The Grand Hall remained cloaked in an eerie silence long after the Admiral's speech ended. The crowd had dispersed in waves, Oreah dignitaries exchanging careful smiles and shallow pleasantries as they filed out. Lumark stood near the edge of the room, staring at the empty space where Vigge had spoken, his words still echoing in his mind.
"This rank is not a reward… It is a burden I accept for the sake of Alantus."
The conviction in Vigge's voice had been undeniable, but Lumark couldn't shake the feeling that the Admiral's words had been layered with meanings meant for only a select few.
"Deep in thought?" Drekk's voice broke through the haze.
Lumark turned to see his companion approaching, a faint smirk on his face. "Trying to make sense of everything," Lumark replied.
"Good luck with that," Drekk said. "Half the people in this room are playing a game we're not even allowed to know the rules of."
Before Lumark could respond, the familiar presence of the First Elder filled the space beside them. His silver eyes, sharp and unyielding, flicked between the two young Norgs.
"You both kept your composure tonight," the First Elder said, his voice low. "That's more than I can say for some of the older fools pretending to lead us."
Drekk raised an eyebrow. "Was that a compliment?"
"A warning," the First Elder corrected. His gaze lingered on Lumark. "Pay attention to what you saw and heard tonight. The palace has a way of revealing truths no one intended to share."
Before Lumark could ask what he meant, a low voice called from across the room. "First Elder."
The three turned to see the Nneurha standing near one of the towering windows, the faint glow of the Dome casting his pale orange skin in shades of gold. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his presence was impossible to ignore.
The First Elder inclined his head slightly. "Stay here," he told Lumark and Drekk before striding toward the Oreah ruler.
Lumark watched them from a distance, their conversation too quiet to overhear. But even from across the room, he could feel the tension between the two leaders. The Nneurha's calm demeanor was matched by the First Elder's unyielding intensity, their words deliberate and carefully chosen.
"What do you think they're talking about?" Drekk asked, leaning closer.
"Us," Lumark replied without hesitation. "The Norgs. The Oreahs. Unity."
Drekk snorted softly. "Unity. Funny how it always feels like a leash when they say it."
Lumark didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed on the Nneurha and the First Elder, his thoughts swirling with fragments of what he had seen and heard over the past few days. The visions, the whispers, the conversation in the library—they all felt connected, like pieces of a puzzle he couldn't yet assemble.
The Weight of Words
The conversation between the First Elder and the Nneurha lasted only a few minutes, but when the elder returned, his expression was grim.
"We're leaving," he said simply.
"Now?" Drekk asked, frowning. "The feast isn't even over."
"The feast was a formality," the First Elder replied. "The real conversations happen behind closed doors, and we're not welcome in those rooms."
Lumark felt a pang of frustration. "What did the Nneurha say to you?"
The First Elder's gaze softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. "Nothing that changes what we already know. The balance between the Norgs and Oreahs is more fragile than ever. That's why it's important that you both learn to navigate this world. Your generation will inherit the consequences of what happens here."
As they made their way toward the exit, Lumark's mind raced. He thought of the Admiral's speech, Kaelith's guarded words, and the subtle glances exchanged between the Oreah leaders. The weight of everything felt almost suffocating, and yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
The Academy looked different in the days following the ceremony. Lumark wasn't sure if it was his own shifting perspective or the weight of the gathering at the palace, but there was a distinct change in the air. The usual bustling energy of the campus felt subdued, conversations more guarded, glances more calculating.
As he walked the crystalline pathways toward the central lecture hall, Lumark noticed the subtle divides among the students. The Oreahs moved in tightly knit groups, their conversations low and their eyes watchful. The seven Norgs—including himself—were scattered across the campus, their presence acknowledged with either indifference or barely concealed disdain.
The Norg dormitory felt quieter too. Drekk, who usually filled the space with dry humor or pointed observations, had grown unusually silent. Lumark found him sitting in the common room one evening, staring into the soft glow of the fireplace.
"You're brooding," Lumark said, dropping into the chair opposite him.
Drekk shrugged, his silver eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
Drekk glanced at him, then back at the fire. "My father. The way he looked at Vigge during the ceremony. Like the Admiral's victory was his own."
Lumark frowned. "What do you mean?"
Drekk sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Lapatti's been pushing for Vigge's promotion for years. Says it'll 'strengthen the Norgs' position.'" He made air quotes with his fingers, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But what he really means is that it'll strengthen his position. Make him indispensable to the Oreahs."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Lumark asked cautiously.
Drekk laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But the more you tie yourself to the Oreahs, the more they pull the strings. My father doesn't see it, or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. Either way, he's already too deep."
The weight of Drekk's words settled over them, heavy and unspoken. Lumark thought of his own father, the First Elder, and the way he had spoken about unity. The contrast between their perspectives was stark—one seeking to protect Norg independence, the other entangling it further with Oreah politics.
"Do you think it'll work?" Lumark asked finally. "What your father's doing?"
Drekk's expression darkened. "I think it'll work for him. But for the rest of us?" He shook his head. "We'll be lucky if there's anything left of the Norgs by the time he's done."
The Academy itself was a microcosm of the wider tensions on Alantus. Oreah students dominated the lectures and discussions, their confidence and precision often leaving little room for others to contribute. The few Norg students, Lumark included, were often relegated to the edges, their voices overshadowed or dismissed.
It was during a lecture on intergalactic diplomacy that Lumark began to notice the subtler ways the Oreahs exerted their influence.
The instructor, an Oreah dignitary with flowing robes and a voice like silk, paced the front of the hall as he spoke. "Diplomacy is not merely the art of negotiation," he said, his tone measured. "It is the ability to command respect without raising a blade, to secure power without spilling blood."
Lumark watched as the Oreah students nodded in agreement, their expressions attentive. He glanced around the room, noting the careful arrangement of seats—the Oreahs at the center, the Norgs near the back.
"What do you think?" Kaelith's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
She had slipped into the seat beside him, her presence quiet but undeniable. Lumark turned to her, studying the faint smile on her lips.
"About diplomacy?" he asked.
"About his version of it," Kaelith said, nodding toward the instructor. "Do you think it works?"
Lumark hesitated. "I think it works for those who hold the power. For everyone else… it's just survival."
Kaelith's smile widened slightly. "An interesting perspective. You're not wrong."
Her gaze shifted to the instructor, her expression growing more serious. "Diplomacy, politics, unity—it's all about control. The Oreahs know that better than anyone."
There was a weight to her words, a hint of something she wasn't saying. Lumark wanted to press her, but the instructor's voice cut through his thoughts.
"You there," the dignitary said, pointing directly at Lumark. "Your thoughts on the subject."
Lumark straightened in his seat, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room.
"Diplomacy is a tool," he said carefully, choosing his words with precision. "But it's only as effective as the person using it. If there's no trust, no understanding between the parties, then it's just words."
The dignitary arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "And do you believe trust is possible in diplomacy?"
Lumark met his gaze, refusing to falter. "Only if it's earned."
A murmur rippled through the room, some students nodding, others whispering behind cupped hands. Kaelith's smile returned, though she said nothing.
The instructor moved on, but Lumark felt a flicker of pride. He had spoken his truth, even if it wasn't what they wanted to hear.
The Shadow of the Whisper
That night, as Lumark walked back to the dormitory, the cold wind returned. It brushed against his skin like a ghost's touch, carrying with it the faintest hint of a voice.
"Unity," it whispered, the word stretching into the night like a warning.
Lumark stopped in his tracks, his silver eyes scanning the empty courtyard. The glow of the Dome above seemed dimmer, the shadows deeper.
"Who's there?" he called, his voice steady despite the chill creeping down his spine.
The silence that followed was deafening, the kind that pressed against his ears and made the world feel smaller.
And then, he saw it—a faint figure standing beneath one of the towering crystalline arches. It was barely more than a shadow, its form indistinct, but its presence was undeniable.
"Lumark," the voice said, clearer this time, though still distant.
He took a step forward, his heart pounding. "What do you want from me?"
The figure didn't move, but its form seemed to ripple, like water disturbed by an unseen force.
"Prepare," the voice said, its tone both soothing and ominous. "The balance is breaking."
Before Lumark could respond, the figure dissolved into the shadows, leaving him alone in the cold.
The cold clung to Lumark's skin long after the figure vanished. The whisper lingered in his mind, its words coiling like a serpent around his thoughts. The balance is breaking.
Back in the Norg dormitory, he paced the narrow confines of his room, the faint hum of the Dome outside providing little comfort. His mind raced, replaying the figure's appearance, its voice, and the strange pull he felt toward it.
What balance? What did it want from him?
Lumark's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He hesitated before opening it to find Drekk standing there, his expression unusually grim.
"We need to talk," Drekk said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
Lumark closed the door and turned to face him. "What's going on?"
Drekk ran a hand through his short silver hair, frustration evident in his every movement. "There's been talk among the Oreahs. About Vigge. About us."
"Us?" Lumark repeated, narrowing his eyes.
"Not just the Norgs—about you specifically," Drekk said, leaning against the wall. "I overheard some Oreahs in the training hall. They're saying the First Elder brought you here for a reason. Something about… chaos."
The word hit Lumark like a physical blow. He froze, the whispers in his mind suddenly roaring louder.
"Chaos?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Drekk nodded. "They don't know what it means, but they're watching you. More than the rest of us."
The revelation left Lumark reeling. He thought back to the ceremony, to the way the Oreahs had looked at him, the weight of their stares. The whispers in the library, the visions, the figure—it was all connected.
"I need to clear my head," Lumark muttered, pushing past Drekk.
"Lumark, wait—" Drekk began, but Lumark was already out the door.
The Hall of Statues
Lumark's feet carried him through the darkened Academy halls, his thoughts a storm of unanswered questions. He barely registered where he was going until he found himself in the Hall of Statues, a long corridor lined with towering effigies of past leaders and warriors of Alantus.
The space was eerily quiet, the faint glow of the statues casting long shadows across the polished floor. Each figure seemed to watch him as he passed, their expressions frozen in stone but somehow alive with judgment.
At the far end of the hall, he stopped before a statue of Diniir, the goddess of chaos. Her faceless form was carved from black obsidian, her arms outstretched as if welcoming the chaos she was said to embody.
Lumark stared at the statue, his breathing shallow. The whispers in his mind grew louder, their words indistinct but urgent.
"What do you want from me?" he demanded, his voice echoing in the empty hall.
The air around him grew colder, and the shadows seemed to deepen. For a moment, he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye—a flicker of darkness that wasn't there before.
And then he heard it again.
"Lumark," the voice said, clearer than ever.
He spun around, his heart pounding, but the hall was empty.
"Who are you?" he called out. "What do you want?"
There was no response, only the sound of his own breathing and the faint hum of the Dome beyond. But as he turned back to the statue, something caught his eye—a faint glow emanating from the base of Diniir's effigy.
He stepped closer, his silver eyes narrowing. The glow grew brighter, pulsating like a heartbeat. He reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against the cold stone.
The world around him shattered.
Lumark found himself standing in a vast, empty expanse. The ground beneath him was smooth and black, like polished glass, reflecting a swirling sky of red and gold.
Standing frozen in the strange expanse, his breath caught as the world twisted around him. The smooth black ground beneath his feet reflected the swirling sky above—a tumultuous sea of crimson and gold clouds that churned like an angry storm. The faint hum of whispers filled the air, distant but growing closer, forming words he couldn't yet understand.
Then, as if summoned by his thoughts, the Trinity emerged from the storm. Their faceless forms, draped in flowing black garments, seemed to rise from the very ground, moving in perfect unison. The space around them bent and rippled, their presence a living contradiction—both soothing and terrifying, both light and darkness.
"You…" the voices of the Trinity said as one, a haunting echo that resonated deep within his chest.
Lumark's legs felt rooted to the ground, his body trembling as their gaze, though eyeless, bore into him.
"Why do you haunt me?" Lumark demanded, his voice shaky but firm. "What do you want from me?"
The Trinity paused, their collective presence exuding an unnatural stillness. Then, with a motion that seemed to transcend physicality, one of their figures extended a hand toward him.
"You are chaos," they intoned. "The bridge between life and death. Between creation and destruction. Between unity and its fall."
Their words struck Lumark like a blow. "I don't understand," he said, his voice rising with frustration. "I didn't ask for this!"
The Trinity's voices overlapped, creating a cacophony that drowned out his protest. "You will bring balance, or you will bring ruin. The choice is yours, but the path is not yet clear."
Before Lumark could respond, the storm above them raged, lightning flashing across the sky. In its light, he saw a new figure—a child with diamond-like eyes and hair like molten silver.
It was her.
The Nerhu's child.
The child stood in the distance, her small figure glowing with an ethereal light. Her presence filled Lumark with both awe and dread, her gaze meeting his even across the vast expanse.
"She is life," the Trinity said.
"She is death," they continued, their voices colder now.
"She is chaos itself," the Trinity concluded, their tone final.
The child extended her hand, and suddenly the ground beneath Lumark began to crack and splinter. The polished surface fractured, revealing molten gold beneath, and the whispers around him grew into a deafening roar.
"No!" Lumark shouted, his voice breaking.
The Trinity's forms grew larger, surrounding him. "Your choice will decide her fate. The fate of Alantus."
And then, as the storm's fury reached its peak, the child was gone, replaced by five new figures.
The New Trinity
The figures stood in the distance, their outlines blurred but unmistakably distinct. Lumark could feel their presence—vast, powerful, and connected in a way he couldn't yet comprehend.
Four of the figures were Norgs, their towering forms familiar but shrouded in shadow. The fifth, however, was unmistakably an Oreah, their pale orange skin glowing faintly against the storm.
"They are the future," the Trinity said, their voices layered with both reverence and sorrow. "The ones who will rise when we fall."
Lumark stared at the figures, he saw a striking resemblance in one of them, the Norg looked all too familiar —alas it was himself he saw. His mind racing. Why were they showing him this? What did it mean?
"Why me?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Why do I have to carry this?"
The Trinity's forms began to fade, their voices growing distant. "You are the firstborn of chaos, Lumark. The bridge. The harbinger. The choice will always be yours."
As their presence dissolved into the storm, Lumark felt himself falling. The ground shattered beneath him, and he plunged into the molten gold below. The heat was unbearable, the whispers deafening.
And then, he woke.
Awakening
Lumark gasped, his body jerking upright as he returned to the Hall of Statues. The faint glow of the Dome's light filtered through the towering arches, and the statue of Diniir stood silent and cold before him.
His heart pounded in his chest, his skin damp with sweat. He clutched at the polished floor, his mind reeling from what he had seen.
The Trinity's words echoed in his ears: You will bring balance, or you will bring ruin.
He staggered to his feet, his legs shaky but determined. The faces of the new Trinity—four Norgs and an Oreah—remained etched in his mind, alongside the image of the Nerhu's child.
The future of Alantus was unraveling before him, and Lumark was at its center.
The vision left a lingering ache in Lumark's chest, one he couldn't shake as he stumbled back to his dormitory. The whispers of the Trinity's words echoed in his mind: "You are chaos. The bridge. The harbinger."
Inside his room, the faint hum of the Dome was the only sound. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his trembling hands. For a moment, he clutched his chest as if trying to steady the erratic pounding of his heart.
What did it mean? The Nerhu's child, the new Trinity, the storm of destruction—how was he supposed to make sense of it all? He tried to focus on the figures in the vision: four Norgs and one Oreah, standing against the backdrop of chaos. Why would an Oreah be among the new Trinity?
A soft knock broke his spiraling thoughts.
"Lumark?" Drekk's voice was muffled through the door, but his concern was clear.
Lumark hesitated. His first instinct was to stay silent, to shut out the world until the weight of the vision subsided. But the memory of the First Elder's words—"In a room full of masks, trust only what you can see for yourself"—pushed him to act.
"Come in," Lumark said finally.
Drekk entered, his sharp silver eyes scanning Lumark's face. "You look worse than I thought."
"I'm fine," Lumark muttered, though he knew the lie was transparent.
Drekk crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Sure. That's why you're pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf."
Lumark exhaled, running a hand through his wheat-colored hair. "It's nothing, Drekk. Just… the Academy. The ceremony. All of it."
"Does this 'nothing' have anything to do with why you bolted from the dorms earlier?" Drekk asked, his tone pointed.
Lumark hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. How could he explain the visions? The Trinity? The whispers of chaos?
"I can't talk about it," he said finally.
Drekk raised an eyebrow. "Can't or won't?"
Lumark looked up, his silver eyes meeting Drekk's. "Both."
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Then Drekk sighed, pushing off the doorframe.
"Fine," he said, though his tone was more resigned than angry. "But whatever's going on, you don't have to face it alone."
Lumark felt a flicker of gratitude but said nothing.
A Meeting with the First Elder
The next morning, Lumark was summoned to the lecture hall, where the First Elder waited. The space was empty save for the elder, his imposing figure standing near the center of the room, his silver eyes sharp and unyielding.
"You called for me?" Lumark asked as he approached.
The First Elder nodded. "Sit."
Lumark obeyed, lowering himself into one of the many empty chairs. The elder remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back.
"What happened last night?" the First Elder asked, his voice calm but firm.
Lumark stiffened. "I… don't know what you mean."
The elder's gaze narrowed. "Do not insult my intelligence, Lumark. I felt it—the disturbance. The whispers. The chaos."
Lumark's stomach churned. "How?"
"The Trinity's connection to Alantus is not limited to them alone," the elder said, his tone grave. "When they reach out, those attuned to their presence feel the ripples. You are attuned, Lumark, whether you like it or not."
Lumark's hands clenched into fists. "I didn't ask for this."
"No one asks for destiny," the First Elder said, his voice softening. "But it does not care for our desires. It moves as it wills, and we must decide whether to resist or embrace it."
For a moment, the elder's expression grew distant, his voice tinged with something almost mournful. "When you were a child, the Trinity watched you even then. We thought their interest would fade, but it has only grown stronger. Whatever they see in you, Lumark, it is not to be ignored."
"They said I would bring balance," Lumark said quietly. "Or ruin."
The elder's gaze sharpened. "And which do you believe?"
"I don't know," Lumark admitted, his voice trembling. "I don't know if I can choose."
The First Elder stepped closer, placing a hand on Lumark's shoulder. "You will have to, Lumark. Sooner than you think. And when the time comes, remember this: chaos is neither good nor evil. It is potential. What you make of it will define not only your fate but the fate of all Alantus."
That night, Lumark dreamed—or so he thought. The world around him was shrouded in darkness, pierced only by a faint glow in the distance. He moved toward the light, his steps soundless against the void.
As he drew closer, the light resolved into a figure—the Nerhu's child. She stood in the center of the void, her diamond-like eyes glowing with an intensity that seemed to pierce through him.
"Why are you here?" Lumark asked, his voice echoing.
The child tilted her head, her silver hair shimmering like starlight. "You brought me here," she said, her voice soft but filled with a weight far beyond her years.
"I don't understand," Lumark said, his frustration mounting. "What are you?"
The child's gaze didn't waver. "I am the beginning and the end. Life and death. Creation and destruction. As are you."
The words chilled him to his core. "What does that mean?"
The child stepped closer, her small figure radiating an impossible power. "You will choose," she said simply.
Before Lumark could respond, the void shattered, and he awoke in his bed, drenched in sweat.
The days that followed were marked by a strange tension. Lumark couldn't shake the images from his vision—the child, the Trinity, the five figures destined to rise in their place.
The Norgs in the Academy began to take on new significance in his mind. Was Drekk one of them? The thought unsettled him. And what of the Oreah in his vision? Could it be Kaelith?
Each interaction felt charged with unspoken meaning, every glance a potential thread in the web of destiny binding them together.
But the whispers of chaos continued, their presence growing stronger. The balance was breaking, and Lumark could feel it.
Mysteries untold even —Then and There.