Aurethium gleamed like a crown set upon the world.
For seven days and seven nights, its streets overflowed with music, silk, and sanctity. Bells tolled from dawn to dusk, scattering the sound like silver dust through the city's spires. Streamers of gold and white stretched between rooftops; incense burned thick in the air, promising purity to lungs long accustomed to smoke.
The Festival of Deliverance had come again—the day humanity celebrated its freedom from the claws of the Demons.
Merchants shouted blessings while selling holy charms at triple price. Children, scrubbed and shining, too clean for comfort, chased one another through the plazas, wooden swords clashing beneath banners that read: "Freedom"
Every temple was alight. Every noble, perfumed and radiant, arrived at the capital's gates to remind the higher realm how loyal they had been this year.
By evening, the streets emptied toward the Grand Cathedral. Its marble steps stretched endlessly upward, leading to the Hall of Virtue, where the four representatives of the human realms awaited—Solmyr, Verdelion, Ironcrest, and Fang—seated in a half circle beneath the stained glass dome.
Above them shimmered the sigil of the Light Realm: a blazing sun encased in crystal, said to pulse with the blessing of the Light King himself.
Musicians played, their harps woven with threads of light. Courtiers and clergy mingled in polite laughter that sounded more like ambition.
The Emperor of Solmyr raised his glass. "To peace everlasting," he declared. "May the light reign eternal."
"May it reign eternal," echoed the room, though half of them were calculating trade routes and marriage prospects.
At the centre of it all stood the Saintesss Aeve—barefoot, draped in gold. Her hair, gold as sun's rays, was bound with threads of consecrated crystal. People called her the Voice of Heaven, though she spoke softly enough that one had to lean close to hear her.
As the choir began the hymn of deliverance, she stepped forward to bless the gathered royalty.
"Your Majesties, your Grace, your…"
Her words broke.
The hall quieted.
Aeve blinked once. Then twice, then twitched and convulsed. Her goblet slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor.
The holy fire in the cathedral flared, throwing long shadows against the walls.
Her eyes—soft blue moments ago—turned molten gold.
The nearest cleric gasped.
Someone whispered, "The Light speaks!"
Aeve's voice was no longer her own. It echoed, doubled, like two bells ringing from opposite towers.
"Four stand strong, yet the sword is unbalanced;
Two lie hidden beyond the veil.
One walks with the voice of forests,
The other with the tread of the wandering flame.
When all six stand as one,
The chains of darkness shall break,
And the age of light shall be crowned."
The final note trembled through the hall. The saintesss collapsed. Here, attendants rushed to help her and she was promptly given a healing potion as she was carried to another room for recuperation.
Silence engulfed the entire hall. It didn't last long, though, considering the amount of whispers that were immediately followed by full-on loud discussion after the nobles noticed each other's disregard for propriety.
Nobles pressed forward, murmuring prayers and plans in the same breath. Clerics cried that the Light King had chosen new champions.
One of the kings rose, his voice booming over the noise.
"Two more heroes!" he announced. "The divine has blessed us twice over! Humanity's age of triumph begins anew!"
Applause and shouting followed, fevered and bright. But behind the glittering excitement, conversations fractured into factions:
"The prophecy must mean humans…surely the gods wouldn't choose otherwise."
"Perhaps elves, as before. The Light has always favoured them."
"The West already boasts two heroes. It is the East's turn now!"
"The Saintess fainted in our capital, it is a sign—Solmyr is blessed first!"
World rulers smiled and bowed to each other with teeth barely hidden behind lips. Priests argued over interpretation; nobles calculated new alliances; envoys from the guilds murmured about profits.
By midnight, the decision was made: the four rulers, in their united wisdom, charged the hero party to seek the newly named heroes of prophecy.
"Find them," the Solmyr Emperor decreed. "Bring them to the capital for training and commissioning under the Church. The light's chosen must stand together before the next dawn of war."