A Girl Called Mandakharise — Prologue

My name is Mandakharise Quintillian. Or at least it was in my past. I came from a long line of story keepers who are entrusted with keeping the lores and histories of our family. We are what modern folk refer to as "Elders" as we share the same responsibilities. When we are near death, we appoint another to take over so that our histories are not lost forever.

As a member of the Story Keepers, I can say with confidence that we are a strange race. Though we may look human in outward appearance, we are more akin to the Wizards, as we have the ability to see into the future or far into the past. In reasoning we are closer to the Elves, who are master strategists, and in strength - we are similar to the Dwarves, short and low to the ground.

When we come of age there is a ceremony. We are brought into the grand hall of the castle and are given a magic potion. The potion contains the DNA of former Story Keepers. It's ghoulish I know, but if our body accepts the DNA it means that we possess the correct gene and our powers will no longer be dormant. If we get sick however, it means that we do not possess the sight and we are put to work somewhere else in the Kingdom.

When I turned fifteen, it was my turn to take the test. I was honoured to be part of our proud tradition. Though I was a little nervous, too. You see, just between you and I, I had already been having the visions. Things that had not yet happened. I knew I would pass the test, without fail.

When my brother started having "the dreams" he turned away from traditions and refused to follow in the footsteps of his ancestors. I tried to reason with him, I tried to understand why he would not walk the path laid out before him.

But our Kingdom fell into war and now -

I am the last story keeper.