Sunlight flooded the streets with a warm radiance, and the air was as crystal clear as the thoughts of the boy skipping along the road towards Po's orphanage. Abandoned by his parents at birth, Dorian (as the director Po had named him) nevertheless grew up to be a cheerful and happy lad. He helped the carers in the orphanage, kept the place in order, and was generally a kind and intelligent presence.

The years passed. Dorian grew into a tall, handsome young man, with chestnut-brown curls tumbling over his broad, manly shoulders. However, his former cheerfulness had given way to a more brooding demeanor. The time was fast approaching for him to leave the orphanage, and he was afraid of facing the realities of adult life. What would he do for a living? How would he keep a roof over his head and his belly full? Dorian felt unprepared for these challenges. To make matters worse, he had fallen head over heels in love with Po's daughter, Agatha. Their love was mutual and sincere, but the young man reproached himself for not having the means to pamper his beloved with fine silks and gold.

Absorbed by these gloomy thoughts, Dorian wandered down the street past all the bright and colorful shop signs and windows. Suddenly, something in a window display caught his eye — a breathtakingly beautiful blood-red jewel set in an exquisite platinum mount. The young man was drawn to it like a magnet. A few moments later, Dorian was already roaming the back lanes and alleys, making sure that nobody was on his trail. The amulet lay quietly in his jacket pocket.

"When I give this precious pendant to Agatha, she'll love me even more!" the young man thought with glee. Then he noticed how surprisingly heavy the amulet seemed to be, pulling down on his jacket. He grasped it in his hand and it hit him that he would never, ever give it to anyone. Suddenly feeling a sharp pain, Dorian pulled his hand out of his pocket and saw blood flowing profusely between his fingers. But for some reason this did not disturb him in the slightest. Following a mysterious impulse, the young man stepped back into the shadows of the alley and pointed the amulet at a lone passerby. The man gasped, let out a low moan, and then fell to the floor, lifeless. Dorian instantly realized that he had found the answer to all of his concerns, and that he could now easily satisfy all of his needs and desires. Life would be glorious.

Within a year, the fresh-out-of-the-oven mage was the proud owner of forty acres of land, with a huge castle looming menacingly in the middle. The previous owner had under unknown circumstances made Dorian the heir just before his untimely death. The servants of the castle obeyed their new, powerful master without question or complaint after they witnessed some of their colleagues pay for their disobedience with their lives. Dorian forgot all about Agatha and the orphanage, listening only to the call of the Blood. However, despite his life of luxury, the Blood Mage was not his own master. Every day, the amulet bid him to leave the castle and commit heinous atrocities, bringing untold suffering to countless numbers of people. Dorian had no choice but to follow the commands of the malicious jewel. In the remote provinces of the empire where the young mage carried out his bloody work with impunity, the lists of widows and orphans continued to multiply. The bright twinkle that had once animated the eyes of the young man was gone, replaced by a dull, colorless gaze. His was the look of a slave who resents his subjugation. Could this Dorian really be that same little boy who used to sneak up on the nurses in the orphanage, pull on their skirts for fun and then fall on the floor rolling with laughter?

The day finally came when something inside Dorian had had enough. He decided to summon up his remaining strength and challenge the amulet. He gripped the stone so tightly that blood started trickling from his palm. And in response, the artifact woke up, calling him, pleading, demanding. The confrontation became more and more intense, and burning flames appeared in the mage's eyes. His mind screamed in agony, and his body was wracked with unbearable pain. Who knows how long they struggled like that? It felt like hours to Dorian. He was on the verge of passing out from blood loss, but the amulet showed no signs of submitting. In a final act of desperation, the young man grabbed a knife and, holding the amulet against his chest, drove it through both the jewel and his own heart. The crystal shattered into a thousand crimson fragments on the floor, where they swam in the pool of blood gushing from his wound. As Dorian drifted into oblivion, the last thing he felt was the amulet's possessive hold over him weakening.

A few days later, he woke up, alive and well. The jewel, too, had restored itself, feeding on the blood of the mage. Now that their two souls were intertwined, Dorian returned to his former self, and his eyes once again twinkled with light and kindness. However, his conscience was heavy with all the pain he had caused, and he understood that he must atone for his sins. He sought out the Guardians and confessed everything, submitting himself to their judgment. The heroes trusted that the mage had truly reformed, and granted him permission to use Blood Magic for noble purposes.