The grand halls of the Sanctum of Lumina, once his quiet refuge, now felt different. The air was heavier, the gazes sharper. Zerathis could feel it-the shift in how the other orphans looked at him. Some with awe, others with suspicion, and a few, like Garrick, with barely concealed resentment. The fight had changed something..
For years, he had moved through the church unnoticed, another nameless orphan raised under divine doctrine. Now, however, murmurs followed him like shadows. "Did you see how he moved?" "That wasn't normal. That wasn't anything Malrick taught us."
Zerathis ignored them or atleast he tried to.
Malrick however didnt ignore the situation as he wondered upon the flexibility of a boy who hadnt known the frontlines of a battlefield ...That night, after the training session, the old instructor summoned him privately. The dim torchlight flickered in the secluded training chamber, casting long shadows on the stone walls. Malrick stood with his arms crossed, studying Zerathis as if he were a puzzle with missing pieces.
"Again."
Zerathis hesitated. "Sir?"
Malrick didn't repeat himself. He tossed a wooden staff at him, stepping back into a stance.
The unspoken command was clear.
Zerathis took his position, gripping the staff tightly. The moment he settled into a defensive stance, Malrick lunged-faster than anyone in training ever had. Zerathis barely had time to think. His instincts took over. A sidestep. A shift in weight. A downward parry followed by an upward strike.
Malrick barely managed to block the attack and his eyes narrowed
Again
Again
And again ...
Every time, Zerathis reacted with precision, his movements efficient, calculated-but not entirely his own. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, as if his body remembered something his mind did not. Malrick finally called for a stop. He exhaled, shaking his head. "These aren't techniques taught by the church."
Zerathis remained silent. Malrick watched him for a long moment before sighing. "I don't know what you are, boy. But I do know one thing-whatever sleeps inside you is waking up." Those words haunted Zerathis long after he left the chamber.
That night, he found himself drawn to the library again. The scent of ancient parchment filled the air, the dim candlelight flickering against the endless rows of books. He had searched before, looking for answers to questions he couldn't fully form. But tonight was different.
Something called to him.
His fingers brushed against the spine of an old tome-one he didn't remember noticing before. The cover was worn, its title barely legible: "Chronicles of the Lost Sovereigns."
Zerathis hesitated before opening it. The pages were brittle, the ink faded, but as he read, a chill ran down his spine.
"In ages long past, there were those who defied the fate written in the stars. Warriors who wielded power beyond their understanding, moving as though guided by forces unseen. These individuals, cursed and blessed alike, carried echoes of a time forgotten, when gods still walked among mortals."
"But such gifts come with a price. To defy fate is to invite ruin. And so, those who bore these echoes were cast into the abyss, their names erased, their legacies buried in the void." Zerathis' grip tightened on the book. Something inside him stirred-something deep, something ancient.
Behind him, from the shadows of the library, High Priest Aedric watched. He had known, since the day the boy was left at the church, that Zerathis was different. The signs had always been there. But now... now it was undeniable.
The past was trying to reclaim him and soon, Zerathis would have to face the truth himself..