The snow-obscured roads of Thalvyn Hollows remained quiet at night. Snow had blanketed the houses and settlements. There lied a middle-class Vale family settlement at the corner of Ashfen Lane.
Sayan, an elegant and handsome young man with silver-white locks of hair and emerald green eyes, was studying a book about the Creatures of the Duskspire Range while enjoying coffee at his study table. There was no movement or sound in the room. Then pressure began to build within the room. Sayan's body starts shaking, and he spills his coffee on his table.
His heart started pumping fast. He could not breathe well and dropped from his chair as though all the power had left his body. The walls began to shine. His eyes became distorted, and the geometry within his room began to warp. The surrounding space vibrated as though his skin was rooted and the surrounding air was escaping.
Outside, pale shudders made lanterns flicker and shake the walls. Zavian observes and heads for his brother's room in alarm. Zavian knocked on the door in a hurry, but there was no one who answered.
Inside, Sayan was on the floor. His perception bifurcates, and he sees the room in three perspectives simultaneously. Something flashed across his forearm for a moment and the disappeared. A mark, unknown. Black, too dark. A shape with no source. A Tesseract.
Zavian tenses up and forces through, shattering the lock on the door. He stood there panting and frightened. The light behind him was flashing, and suddenly all was quiet.
Sayan's vision returned to normal. He collected himself and somehow got up. Sayan took a step forward, putting his hand against the wall. Sweat traced along his temple. Sayan stumbles to his chair and whispers,
"The Ether has called for me.
I saw it. Everything and nothing. All at once."
Zavian did not know what to say. He simply remained close, observing his brother's chest movements.
The following morning, the smell of fennel broth and heated grain permeated the space. Their Mother Navira Vale stood beside the tiny hearth, turned away, stirring slowly.
When her sons appeared, she did not glance up. Merely spoke softly,
"I heard a noise last night. I thought it was the wind."
Sayan seated himself first. Zavian hung back. Then the youngest of them set a crumpled slip of paper on the table.
The Aetherguard put up the notice this morning," he said.
"Recruiting's started."
Navira ceased stirring and faced him slowly. "I knew one day would arrive." She spoke clearly. Her voice did not shake. Yet her eyes did.
"I won't stand in your way. I won't make you choose safety." She regarded Sayan.
"I once saw your father's mark shine so also. The evening before he set off for Duskspire.
The silence that followed wasn't cold. Just heavy. The weight of names, of blood. Darien Vale.
Protector. Vanguard. Father. He was gone. Not buried, not found. Only remembered.
Sayan met her eyes. "We're not just doing this for him."
"I know." Navira smiled.
"You're doing it because the Ether answered,"
She stepped forward and touched both their faces gently.
"Then listen to it well. And come home when it's quiet."
As they were going out, their mother also hugged both of them and sent them off. Zavian looked back and saw their mother still in the doorway with arms folded and eyes brimming. Sayan also shifted a little bit.
They went on foot to the Hollowrest square and boarded a public carriage to the Aetherguards stronghold. They entered quietly, and the carriage doors secured behind them. The tesseract mark thrummed once on Sayan's hand. Not disappearing but, summoning.
When they arrived at the stronghold, Sayan gave six shards to the carriage driver, and the two proceeded to the entrance.
Two Aetherguard Protectors guarded the stronghold gates.
When the brothers draw near, one of the guards reflexively stiffens, his hand falling to his sword. The other guard's eyes widen. They can sense the very slight, wild, unmistakable vibration of a raw Etherpath.
The first guard raises a hand, his stare resolute. "Stop. Identify yourselves." His eyes are fixed on Sayan, sensing something but not yet realizing it.
"Sayan and Zavian Vale," Sayan states quietly. "We're here for the Initiation."
The second guard's glower momentarily blinks. The name comes to mind first. "Vale?" He advances a half-step, his gaze taking in both of them before settling on Sayan. He notices it then-the barely detectable, untrained echo of a novice Etherpath. His training as a professional conquers his shock.
He offers a brief, abrupt head nod to his companion. "It's them," he mutters, lowering his tone from a public provocation to a private, heartfelt confirmation. "The Vanguard's sons." He adds, barely audibly, "And that's the premature Awakening."
The first guard's stance immediately changes. The suspicion gives way to a stiff, formal posture. The hand that was hovering over his gun now is at his side. He gives a brusque, respectful nod of his head-a gesture he would not give any other applicant.
"We apologize, Sir Vale," the first guard replies, his voice now crisp and respectful. "We were instructed on the details of your arrival." He moves aside and waves with his gauntlet towards the gate. "The Steward has been informed. Please, go ahead."
Zavian grimaces, but allows Sayan to lead him into the stronghold.
Within the gate, there was already a big crowd in a huge atrium-like room, lined with tall grey pillars and deep amethyst walls. A few lanterns were suspended from the roof by long iron chains, casting dancing shadows on the stone ground.
When the brothers step into the hall, the other anxious applicants turn their heads and observe Sayan's peculiar and wild aura.
Somewhere else in the room, Sayan's gaze moves to the corner where he identifies another stream of ether from a woman- Elyria Thalvain
She was tall and composed, her silhouette skinny but razor-sharp, like a sword tempered for aestheticism and combat. Her skin had the pale, frigid color of the Thalvyn clan, kissed lightly blue around the knuckles and collarbones by the intense Ether exposure of the north.
Her white-blonde hair was braided into a long, complicated tail that glimmered dimly like morning frost. Threads of silver-blue ribbon had been worked into it, flowing out behind her like mist as she moved. Her eyes were grey ice with a violet tinge and no softness. They passed through things, not at.
Behind his brother, Zavian saw her as well. But whereas Sayan appeared to be breaking down her form, Zavian suffered beneath the suffocating weight of her calm. Where his own new perceptions were a babbling torrent of all the fears in the room, hers was a still, icy lake. Her eyes, grey as frost with a purple blush, contained no warmth. They were not simply noticing; they appeared to be weighing the soul of the very rocks on which she stood.
Sayan stepped forward once, carefully, towards her. The tension between the two geniuses is severed by an incoming presence. It is not noise, but a change in the atmosphere itself within the atrium. Zavian, acutely sensitive through his developing senses, senses it first-a heavy, old weight that insists without requiring.
The tall Steward Caldreth Vire comes forward, his pace deliberate and quiet. The crowd appears to take its shared breath. He pauses before the two geniuses, his eyes traveling between them not with warmth or greeting, but with the detached, calculating gaze of a master craftsman examining two exotic and explosive materials.
"Sayan Vale," the Steward states, his deep voice containing no echo. "And Lady Elyria Thalvain." He knows their names already.
He holds the silence a moment longer, his hair the color of silver catching the lantern's light. "An Unclaimed Tesseract and a Frostbound Bloom of the finest quality. The archives have not seen such a convergence in more than a hundred years."
He is not addressing the crowd, merely to them. His gaze lingers on Sayan. He then looks into Elyria's cold stare without wavering.
"Power that awakens before the Calling is a sign of immense potential," he continues, his tone flat, analytical. "It is also a sign of instability. The Spire gives its gifts without measure. It is the Aegis that provides control."
His gaze only comes to rest on Zavian, who has been standing in the silence of his brother's shadow. For a split, chilling instant, Zavian is subjected to a shattering mental concentration on him-not an assault, but a rapid, frigid scan that makes him feel completely transparent.
The Steward nods very slightly, almost imperceptibly, a decision made.
"Your brother and Lady Thalvain will not be undergoing the public test," he tells Zavian, his gaze past him.
He glances directly at Zavian, and his expression is dismissive. "You, on the other hand, are supposed to be a potential. Take your place with the others in the main line. Now."
The order is silent, but it hits with the impact of a physical blow. It is not vicious, only a statement of fact that reinforces the new hierarchy. Sayan shoots his brother a swift, worried glance, but doesn't dare challenge the Steward.
With the eyes of the whole atrium on him, Zavian offers a stiff nod and strides away, leaving his brother and Elyria to the Steward's quiet, intent regard. Back in line with the nervous, mundane candidates, the gap between their lives seems wide and tangible.
One by one, participants stepped forward and offered a drop of their blood to the ember. If they held the guardian characteristic, the ember flared black. Its size representing their raw strength, and its brightness reflecting the potency of their Ether affinity. If they lacked the characteristic, nothing happened and they were rejected by the ember.
Zavian reaches the dais where the large, rune-etched Hearthstone waits. It is cold and inert, having rejected every candidate before him.
He stood before the alter with an unsettling heart and seeds of doubts cultivating within his mind as he started questioning his worth. He pricked his finger and let a drop fall into the ember. The ember turned black. Its size barely changed, but the brightness surged so intensely that the entire room lit up, and the gathered crowd shielded their eyes.
Gasps echoed within the halls. Even though his flame had not grown in size, the radiant brilliance caught everyone's attention.
Sayan's eyes widened due to shock and worry after witnessing the brilliance produced by the ember. He came to realize that the ethereal luminescence shown by the ember when Zavian's blood fell into it, was not normal. It indicated something about him, something dormant and powerful.
Elyria and the other participants fixed their gazes at Zavian. Some looked at him with wariness, while others observed him with respect.
Steward Vire walks with a deliberate pace not to Zavian, but to the altar itself. He doesn't look at Zavian's face. His eyes are fixed on the faintly glowing black ember, his expression one of intense, unreadable scrutiny. He gives a slow, deliberate nod, not to Zavian, but to himself. An unexpected variable has been accounted for.
"The Calling is complete. From a cohort of over fifteen hundred, twenty-six of you have been deemed worthy. A successful Culling."
He lets that chilling statement hang in the air for a moment. His gaze sweeps over the small crowd of survivors, lingering on Sayan, Elyria, and then Zavian.
"But success has levels," he continues, his tone sharp. "Rest of you will be formed into standard Protector squads of five according to your strengths and affinities. You will be the shield of your strongholds."
He then looks directly at the group of six main characters, making it clear his next words are only for them.
"The six of you, however, are different. The two prodigies, and the four who showed the highest combat and strategic potential. You will not be standard shields."
He turns to his aide. "Designate them. Squad Alpha, deep-recon and suppression: Vale, Thalvain, Thorne. Squad Beta, Etherveil reconnaissance and anomaly tracking: Vale, Dace, Elrae."
As their names are called, Sayan catches Zavian's eye across the small group. He gives a barely perceptible nod, a silent message of "be careful." Zavian nods back, his expression a mixture of determination and inadequacy.