The underground chamber was shrouded in shadows, lit only by the faint flickering of torches embedded in ancient stone walls. Dust swirled lazily through the stale air, undisturbed for centuries—until now. Selene, Mirek, and Thorne stood in perfect triangular formation around a pedestal that pulsed with dormant power.
Each of them held a crystal stone, unlike any ordinary artifact—obsidian black in appearance, but each pulsing with an inner crimson glow that seemed to beat like a heart. Power thrummed through the room, quiet but insistent.
"They've started resonating," Mirek murmured, holding his stone up to eye level. The flickering inside had grown more violent, like trapped lightning seeking escape. "The signs are no longer subtle."
Selene's masked face tilted with a sly smirk. Her voice, calm and chilling, cut through the air. "Then it's time."
As one, they stepped forward and inserted their stones into the altar—a relic forged in ancient times with three slots designed for only these crystals. The moment they clicked into place, the cavern trembled slightly, and a deep, resonant hum filled the space. It wasn't a sound; it was a feeling—ancient, primal magic surging back to life.
Above them, the domed ceiling shimmered, and a luminous star-map flared to life. Dots of light connected like constellations, forming symbols that hovered in glowing arcs above their heads. One by one, seven sigils ignited in brilliant light:
A gem, vibrant and central.
A sword, sharp and noble.
Fire, crackling with heat.
Wind, swirling in silver.
Ice, cold and still.
Light, radiant and warm.
Earth, steady and green.
These weren't just symbols. They were ancient seals—markers of power that had once been locked away, waiting for a moment like this.
On the far wall of the chamber, old runes shimmered and rearranged themselves until a celestial countdown appeared, glowing with eerie precision: 13 Days.
"Thirteen days until convergence," Thorne spoke, his voice low and reverent.
Mirek narrowed his eyes, almost in triumph. "We don't need to chase the Princess now," he said. "She will come. They all will."
Thorne's stone pulsed the brightest, flickering violently as if feeding on the magic around him.
Meanwhile, miles away...
The world moved on, unaware of the dark ritual underway—until a ripple of ancient magic tore through the fabric of space, spreading like a pulse across the world, seeking out the chosen.
In a brightly lit classroom, Rhea sat with a notebook open in front of her. The teacher's words had long faded into a dull murmur. Her attention drifted... until suddenly—
A bolt of pain and light hit her chest.
She gasped aloud, clutching the front of her shirt as her eyes widened in shock. A violet glow overtook her irises, swirling like galaxies as an invisible force surged through her. She trembled.
On her wrist, the gem tattoo glowed brilliantly, radiating waves of light that only she could see. Her body hummed with energy, like every cell had awakened from a deep sleep.
Kael, lounging lazily on the rooftop, frowned as a burning heat traveled up his arm. He rolled up his sleeve just in time to see the flaming symbol blaze orange.
"What the hell—" he muttered, gripping his arm as sparks danced in the air around him.
Rael, sitting in his room with his sketchbook, froze mid-doodle. His breath misted in the air. The room temperature plummeted. Ice crystals bloomed across his windowpane, his sword and ice tattoos glowing a soft, icy blue. He shuddered.
Under a lone tree, Zayn played a soft melody on his guitar. The notes stopped abruptly as a gust of wind burst around him from nowhere, lifting his hair and shaking the leaves. His wind tattoo shimmered silver on his palm.
"…This isn't normal," he muttered, watching the air swirl unnaturally.
Lyra, deep in a rehearsal room, hit a high note on the mic—only for it to crackle and spark. She dropped it as a wave of warmth surged through her body. Light bloomed from her chest and hands, and her light symbol pulsed gold.
She stumbled back, gasping. Her skin seemed to glow.
In a quieter corner of campus, Nia walked barefoot through the grassy patch she always loved. The earth beneath her feet glowed softly. Her steps became rooted—one with the soil. The earth mark on her ankle shimmered a gentle, mossy green. Her breath hitched as the world shifted under her feet.
Back in the classroom, Rhea was still breathless, blinking rapidly. The glow in her eyes faded slowly, leaving only confusion—and fear.
Her friend, Elena, leaned in with concern. "Rhea? Your eyes just… turned purple. What's going on?"
Rhea didn't answer. She couldn't. Her heart thundered in her ears. The voices in the room faded. All she could hear was a whisper—an ancient, knowing voice, coming not from outside, but from within.
"You are the center of them all."
The words echoed in her bones.
And suddenly, the world felt different.
She wasn't just Rhea anymore.
She was something more.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, its golden rays slicing through the haze and casting long, skeletal shadows across the cliffs outside the ancient city. Wind howled between jagged rocks, echoing like whispers of the forgotten. Nestled precariously into a sheer face of the stone cliffs sat a crooked, weather-beaten cabin—its roof bowed from years of storms, its door slightly ajar, swaying on rusted hinges as though awaiting a visitor long foretold.
Kael stood before it, shoulders tense, hand unconsciously brushing the hilt of the dagger at his belt. The path behind him had crumbled with each step, and now, only forward remained.
The door groaned open of its own accord.
Inside, the dim room was lit by a single flickering lantern, suspended over a stone table etched with runes that crawled like veins across its surface. The smell of dust, ash, and something ancient filled the air. Against the far wall, wrapped in a cloak the color of storm clouds and stitched with forgotten runes, sat the Old Man. His white hair spilled over his shoulders, one eye clouded and blind, the other a piercing silver that gleamed in the lantern's wavering light.
"You're late," the Old Man rasped, his voice brittle yet powerful. He did not turn to look.
Kael lifted a brow. "Didn't know I was invited."
"You weren't. You were called. There's a difference."
Kael stepped cautiously forward, the flame sigil on his forearm faintly glowing beneath his sleeve. When he pushed it up, the Old Man finally turned his head, the silver eye narrowing with recognition.
"They all carry marks," the Old Man said, "but only one bears the fire that comes first. The fire that remembers."
Kael frowned. "I don't understand."
"You don't need to. Not yet. What matters is that you came—and that you brought it."
He motioned to the center of the stone table, where the carvings curved around a blank, circular depression. The runes there pulsed with a quiet heartbeat of light, dormant but waiting.
"The seal," he said simply. "It must awaken."
Kael hesitated, eyeing the ceremonial dagger lying across the stone. Its blade was obsidian, its hilt carved with the sigils of the elements.
"Why me?" he asked again, quieter this time.
"Because fire always burns first. And fire always leads."