In the depths of the White Forest, where the wind does not blow and time forgets to pass, there is a cave buried beneath ancient roots — the Cave of Restoration.
On the walls, silver veins flow like frozen rivers of light. They are dormant Chi'ia stones, pulsing silently with ancestral energy.
In the center, rises an immense rock, as old as the world, studded with perfect holes arranged in indecipherable patterns.
And then… she arrives.
Aranathus, Guardian of the Hall of Forgetfulness.
Tall and serene, wrapped in cloaks of solidified shadows and leaves fossilized by time. Her eyes — one golden like the dawn over snow, the other black as the absence of stars. In her hands, a chest sealed with crystals that sing at the touch of breath.
Behind her, the Silent Followers emerge — seven hooded figures, faceless. Each carries an offering:
A sealed container holding amber honey from forbidden nests, created by bees that die when they sting — honey never tasted by the living.
A twisted and still-living branch, ripped from the edges where light never reaches — a primordial root harvested in sacrifice.
Irregular fragments of Chi'ia stones newly awakened from the deep underground.
Without words — only measured gestures like heartbeats — they deposit the offerings into the holes of the Central Stone.
The branch fits first. When it touches the rock, subtle tremors run through its body, and tiny gray-blue leaves sprout from nothing.
Next, the honey flows through natural channels in the stone, awakening chemical reactions in the dormant crystals.
Finally, the Chi'ia fragments complete an inverted triangle, closing the cycle.
Silence becomes absolute.
A snap resonates — not a sound, but a perception. The entire mountain seems to respond.
The lines on the walls shine in continuous flow.
The Stone vibrates.
A blue-green glow rises from its core.
And then three forms appear:
A feminine one, wrapped in green mist: Flora.
A masculine one, shaped in cold flame: Florium.
A neutral one, suspended between present, past, and future: Chronos.
The Consciousnesses have been restored.
But not awakened.
A final element was missing.
Not physical.
Not material.
Only intention.
It came without a voice, only felt: by the trembling earth, by the roots that responded, by invisible eyes turned in unison toward a nameless point.
Thus Destiny was born in history — for the first time.
None of the three dared to speak its name. Not yet.