The air in the room grew heavier, dense with memory and unspoken truths, as the old man stepped closer to the flickering firelight. Shadows danced on the stone walls, casting fleeting glimpses of a past long buried.
"My name…" he began slowly, each word seeming to peel away years of silence, "is Elandor Veyne. High Minister of Magic, sworn guardian of the crown, and protector of the sacred relics."
His gaze swept across them—Rael, Rhea, Kael, and Zayn—lingering on the faintly glowing tattoos etched into their skin, each mark pulsing softly, echoing with destiny. He saw the weight in their eyes. The burden they carried. The questions that had followed them since the day their veins first burned with awakening power.
"I watched a kingdom rise on harmony," he said, voice low, almost reverent. "And I watched it fall to deceit."
Elandor turned toward the ancient map unfurled across the table. His fingers trembled slightly as they brushed over faded ink—borders that no longer existed, cities lost to ruin, names whispered only in prophecy.
"The King and Queen—Alarion and Seraphina—believed in goodness. Perhaps too much. Their hearts… they were pure. Just. Merciful. And that mercy…" His voice caught for a moment. "It was their undoing."
A beat of silence passed before he continued.
"One day, three travelers arrived at our gates. Scholars, they claimed. Saviors of distant lands. And… they were gifted. In ways we hadn't seen in centuries. Magic flowed through them like a second skin. Strong. Strange. But brilliant."
A haunted look passed across his face, as if reliving the moment they first stepped through the palace gates.
"They were called Valemir, Nyxara, and Drazan. You may know them today by different names. Names that inspire fear and fire." He paused, meeting their eyes, letting the weight of the truth settle. "But back then… they were welcomed as brothers-in-arms."
The fire cracked sharply, a tongue of flame leaping upward, as if reacting to the memory itself.
"They earned our trust," he said, his voice growing heavier with grief. "They joined our councils. Walked the sacred halls. Dined at the royal table. The Queen… she even taught them from the Song of Stars. We thought they were sent by fate."
His jaw clenched.
"And then—on the night of the Silver Eclipse—they struck."
Rael's breath caught in his throat. The words felt like thunder rolling beneath his skin.
"They poisoned the King's circle," Elandor whispered, "shattered the Sword's seal, and wrenched the Gem from the Heart Temple. Centuries of guardianship, undone in a single night."
His shoulders slumped. The fire's glow seemed dimmer now.
"The Queen… Seraphina… she fought. She was powerful—light incarnate. She tried to protect the relic. To buy time."
His voice cracked, old pain clawing its way to the surface.
"I still hear her scream."
Rhea pressed a hand to her chest, the echo of that anguish wrapping around her ribs like ice. She didn't know Seraphina, yet something inside her ached as if she did.
"And the King?" she asked softly.
Elandor looked at her, eyes filled with a sorrow time had not dulled.
"He fell beside her. Protecting her. Refusing to leave her side. Their blood… it sealed the prophecy. Bound the relics until the rightful bloodline and the chosen wielders awaken them again."
Kael stepped forward, flames flickering faintly in his irises, his voice steady but urgent. "And now?"
Elandor's shoulders straightened slightly, as if bracing for what came next.
"They rise again," he said quietly. "The darkness that once broke the world. The ones who betrayed us. They've returned."
The fire crackled once more, throwing long shadows behind them.
"And so," he said, voice firm despite the weight it carried, "do the enemies who once broke the world."
Elandor's voice trailed off, heavy with the weight of memory.
But then he spoke again, slower, more haunted.
"Before she fell… Queen Seraphina used the last of her strength to cast a powerful curse."
He turned toward the fire, as if seeking her presence in its flicker.
"She knew the relics—the Gem and the Sword—were too powerful to be left vulnerable. So she called upon the Old Magic… the kind not written in books. The kind etched in soul and blood."
He glanced at the glowing marks on their arms.
"She hid them. Sealed them beyond reach. Bound them not just to time, but to fate. And she whispered a curse through blood and fire—one that would reject every hand but the chosen. Her dying breath locked them away."
He walked to the table, tapping a section of the map burned at its edges. His voice was grave now.
"Since then, there have been many born with echoes of power. Magic flickering in veins, royal blood scattered in distant branches. But never… never did the seal react. Not until now."
He turned to face them again, eyes glinting with both awe and dread.
"This time… it is shining. The seal pulses. The relics stir."
His hand lifted, pointing to their marks.
"This time, you are it. The chosen. The prophecy fulfilled. Your blood is the key that unlocks the first stage."
He paused, then added darkly, "And after that… no one knows. No scroll, no vision, not even the ancients could say what lies beyond the first chamber. The doors remain closed. The rest—the true tests, the final unlock—are hidden beneath that threshold."
A long silence settled in the chamber, until Elandor's voice dropped lower, more urgent.
"But you're not alone in this awakening."
He pulled a small pouch from his cloak and unrolled it on the table—inside, a stone fragment etched with foreign symbols and a parchment map, faded but glowing faintly at the edges.
"The descendants of the traitors—Valemir, Nyxara, Drazan—they know. The old blood runs in them too. They have a locator stone, infused with dark magic, and a map stolen from one of the hidden archives. It leads… to you."
Rael clenched his fists. Rhea took a step back, eyes wide.
"They are not searching for the relics," Elandor whispered. "They are hunting the ones who can wake them."
Kael's voice was grim. "Us."
Elandor nodded once. "Yes. And they will stop at nothing."