” he said, his enthusiasm easily deflecting the librarian’s assault.

The old man somehow scowled further. “You could always do something more constructive with your time,” he huffed.

Mathias had grinned devilishly at Mr. Dackett by then. “You are very right. I could return and give you a full and detailed report on what I’ve read. I could see how you might enjoy that,” replied the young man.

Waving him by, Mr. Dackett had turned to Mark Engleborn. “Impossible boy you have there for the record, Mr. Engleborn,” he mumbled.

Mathias’s dad had chuckled at this. “Mr. Dackett, you have no idea,” he had replied.

Then Mr. Dackett had called out gruffly to Mathias once more. “Would it hurt you to pick up a biography or historical piece?” Some of the patrons looked angrily at Mr. Dackett, though none were brave enough to shoosh him.

“Not where I wish to be right now,” countered Mathias from over his shoulder as he continued forward.

“Well, try it for a change!” Mr. Dackett yelled. To his surprise and anger, he discovered there was one who would shoosh him.

And it was Mathias of course.

As Mr. Dackett grumbled at his desk, Mathias went down an aisle of books, letting hands touch their covers as he relished the feel and smell of the books surrounding him. He did not go far before his hand caressed the book currently in his possession. Somehow, Mathias knew the book he touched was new to him, and he was compelled to procure it slowly from the shelf. The book was sturdy, yet looked tired and old in its leather cover as the young man read the title out loud.

“Crescent Moon,” said Mathias as he held to the book with reverence.

To his surprise, there was nothing but these words on the book, no author name or description of the contents. Along with the title there was simply the letters C and M, shimmering in the faintest of gold, dusty and ancient. These letters were within a beautiful symbol of a crescent moon, forged like a shield crest representing light and dark equally. There was nothing dazzling about the book, yet somehow it held the young man spellbound.

Mathias simply stood there, holding Crescent Moon in his hands, feeling from it a sensation that felt like subtle, beckoning magic. He fought the urge to open it there, for Mathias had made a promise to his father about being quick and keeping the mystery of the book enticed him fully. Yet even this was difficult, for it was as if the book itself was urging him softly. Pulling himself from the compulsion, Mathias secured the book under his arm before heading back towards the front.

The mystery of the book continued when he returned to Mr. Dackett and placed it upon the counter. Scowling at Mathias as his father remarked on his record time, Mr. Dackett had picked up the aged book and looked upon it for a long pull. Mathias could have sworn Mr. Dackett had paled as he regarded Crescent Moon. This quickly faded as the librarian’s usual grimness returned and then worsened.

“Out of the question,” he had barked as he pulled the book closer to himself. “I don’t know how this made it to the shelves, but it is not for reading and it shall not leave this library for any reason.”

Mathias could not help but chuckle at this. “A pretty funny notion within a library if you ask me,” he had countered.

The young man and librarian had quarreled back and forth then. Mr. Dackett had tried to tell Mathias that such a book would not interest him anyway. This in turn only doubled the young man’s desire to read it. For every attack Mr. Dackett attempted, Mathias was able to counter with logical responses, further frustrating the librarian. All the while, Mark Engleborn stood back, crossing his arms as he wore a grin. He knew this was not an argument that Mr. Dackett could win but it was certainly fun to watch the old man try.

“Look,” Mr. Dackett had said as he placed the book down between them. “I understand you love to read. But this book is meant for a vault or a glass case. It is not to be trusted in the hands of a child. Give up your pursuit and find another adventure for your incessant mind,” he spat, looming over the counter for emphasis.

At last, the grin Mathias held grew triumphant as he opened the book’s cover and placed his finger upon the inside of it. “Then why, oh why, does it have a checkout sleeve, Mr. Dackett?” he asked.

“I am afraid he has you there in a checkmate,” added Mark Engleborn.

At last, after a little more huffing and puffing, Mr. Dackett relented, stamping the card in the check-out sleeve. “Oh, very well. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I look forward to you returning in disappointment. And when you do, you bring back that book directly to me. I wish to see your face and ensure you didn’t harm library property in any way,” the librarian had said.

Taking the book in his hands, Mathias offered the librarian the most confident of grins. “Not going to happen in either regard, Mr. Dackett. And we’ll see you sooner than later,” he said before turning and departing with his father. In the distance, both could hear the disapproving words of the old librarian as they departed.

The ride home had felt longer than normal. Mathias had held to the book with great care, careful not to let it get exposed to the rain. Reaching the house, he had thanked his dad, grabbed a snack and kissed his mom before retreating quickly to his room. Now comfortable, Mathias had hunkered down to explore the mysteries that were waiting within the pages of Crescent Moon. With anticipation driving him crazy, Mathias drew a deep breath and opened the book at long last.

And in it, he found nothing but old, blank pages.

As hungry as he was for adventure and mystery, Mathias had to admit he had not been prepared for such a surprise. He sifted through each page, yet beyond a few lines upon the first page within, Mathias found nothing, nor discovered anything that would help him solve the mystery of the book. Was this some sort of joke? He was almost certain Mr. Dackett was cackling from behind his counter back at the library. Growing more frustrated, Mathias returned to the only words within the entire book and read them aloud.

The way you seek is but a door

In words, you read and mold the key

To paths reborn forevermore

An answer dwells there, still and true

The surest path to Crescent Moon

Is forged upon belief in you

Mathias read these words dozens of times, to himself and aloud until he could stand it no longer. Placing the book as it now rested upon his desk, Mathias lost himself in thought. After much sulking and fist shaking, he brought himself to his present state, staring at the book upside down from his bed. The blood rushing to his head did little to aid his quest, instead compounding his growing frustration.

At last, he pulled himself upright and looked at his mirror on the other side of the room. His hastily combed brown hair was beginning to show signs of his frustration. He wore a t-shirt revealing his love for superheroes and faded blue jeans as he stared sternly at himself with his faintly hazel eyes. And while his frustration was evident, the glimmer of the fire was still there in those eyes. Mathias was not planning on giving up just yet.

“There has got to be something to this, I just know it,” he said.

The frustration was still mounting, but the young man was not about to let a book best him. Mathias knew there was more to be found in Crescent Moon. Mr. Dackett would not have made such a scene over nothing at all. The young man knew somehow that there was an answer waiting for him. All he had to do was discover it himself.

Mathias looked in the mirror a final time. “A fat lot of help you were,” he said dismally to himself before he turned and reclaimed Crescent Moon.

Holding the book gently again, Mathias opened the cover to look upon the six little lines that encompassed the entire contents of the book. Instantly, Mathias accepted he was going about it wrong. His desire to understand the mystery was fueling frustration and it was frustration he did not need. Instead, he read the lines again slowly, believing fully in them and the hope that there was in fact more to see than met the eye. Reading aloud one more time, Mathias ran his fingers softly across the yellowing page before him, placing his concentration and trust into the endeavor completely.

To his utter surprise, more words began to appear!

Mathias’s eyes grew wide as the faint traces of new words emerged. The excitement grew inside him as he continued running his fingers softly across the pages. Soon the lines fully revealed themselves as a soft chill filled Mathias. The ancient font and words drew the young man in like a magical incantation as he spoke the combined lines aloud, letting them join like a lock and key:

Wars must be waged, and battles fought

Where heroes stand with conscience clear

As Light against the growing Dark

To face the blight and rising doom

With the Dreamer stand above all fear

And hold the fate at Crescent Moon

Turning the page, Mathias was surprised yet again as he found the next pages full of story. He could barely contain himself as he readied himself for his journey. Within moments he was drawn completely to the story, unable and unwilling to break away. His attention then shifted to a cloaked figure walking through a magical world, and all his focus set upon a mysterious traveler known as The Prophet.

Act One

The Gathering Stars

Through closed eyes, the one known only as the Prophet traversed upon a voyage of time and space. It was a gift of sorts, one bestowed upon him from ages passed, born from the darker times of revelation through the perilous price of victory. The world of Lunaria, his home, called to him now and in that calling came the visions once more. The stars whispered of the coming of the Crescent Moon, awakening the forge to strike again at destiny and fate.

And the Prophet was not ready.

For years lost to counting, the Prophet observed his world from shadows and distances, careful with his help and council. In that span he had grown ancient, a legend to all but the most timeless of creatures in Lunaria. The Prophet had watched the Saelen Kingdom flourish in this span and had allowed himself the luxury of savoring such a peace. Yet he also knew that such a blessing was fleeting, and that the darkness would someday return. And sadly, like an echo from the deep, it had. The fate of Lunaria and the light would again be tested, and again it was time to call upon the greatest champion drawn to Lunaria, the one known by all as the Dreamer.

But the Dreamer was nowhere to be seen, another painful, blaming scar wrought upon the soul of the Prophet, for the blame of this absence was his own.

The ripple of such a thought shook through the Prophet painfully, yet he held to his dreams and visions. His mind was carried deeply through the fabrics of time and remembrance. The Prophet was drawn through his visions to the point of creation, knowing that he must absorb all that he witnessed, for the meaning could be the difference of victory or defeat. It was his blessing to know, and it was also his curse. And as so, the Prophet opened his senses to the unfolding nothingness and everything.

What the Prophet saw before him was the bleakest of darkness. Yet with but a blink, this darkness was met with the birth of the Firestar, an explosion of powerful light. And born on this great light and creation was the being known as Magranar, a creature of pure and untarnished power. Magranar descended upon the darkness and brought life to Lunaria, lording over his creation as its ruler and god. Under the warmth of the Firestar, Lunaria flourished, a world of untold beauty and possibility. Yet even in this prosperous creation there was trouble, for a conflict began inside of the great being.

As time unfolded, the creator was torn on how to maintain the balance of his world and how he should hold command over his domain. There were none like him to discuss such a course, and eons of solitude tore at Magranar’s core. At last, a new dawn emerged when the great deity split, ushering in the birth of the eternal brothers Mardas and Moreg. The duel beings were joined of spirit, yet divided of view and soon these views shaped Lunaria in light and darkness.

Time then unfolded once more, and the Prophet watched the dawning of strife, for the conflict that bore Mardas and Moreg now permeated Lunaria. Under this influence, the creatures and races of Lunaria were drawn to opposing sides, shaped by the hands of the eternal brothers. The harmony of Magranar’s world grew turbulent under Mardas and Moreg, for while Mardas embraced the light, Moreg wished to return the world to the darkness that once reigned. The impending clash was all but inevitable.

The Prophet cried out in his dreams, feeling the force and power of the battles waged of that time. The bloodshed was unrelenting and fully welcomed by Moreg. Mardas knew that his brother had to be stopped at all costs, or war would carry endlessly until all that was left were death and shadows. These were the darkest days that Lunaria would ever know, with the survival of the world cast into doubt. Mardas challenged his brother openly then, prepared to do whatever was necessary to stop the unending strife of his world.

The fight between the brothers shook Lunaria completely, placing its survival in question. And it was in this carnage that Mardas realized at last the folly of his battle with Moreg and sacrificed himself to put an end to the conflict. Moreg jumped on the chance to finish his brother, yet the light and love offered by Mardas consumed and destroyed Moreg, severing his hold upon Lunaria. The shadows faded at last and the races and creatures of Lunaria could again know peace.

The Prophet could then feel the relief of those that had survived the conflict. Mardas, somehow surviving the ordeal, vowed to never let such a fate befall his world again. Breaking himself once more, Mardas faded from the world forever and in his place rose the four elemental Guardians. As the children of Mardas, these beings each commanded one of the elements of fire, water, air and land. It was these Guardians who would continue to protect Lunaria after Mardas and through this the world prospered once more.

Yet evil as powerful as Moreg could not be completely vanquished so easily. For though his form was broken, the brother of Mardas somehow lived on. Refusing such sacrifice as Mardas, Moreg endured in the shadows he loved, building strength to try to reclaim Lunaria as his own. And because of this darkness, the protectors of Lunaria could never fully lower their guard.

The Guardians remained ever vigilant against the threat of Moreg, taking precautions to combat the great and ancient evil. Yet over time, they realized that the fallen dark god was subtle and powerful. Moreg proved patient and able to turn the most loyal of hearts cruel and wicked. It was then agreed upon that any of Lunaria’s inhabitants could be corrupted, even the Guardians themselves. At last, it was the Guardian of the waters that came to solution and a hope for their world. And this was the birth of the greatest champion the world of Lunaria would ever know.

The Dreamer.

Drawn from another world, given a power born of the strength of the Guardians, the one chosen as the Dreamer was above Moreg’s corruption and able to combat his influence with almost limitless power. An order was born in that time, a tradition passed down from one Dreamer to the next. Called upon in Lunaria’s darkest hours, the Dreamer brought again the light lost through the perils wrought by Moreg.

But now, as darkness began to stir once more within the lands of Lunaria, the Dreamer was nowhere to be seen.

The Prophet knew without knowing how that this absence pleased Moreg. Lunaria desperately needed its champion once more. Scant few knew the reasons for the disappearance of the Dreamer, and the Prophet was one of them. The knowledge left him with a burden of guilt and sadness that was like a scar on his soul. Moreg’s darkness was gathering strength, calling to the Prophet even now through whispers of peace and promises of true power.

The Prophet accepted these visions, his spirit wide open as his thoughts rushed back to his body. In a gasp, life returned to his limbs and the Prophet’s eyes shot open as he cried out. Sitting up from his bed roll, the ancient being looked upon the smoldering remnants of his fire, assuring himself that he was awake and still very much alive. Absorbing the details of his small camp, the Prophet calmed himself as he drew steady breaths. The Firestar was just beginning to rise and was offering glimpses of its gentle warmth.

The Prophet took long moments reorienting himself. For while the dreams that carried him only lasted small spans, such moments still felt like exhausting ages. He looked down at his dark, tattered robes and then the wrinkled hands that spoke volumes of their age. He smiled softly down at them. They were old and pained, but the Prophet had earned every mile he mustered from those hands. Every wrinkle, every scar and scrape had been a gift of his travels upon a magical world and he welcomed every groan and ache that was wrought from their use.

The Prophet stood gingerly as he stretched the weariness from his bones. Looking about at the small pond before him, he nodded softly at the small lily fairies that made the soft waters their home. The fairies had accepted that the Prophet meant them no harm, yet still they kept a wary distance from the newcomer. Waving to them, the Prophet began to put away his camp as the burdens he carried slowly weighed on him once more. With the calling of the visions, he knew exactly where he had to now travel. And the surety of that knowledge brought the Prophet very little comfort.

With the contents of his camp returned to his pack, the Prophet slung the old bag upon his back as he procured his sword and walking staff. These objects were two of his greatest gifts, one given by the King Tor-El Landen and the other from an ancient tree older than the Prophet himself. Both had been his companions through many spans of years, keeping him safe against the perils upon his path. And thus packed and armed, the Prophet continued his journey upon a new course.

The Prophet kept one hand upon the hilt of his sword as he walked. He knew if the light was calling to him now then Moreg would be aware of it. He kept his pace wary as he veered from the main roads. Luckily, the Prophet was aware of paths and trails lost to others and was able to keep his travels undetected. He just wondered for how long he could keep safely shrouded in such secrecy.

Walking onward, the Prophet could feel the stirrings deeply within him, even now. The visions were just starting, destiny was just again falling into place as the stars slowly aligned. It was a time of darkness yes, but the Prophet knew that the light would rise to challenge it as well. This was needed more than ever. He would require whatever time he could salvage to right the wrongs of his own sins. In the end, he prayed that such time would be enough.

Continuing his trek, the Prophet paused long enough to drink from his water skin. Wiping at his brow, he pressed forward, feeling destiny surge within his very core. He knew he had to push forward, yet the next visions were crucial to the survival of Lunaria. To stand true at the Crescent Moon, his world and the Dreamer would need champions to pave the way. There would be tribulations that he could no longer endure alone and as such, the Prophect reached out now, clearing his thoughts and throat.

“Rigmor,” he whispered with conviction and purpose. “I come to you now. Guide my way. Show me those who would shape destiny and defend the light. I welcome your council with all that I am,” offered the Prophet as he walked onward.

Keeping his pace, the Prophet was soon offered new vigor as strong magic rushed over him. He smiled faintly, knowing his request had been answered. As such, he allowed himself to be guided on his path as visions filled him fully. The Prophet’s eyes coursed with purpose as he saw nothing yet also everything he needed to see. He was now in a waking dream as his cares fell to Rigmor and the shaping hands of fate. Now, with his spirit broken wide open, the Prophet saw the truth as he was guided upon the path.

It was out of his hands now as he witnessed those that could and would rise to be heroes in a deeper and darker battle for the light and all Lunaria.

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