"The sun rises on your Awakening day, nephew," Rael said formally. "Are you prepared to enter the circle?"
Karel thought of his dream, of the swirling vortex and his father's words. But he pushed those thoughts aside and gave the traditional response:
"I stand ready to receive the gifts of my ancestors and take my place among the Olkhar."
Tharolis nodded approvingly. "Then let us proceed. The obelisks have been prepared, the circle cleansed. All awaits the royal scion."
A procession formed — Tharolis at the front, followed by Karel, then Rael and the other Council members, and finally the various witnesses who had gathered for this significant event. They walked in solemn silence up the final slope to the Awakening Circle.
The site was even more impressive in the morning light than it had been at dusk. The seven obelisks stood like sentinels around the central platform, each catching the sunlight in a different way according to its material: crystal for the Sylarei, obsidian for the Verithil, iron for the Arenya, amber for the Zhyren, red stone for the Sangor, wood for the Naruun, and a pearlescent material that seemed to shift colors for the Olkhar.
The witnesses took their places around the outer perimeter of the circle, while the Council members positioned themselves just inside the ring of obelisks. Tharolis led Karel to the very center, where the runic platform awaited.
"Kneel," the elder instructed.
Karel did as he was told, his knees touching the cool stone of the platform. From this position, he could see that the runes etched into its surface were beginning to glow faintly, responding to his presence.
Tharolis raised his arms and began to chant in the ancient language of the Olkhar — words of power and invocation that had been used in this ceremony for countless generations. The other Council members joined in, their voices blending in harmonious resonance.
As the chant built in intensity, the obelisks began to glow, each emanating the color associated with its race: blue for Sylarei, gold for Verithil, brown for Arenya, green for Zhyren, red for Sangor, silver for Naruun, and white for Olkhar.
Karel felt a tingling sensation spreading through his body, starting at his knees where they touched the platform and moving upward. The runes beneath him glowed brighter, their light seeming to seep into his skin.
And then he heard it — the Dome's song, clearer than ever before. Not just a vibration or a distant melody, but a full symphony that resonated through every fiber of his being. It was beautiful and terrible, harmonious and discordant all at once.
The tingling sensation intensified, becoming a rush of energy that flowed through him like a river. Karel gasped as the first gift manifested — a blue glow emanating from his chest, the mark of Sylarei verbal magic awakening within him.
Almost immediately, a second manifestation followed — gold light at his temples, the Verithil gift of enhanced perception. Then a third — brown energy suffusing his limbs, the Arenya gift of physical enhancement. A fourth — green light spiraling around his hands, the Zhyren gift of elemental control. And a fifth — red energy pulsing at his wrists, the Sangor gift of blood manipulation.
Five gifts, as expected of the royal line. A pentadon, fulfilling his birthright and destiny.
But the ceremony didn't conclude. The energy continued to build, the Dome's song growing louder, more insistent. Karel felt as if he was being filled beyond capacity, his body barely able to contain the power flowing into him.
He heard murmurs of confusion from the witnesses, saw concern on the faces of the Council members. This wasn't normal. The ceremony should have reached its culmination with the fifth gift.
Then, to the shock of all present, a sixth manifestation occurred — silver light forming around his shoulders like a mantle, the Naruun gift of animal bonding, a power rarely seen in Olkhar and never before in combination with all five primary gifts.
"Impossible," someone whispered. "A hexadon?"
But even that unprecedented development was not the end. The energy continued to build, the Dome's song reaching a crescendo that seemed to shake the very mountain beneath them. Karel felt as if he might shatter from the pressure, his body and mind stretched to their limits.
And then it happened — a seventh manifestation, white light that seemed to emanate not from any specific part of his body but from his entire being, enveloping him in a radiant aura. The Olkhar gift of adaptation, awakened to its fullest potential.
Seven gifts. All seven possible powers manifested in a single individual. Something that had never been recorded in the entire history of the Olkhar.
The witnesses were on their feet now, exclaiming in awe and fear. The Council members had backed away from the platform, their chanting forgotten. Only Tharolis remained close, his ancient eyes wide with wonder.
"The Bearer," he whispered, the words barely audible over the roar of energy. "The Dome has chosen."
Karel barely registered the elder's words. He was lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through him, in the Dome's song that now seemed to be singing directly to him, for him. It was communicating something urgent, something vital, but he couldn't quite grasp the meaning through the chaos of the manifestation.
And then, just as he thought he could bear no more, the energy peaked and began to recede. The glowing auras around his body dimmed, though they didn't disappear entirely. The Dome's song quieted to a more manageable level, though it remained clearer than it had ever been before.
Karel slumped forward, exhausted beyond measure. He would have collapsed completely if Tharolis hadn't caught him, the elder's strength surprising for one so apparently frail.
"Breathe, young Bearer," Tharolis instructed. "The worst has passed. Your gifts have awakened, all seven of them. A miracle not seen in our lifetime... perhaps not in any lifetime."
Karel struggled to focus, to process what had just happened. Seven gifts. He had manifested all seven possible powers. What did that mean? What was a "Bearer"?
Before he could voice any of these questions, a commotion broke out at the edge of the circle. Witnesses were pointing at the sky, their faces masks of terror. Council members were shouting orders, their formal dignity forgotten in the face of some new threat.
With Tharolis's help, Karel managed to turn and look up.
The sky above Mount Ilhyr, which had been clear blue moments before, was now darkening as if a storm was gathering. But this was no natural weather pattern. The darkness had a shape, a purpose. It was converging on the Awakening Circle.
"Child of Silence," Tharolis breathed, his voice tight with fear. "Here? Impossible. There are no Dead Zones on Mount Ilhyr."
But the evidence was undeniable. Descending from the unnatural darkness were figures composed of earth and stone, twisted roots and shadow. Their forms were vaguely humanoid but wrong in fundamental ways, as if whoever had created them had only a passing familiarity with human anatomy.
And they were heading directly for the Awakening Circle. Directly for Karel.
"Protect the royal scion!" Rael's voice cut through the chaos, commanding and authoritative. "Guardians, to the circle!"
Armored Olkhar rushed forward, positioning themselves between the approaching creatures and the ceremonial site. But even as they prepared to defend, it was clear they were outmatched. There were dozens of the Child of Silence, perhaps hundreds, all converging with single-minded purpose.
"We must get you to safety," Tharolis said, attempting to help Karel to his feet. "The manifestation has left you vulnerable. You need time to recover, to learn to control your gifts."
But Karel found himself resisting the elder's efforts. Something was rising within him — an instinct, a knowledge that seemed to come from the gifts themselves. Or perhaps from the Dome, whose song still resonated through his being.
"No," he said, his voice stronger than he expected. "I need to stay."
"This is no time for heroics, nephew," Rael said, having fought his way to Karel's side. "These creatures are beyond anything we've faced before. They shouldn't even be able to manifest here."
"They've come for me," Karel said with certainty, though he couldn't have explained how he knew this. "Running won't solve anything."
Before either his uncle or Tharolis could argue further, the first wave of Child of Silence reached the outer perimeter of defenders. The battle was brief and brutal. The guardians fought bravely, their weapons enhanced with Olkhar magic, but the creatures seemed almost impervious to physical attacks. Where one was cut down, two more took its place.
And all the while, they advanced toward the circle, toward Karel.
"We have no choice," Rael said grimly, drawing his ceremonial sword. "We must stand and fight. Tharolis, can you still channel the five primary gifts?"
The elder nodded, his frail appearance belied by the determination in his eyes. "Not as strongly as in my youth, but yes."
"Then we three will make our stand here," Rael declared.
Karel looked from his uncle to the ancient elder, then to the approaching horde of Child of Silence. Fear gripped him, but alongside it was something else — a sense of purpose, of destiny. The dreams, the Dome's song, his unprecedented Awakening... all had been leading to this moment.
He rose to his feet, steadier now as his body adjusted to the seven gifts that had manifested within him. He could feel them, each a different type of energy waiting to be channeled, to be used.
"Not the last defense," he said quietly. "The first counterattack."
And with that, Karel Olkhar, Bearer of the Seven Gifts, stepped forward to meet the darkness that had come for him on the day of his Awakening.