In the land of Zelda — where mountains kissed the sky, where rivers ran with liquid gold, and where the very air hummed with ancient magic —there lived *seven* beings unlike any other.
*wizards.*
And not the kind who waved wands and chanted nonsense.
These were *Rich Wizards.*
> Wealthy beyond measure. Powerful beyond reason. Feared beyond belief.
They didn't rule from thrones.
They ruled from *skyscrapers*, *private islands*, *floating fortresses*, *secret vaults* hidden beneath the roots of the World Tree.
Their names were whispered like prayers — or curses.
*Lord Kaelos, the Crimson Wizard* — master of fire and fury, whose robes bled crimson when he was angry, whose voice could shatter stone, whose enemies burned to ash before they could scream.
*Lady Nyra, the Silver Veil* — mistress of illusions and shadows, who could make you see anything — or nothing — at all. Some said she was once a queen who traded her crown for eternal youth. Others swore she was the moon herself, fallen to earth.
*Master Thane, the Iron Oracle* — a giant of a man, armored in living metal, who spoke in riddles and knew the future — but only the _painful_ ones. He carried a staff made from the spine of the first dragon slain by mortal hands.
*Princess Eladora, the Golden Scribe* — child of the sun, keeper of the Sacred Ledger, whose pen could write fate into existence. She ruled from a palace carved from a single emerald, and her tears turned into diamonds when she cried.
*Lord Virel, the Stormborn* — ruler of the skies, whose laughter summoned thunder, whose anger summoned hurricanes. He rode a chariot pulled by winged serpents, and his voice could be heard across continents during storms.
*Lady Mira, the Whispering Tide* — queen of the oceans, whose voice could calm storms or drown ships at will. She lived in a palace beneath the waves, surrounded by coral towers and singing whales.
And finally — *Darius Vale, the Aetheric Architect* — the youngest, the most mysterious, the richest of them all — who controlled the very fabric of wealth itself. He didn't trade stocks. He _spoke_ them into existence. His office was a floating tower above the clouds, and his coffee was brewed with rainwater from the sky of a dead world.
> Together, they were the *Rich Wizards* — guardians of Zelda, protectors of the realm, wielders of magic that could build empires or destroy them.
But they weren't alone.
For every wizard, there was a shadow.
> A mirror.
And there we found the Tsumiki.
The Deceivers. Shapeshifters.
Ancient foes who once walked as men — until they were cursed by the first wizards — banished to live as beast.
Some said the Tsumiki were the original inhabitants of Zelda — driven underground, twisted by hatred, forced to hide in the bodies of animals — only to return, century after century, seeking revenge.
> And now — the cycle was turning again.
The signs were everywhere:
Villagers vanishing without a trace.
Whispers in the marketplace: _"The Tsumiki are back. They're hunting the people.
The Rich Wizards knew. But this time, it was different.
Because this time, *the prophecy was waking.*
> An ancient scroll, hidden in the Vault of the wizards, foretold:
"When the moons align, and the blood remembers, the Wizards will rise, not from the towers, nor from the temples, but from the ashes of the forgotten. And with them, the final war begins."_
> The Rich Wizards gathered in a grand hall, in a sacred grove, where the walls were carved with the names of every wizard who had ever lived — and died — protecting Zelda.
Kaelos arrived first — his robes still smelling of smoke from the fire he'd quelled in the Eastern Province.
Nyra followed — her veil shimmering like liquid silver, her eyes hollow, as if she'd seen too much.
Thane came next — his armor clanking, his staff humming with power, his voice low as he muttered to himself.
Eladora arrived — her gown glowing faintly, her hair woven with golden threads, her eyes sad — as if she already knew what was coming.
Virel stormed in — wind howling behind him, lightning crackling at his fingertips — demanding answers.
Mira slipped in silently — water dripping from her hem, her expression unreadable — as calm as the deep sea.
> And finally — Darius, Quiet and Still.
His eyes sharp — calculating — like he'd already seen the end — and was waiting for the rest of them to catch up.
"We've lost three villages," Kaelos said, voice heavy. "The Tsumiki are bolder than ever. They're not just attacking — they're _recruiting._"
Nyra nodded. "They're hunting the half‑bloods. The ones who show signs — the ones who can shift — they're taking them. Turning them. Adding them to theirselves.
Thane slammed his staff on the floor. "And we sit here like fools, waiting for the storm to break, when we should be building the dam!"
Eladora raised a hand — and a scroll unrolled itself in mid‑air — glowing with golden ink.
"The prophecy," she whispered. "It's not just legend. It's happening. The tragajah ( half wizard and half tsumiki) the one who carries the blood of both worlds — will rise. And she will decide the fate of Zelda."
Darius leaned forward — eyes locked on the scroll.
"Then we find her," he said, voice low. "Before the Tsumiki do."
Virel scoffed. "And how do we find a girl who doesn't even know she exists? Who might not even be alive?"
Mira spoke — soft, chilling:
"She's alive. I've seen her. In reflections. She's out there. The spirit of our ancestors are with her, she's not alone."
Kaelos looked at each of them, then said:
"Then we hunt, not just the Tsumiki but the truth. We track every half‑blood child. Every orphan with glowing eyes. Every villager who survived a Tsumiki attack — and lived. Because the Seventh key isn't coming to us. We must find her — before the shadows do."
Silence fell. heavy and real.
Because they all knew — this wasn't just another battle.
This was the end of an age.
And the beginning of something darker — and far more dangerous.
They are all afraid but they summoned courage and all chorused in their local dialect ( tskimatusi).