Alderaus von Mysthen, Lord of Legoria, sat in the musty royal study of his family home, his quill tapping a nervous rhythm against the desk. The weight of the world's problems pressed down on him, and he struggled to find a solution. For millennia, a great terror had haunted their world, a curse that threatened the very bedrock of reality. Magic was fading, and there seemed to be no end to the slow decay.

Almost five years ago, a secret order of mages had approached Alderaus with a bold proposal. They believed they could find a solution to the curse. Their world had been tainted, they explained, but perhaps in another world the curse didn't exist. Their theory was that the curse was unique to their world, and that no other world would be foolish enough to emulate it. With Alderaus' support, they could test this theory and potentially save their world.

Alderaus was an old man, having ruled his land for the majority of his life. He knew that he approached the end of his rule, especially after the loss of his wife a year prior. He saw this as a chance to leave a lasting impact on the world. If he sponsored these mages, he might be remembered as a hero who saved the world from an age-old illness.

Despite the potential consequences of his actions, Alderaus accepted. Every night, he lay awake, pondering the risks. If the mages failed, he would have wasted his twilight years chasing a dream instead of aiding his country. In the worst case, they could bring a new blight upon the world, and he would be remembered as one of history's greatest monsters. But he also knew that the potential rewards were too great to ignore.

For almost five years, the mages had received unlimited funding to pursue their work. Alderaus checked on their progress every day, anxious to know if they were any closer to a solution. He would pace the halls of his castle, his mind racing with possibilities.

Tonight, the mages were going to conduct a crucial experiment, and Alderaus knew that the fate of their world rested on their success or failure. He rose from his chair and approached the door, his heart pounding with anticipation. As he opened it, the musty scent of old books mingled with the cool night air. The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hall as he made his way to the courtyard. He could feel the weight of the night sky pressing down on him, and a chill ran down his spine. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, knowing that whatever lay ahead, he had to face it head-on.

-----

As the king entered the room, the voices of dozens of men and women, both mage and mundane royalty, cluttered the space with excitement. However, all fell silent as the imposing figure stood tall, radiating power and drawing the breath from those in attendance.

A man named Orden stepped forward, introducing himself as the group's speaker and bowing to the king. "My most esteemed lord," he said.

The king looked down at him with a stare that could pierce stone and said nothing.

"My lord?" Orden said, head still bowed in fear that he had offended the king somehow.

"I care nothing for pleasantries. Your task is at hand, and I am here for nothing more. Take my presence as enough," Alderaus said.

"Of course, my lord. At once!" Orden said. He snapped his fingers to separate the crowd, revealing an intricately carved runic pattern on dozens of pure marble plates in the center of the grand hall.

The king, though gifted with magic, was not trained in performing it due to his royal duties. He knew much from his studies and was impressed by the summoning pattern, which was incredibly complex and of inconceivable quality and size, taking only five years to complete by dozens of men and women. However, the mages have yet to deliver, and the king reserved his impression for their ritual.

The head mage strode confidently forward, holding the attention of the entire room with practiced ease. "Before you lay our greatest feat of Runic Summoning," he announced grandly. "We draw not from our world, or even another realm, but from a different reality altogether. Reaching across the fabric of time and space to bring new blood so that we may save the world." The applause that followed was thunderous, and the mage couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. But underneath that confidence lay a twinge of trepidation. What if something went wrong? What if the ritual failed? He pushed those thoughts aside, reminding himself that he had prepared for this moment his entire life. With a deep breath, he stepped forward to begin the ceremony.

Alderaus watched as a dozen mages soared through the air wreathed in mystical light of every color, chanting in languages he could barely parse, and imbuing the monumental runic circle with unfathomable amounts of Mana. Mana was the fundamental force of magic, the substance of life that could be harnessed and manipulated by the skilled few. It was an energy that permeated everything, the air they breathed, the earth beneath their feet, the very essence of living beings. In truth, every person possessed a small reserve of mana within them, but only a select few had the ability to harness and wield it to create great works of mysticism. The mages before him were among the most skilled, channeling their life energy into the runic circle with pinpoint precision.

The runic circle itself was a work of art, a complex web of symbols and patterns etched into dozens of pure marble plates. It was a summoning pattern of incredible complexity, drawing upon the very fabric of time and space to bring forth new life. Alderaus marveled at the intricacy of the design, knowing that a single functional pattern could take hours to complete and days to perfect. It was no wonder that the project had taken the mages five years to complete, hired for their expertise in the field of runic magic. As he watched, the circle began to glow with an otherworldly light, a testament to the sheer amount of mana being channeled into it. Alderaus knew that this was only the beginning of what was to come, and he braced himself for the unknown.

The air was charged with an almost tangible energy as the mages spoke, their voices carrying with them a raw power that shook the very foundations of the room. The runes etched into the floor glowed with an intensity that was blinding, and every line and curve seemed to writhe and pulsate with a life of its own. As the incantations grew in fervor, the very air itself became charged with a crackling energy that seemed to tear at the very fabric of reality. The candles in the room flickered and dimmed, their flames seeming to shrink back in fear from the sheer force of the magic being wrought.

The mana in the air started to thrash and twist, writhing like a living thing as it was wrenched from its natural place in the world. The magic-sensitive in the room were overcome by the sheer intensity of the magic, their knees buckling as they struggled to stay on their feet. Slowly but surely, they were led away to safety by concerned colleagues, leaving only the king behind. He remained resolute, determined to see this through to the end. For him, this was his burden to bear, and he knew that should anything go wrong, he would be the first to suffer the consequences.

As the final seconds ticked away, the tension in the room reached a fever pitch. The king's heart thundered in his chest as he braced himself for what was to come. Suddenly, a bell outside the royal estate tolled with such force that it felt like the very foundation of the world was shaking. This was the signal they had been waiting for. The air crackled with magic as the runes on the floor burst into dazzling light, forming into intricate patterns that filled the room with a kaleidoscope of colors.

Amidst the chaos, a small, white orb emerged from the center of the circle, its mere presence causing the fabric of reality to warp and twist. The king stood firm as the orb swelled in size, crackling with energy, until it exploded with a blinding light that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The very ground trembled as the light engulfed the room, and a deafening roar filled the air.

When the light finally subsided, the king and his courtiers were momentarily blinded, but as their vision returned, they saw a young woman lying on the ground before them, her chest rising and falling as she breathed. The enormity of what they had just witnessed washed over them, leaving them feeling both exhilarated and shaken to their core. This was the power of magic, the power to shape the very fabric of existence itself.

And her hair was red.