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Despite his stern expression, Henrique Alskar was full of overwhelming pride in his son. “Say your covenant,” Father held his sword up, pointing Elliot right in front of his nose, almost touching.

Father moved the sword on top of Elliot. He started his covenant, “I, Elliot Vincent Alskar, swear in the name of Goddess Eirhine, in the name of the Sword of Traccia, in the name of the ancestors, in the name of Alskar, to keep the dignity under the name of the son of Alskar, to lead the family, to continue the generations, to keep our peace, to protect our people, and to defend the name of Alskar, for we are the children of Heaven. I swear with all my life that I will protect Alskar, until the end of my life.”

He replied, “I, Henrique William Alskar, shall approve Elliot Vincent Alskar as the son of Alskar. In the name of Goddess Eirhine, in the name of the Sword of Traccia, in the name of the ancestors, in the name of Alskar, I swear to accept Elliot as heir of Alskar, Children of Heaven.”

Henrique placed the sword on Elliot’s right shoulder, moving it to his left shoulder, and finally held it straight in front of himself, pointing at the ceiling.

“You shall stand up, Son,” he said in a low voice only Elliot could hear. Elliot lifted his gaze. Followed by his legs, he stood up. His Father gave the sword to Elliot, who accepted it eagerly. Elliot held his sword with one hand, as the other hand behind his back. Henrique opened his arms, his voice boomed again in the hall as he said, “Let him hear his destiny.”

Another part of the ritual was where a Behalter would present themselves to announce the prophecy of the heir. They—the Behalters—were the Oracles of Heaven. They were chosen Oracles who were bestowed with the ability to read the fortunes of Heaven.

However, their physical appearances were terrifying, Elliot thought.

The young female Behalters were remarkably beautiful and pale and scarred and expressionless with blank gaze that exhibited no emotion. The young male Behalters were not any better; they were huge men with scars all over their pale, dead skin and red eyes, despite being exceptionally handsome as well. The older female Behalters were also pale—even paler than paper—with white blind eyes. The older male Behalters also had scars on their pale skin and bald head; eyes were void black. To add it, their mouths were all sewed. As though they were all dead vessels utilized to only talk of destiny.

Between all of them, Elliot thought, maybe the young ones were better. Despite their scarred and scary faces, the young female and male Behalters were attractive; more than conventionally beautiful, more than conventionally handsome.

Fortunately, Elliot’s Behalter was a young woman. Though, still, she scared him to death. The young female Oracle had bleached blond hair, as pale as her skin, as dry as desert. Colors and life were drained from her body. She wore a dark grey robe with its hood over her head. She was expressionless, as expected. Her thin lips sewed closed, her blue orbs gazing Elliot out of focus. She said nothing—well, her lips were sewed, after all—but silently lifted her hands, palms up, to Elliot. Elliot held the Sword of Traccia in front of his chest horizontally with both of his hands, as though offering her the sword.

She looked at him for seconds, studying the boy with her intimidating yet unfocused gaze. Finally, she raised her arms. “O’, destiny,” she roared with a low voice that was full of dignity, booming inside Elliot’s mind. It caught Elliot off guard, astonished at how low yet authoritative her voice was. No, she did not open her mouth. Her voice came from within his mind, taking over the core of his head. “The destiny has been bestowed to the heir of Alskar, to Elliot Vincent Alskar, and he shall know the truth!”

Her arms were thrown back to Elliot and he handed her the Sword of Traccia. She took it with both of her trembling hands, as though the sword itself electrified her. She raised the sword gracefully, despite her fingers trembling as she searched for the truth of the boy’s fate. She roared, “Let him learn of his destiny!”

And she started, still holding the Sword of Traccia above them. “The world of agony—beauty in blood, beauty in pain, beauty in love. The beauty that is the work of Heaven. No one could end it, but the Chosen One and his lovely bird who sings of freedom,” she said. She lowered the sword to her chest level and closed her eyes. For a second, Elliot thought that it was all done. While he was wondering, though, suddenly the woman’s eyes opened. “And you, who listens to these words,” her voice echoed. “are the Chosen One.”

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