The fog had grown heavier as Gabriel led Zephan through the forest, its weight settling like a veil between them and the outside world. For hours they had pressed deeper, until Zephan's lungs ached from the damp air and his legs from the uneven terrain. Yet, beneath the exhaustion, something stirred in him—a sense of recognition, as though every step was already written in the marrow of his bones.
At last Gabriel stopped at a stone slab wedged between two moss-covered oaks. He pressed his hand against the surface and whispered a word that hummed in Zephan's chest. The stone shivered, split open, and revealed a glowing descent.
Zephan blinked. "A door in the earth."
Gabriel glanced at him, unreadable. "A refuge."
They stepped inside. The air was cooler here, dry and still, the stone walls etched with symbols that shimmered faintly in the light of hovering crystals. The passageway wound downward before opening into a vast hall carved from the earth. Tall arches soared overhead, lined with shelves of scrolls and relics. A stream of water cut through the center, whispering softly as it flowed.
Two figures stood waiting.
The first was a tall man with black hair streaked silver, his posture measured, his gaze piercing. He looked at Zephan as though weighing every secret he carried.
The second was a woman with braided chestnut hair, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her blade. Her stance was sharp, coiled with energy.
Gabriel inclined his head. "Elior. Adira. As promised."
The man—Elior—studied Zephan. "So. The one who crossed the veil."
Adira tilted her head, unimpressed. "He doesn't look like prophecy. More like a boy who wandered too far from home."
Zephan bristled but said nothing.
Gabriel's tone was firm. "Judge later. Listen first."
Elior stepped closer, his eyes unwavering. "Tell me your name."
"Zephan."
Elior's expression shifted, just faintly. "The name written in the scrolls."
Adira's brow arched. "Names are cheap. Prophecies have been twisted before."
Zephan finally spoke. "I didn't choose this. But I've felt it coming all my life. The dreams, the visions—they led me here. When Gabriel appeared, I knew."
Something flickered across Adira's face—curiosity breaking through skepticism—but she folded her arms without reply.
Elior turned away, gesturing for them to follow. "Then you should know the truth of what you've entered."
They walked deeper into the refuge, past carved walls that bore images of wars and kings long dead. At last they entered a chamber lit by three towering crystals. Maps lay sprawled across a stone table, and in their center sat an object Zephan could not ignore—a broken fragment of metal, ancient, pulsing faintly with light.
Elior's voice was low, deliberate. "The three kingdoms were once bound by a fragile peace. But beneath their unity lay ambition. Each desired the same artifact—the Scepter of Dominion. Forged in the age of the first Hero, it was said to bend not just men, but the very forces of the world. Whoever wields it holds the power to rule not a kingdom, but all."
Zephan's breath caught as he looked at the fragment. Even broken, it seemed alive, like it pulsed in rhythm with his own veins.
Adira's voice cut through the silence. "The kingdoms tore themselves apart trying to claim it. Blood on every field, steel in every shadow. But before one could seize it, the Council intervened." She tapped the table. "We stole it. Hid it away. Broke it into three pieces so none could wield it."
Elior's eyes found Zephan again. "The kingdoms never forgave. To this day, they fight, each believing themselves rightful heir. And now—" His voice deepened. "Prophecy speaks of a foreigner. One not bound by their crowns, their rivalries, their corruption. One with eyes to see differently. You."
Zephan swallowed hard. "And what am I supposed to do?"
"That," Elior said, "is the burden. The prophecy declares you will unite the kingdoms. But how, it does not say. Whether to wield the Scepter and bring order—or to destroy it and free the world from its shadow. Only you can decide."
Adira leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "Understand this, foreigner. The kingdoms will hunt you. Some will try to win you, others to kill you. They already know your name. They will know your face soon enough. Every step you take will draw them closer."
Zephan stared at the fragment on the table. His chest was tight. "Why me? Why not one of you?"
For the first time, Gabriel spoke quietly, almost gently. "Because the artifact will not answer us. It will answer only you. That is why you were chosen."
Silence pressed heavy in the chamber. Zephan felt the weight of it all—the artifact, the kingdoms, the prophecy—settling like chains on his shoulders.
"I don't even know what I am," he whispered.
Elior's gaze sharpened. "Then we begin by teaching you."
The training chamber was circular, its walls lined with runes that glowed faintly. A crystal hovered at its center, filling the air with a subtle hum.
Elior gestured. "Close your eyes. The realm speaks through currents unseen. Learn to listen."
Zephan obeyed.
Adira moved silently around him, her blade drawn. "Tell us where I stand."
At first Zephan heard only the scrape of her boots, but Elior's voice cut in. "Not sound. Not sight. Feel."
Zephan slowed his breath. The hum of the chamber deepened. Then he felt it—a subtle ripple, as if the air bent around her. "Left," he said.
Adira stopped. She had been there.
Again. And again. Each time she moved, he found her—not always perfect, but close enough that her smirk turned to a grudging nod.
When at last Elior raised a hand, Adira slid her blade back into its sheath. "Not bad, boy. Better than most Council recruits on their first day."
Zephan opened his eyes, heart racing. "It's like… the world has threads. And if I listen, I can see them without seeing."
"Good," Elior said. "That is your strength. Perception. Use it, and you will always stand where others fall blind."
Adira's voice was stern. "But remember—perception alone won't stop a blade. The kingdoms won't care how well you 'feel.' They care only for power."
Zephan met her gaze evenly. "Maybe. But sometimes seeing clearly is the greatest power of all."
Her lips twitched—half a smirk, half a frown—but she said nothing.
They returned to the hall. The air felt heavier now, the silence tighter. Zephan still felt the pulse of the artifact fragment in his chest.
He broke the silence first. "If I choose wrong—if I use it instead of destroying it, or destroy it when I shouldn't—what then?"
Elior's expression darkened. "Then the world breaks with you."
Adira muttered under her breath. "Assuming the kingdoms don't kill you first."
But Gabriel stepped forward. "That is why you are not alone. We will walk with you. Train you. Guard you. Until you are ready."
Zephan wanted to believe him. He almost did.
Then—a sound. Low, sharp, metallic.
Adira's hand went instantly to her blade. Her eyes narrowed.
"What is it?" Zephan asked.
Elior's voice was calm, but heavy. "They've found us."
The hall trembled faintly. Crystals flickered overhead. From the far corridor came the sound of stone grinding, then the whisper of steel drawn in shadow.
Adira stepped forward, her blade catching the dim light. She turned to Zephan, her voice firm but alive with fire.
"Stay close, foreigner." Her eyes gleamed. "We have intruders."
The shadows stirred, and from the dark emerged cloaked figures—silent, deliberate, deadly.