The air felt electric, charged with the power of unseen forces as Lucien's fingers brushed the edge of the open page. The Chronicles of Ascension. The very name of the prophecy that had shaped his past, and possibly his future, lay before him like a puzzle waiting to be solved. His heart hammered in his chest, the gravity of the moment not lost on him.
He turned the page.
The words that appeared seemed to bleed into the air, shimmering with ancient power, as though the ink itself was alive. Each line twisted and morphed, revealing truths that were hidden in plain sight. The story that had once seemed so distant, so impossibly complicated, began to take on new meaning. The threads of fate that had bound him for so long—the bloodline, the legacy of the Verelion name, the prophecy—were not as fixed as he had thought. They were fluid, capable of being altered.
Lucien swallowed, his breath shallow. The truth was before him, but it wasn't the truth he had expected. This was not a tale of inevitable doom or a destiny that he had no control over. No, the words spoke of choices—choices that had been made long before he was born, but also choices that were yet to come.
The words on the page flickered, and then, as if the book had a life of its own, a vision bloomed in the space before him.
It was not a vision of the future. It was a vision of the past.
A vast, golden city stood before him, its spires stretching into the heavens. The air was thick with magic, the very ground alive with energy. In the center of the city stood an enormous tower, its walls covered in intricate runes and symbols, the same markings that now decorated the walls of the hidden library. And there, at the base of the tower, stood a figure—tall, cloaked in shadow, his face hidden beneath a hood.
Lucien's pulse quickened as he realized that this figure was not a stranger. It was him. Or, rather, it was Elias Dorne.
The vision shifted, pulling him deeper into the past. A different time, a different world. He saw the same tower, the same runes, but this time, the city was under siege. Dark forces, twisted and monstrous, were pouring through the gates, destroying everything in their path. The figure—Elias—stood at the heart of the chaos, his hands raised, casting a spell that tore at the very fabric of the world itself.
The vision flickered again, and now, Lucien saw the aftermath of the battle. The city was in ruins, the once-great tower reduced to rubble. And there, amidst the destruction, stood a woman—her hair as black as night, her eyes burning with power. It was Seraphina.
Lucien's breath caught in his throat. The vision began to change once more, but this time, he was aware of a presence beside him.
"Elira," he murmured, barely able to take his eyes off the vision before him.
Elira stepped forward, her gaze focused on the scene unfolding. Her expression was a mixture of concern and curiosity. "What is this?" she asked quietly, her voice carrying an edge of disbelief. "Is this… the past?"
"It's the truth," Lucien replied, his voice heavy with realization. "The truth of the chains. Of my legacy. Of the prophecy."
The image before them began to shift again, pulling them forward in time, to a moment that was yet to come. The same golden city now lay in ruins, the people scattered and broken. The tower was no more. In its place, a new structure rose—dark, twisted, and oppressive. The figure of Elias, his face now revealed, stood at the heart of it, but something was wrong. His eyes, once filled with wisdom and strength, were now hollow, consumed by darkness.
Lucien's mind reeled. He saw the path ahead of him, but it was not a path he wanted to follow. The city was lost, the legacy of his bloodline twisted into something unrecognizable. The threads of fate, the prophecy, had led to this. But he didn't want to be bound by it. He couldn't let this be his future.
"No," Lucien whispered, shaking his head. "I won't allow it."
Elira's eyes flickered toward him, her expression softening. "Lucien…"
The vision began to fade, the darkness creeping in to consume it, but Lucien's mind was already racing. The choices were before him, but they were not simple. They never were. Thalion had said that the chains could be unraveled, but how? How could he change this fate, this destruction, when the threads had been woven into the very fabric of time itself?
Thalion's voice broke through the silence, his figure now standing in the shadows at the edge of the library. "The past and future are not as separate as you think, Lucien. They are woven together, threads in a tapestry that stretches far beyond what you can see."
Lucien turned to face him, his eyes burning with determination. "What do you mean? What can I do?"
Thalion stepped forward, his voice calm but filled with the weight of centuries. "You have the power to sever the threads that bind you, to reshape the tapestry. But to do so, you must be willing to confront the truth of who you are, and what you are meant to become."
Lucien's mind churned, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. The truth was before him, but it was not the truth he had imagined. It was a truth that was painful, that spoke of choices made long before his time, and choices that still lay ahead.
He had the power to change everything. But would it be enough?
The vision faded completely, leaving only the echoes of the past lingering in the room. Lucien stood alone, the weight of the knowledge he had uncovered settling in his bones. The future was not set in stone. The chains could be broken, the threads unraveled. But the cost of doing so—of altering the very fabric of fate itself—was unknown.
And as the silence stretched on, Lucien knew that the choice would be his alone.
But would he be strong enough to make it?