The day Asher was to lift the relic loomed closer than anyone had anticipated. That afternoon, Dyvayne arrived at the palace, resplendent in his pristine white regal robe, flanked by four mages—two boys and two girls. One of them cradled the cube-shaped vault containing the lochlight sphere with the reverence one might reserve for a holy artifact, its polished surface catching the light in a way that seemed almost otherworldly.
At the entrance to the inner chamber, King Kaelion and two of his knights stood waiting. The stillness of the air was broken only by the faint clink of armor and the rhythmic crunch of boots against the stone floor.
"Dyvayne," Kaelion greeted warmly, his voice a rare beacon of calm amid the simmering tension.
"Your Majesty," Dyvayne returned, his tone measured and steady. He stopped a respectful distance away and bowed deeply. The mages behind him mirrored his gesture, their movements as synchronized as if choreographed. Kaelion and his company responded in kind, though the king quickly waved off the display with a casual sweep of his hand.
"No need for all these formalities," Kaelion said with a soft chuckle. "When it's just the two of us, let's dispense with titles. No king, no regent—just two old friends."
Dyvayne's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "As you wish, Kaelion," he said, the rigidity in his posture easing just slightly.
With that, the group stepped into the inner chamber, where the air seemed almost heavier, thrumming with an unspoken energy. The faint hum of enchantments clung to the stone walls, wrapping the room in an invisible veil of anticipation.
Hidden behind one of the massive stone pillars, Asher watched the exchange unfold. He was a ghost in the shadows, unseen but keenly aware of every detail. Two days ago, when he had first been told of his impending task—to lift the lochlight sphere—he'd felt a spark of something he could only describe as purpose. There had been a flicker of excitement, a whispered promise of greatness that had fueled his training sessions, pushing him to the edge of exhaustion.
But as the day crept closer, that spark had faded. Now, with the moment nearly upon him, it had all but extinguished, replaced by a gnawing unease that spread like wildfire through his chest. His hands twitched at his sides, raw and calloused from relentless practice, as if anticipating the weight of the relic.
He couldn't help but feel like a pawn in a game too vast and too dangerous for him to comprehend. The lochlight sphere was more than a relic—it was a symbol, a responsibility, and a promise. But to Asher, it also felt like a trap, one he had no power to escape.
Not that he ever truly had a choice.
"Asher, our boy hero!" Kaelion's warm voice filled the chamber as Asher stepped in.
The room was quiet and sparse, its occupants few but notable—the king, Dyvayne, Ronan, the mages, the high keeper, and Asher himself. The small gathering made the moment feel even more intense. Asher's steps were hesitant, every stride feeling heavier than the last. His eyes remained fixed on the lochlight sphere resting within the open vault on the table, its polished surface gleaming like a beacon of uncertainty.
He bowed low, first to the king, then to Dyvayne and the others, each gesture deliberate and formal. His gaze lingered on Ronan, searching for reassurance. But Ronan didn't meet his eyes, his guilt as visible as the tension in his clenched jaw.
"You know why you're here, right?" Kaelion's voice broke the silence, calm but unyielding.
"Yes, sire," Asher said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm here to lift the lochlight sphere... to see if I'm one of the chosen."
"Clever as always," Kaelion said with a small nod. "I hear Sir Ronan has been putting you through your paces. A knight never forgets how to train another, it seems," he added, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at Ronan.
Ronan's smile was fleeting, a pale imitation of his usual confidence. He shifted on his feet, his discomfort evident.
"Alright, Asher," Kaelion continued, his tone shifting to one of gentle command. "When you're ready—and by that, I mean now—step up to the table. You're no stranger to pain, boy. It's through pain you've built a strength far beyond your years, and for that, we're all proud of you."
"It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," Asher muttered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.
Kaelion's gaze softened, his voice dropping to something almost fatherly. "No, it doesn't. Pain always hurts. But it also shapes us. Makes us stronger, even when we don't realize it."
Asher said nothing, his head dropping lower as if the weight of his thoughts were too much to hold up. He felt small in that moment, a boy asked to carry a burden too vast for his shoulders.
"Come now," Kaelion urged, though his tone was kind. "Let's not keep the moment waiting. Step forward."
Reluctantly, Asher moved toward the table, his steps slow and deliberate. The room seemed to shrink around him, the air thickening as every eye turned to him. Each glance carried expectation, curiosity, and maybe even hope. It weighed on him, making him feel like he was carrying a mountain.
He stopped in front of the sphere, its cold brilliance daring him to act. The moment hung in the air, stretching longer with every breath he took.
"Asher, you may go on and pick the sphere. Rest assured, everything is under control, and you'll be okay. Besides, we have four capable mages here, not to mention the leader of Dravenloch himself, Dyvayne. If anything goes wrong—which it won't—they'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe," Kaelion assured him with a calm yet firm tone.
Asher stared silently at the king, his eyes pleading for salvation, for someone to release him from this weighty task. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, replaying every dream he'd ever had and how easily this moment could shatter them. The thought of failure—or worse—gnawed at his courage. Rowenne's voice echoed in his mind, a whisper of warning: "And in the worst cases, death."
His gaze shifted to Ronan, silently begging for reprieve, but the knight's expression remained unyielding, his cold resolve offering no solace. Asher turned to each face in the room. Their eyes gleamed with curiosity, with expectation. He felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter, a mere experiment for those who would learn from his success—or his failure—at the cost of his life.
Each passing second weighed on him like a lifetime, the heavy silence thickening as the others grew impatient. Desperate for comfort, Asher glanced around for Rowenne, but she was nowhere to be seen. Alone in his fear, he turned back to face the orb, its radiant surface reflecting the stakes of this moment.
With a trembling hand, he reached forward, his fingertips hesitating just before contact. His heart raced, pounding against his ribcage as if trying to escape. Closing his eyes as if bracing for death itself, he continued. His fingers met the sphere, its surface cold as ice, sending a chilling sensation through his entire body. He opened his eyes to find the room's collective gaze fixed on him, their faces alight with relief and excitement.
Summoning his courage, he grasped the sphere with both hands, its icy touch quickly giving way to warmth. The sphere began to glow, a light that filled the room and left everyone in awe. Relief washed over Asher, a tide that carried away the shadow of dread. He felt vindicated, as if freed from the gallows at the last moment. Excitement surged back into his heart, reigniting his sense of purpose.
But then, the warmth turned to weakness. It began in his hands, spreading like a flood through his body. His legs wavered, buckling beneath him. The sphere slipped from his grasp, tumbling safely back into the vault as Asher collapsed.
Ronan was there, catching him before he hit the ground. Asher's head lolled back, his vision blurring, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He saw the faces of the onlookers crowding around him, Kaelion's voice cutting through the haze, shouting for the mages to act. Sounds grew muffled, distant, until only fragments reached him.
"Asher, say something!" Ronan's voice broke through, desperate and raw.
Asher tried to speak, to answer the call. He wanted to say, "Am I dying?" But the words stayed trapped in his mind, unspoken. His body betrayed him, his lips unmoving. In that fleeting moment, he longed for the life he'd never lived—a life of freedom, of joy, of laughter and adventure instead of endless training and impossible burdens.
While Asher dwelt in the abyss of darkness, the room was a whirlwind of panic. Ronan knelt beside him, pressing his ear to Asher's chest to check for a heartbeat.
"He's still alive," Ronan announced, and a collective sigh of relief swept through the room.
"…But…"
"But what, Ronan?" Kaelion asked, his voice tinged with dread. His eyes searched Ronan's face, silently pleading for reassurance.
"He's barely breathing, sire. His heartbeat is faint—almost as though his heart has stopped," Ronan confessed, his tone heavy with concern.
Kaelion exhaled shakily. Relief flickered briefly, knowing Asher was alive, but fear quickly replaced it. The boy's life hung by a thread.
"Please, sire, allow my mages to intervene," Dyvayne said urgently.
"Gladly. Do whatever it takes—just save him," Kaelion replied, desperation cracking through his voice.
Axel, one of the mages, stepped forward and knelt beside Asher. Ronan gently laid the boy flat on the ground. Axel placed a steady hand on Asher's chest and closed his eyes. A golden glow radiated from the point of contact, illuminating the room in warm light. Slowly, Asher's breathing deepened, and his heartbeat regained its rhythm. His body, which had been cold and lifeless, warmed once more.
But the act took its toll. Axel swayed and collapsed against Bernin, another mage, who caught him just in time. Axel's face was pale, his strength visibly drained.
"How is he? Will he be alright?" Kaelion asked, his voice trembling.
"I… I don't know, sire. We've done all we could. Now… we can only hope," Axel replied weakly.
Kaelion's gaze turned to Asher, his expression troubled. "What happened? One moment, he was brimming with hope and power, and the next, he's on the floor, clinging to life," he said, his voice filled with disbelief.
Dyvayne, still steady despite the chaos, stepped forward. "Your Majesty, the boy may indeed be the chosen one, but…"
"But what?" Kaelion urged, his patience fraying.
"…But the power of the lochlight sphere was too great for him to bear," Dyvayne continued gravely.
Kaelion clenched his fists, his voice sharp. "What are you saying? Spit it out!"
Dyvayne hesitated for a moment, then spoke the words everyone dreaded. "I hate to say this, sire, but… Asher is not ready to wield the lochlight sphere."
The room fell silent, the weight of Dyvayne's words settling heavily over everyone. Kaelion's face darkened as he stared at Asher, the boy who carried the hopes of a kingdom, now lying vulnerable and unresponsive.
And then, in the quiet tension, Kaelion whispered to himself, "If not now, then when?"
The question hung unanswered in the air, thick with uncertainty and dread.