"Alaric! Alaric!" Rowenne called, her voice cutting through the hum of the late morning.
"Yes, mother!" Alaric's cheerful reply preceded his hurried footsteps as he dashed into the room. Rowenne turned, momentarily stunned.
"Well, isn't this a surprise," she said with an arched brow. "You're actually home. Tell me, is Edmund on a break, or did you two have one of your squabbles again?"
Alaric shook his head, his bronze skin glowing under the sunlight streaming through the window. "No, Mother, nothing like that. I'm sure he's just getting ready for the Celestial Convergence." His eyes sparkled with excitement. "You promised that when I turned twelve, you'd take me to see it. I've been waiting for this day forever! I already picked out my favorite robe." He gestured proudly to the neatly folded crimson and gold garment laid out on the table.
Rowenne chuckled, her maternal warmth evident. "I see you've spared no detail. It's a fine choice, my boy. You'll look like a little lord."
Before Alaric could respond, a knock sounded at the door. Both mother and son froze, exchanging a curious glance as if expecting the visitor to announce themselves.
"Who is it?" Rowenne called out, stopping Alaric with a raised hand just as he moved toward the door.
"It's Edmund, your second son," came a teasing voice from the other side.
Rowenne rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, Edmund, my second son," she replied playfully as she opened the door. "Do come in."
Edmund stepped in, his boyish face lit with his usual cheer. His dark, untamed hair seemed even messier than usual, a stark contrast to the pale tone of his skin. Rowenne sighed, shaking her head fondly.
"Well, aren't you a sight. It's a miracle you managed to make it here in one piece without tripping over your hair." She ruffled his head lightly. Edmund had been part of their family in all but name since tragedy struck his parents years ago. Though he lived with foster parents, his bond with Alaric and Rowenne was undeniable, and their home was practically his second.
"I see you're dressed up already," Rowenne noted, eyeing his slightly crooked sash. "But this..." She gestured to his wild hair. "This won't do."
Edmund grinned sheepishly. "I couldn't help it, Mum. I'm just so excited to see the Seven relics of power in person! Everyone always talks about how incredible they are." His eyes widened as though picturing the treasures already.
Rowenne pulled him closer, sitting him down on a nearby stool. "Well, if you want to look the part for such grandeur, we'll have to fix this disaster first." She gently combed through his thick hair, untangling the knots with practiced care. "Hold still now," she instructed as she tied it back into a neat bun that framed his youthful features.
"There, much better." She inspected her work with a satisfied nod. "Now, listen. No playing rough until tonight, do you hear me? If you mess this up, you'll have to wait another year to attend the festival, and I doubt either of us wants that."
"Yes, Mum," Edmund promised, though the mischievous glint in his eye hinted otherwise.
Alaric watched the exchange, his own excitement bubbling over. "Mother, do you think we'll get close enough to touch the relics? They say they glow with an otherworldly light!"
Rowenne smiled, placing a hand on Alaric's shoulder. "Perhaps. But remember, the Celestial Convergence is more than just the relics. It's a time to celebrate our unity and history. Now, both of you-" she turned to Edmund with a pointed look, "-stay clean and stay ready. The carriage leaves in an hour."
As the two boys shared a knowing grin, already brimming with plans for the day ahead, Rowenne turned away, her smile fading slightly. A shadow of worry crossed her features, though she quickly masked it with her usual warmth.
"Go on now," she said brightly. "And remember, no playing rough!"
The evening sky over Eryndral was a canvas of gold and crimson, the setting sun casting its warm hues upon the bustling streets. Locals mingled with visitors from neighboring kingdoms, their colorful robes and festive chatter painting the scene with life. The air was alive with the scent of roasted meats, sweet honey cakes, and the faint notes of stringed instruments carried on the breeze. All paths led to the grand palace hall, where the heart of the Celestial Convergence beat strongest.
The Celestial Convergence-a time-honored tradition uniting the seven kingdoms-marked the beginning of the year with joyous celebrations. It was a night to honor history, the ancient ones, and the bond of unity forged long ago. Revelers dined, danced, and offered prayers for prosperity in the year ahead, while the stories of old came alive in every corner of Eryndral.
"Do you want to hear a secret about the ceremony?" Rowenne asked, her voice tinged with playful mystery as she rode with Alaric and Edmund through the lively streets.
Both boys nodded eagerly, their eyes wide with curiosity.
"Remember the seven relics of power? Stormcleave, Bloodthorn, Frostreaver, Shadowrend, Lochlight Sphere, Eye of Vorath, and the Codex of Axarion?"
Alaric piped up, "Aren't they each tied to a kingdom?"
"For now, yes," Rowenne said, smiling at his sharpness. "But legends say that one day, each of these relics will choose their true wielder."
Edmund's brows furrowed in thought. "So no one can actually use them right now?"
"Not quite. Only the chosen individuals-those with abilities beyond the ordinary-will be able to wield these relics someday. For now, they rest untouched in their sacred chambers, the Vault of Aetherion, where no unworthy hand can grasp them, except few pages from the Codex of Axarion."
"Why can't anyone touch them?" Edmund asked, tilting his head.
"Because the relics are enchanted to reject all but their destined bearers," Rowenne explained. "When the chosen ones finally emerge, they'll either gain the powers of the relics itself or be able to summon and command them. These chosen few are believed to rise as leaders, ensuring harmony across the seven kingdoms."
"Do you think the chosen ones are alive now?" Alaric whispered, his voice filled with awe.
"Who can say? Perhaps they're already among us, unknowing of their destiny," Rowenne replied, her tone teasing yet thoughtful.
As they approached the palace gates, the grandeur of Eryndral's architecture loomed above them, its white stone glowing softly in the evening light. The vast crowd surged forward, excitement palpable. Rowenne stopped, crouching slightly to meet the boys at eye level.
"Now, remember your manners," she said, brushing a strand of Alaric's hair back into place. "Stay close to me, and don't wander off. I'd hate to lose you in this sea of people."
"Yes, mother," Alaric said dutifully, though his eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"And you too, Edmund. No slipping away to explore, understood?"
"Understood," Edmund replied, though a mischievous grin hinted otherwise.
With a final nod, Rowenne led them through the grand gates into the palace, the excitement of the festival carrying them forward like a wave.
The palace hall was alive with vibrant energy. Laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the sound of music and the clinking of goblets. Nobles, merchants, and travelers from far and wide stood in groups or lounged by the banquet tables, their robes and ornaments reflecting their rank and wealth. Ronan, resplendent in his gleaming knightly armor, moved purposefully among the crowd, issuing instructions to the king's guards stationed strategically around the grand space to ensure order amidst the revelry.
Children darted through the throng, their laughter echoing, while elders exchanged stories of yesteryears. Plates of roast meats, fresh fruits, and honeyed pastries made their rounds, and the scent of spiced wine permeated the air. The celebration was in full swing, yet anticipation lingered-everyone knew the ritual was yet to come.
"Alaric, look at that girl," Edmund whispered, nudging his friend and pointing toward a striking young girl with a uniquely radiant face. "She looks familiar."
Alaric smirked. "Don't all pretty girls look familiar to you, Edmund? Or is this just your excuse to talk to yet another stranger?" He scanned the crowd. "By that logic, I'd say that beautiful girl over there looks familiar too."
Edmund squinted at the boy Alaric had indicated. "Actually, she is familiar!"
"No, she's not," Alaric replied with a knowing grin. "She's from Astravyr-see the embroidered headband she's wearing? And that girl over there is from Cyradorn; you can tell by her cloak's golden trim."
Edmund raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. "Fine, point taken. But I'm still going to talk to her," he declared, gesturing toward the girl. "Watch and learn, Alaric. This is how you make a first impression."
"Edmund, you're forgetting something important," Alaric said, folding his arms smugly. "Everyone knows I'm the real charmer. Girls can't resist my wit and charm."
"Prove it," Edmund challenged, crossing his arms in mock defiance.
Alaric smirked. "Pay close attention, my friend. You might learn a thing or two." He strode confidently toward the girl, exuding what he believed to be effortless charm.
"Good evening," he began, his voice low and smooth. "Your beauty could rival the first blush of dawn, casting every star into envy."
The girl, unfazed, raised an eyebrow and replied with sass, "Yeah, I know."
Alaric blinked, momentarily stunned by her disarming confidence. "What's your name?" he asked, recovering quickly.
"Veyra," she replied, her tone as sharp as her gaze. "And you are?"
"I'm Alaric," he said, puffing out his chest slightly. "The Lady Charmer, the talk of Eryndral, the-" He turned to gesture dramatically but froze mid-sentence. Veyra was already walking away, disappearing into the crowd without so much as a backward glance.
Defeated, Alaric trudged back to where Edmund was waiting, arms crossed and a grin already spreading across his face.
"Well, well, someone's charm seems to have rusted," Edmund teased, barely containing his laughter.
"Just shut up," Alaric muttered, his cheeks glowing as he avoided Edmund's gaze.
Edmund chuckled, clapping his friend on the back. "Don't worry, Alaric. There's always next year's festival to restore your reputation."
The hall fell into an almost sacred stillness as the time for the ritual arrived. The festive laughter and chatter faded like a tide receding from the shore. A reverent hush enveloped the crowd as King Kaelion emerged, his presence commanding as he led the procession. He was followed by the leaders of the other six kingdoms, each bearing a small, ornately carved vault cradled reverently in their arms. These vaults, symbols of the kingdoms' power and unity, contained the legendary artifacts-their purpose as mysterious as their origins.
As the procession ascended the stage, every head in the hall bowed low, foreheads nearly touching the ground in deference. Alaric and Edmund, brimming with boyish curiosity, craned their necks, attempting to steal a glimpse inside the vaults. Before they could see much, Rowenne's firm hand pressed their heads to the ground.
The air grew heavy as the ritual commenced. Seven golden braziers were lit around the stage, their flames flickering with an otherworldly blue hue. Soft, melodic chanting began, a language ancient and arcane, rising in harmony with the rhythmic beating of ceremonial drums. A subtle vibration coursed through the room, felt deep within the bones of every person present. The leaders placed their vaults in a perfect semicircle upon a central altar. One by one, they stepped back and knelt.
The High Keeper of Eryndral, dressed in a shimmering robe that seemed woven with starlight, stepped forward. He raised his staff, adorned with a glowing crystal, and began the invocation:
"Ancient Ones, protectors and guides, we honor thee. Seven relics of power you bestowed, symbols of unity, power, and destiny. Grant us another year of peace and prosperity. Let your wisdom and light continue to guide us."
As he spoke, the flames from the braziers rose higher, their eerie glow illuminating the carvings of mythical beasts and ancient runes etched into the vaults. A golden beam of light shot from each vault toward the center of the altar, converging into a radiant sphere of energy that bathed the hall in a celestial glow.
The Keeper lowered his staff, signaling the completion of the ritual. The leaders stepped forward to close their vaults, but just as the first lid shut, the air grew electric, and a deep, resonant hum filled the space.
The vaults began to tremble violently, the carvings on their surfaces glowing as though ignited from within. Gasps rippled through the crowd, and the kings instinctively stepped back, their faces pale with confusion and unease.
Suddenly, with a force that seemed to bend reality itself, the vaults burst open. A brilliant, blinding light poured forth as the artifacts hovered above their containers, each surrounded by an aura of color: crimson for Stormcleave, icy blue for Frostreaver, deep violet for Shadowrend, and so on. The sheer intensity of the light forced most to shield their eyes or bow their heads.
Everyone froze as an overpowering voice echoed through the hall, one that sounded both ancient and eternal. Lyrris, the mythical guardian, materialized above the artifacts, her translucent form wreathed in silver fire. Her eyes burned like twin stars, and when she spoke, her words were like a thousand voices speaking in unison, shaking the very foundation of the hall:
"The Masters are here. The chosen ones have awakened. The relics, long waiting in silence, have found their wielders. They shall bear the power and the burden. They shall rise to their destiny and fulfill the balance."
Her gaze swept across the crowd as if searching for something-or someone. The air grew colder, time itself seeming to stand still.
"Those deemed worthy shall wield. Those unworthy shall fall. The world turns, and the hour is upon us. The ancient bond is forged anew. The Masters shall rise... or all shall fall."
As her final words rang out, the relics pulsed once more with an intense light before abruptly dimming and dropping back into their vaults with a resonant clang. Lyrris vanished in a wisp of ethereal smoke, leaving the hall in stunned silence.
For many, the prophecy had been no more than a tale-a story told to children on cold nights. But now, the reality of the moment was undeniable. A mixture of awe, fear, and anticipation hung heavy in the room.
Who were these chosen ones? Were they in the hall now, among the crowd? What powers would they wield, and what trials awaited them?
Questions burned in every mind, but none dared to speak. The festival had become something far more significant-an event that would alter the fate of the seven kingdoms forever.