The council chamber trembled like a living thing. One side blazed with the fire of Kenive, his presence radiating strength and devotion. The other seethed with the abyss of Eryndor, his hollow eyes burning with the promise of power.
Both spirits roared his name. Both demanded allegiance.
Alaric stood at the center, torn, sweat dripping down his face, his heart racing like a trapped bird. The pressure was unbearable—two legacies clawing at his soul, one divine, one demonic.
"Choose, Vessel!" Eryndor's voice shook the walls. "Embrace me and rule the dark!"
"Stand with the gods, child!" Kenive's voice thundered back. "Be protector, servant of truth, and strength incarnate!"
The councilors cowered. The students held their breath. Clem's dagger shook in her hand, her eyes locked on him. Everyone in the room expected the same thing—that he would take a side, surrender to destiny.
But Alaric's chest heaved with something different.
"I…" His voice cracked, but he forced it louder. "I don't want this."
The chamber froze.
Kenive's glowing eyes widened. Eryndor tilted his head sharply, shadows writhing.
Alaric clenched his fists, words spilling raw from his heart. "I don't want to be a king. I don't want to be a god. I don't want to be a monster. I just—" His throat tightened. "I just want to live. To laugh. To be liked. To have friends. To be… normal."
The silence was deafening.
Clem's lips parted, a soft gasp escaping her. For the first time since the Blood Moon, she saw not a vessel, not an heir, not a threat—but the boy she had met in the Forest.
Eryndor's shadows writhed violently. "Fool! You cannot run from blood! Legacy does not ask permission—it commands! You are mine, Alaric. My throne waits."
Kenive's golden fire dimmed slightly, his divine expression unreadable. "Even those who wish for peace are bound by duty. You cannot refuse forever. Destiny will call again."
Alaric shook his head, tears burning in his eyes. "Then let destiny wait. Let bloodlines rage. I'm done being told who I am. I'm not your heir, Eryndor. I'm not your soldier, Kenive. I'm just… me."
His voice cracked on the last word. The amber stone pulsed violently, as though his refusal had created a third path. Light and shadow collided, not in war but in rejection, bursting outward in a shockwave that knocked students off their feet and sent the council reeling.
The chamber fell into chaos. Torches flared, then extinguished. When the smoke cleared, both spirits were gone—dissolved into the air, their departure leaving an oppressive silence behind.
Alaric collapsed to his knees, trembling.
The councilors whispered furiously among themselves. Some called for his immediate binding. Others, shaken by what they had seen, argued he might yet be spared. The Headmaster's face was pale, unreadable.
Clem rushed forward, kneeling beside him. Her hand found his shoulder, grounding him. "Alaric… you chose no one."
He nodded weakly, his chest heaving. "Because… I just want to be me."
She gave a small, broken smile. For the first time, she believed him.
But deep in the silence of the shattered chamber, the whispers had not vanished. They had only retreated, lingering like smoke after fire.
"…You cannot run forever…"
"…The choice denied will return…"
And Alaric knew—his refusal had not freed him. It had only delayed the war.