The private room was dimly lit, shadows creeping across the walls. A thick silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. The room felt suffocating. Khaelith's legs were shaky as he sat in the cold chair, the silence heavy between him, his father, and the High Keeper His mind raced, his thoughts clouded, unable to grasp the reality of what had just transpired.
The High Keeper stood across from him, his expression unreadable, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Lord Vaelthorne, Khaelith's father, paced slowly around the room, his steps heavy and deliberate, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him.
Khaelith could feel his father's gaze on him, though he didn't turn to meet it. His heart thudded in his chest as the silence stretched on, the words unspoken far more painful than anything that had been said in the ceremony.
Finally, it was his father who broke the stillness, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Tell me, Keeper… tell me exactly what happened."
The High Keeper exhaled slowly, his eyes flicking briefly to Khaelith before returning to Lord Vaelthorne. "Lord Vaelthorne, the Spirit Core reacted… unusually. Khaelith's fate has been marked. The Spirit has deemed him… ordinary."
The word hit Khaelith like a slap, the reality of it sinking in with a sickening finality. Ordinary. He wasn't special. He wasn't chosen. The very thing he had been trained for, dreamed of since he was a child—everything had just crumbled before his eyes.
Lord Vaelthorne's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, his voice low but trembling with anger. "You say the Spirit rejected him? But I saw what I saw—the Core flared, the light shifted. It was unlike anything I've ever witnessed. You can't tell me this was just a coincidence. You're lying to me."
The High Keeper's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking briefly to Khaelith before returning to Lord Vaelthorne. "I am not lying, my Lord. The Spirit did indeed react, but not in the way we expected. The boy... the boy is not what we thought he was. There is no power granted to him."
"Then what was that light?" Lord Vaelthorne demanded, his voice rising in frustration.
"It was nothing more than a malfunction. A mistake," the Keeper replied quickly, his tone firm. "The Spirit rejected him. There is no Gift for him. No power, no place among the Orders."
Khaelith's chest tightened, the words crashing over him like a wave. His father didn't seem to hear the Keeper's words; his eyes were locked on Khaelith, disbelief clouding his features. Khaelith could feel the sting of his father's unspoken disappointment, and it gnawed at him.
"I… I don't understand," Khaelith whispered, turning to face the Keeper. "The Core… it was so much. I thought—" His voice trailed off, a lump rising in his throat.
The High Keeper looked at him with a mixture of pity and restraint. "The Spirit rejected you, Khaelith. It means you were not chosen. You are… ordinary."
Khaelith stood still for a long moment, his heart sinking. Ordinary. A word he never imagined would apply to him. His father's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he turned away, his hands clenched in frustration.
Lord Vaelthorne's voice was calm but full of quiet fury. "I have raised you for this day, Khaelith. I have prepared you for this moment. How could this happen? Why?"
"I'm sorry," Khaelith finally muttered, his voice breaking. "I thought... I thought I could make you proud." He couldn't bring himself to look his father in the eyes. The shame was too heavy.
Lord Vaelthorne's voice softened, his anger simmering under the surface. "This isn't your fault, Khaelith. The Spirit's rejection is... beyond our control. But we will get to the bottom of this."
"I've already told you," the High Keeper interjected, stepping forward. "There's nothing more to understand. The boy is ordinary. He's not fit for the Order. And that is all."
Lord Vaelthorne's hand clenched into a fist, his voice rising again. "You're telling me you're sure of this? Are you certain? There's no chance—no chance—this is a mistake?"
The Keeper's gaze faltered for the briefest of moments. "No, my Lord. I am certain. The boy's fate has been sealed."
Lord Vaelthorne's face twisted with a mix of anger and disbelief. He turned to Khaelith, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions—love, pain, and something darker. He didn't say a word, but the weight of his gaze alone was enough to crush Khaelith.
The High Keeper bowed low. "I have done what I can, my Lord. It's beyond my power now."
Khaelith's father stood silently for a moment, his eyes locked on the Keeper. Then, without another word, he stormed out of the room, leaving Khaelith alone with the Keeper.
The door slammed shut behind him, and the room fell into an unsettling silence. Khaelith's eyes were drawn to the hearth, the flames flickering in the darkness. He felt something in his chest tighten, an emptiness settling within him. He was no one. Just an ordinary son of a noble house, abandoned by the very thing that had defined his life.
The Keeper remained motionless, watching him with an unreadable expression.
"You should rest," the Keeper said softly, his voice almost kind. "The day has been long."
The High Keeper left Khaelith in the room to go tell everyone the news in the hall. It was the only way to keep things in order.
He addressed the gathering crowd in the hall. "Khaelith Vaelthorne is ordinary. He will not receive the Gift of the Spirit."
A hushed gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a series of murmurs. His mother's gaze was wide with shock, her hand pressed to her chest. His brothers exchanged looks, their faces filled with concern, but they said nothing.
The High Keeper raised his hand, signaling that the ceremony was over. "The Hall is dismissed," he announced.
The crowd murmured as they left the hall. Some were worried, disappointed, some relieved. All curious.
Meanwhile, in the sanctum of the sovereign Lord, the High Keeper paced back and forth, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The room was heavy with the scent of incense, a burning flicker of smoke rising into the air, but the Keeper hardly noticed. He was focused on the Spirit Core, now shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.
The Sovereign Lord of the Zenith Order sat in a high-backed chair, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes sharp as ever, watching the Keeper with a sense of impatience that lingered in the air.
"Well?" the Sovereign Lord demanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
The Keeper hesitated. His hands clenched in his robes, the conflict within him evident, but he knew there was no way around it. He had to lie. The truth was too dangerous, too volatile. The Sovereign Lord would never understand, never allow the boy to live. Khaelith was something beyond the Core's understanding—and their control.
The Keeper took a deep breath before speaking, his voice calm but tinged with an edge of concern. "My Lord, it seems that the boy—Khaelith Vaelthorne—was not chosen by the Spirit. His fate was sealed as 'ordinary,' and no power was granted to him."
The Sovereign Lord's face remained unreadable. His gaze was cold and calculating, but there was a flicker of something—doubt, perhaps?—that passed through his eyes. "Ordinary? But you saw the flare, the light changing colors, the power it exuded. Something happened. I demand the truth."
The Keeper stepped closer, lowering his voice, aware that this conversation needed to be handled with great care. "I've seen the Spirit's reaction. It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. The Core… it shifted. It tried to warn us. It blocked the boy's connection. Whatever force is within him, it is not something we can control."
The Sovereign Lord narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying that the Spirit is acting of its own will? That Khaelith holds power beyond even it?
The Keeper didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to steady his breathing. This was the heart of it—the truth he had been hiding. He wasn't sure of the boy's full potential, but he knew that Khaelith wasn't like the others. The Spirit had accepted him, sparking the powers in him, and the Keeper had sensed an unnatural force pulsing in the air as the boy's hand touched the orb.
"I believe… that something far beyond our understanding lies within him, my Lord," the Keeper said quietly. "The Spirit sensed it too. It's not an ordinary power—it's something new, something we are not prepared for."
The Sovereign Lord leaned forward, his expression now one of intense interest, his curiosity piqued. "And what are we to do about it? He could pose a threat to everything we've built."
The Keeper's voice trembled with uncertainty as he continued. "I've done what I can. The Spirit rejected him, but not in the way we expected. It blocked him from receiving any power. I believe we are safe. "
There was a long silence between them. The Sovereign Lord stared at the Keeper, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"You've made sure he won't gain any power," the Sovereign Lord said slowly, his words hanging in the air like a command. "But what of the boy himself? What of Khaelith Vaelthorne?"
The Keeper shifted uncomfortably, knowing the answer was delicate. "For now, he is powerless, but I will create a charm—a charm he must never take off, it will prevent any form of power from taking care within him. For we don't know what he can do even as the spirit blocks him out. "
The Sovereign Lord's expression was unreadable, his gaze distant as he processed the Keeper's words. The Keeper had done his part. He had lied to protect the boy—lied to keep Khaelith alive. The spirit did give him powers, he made him powerful beyond the boy's control. But he couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut that the boy's power might be something that couldn't be controlled. If the Sovereign Lord found out the truth…
"We will keep an eye on him," the Sovereign Lord said at last, his tone hard. "But you are certain, High Keeper, that he didn't receive the Gift?"
The Keeper's heart raced. "Yes, my Lord. He has been blocked. There is nothing left for him in the Spirit Core. He will never receive the Gift of the Zenith Order or any other faction my Lord."
The Sovereign Lord nodded slowly, his expression darkening with a mixture of resolve and wariness. "Very well. Do what you have to do to him. We'll watch him closely. But if he shows any flicker of powers, we'll deal with it." He stood and turned toward the heavy stone door. "I will not allow this anomaly to disrupt the Order. You've done well to control the situation."
The Keeper watched him leave, his heart heavy with dread. He had said what needed to be said to ensure Khaelith's survival—but the lie he had told would eventually come back to haunt them all.
Khaelith Vaelthorne was no ordinary boy. And the truth about him—about the power within him—would come to light, sooner or later.
And when it did, no one would be ready for the storm he would unleash.
He had done what he thought was best, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his decisions would have consequences beyond his control. Khaelith was not ordinary. The Spirit had chosen him in a way that defied understanding, but that truth was too dangerous to share.
As the heavy door closed behind the Sovereign Lord, the Keeper slumped into a chair, his hands trembling slightly. He stared at the embers of the fire, his mind racing. Khaelith had to be protected—not only from the Order but also from himself.
The Keeper whispered into the silent room, as if to convince himself, "He must never know the truth."
In the shadows of the dimly lit chamber, a faint pulse of energy rippled through the air. Unseen by anyone, the Spirit Core glowed faintly in its sanctum, as if in quiet defiance of the lies spoken in its name. The Keeper's charm and the Sovereign Lord's watchful eye might suppress Khaelith for now, but the truth of his power—wild, untamed, and beyond comprehension—would not remain hidden forever.
And neither would the boy.