The first light of dawn spilled over the forest canopy, soft gold filtering through the lingering mist. Zephan's boots pressed into the damp earth, the scent of pine and soil heavy in the morning air. Gabriel moved ahead with measured steps, eyes sweeping the horizon, a silent rhythm between them. Elior and Adira flanked Zephan, their presence steady, purposeful. Today, they would leave the forest behind. Today, they would step toward the Citadel, where the Council awaited.
"The Citadel lies just beyond these hills," Gabriel said, his voice calm, the faintest warmth threading through it. "Before we pursue the mission—before we hunt for what must be recovered—you will meet the Council. Only then will you understand why you were summoned, and what is expected of us all."
Zephan nodded, his gaze lifting to the stone towers gleaming in the distance. Banners fluttered in the breeze, bright against the sky, a herald of the place he had been destined to enter. A curious unease hummed through him, tempered by the knowledge that this path was one he had chosen. He had accepted the scroll, accepted the summons, and though much remained unknown, he felt the faint assurance that he was meant to walk this road.
The road ahead was alive with movement. Travelers hurried past with heavy packs, their carts creaking as wooden wheels rolled over stones. A small family stopped to tend to a child, wrapped in a thin shawl, its breathing shallow. Merchants called out their wares, and guards with spears walked briskly, eyes scanning the surroundings with habitual vigilance.
Gabriel's voice broke through Zephan's thoughts, low and measured. "Keep your presence unobtrusive. Move with care. Not everyone passing here is as harmless as they appear." There was no fear in his tone, only a gentle nudge of caution, a whisper of the world's hidden currents.
They passed the family and caravans, the mother adjusting her child carefully. Zephan's eyes softened, a reminder that even in a world teetering on the edge of conflict, life carried on. Gabriel exchanged small items with the family—herbs, medicinal plants, tools—for dried meat and bread. The mother offered quiet thanks, and the child gave a fleeting, tentative smile.
The Citadel's spires now rose In clear view, towers glinting in the morning light. The city surrounding it hummed with life: people moving with purpose, markets bustling, the cadence of a world awake and aware. Elior and Adira remained close, their faces unreadable yet purposeful.
As they neared the gates, Elior spoke first, his tone measured. "Our duties lie outside. We'll take care of them. You should focus on what's inside."
Adira added, her voice firm but calm, "We must ensure the areas beyond the walls are secure. The Council's concerns are yours to attend."
They exchanged brief nods with Gabriel and Zephan, then melted into the crowd, leaving Zephan with a flutter of anticipation.
Gabriel gestured to the towering gates. "Inside, you'll see why your presence is necessary. This place—the Citadel—has witnessed centuries of history, and now, you take your place within its halls."
The gates swung open, revealing a courtyard of stone and light. Bridges arched above courtyards, and murals of heroes long past adorned the walls. Sunlight streamed through windows set high in the towers, painting shifting mosaics across polished floors. Zephan followed Gabriel through the halls, each step resonant, carrying him closer to the heart of the Citadel and the Council itself.
Within the chamber of the Council, the semicircle of members waited, their eyes calm and expectant. Zephan realized immediately: this was no interview. They did not need to gauge his worth. They had known, long before his arrival, who he was and what he could do.
A woman with sharp, discerning eyes spoke first. "Zephan, welcome. Though your arrival was foretold, we are glad you accepted the summons."
Zephan listened, absorbing every words. And when he found space to ask, he did so with quiet clarity. "Who am I meant to be? Why do I possess the abilities I do? What does the prophecy truly say about me?"
The Council answered with precision, weaving history and lineage into explanation. They told of the first hero, the powers he wielded, and the deeds that had shaped kingdoms. They revealed Zephan's connection—his heritage and the destiny that had awaited him. Understanding unfurled within him, though he knew the journey ahead would be his alone.
After the session, Gabriel led him through the Citadel. Statues of past heroes lined the halls, silent observers of history. Light pooled across tapestries, painting scenes of courage and loss.
"You may explore today," Gabriel said, pausing at the entrance to a wing of the Citadel. "Tomorrow, the mission begins. Learn this place. Understand it. It is yours to navigate."
As Zephan wandered, he sensed a subtle disturbance—a presence, faint but definite. His vision sharpened and instincts heightened.
"I know you're there," he said quietly.
A sudden clatter echoed. A young girl stumbled backward, hitting a low pedestal. She pressed her arms against herself, fear evident in every motion. "I—I didn't mean harm!" she cried. "I just wanted to see him—the First Hero!"
Zephan's eyes held hers. "You don't need to hide."
She froze, the realization dawning that he could see her despite her efforts. "I swear! I just… I wanted to know if he was real! I love the stories… the hero…"
Gabriel's voice cut sharply from the doorway. "Zephan! Who's there?"
The girl's eyes darted to the exit. "I—I didn't mean to intrude! I just wanted to see!"
Gabriel's tone brooked no argument. "Leave immediately. This chamber is not for you. You are not safe here."
Zephan's voice stopped him. "Wait. Let her stay. I'd like to hear her."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed, saying nothing.
She exhaled, shoulders easing, eyes bright with excitement. "Thank you! I only wanted to see… to know he was real."
Zephan studied her energy—lively, vibrant, curious. "Then speak. Tell me what you want and tell me what you know."
The girl launched into her story, rapid and animated: whispers from the kingdoms, events during Gabriel's absence, subtle changes, and movements within the Citadel. Her words carried life, color, and energy into the room, and Zephan absorbed them eagerly, the layers of intrigue forming a clearer picture in his mind.
The girl had laughed at her own nervousness, brushing dust from her tunic as though nothing in the world could silence her tongue. "I only wanted to see him—the one they say is chosen. The one tied to the first hero. I wanted to know if the stories were true. And you—" she grinned at Zephan, fearless now, "—you look far too ordinary for legends."
Zephan blinked at her candor, then surprised himself by chuckling. Ordinary. If only she knew.
Gabriel, however, remained stone. "You've seen enough," he said firmly, gesturing toward the door.
But before she could move, she leaned closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial hush. "There's something you don't know. Something the Council won't tell you. I heard it whispered in the lower quarters while you were gone, Gabriel."
That stilled even him. His hand hovered near his blade, his gaze narrowing. "Speak."
The girl hesitated, her chatter silenced for the first time. Her lips trembled as though she feared the weight of her own words. Then she said, barely above a whisper:
"They say the first hero… never truly died."
The chamber froze. Zephan's heartbeat roared in his ears. Gabriel's eyes darkened, unreadable.
The girl bit her lip, suddenly small, suddenly unsure. But she had spoken, and there was no taking it back.
Outside the Citadel, a cold wind rose, rattling the stone like a warning.