As the elevator doors slid open, Arthur stepped out, immediately enveloped in a thick, charged atmosphere that made his skin prickle with anticipation. The room before him was immense, stretching out into dimly lit corners and vast alcoves that gave the space an endless feel. He could sense magic everywhere, pulsing faintly in the air, as though the room itself were alive and watching.
The Arcane Training Room was nothing like he'd imagined. The walls were hewn from dark stone, embedded with shimmering, faintly glowing runes that shifted and pulsed with a rhythm all their own. The torches along the walls flickered with strange, otherworldly flames that changed colors—deep purples, dark greens, and silvers—casting a mesmerizing, shifting light that made the room feel like it was both in the physical world and somewhere else entirely.
Arthur took a few cautious steps forward, drawn to the large circular platform in the center of the room. Its surface was inscribed with patterns that seemed to rearrange themselves under his gaze, as though reacting to his presence. He recognized some of the symbols—ones he'd seen in magical texts Avalon had shown him—but others were foreign, their meanings hidden behind an aura of mystery and age. This platform was clearly a place of transformation and magic, its power thrumming with a restrained intensity that left Arthur feeling both excited and awed.
He felt an odd warmth radiating from this central space, a comforting energy that seemed to invite him closer, to challenge him to step into its circle and test his own powers. And yet, there was also an undeniable weight to it, a sense that this place had seen countless spells cast, each one leaving a faint trace of itself in the air.
As Arthur turned, his gaze fell upon the far end of the room, where rows of shelves lined the walls. These shelves held a vast collection of scrolls, books, and peculiar artifacts, each item neatly organized but clearly well-worn. This corner felt different—less intense and more inviting, as if it were a sanctuary for those seeking knowledge and inspiration. Arthur noticed that some of the scrolls were decorated with intricate knotwork, while the books varied from leather-bound tomes to fragile, ancient manuscripts.
Moving closer, he let his fingers hover over the artifacts—small amulets, feathers, and stones—all carefully preserved. They seemed to radiate faint auras, each item carrying a subtle energy that resonated with him. He almost thought he heard a soft melody lingering in the air, a faint echo of music, as if this corner held a memory of past voices and songs, calling out from worlds far beyond Avalon's doors.
The shelves, the books, even the instruments resting nearby—a harp, a drum, a flute—seemed to vibrate with an inviting energy, encouraging him to take a seat, to play, to discover. But beneath this warmth was something else, a hidden pulse that made him pause, a reminder that knowledge often comes with hidden costs.
Arthur glanced around, feeling an inexplicable sense of being watched. It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly—more like the sensation of someone observing him with an intense but silent curiosity. He took a step back, half-expecting to see someone in the shadows, but the room remained still. He brushed it off as nerves and continued exploring.
Across from the library shelves, he spotted a series of alcoves set into the walls, each dedicated to different magical practices. One alcove held tall, silvery mirrors with shifting reflections. Arthur stepped closer, only to see faint images flicker across the mirror surfaces, scenes he couldn't quite decipher—glimpses of places, moments, and figures he didn't recognize. He realized these were scrying mirrors, crafted to show more than just physical reflections. They were meant for divination, for seeing into distant worlds, maybe even different times.
Another alcove held an assortment of peculiar objects: staffs, crystals, enchanted charms. Each artifact glimmered with a different energy, some almost vibrating with restrained magic. Arthur could feel the weight of years on them, as though they had been wielded in countless spells by hands long gone. He sensed an echo of purpose in these objects, a reminder that they had once served someone—a figure of power, perhaps, or a healer.
A subtle chill ran down his spine. This wasn't just a training room; it was a place of legacy, a convergence of knowledge and power left by those who had come before him. The air was thick with their presence, their unseen hands still shaping Avalon. He could feel them—two distinct energies intertwined with the room itself. One presence was intense, like a shadow woven into the fabric of the stones, holding ancient power and secrets. The other was warmer, curious, and musical, as though its very essence resonated with the echoes of songs and stories.
Arthur swallowed, the mystery settling around him, drawing him deeper into the room. These presences were layered into the Arcane Training Room, giving it a feeling of both timelessness and purpose. He felt Avalon's quiet encouragement around him as if nudging him to accept that he was part of this lineage now, that these figures—whoever they had been—were part of his journey, guiding him.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur stepped further into the room, feeling an undeniable pull toward two shadowy figures standing near the platform. Their presence was like a whisper in his mind—strange yet familiar, as though woven into the fabric of Avalon itself. He crept closer, careful not to disturb them, catching fragments of a conversation that drifted through the dim light like echoes.
The woman's voice was deep, steady, and laced with a quiet intensity that seemed to shape her words with purpose. "I am Hecate," she said, her gaze on the man beside her, sizing him up with cool, discerning eyes. "Erebos summoned me once, long ago… in a time when magic required solitude. I found a purpose within its shadows, a chance to explore the depths of what magic could become when nurtured away from prying eyes."
{IMG Hecate}
The man inclined his head with a warm, knowing smile. "Taliesin," he introduced himself with a slight bow, his voice carrying an easy, lyrical warmth. "My Annwn was quite the opposite, I think—a place for the curious and the inspired, a refuge where magic intertwined with art and discovery. I've found that stories and secrets make a fine pairing, wouldn't you agree?"
{IMG Taliesin}
Hecate's expression softened, though her eyes remained sharp, studying him with curiosity. "Secrets are the foundation of power, and stories its cloak," she replied smoothly. "And you… Annwn, you say? I imagine you took a more indulgent approach to the sanctuary, then?"
Taliesin chuckled, clearly unruffled by her scrutiny. "Perhaps," he admitted, a gleam in his eye. "Annwn welcomed all things creative. I shaped it as a haven for knowledge, yes, but also for those drawn to art, music, and a certain… freedom of expression."
Her gaze flickered with a hint of nostalgia as she looked away, surveying the room with a hint of skepticism. "Erebos, for me, was something else entirely. I didn't come seeking indulgence. It was a sanctuary of shadows, a place for those who sought the crossroads, where magic demanded reverence, stillness, and silence. And it did not welcome all—it was… selective." She returned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow. "I can't imagine Annwn required as much restraint."
"Restraint?" Taliesin grinned, the look in his eye playful. "No, I don't suppose that was ever Annwn's way. I encouraged art as magic, and magic as art—a place for wisdom, freedom, and beauty. You might have called it chaotic," he added, chuckling. "And yet it called me back, just as Erebos has summoned you, I gather."
Hecate studied him, her expression softening, though her tone remained thoughtful. "Perhaps the sanctuary's purpose is broader than either of us knew. Yet here we are, drawn together… and now tied to something that has evolved beyond Erebos or Annwn."
"Yes, an old friend," Taliesin mused, a touch of wonder in his voice as he glanced around, his fingers lightly tracing the air as if feeling the room's presence. "And yet, it feels different, doesn't it? As if it's expanded, adapted."
"It has changed indeed," Hecate murmured, her gaze shadowed with curiosity. "Yet I sense it retains traces of our time. A sanctuary forged of our pasts… and now bound to this present." She paused, looking at him with a thoughtful intensity. "I wonder, Taliesin if you will find it as comfortable as Annwn."
"I welcome the mystery," Taliesin said easily, giving her a sidelong smile. "But I'm more curious about you, Hecate. What is it that Erebos offered you?"
She was silent for a moment, her gaze distant, as if she were seeing through the room and into the past. "Erebos offered solitude and power," she said softly, almost to herself. "A place to practice my craft without interference, to unlock magic's depths in secrecy. It was more than a sanctuary; it was a bond… one I believed severed."
As if prompted by her words, Taliesin nodded, his tone turning reflective. "Annwn offered me a place for inspiration, an endless well of creativity. I found magic in creation, in weaving knowledge with music and lore. It was both a mirror and a muse—a place that allowed me to bring something of myself into the world." He paused, looking at her with a faint smile. "We seem to have taken different paths, yet here we are, side by side."
They fell silent, a brief but thoughtful quiet stretching between them as each took in the space, lingering on the hints of their past sanctuaries embedded within Avalon's walls. Arthur held his breath, fascinated by their words. He sensed the weight of history behind each of their stories as if they'd both brought pieces of themselves to Avalon, forever changing its essence.
Hecate's gaze drifted to the symbols embedded in the stones around her, as though considering her own reflection when her expression suddenly sharpened. She glanced sharply into the shadows, her discerning eyes narrowing as they locked onto Arthur.
"Who's there?"
Arthur held his breath as the woman's sharp gaze found him. Her eyes, dark and intense, seemed to cut through the shadows, fixing him in place with a look of quiet authority.
"Who are you?" she asked, her tone even, though her stare was penetrating.
The man beside her, catching sight of Arthur, broke into a warm smile. "Ah, so you must be the new keeper of Annwn," he said with a sparkle in his eye. "A pleasure to meet you, young one."
"Annwn?" Arthur's brow furrowed in confusion. "I… I think you mean Avalon."
The woman—Hecate, he thought—sighed, casting a brief, pointed look at the ceiling. "Erebos, are you going to let us fumble about, or will you make an appearance?" Her voice was calm, though there was an edge of irritation beneath it.
A familiar warmth bloomed in the air, and Avalon's gentle presence enveloped the room, filling it with a quiet hum. "It's good to see you again, Hecate," Avalon's voice echoed softly. "And you as well, Taliesin… my friends. It's been a long time, but I am called Avalon now."
Taliesin grinned widely, nodding toward the ceiling with open affection. "Ah, Annwn—Avalon, I mean—it's good to see you too, old friend."
"Still cheerful as ever, aren't you?" Avalon chuckled, "Always with the charm, Taliesin." its tone rich with nostalgia.
Hecate inclined her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. "Nice to meet you again… Avalon." Her voice was measured, respectful but guarded, and there was something almost reverent in the way she regarded Avalon.
Avalon's presence pulsed gently, almost like a smile. "And it is an honor to see you once more, Hecate."
Taliesin glanced back at Arthur, a glint of amusement in his eye. "So, Avalon, won't you introduce us to this new keeper of yours?"
Arthur felt Avalon's warmth wrap around him, a subtle encouragement in the air. "Arthur, meet Hecate and Taliesin. They were… well, let's say, vital presences here, much like yourself."
Taliesin stepped forward, his grin widening. "Nice to meet you, lad." He squinted playfully, leaning in a little closer. "Tell me, you're not one of those elves who looks like a young man but is actually three hundred years old, are you?" He joked, his voice boomed with laughter, filling the room with an infectious warmth.
Arthur blinked, taken aback but charmed by Taliesin's easy humor. He managed a smile. "Uh, no… just a regular human, I think," he replied, a bit uncertainly. "Nice to meet you both."
Hecate regarded him with a cool, assessing look. "Human or otherwise, I hope you understand that Avalon—Annwn, Erebos—is more than a sanctuary. It has… responsibilities, as do those who tend to it."
Taliesin gave Arthur an encouraging nod. "But responsibilities that can lead to remarkable things," he said, his tone light but sincere. "Think of Avalon as a friend who knows a few more tricks than most."
Arthur took a breath, gathering his thoughts. "So… you're both Avalon's past owners? Or… caretakers?"
"Owner, guest, partner," Taliesin replied smoothly, waving a hand as if the title itself didn't matter. "It changes with each who passes through its walls."
"Yes," Hecate added, her tone more serious. "Erebos—Avalon—is both sanctuary and guide. But those who dwell within must remain aware of its power and purpose. It is no mere residence." She held Arthur's gaze, her eyes carrying the weight of years spent in the depths of her craft.
Avalon's warmth pulsed gently, and Arthur could sense its amusement and pride in his newfound role. "Arthur has already shown promise, just as each of you did in your own ways."
Taliesin's gaze softened, his smile becoming thoughtful. "I'm sure he has, old friend. But, I must say, the place feels… different than it once did."
Hecate nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Yes. The energy here—it feels… diminished. Lighter, perhaps, but lacking the depth I once knew."
Arthur watched as their expressions shifted, the nostalgia giving way to something more contemplative, their gazes sweeping across the room as though measuring Avalon's strength. It was a realization that sent a pang of concern through Arthur's chest.
"Avalon, has something happened?" Hecate asked, her tone tinged with an edge of worry. "I sense you are… not as you once were."
Taliesin nodded, his gaze softening with a flicker of sadness. "You feel quieter, old friend. Less vibrant than I remember."
Avalon's presence grew quiet, its warmth dimming slightly. A soft chuckle drifted through the room, though there was a faint thread of sadness woven into it. "I suppose I cannot hide it from the two of you," Avalon replied, the tone both affectionate and resigned. "My power has… faded, somewhat. I am not the Avalon—or Erebos, or Annwn—that you once knew."
Arthur's heart tightened as he sensed the melancholy in Avalon's words.