Cynthia followed the owl deeper into the library's enormous chambers, echoing with the subtle hum of ancient power. They soon arrived at a large door, which, when opened, revealed a place known as the Ceremonial Chambers, as Cynthia learned from the owl named Tet.
The grand chamber was vast, featuring a high vaulted ceiling adorned with constellations that seemed to move in sync with the magic swirling in the air. Floating wands of varying sizes and shapes drifted lazily throughout the room, their energy pulsing in soft waves. Each wand was unique, its enchanted wood glistening with an ethereal light. Some were slim and sleek, while others were thick and ancient, all awaiting their rightful bearers.
As Cynthia entered the room, her golden eyes scanned the mesmerizing scene before her. She had spent her entire life preparing for this moment, and although she had expected to feel anxious, an unexpected peace enveloped her due to her irregular emotions.
Stepping forward, she noticed the wands floating closer, gently swaying as if inspecting her, yet none made a move to choose her. The silence in the room grew louder with each passing second, tension rising as the moment dragged on.
Suddenly, a faint shimmer appeared at the top of the chamber, where larger, more imposing objects began to descend. Cynthia's gaze was drawn upward, her heart skipping a beat. Above the floating wands, staffs of immense power hovered in a realm of their own. These were the tools of the most powerful warlocks and rarely descended for ceremonies like this. Cynthia's breath caught in her throat as one staff began to glide down toward her, beautifully engraved with runes and shining as if it contained the essence of time itself.
The room seemed to be still. Even Tet, the imposing owl administrator, watched in silence as the staff gently floated toward Cynthia, its presence commanding attention. Made of ancient dark wood, the surface of the staff was covered in shifting, swirling runes that pulsed like the ticking of a cosmic clock. A faint, glowing orb at the top shimmered with golden light, casting a soft glow on Cynthia's stunned face.
As the staff neared her, the air around her grew warmer, and a pulse of energy connected them. It was as if the staff had known her all along, patiently waiting for this very moment. The staff floated in front of her, and without hesitation, Cynthia reached out and grasped it. The moment her fingers wrapped around its smooth surface, a surge of magic coursed through her, filling her with a power, unlike anything she had ever felt before.
She gasped, her golden eyes glowing with the magic of the staff as the room itself seemed to hum in approval. The floating wands retreated, making way for this new reality.
In an instant, she was enveloped in golden light and levitated off the ground. She and the staff radiated such a strong light and Psy wave that Tet had to activate a defensive array on the platform he stood upon, a measure employed in such unusual circumstances. Observing the scene with penetrating eyes, Tet nodded slowly in approval. "It seems the time has come," he whispered, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. "You are not simply chosen with a wand, child. You are one of the 1% of warlocks selected by the staff."
A brilliant pillar of light shot from the library, piercing the sky. All across the city, and even in distant lands, powerful ArchMaguses, and Supreme Aura Sovereigns felt the presence of something extraordinary happening in Lumenoth.
Cynthia remained suspended in the golden light, her connection to the staff deepening with each passing moment. As the brilliance surrounding her slowly faded, she found herself standing alone, not in the ceremonial chamber, but in a vast, ethereal space. The ground beneath her shimmered like liquid moonlight, smooth and silver. All around her, the stars themselves seemed to whisper.
Before her, a figure appeared a towering white tiger with silver wings that stretched out majestically. Its fur gleamed like freshly fallen snow, and a Triquetra symbol glowed softly on its forehead, marking it with an aura of ancient power. He loomed over her but did so with a sense of reverence, not intimidation.
"Welcome, child my name is Draethon the Guardian of Lumenoth and the being who governs contracts and oaths," Draethon's voice was deep, vibrating not just in the air, but also in her head. It was comforting and authoritative, like a father greeting a long-lost kid.
"You were chosen by a staff, and those who are selected by a staff become Lumenoth councilors. All who are chosen by staff must join us, for you have unlocked a destiny greater than that of the typical warlock.
Cynthia blinked, trying to comprehend the enormity of what was happening. The words filled her with pride and confusion in equal measure. She was about to ask something when Draethon's silver wings twitched, his gaze shifting sharply to the shadows behind her. His massive form tensed as a new presence made itself known.
A man appeared, barely visible, more like a silhouette, his outline shimmering with faint energy. He stood tall, but his form flickered as if he were not entirely present in this realm. His mere presence sent a chill down Cynthia's spine, and she instinctively gripped the staff tighter.
Draethon's hackles rose, his voice suddenly colder, laced with barely contained fury. "Why are you here?"
The figure turned, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes, or where they should have been, glinted with a knowing, unsettling gleam. He smiled faintly, an expression that made the air feel heavier. "Ah, Draethon," the man said with a low chuckle, "if it isn't the little creature I spared all those many years ago. Look at you now so majestic, so grown up."
Draethon growled, his wings expanding to shield Cynthia instinctively. "Spared? You dare speak of mercy to me?"
Cynthia, overwhelmed by the tension and the weight of their history, could only watch in silence as the two powerful beings stood on the brink of a confrontation she could barely understand.
The figure spoke softly, its voice smooth and almost dismissive. "While your presence is impressive, Draethon, you are not needed at this time." Slowly raising its right hand, the figure pointed at Draethon, and in an instant, golden chains materialized around the great tiger. Draethon froze, his powerful form seemingly locked in time.
Cynthia's heart raced. Panic gripped her, which caught her off guard. She had never experienced any form of emotions when she was away from her father.
"Surprised to feel fear, are you?" the figure said, without turning, reading her thoughts as if they were spoken aloud.
Cynthia's eyes widened. How could this being know what she was thinking?
"There's no need to concern yourself with such trivial matters, young one," the figure continued. With a slow, deliberate motion, it turned its right palm upward, then twirled its finger in her direction. Cynthia felt her body lift off the ground, levitating effortlessly into the air. Her breath caught in her throat as she floated closer to him until she hovered just before his face.
"So, you are the inheritor the others have chosen for me," the figure mused, his tone a mixture of intrigue and amusement. "I see… you are the future I have waited for."
Cynthia's eyes were locked on his barely visible form, a strange sense of familiarity washing over her as his words settled in. His lips curved into a smile that was both unsettling and almost… proud.
"I am pleased that you are finally here. But what I must do next… is disgraceful," he said, his voice softening, almost as if he regretted it. "So, I have done something else to make up for it."
With deliberate care, the figure extended his index finger and gently touched her forehead. The moment his finger made contact, Cynthia's eyes glowed with an overwhelming light, and her consciousness was abruptly swept away into darkness.
As her body went limp, the figure sighed. "I have failed once, and in my failure, I was forced to run here... But despite my flaws, I have done all that I could with what remains of my strength to ensure your path to success. Don't keep them waiting for too long."
His form began to fade, dissolving into the shimmering void. As soon as he vanished completely, the golden chains around Draethon shattered, and the Guardian tiger roared back to life. His wings flared, ready for battle only to realize the figure was gone. He exhaled slowly, releasing the pent-up tension that had gripped his body.
However, his eyes quickly found Cynthia, unconscious and floating gently back to the ground. Panic seized Draethon for a brief moment until he confirmed she was unharmed however he noticed that her hair had changed color from its once prominent black to now white. Calming himself, he gently lowered his head, giving her his blessing.
"Rest now child, for you are safe," Draethon whispered, his voice filled with reverence. He then released her spiritual consciousness, allowing Cynthia's awareness to slowly return to her physical body.
Cynthia drifted through the darkness, weightless and suspended in space. The ethereal glow around her faded gradually, but the sensation of the mysterious figure's touch remained on her skin. The gentle pull of Draethon's blessing enveloped her consciousness like a warm embrace, pulling her back to herself.
As she floated down, she felt the borders of her corporeal body again. A faint tingling began in her fingertips and expanded gradually throughout her limbs, similar to waking from a deep slumber. Her breath returned, shallow at first, then deeper, as her chest rose and fell in time. The silver-tinged world of the spirit faded behind her, leaving just the faint hum of magic in the ceremonial chambers.
The air around her grew heavier, and more familiar, and the floating sensation dissipated. Cynthia's feet touched the cool stone floor, grounding her. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room. The powerful energy of the staff still thrummed in her hand, a reassuring presence even as she tried to shake off the strange dream-like experience she had just gone through.
The room was silent, save for the soft rustling of Tet's feathers. The owl watched her with unreadable eyes from his platform, as though he knew she had just returned from a place very few could ever reach.
Cynthia inhaled sharply, feeling the weight of her physical body fully settle. The warmth of Draethon's blessing still coursed through her veins, but she felt different now more aware, more attuned to the world around her.
"Welcome back, child," Tet said, his voice calm and knowing. "You've crossed into realms that many will never reach. Your path forward is now clearer than ever, and I can see it has changed you." He rotated his head slightly to look at Cynthia.
Hearing this, Cynthia glanced at her reflection and noticed nothing different at first. However, when she inspected her hair, she realized that her once dark locks were now white as snow. Stunned by this new reality, she struggled to comprehend the change that may have occurred.
As Cynthia continued to probe her body, she felt a strange presence unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. It wasn't the warmth of the staff or Draethon's blessing; it was something entirely new, an awareness within her own mind, waiting for her acknowledgment.
Suddenly, a voice echoed in her thoughts, soft yet reverent. "I have been waiting for you, Master."
Cynthia gasped, her body jolting upright, her heart racing. "What? Who is there?" she thought, not needing to speak aloud; the presence in her mind responded to her unvoiced queries.
"I do not have a name at present. I reside in your mind, and my duty is to help you," the voice said.
"Where did you come from, and why are you in my mind?" Cynthia questioned, perplexed by the situation.
"I have always been in your subconscious, but I was in a deep state of sleep. Something has awakened me," the voice replied.
"This is all too much to handle. I will address you at a later time," Cynthia said, feeling overwhelmed.
"Understood, Master," the voice responded.
Tet flew down and landed gracefully. "This Venerable One greets Council Woman Rochester," he said, extending one of his large wings before him and leaning forward in a respectful bow. Unfamiliar with such titles, Cynthia simply gave a slight curtsey. Tet then led her out of the room toward the entrance of the library, where she found her aunt and two attendants. After exchanging goodbyes with Tet, they made their way out of the library, encountering a gentleman who stood tall and lean, his pale skin glowing faintly.
As they walked past him, they heard him say, "Good afternoon! And where might you ladies be off to?" His tone was jovial.
"Off to handle our affairs," Seren replied, continuing to walk.
"I see. Well, that may come to an end, as the young warlock with the staff is not going anywhere," he stated, his back still turned to them. At this, Seren stopped in her tracks. "Is that a fact?" she challenged, her voice tinged with skepticism.
"It is indeed," he said, finally turning to face them. "You see, I sense that you are a magus, so you must understand. You started from the lowest rank and built your way up to becoming an ArchMagus, the highest rank there is. A Martial Artist will do the same. This rule applies to us Warlocks as well, except for a rare percentage of the population those who are granted staffs. They leap from being Initiate Sigilists, the beginning rank, to becoming Psy Lords, the highest rank. This makes them incredibly dangerous to themselves and others without proper training. Not to mention, they are leaders of Lumenoth, which anchors them to this city."
"So you're trying to tell me that you're going to take my niece away from me?" Seren's fury was barely concealed.
"Yes, I am afraid so," the man replied, holding a long staff crowned with a translucent crystal that shifted colors between violet, silver, and dark blue.