Everyone stood rooted in place, their faces a mix of awe and disbelief. The chamber, once alive with chatter and celebration, had plunged into an eerie silence. The radiant glow of the relics and Lyrris's thunderous proclamation seemed to hang in the air like an unresolved storm. For several long moments, it was as quiet as a graveyard.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" Ronan's voice broke through the stillness, his tone edged with urgency. King Kaelion stood frozen, his expression unreadable as if lost in the depths of his own thoughts.

"Your Majesty!" Ronan called again, louder this time. The king blinked and seemed to jolt back to the present. Without a word, he turned and headed for the inner chamber, trailed closely by Ronan and the Conclave of Regents—the collective name for the leaders of the six realms. Their expressions mirrored the king's: solemn, confused, and deeply unsettled.

Moments later, Caidric emerged from the chamber, his pace brisk as he approached the high keeper. "The king demands your presence immediately," he said, his tone clipped and urgent. Without waiting for a response, he pivoted and strode toward Lyrris, clearly on a mission to fulfill the king's summons.

Amid the tension, Edmund leaned closer to Alaric and Rowenne, his voice barely above a whisper. "Does this… does this usually happen?"

"What's happening, Mum?" Alaric asked, his wide eyes filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Rowenne glanced around, her gaze sharp and alert. She lowered her voice. "I don’t know, boys. But it seems the relics have awakened, which can only mean one thing. The chosen ones… they’re here."

"That’s amazing!" Alaric exclaimed, his face lighting up.

"Shh!" Rowenne hissed, casting him a warning glance. "Keep your voice down. Everyone’s in a state of confusion. The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves with your uncontrollable curiosity."

Edmund, his brows furrowed in thought, asked hesitantly, "What will happen now? Are they going to try and find the chosen ones here, in this sea of people?"

Rowenne shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "We’ll leave that to the king and the Conclave of Regents to decide. But the real question, one I don’t expect two young boys to have the answer to is this: what happens when these chosen ones are found?"

Her words hung in the air, unanswered. The uncertainty gnawed at her as she scanned the hall, wondering if the revelation that had shaken the palace was only the beginning of something far greater and far more dangerous than any of them could imagine.

Lyrris approached the inner chamber with a regal poise that commanded attention. Her every step was deliberate, her presence filling the room long before she spoke. Even in a space occupied by King Kaelion and the Conclave of Regents, she exuded an authority that was impossible to ignore. Her expression was cold, her gaze sharp enough to silence even the most defiant soul.

"Greetings, Your Majesty," Lyrris said with a graceful bow, her voice steady and firm.

"Greetings, esteemed leaders," she added, her piercing eyes meeting each member of the conclave as she spoke.

Kaelion leaned forward in his seat, his demeanor tense. "Lyrris, you’ve seen what has transpired. The relics, this awakening, it can only mean the chosen ones are among us. Hidden, perhaps even unaware of their destiny. How do we find them? High keeper, what counsel can you offer?" His voice, though steady, carried an undertone of urgency.

Lyrris clasped her hands before her, her expression unchanging. "Your Majesty, the answer lies within the legend of the relics. Do you recall it?"

The king fell silent, his brow furrowing as he waited for her to continue.

"Conclave of Regents?," she said, addressing the leaders with a measured tone. "Surely you, too, remember the words passed down through generations?"

The room was quiet until Zyrelle, the keen-eyed leader of Myrridial, spoke with precision. "It is said that when the sun refuses to rise, the moon hides her light, and darkness envelops the world, the chosen will awaken. They alone will possess the power to wield the relics. Together, they must face the growing darkness and embark on a perilous journey—one fraught with trials that could shatter their spirits or corrupt their hearts. Their purpose: to rekindle the light or be consumed by the abyss."

Her words hung in the air, each syllable weighted with ominous meaning. The conclave remained silent, their attention fixed on Lyrris.

"Well said," Lyrris acknowledged with a slight nod. "And let us not forget: the relics can only be wielded by these chosen individuals. Any other attempt will result in failure," she added.

The High keeper stepped forward, his voice carrying the calm authority of wisdom. "Indeed. It is believed that one individual from each of the seven nations will be chosen to wield the power of their relic."

Kaelion stood, his eyes searching for answers no one seemed willing to provide. "I understand all this. But why now? Why would this happen on the Celestial Convergence? This cannot be mere coincidence."

An uneasy silence filled the chamber. The regents exchanged wary glances, each grappling with the king’s question. Lyrris’s eyes flickered with something unspoken, and the High keeper’s expression grew grim. Finally, they both spoke in unison, their voices ringing with certainty:

"The forces of darkness have awoken."

A chill swept through the chamber, the weight of Lyrris and the High keeper’s declaration sinking deep into everyone’s hearts. Fear flickered in their eyes, and even the seasoned warriors present seemed uneasy.

“Wh-what are these forces of darkness?” Kaelion stammered, his voice trembling despite his effort to appear composed.

“Our knowledge is limited, Your Majesty,” Lyrris replied, her tone steady. “But there is one source that might hold the answers you seek—Modkha.”

“Modkha?” Dyvayne, leader of Dravenloch, leaned forward, his sharp eyes narrowing with curiosity. “What is this Modkha?”

The High keeper stepped forward, his voice calm and deliberate. “Modkha is the name of an ancient, secretive clan. It is said that they possess gifts akin to those of the Ancient Ones. Seers and mages descended from their bloodline. Their knowledge is unparalleled. They see what others cannot and know what others dare not.”

Lyrris nodded, her expression grim. “Their civilization is hidden, and their location remains a mystery. Long ago, they faced relentless threats from ambitious mortals who sought either to wield their power or to destroy it. Now, they exist only in whispers and legends.”

Kaelion let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the revelation evident on his shoulders.
“Then our first priority must be clear. We must find the awakened ones and prepare them for what lies ahead.” said Vaelis, leader of Tharlorwyn.

“Agreed,” said Kaelion.

“Once these individuals are identified, they should be brought to Eryndral, where they can train together under the guidance of my knights. This is where their journey must begin.”

The room murmured in agreement, but Celyra, the astute leader of Astravyr, raised a hand. “Your Majesty, I have no objection to your plan. However, I do have a question.”

“Speak, Celyra,” Kaelion said, motioning for her to continue.

“Who will train these chosen individuals? Handling the relics will require knowledge and skills beyond those of ordinary knights. How do you intend to address this?”

Kaelion straightened, his tone resolute. “We have capable hands among us—Thavion Caidric, the Grand Marshal; Halvryn Ronan, the Knight Marshal; and Theron Skyreach, the Knight Captain. If necessary, Vaelwyn Valtheron, the High Warden, will also lend his expertise. Together, they will ensure the chosen ones are physically and mentally prepared.”

Celyra arched an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. “I do not doubt the abilities of these knights, Your Majesty. But their expertise lies in martial combat, not in wielding relics of immense, ancient power. Without proper guidance, the chosen ones may falter.”

Before Kaelion could respond, Zyrelle spoke, her voice calm but pointed. “Then tell me, Celyra, would you prefer we delay their training while we search for someone who might know how to wield these relics? Or shall we proceed with the resources we have and adapt as we find the right people?”

Celyra hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment. “No,” she said finally, her voice subdued. “You are right. We cannot afford to wait.”

Kaelion nodded, his expression firm. “Then it is settled. The chosen will be brought to Eryndral, and their training will commence immediately. Whatever guidance we lack now, we will find in time.”

The Conclave of Regents exchanged silent glances, each leader privately bracing for the uncertain road ahead.

Everyone stood up to follow Kaelion as he made for the exit.

"No, you all wait here; this gathering is not over," Kaelion instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He walked out to meet the waiting crowd, and the atmosphere shifted immediately. Everywhere fell silent as his presence was announced.

"Citizens of Erythoria," Kaelion began, his voice clear and commanding. "Thank you for your patience and for being present to partake in the Celestial Convergence. It is with great pleasure that I assure you everything is under control, and there is no need for worry or panic. I urge you to enjoy the feast, the celebration, and to live out your best lives. Your leaders shall address you in due time upon your return to your respective nations. Long live Erythoria!"

His words drew a resounding cheer from the crowd, who quickly returned to their celebrations with renewed vigor. Kaelion turned on his heel and strode back into the chamber, where the leaders awaited him in tense silence.

"Listen, leaders," Kaelion began, his tone serious and deliberate. "This is what you are to do. In seven days and seven nights, I want you all to present the chosen ones. Every citizen must be given the chance to attempt to claim the relic of their nation. Cyradorn, your people shall test their worth with the Bloodthorn, and whoever succeeds will be brought to me. Astravyr, the Stormcleave, and so on......except Dravenloch."

Kaelion’s declaration hung heavily in the air, the leaders exchanging uncertain glances. The room grew still as they waited for the king to clarify his final statement.

"For the hero, Asher, has already been chosen from Dravenloch to wield the power of the Lochlight Sphere," Kaelion said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Asher is a mage."