Alden's breath caught in his chest as the weight of the elder's words settled over him. A war. A war for a throne he didn't even understand. The Tower of the Sanctuary felt suddenly smaller, the space around him pressing in as the gravity of what had just been revealed sank in.
The hooded figures around the table remained silent, their eyes locked on him with unsettling intensity. Alden glanced nervously at Caelum, whose expression was unreadable. The flicker of silver in their eyes betrayed nothing—no hint of reassurance, no sign of fear. Just… waiting.
"You're telling me," Alden said slowly, struggling to keep his voice steady, "that I—a farm boy from Eldoria—am supposed to claim the Arcane Throne?"
The elder didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, his ancient eyes narrowing. "The Throne has never belonged to a mere farm boy. But the bloodline is yours. The Mark has chosen you."
Alden looked down at his palm, the Mark still glowing faintly. It pulsed with an eerie warmth, as if alive, as if acknowledging the truth of the elder's words. His pulse quickened, but his mind rebelled against it.
"Chosen for what?" Alden demanded. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of it!"
The elder's eyes softened ever so slightly, though the weight of his words remained. "No one ever chooses their destiny, child. But once the Mark is awakened, there is no turning back."
Alden took a step back, his mind racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. The figure at the far end of the table, a woman whose face was partially obscured by her hood, raised a hand. Her voice, when she spoke, was calm and measured, but there was an edge to it—an urgency that cut through the room.
"The Mark has not only chosen Alden," she said. "It has bound him to the Throne, to its power. If he does not claim it, the magic will begin to tear at him from the inside. It will consume him—just as it did to those who came before."
Alden felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the mention of the word "consume."
The elder nodded gravely. "The Throne's power is not something to be taken lightly. It is not just a seat of authority; it is a vessel of the Arcane, a conduit to all magic that flows through this world. Whoever claims it gains dominion over the very forces of creation itself."
Alden shook his head, his mind spiraling. "I… I can't. I'm not ready. I don't even understand what you're talking about."
The woman at the table leaned forward, her voice softer now. "You don't need to understand it all, not yet. What matters is that you've been chosen. The Arcane Throne calls to you, and you must answer, before the Hollow can claim it."
Alden looked to Caelum, searching for some kind of guidance. Caelum met his gaze, their silver eyes filled with a strange sorrow.
"The Hollow," Alden muttered. "What's the Hollow? And why are they after the Throne?"
Caelum stepped forward, their voice low. "The Hollow is the embodiment of all that has been lost—the shadows of this world. It is the darkness that consumes and corrupts. It thrives in the absence of order, in the chaos that follows when power is not claimed."
Alden frowned. "So the Hollow is what, like a… monster?"
Caelum shook their head. "The Hollow is not a single creature, Alden. It is a force—an ancient one. It is born of the same magic that once flowed through the Throne, twisted and corrupted over time. It was meant to be contained, to be kept at bay. But with each passing generation, the barrier grows weaker."
The elder's voice cut through the room. "And now the Hollow stirs, sensing the weakness in the Throne's line. It seeks to reclaim the power that was once its own."
Alden's heart pounded in his chest. "So, what does that mean for me? If I don't claim the Throne… I'll die?"
The elder's expression was unreadable. "If you do not claim the Throne, the Hollow will consume you. And when it consumes you, it will have access to the power of the Arcane. If that happens, the world will fall into chaos. The Throne must be claimed before the Hollow can reach it."
Alden's mind was reeling, but one thing was certain: he had no choice.
"How do I claim it?" Alden asked, his voice shaking. "How do I—"
Before he could finish, the woman in the robes spoke again. Her tone was sharp and firm. "The claiming process is not simple. It will take time, and it will test you. It will push you to the brink of your very soul. But there is one who can guide you through it—someone who knows the path."
"Who?" Alden asked, almost desperate.
She glanced toward the far side of the room, where a figure cloaked in dark robes sat silently. "He who knows the way is the last of the Watchers, one who holds the Seals of Eldoria. He has seen the Throne's power firsthand and survived its trials."
Alden followed her gaze. The figure at the far side of the table had not moved, but there was something about them—something familiar.
He took a step forward. "You… you know how to help me?"
The figure finally stirred. Slowly, they lowered their hood.
Alden's heart skipped a beat.
It was his father.
"Father?" Alden's voice broke the silence, the word hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.
The elder's voice was heavy with meaning. "Yes, Alden. Your father has walked this path before you. He has seen the Arcane Throne and lived to tell the tale."
Alden's father stood slowly, his eyes dark and weary. But there was a fire in them, a determination that had not dulled with age.
"You've been chosen," his father said, his voice rough but steady. "And I'm the one who will help you claim it."
Alden's mind reeled. "But why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
His father's face softened, a flicker of regret passing through his eyes. "I didn't want you to have to face this, Alden. I wanted to protect you from the burden of the Throne. But the Hollow is coming. And there's no escaping it."
Alden stood frozen, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the impossible. His father, a Watcher, had known all along. The Arcane Throne, the Mark, the Hollow—all of it was tied together in ways that Alden could barely comprehend.
His father walked toward him, reaching out to place a firm hand on his shoulder. "We don't have much time. The Hollow grows stronger every day. But with the right guidance, you can claim the Throne. Together, we can stop it."
Alden swallowed hard. "How do we do it?"
His father's eyes darkened. "There is a ritual, one that must be performed at the heart of the Sanctuary. It is the only way to bind yourself to the Throne, to awaken its true power."
"And if I fail?" Alden asked quietly.
His father's gaze hardened. "Then the Hollow will claim you. And with it, the Throne."
Alden looked around the chamber at the gathered Watchers, all of them watching him, waiting. He felt the weight of their eyes, the heavy expectations that lay upon him.
He had no choice. He had to claim the Throne.
"Let's do it," he said, his voice stronger now. "Show me what I need to do."
His father nodded. "Follow me."
The elder stood as well, his voice solemn. "Remember, Alden, the Throne does not simply grant you power—it chooses who is worthy of it. You must prove yourself, or you will lose everything."
With those final words, Alden followed his father out of the chamber, the eyes of the Watchers heavy upon him.
The war for the Arcane Throne had begun. And Alden was about to face its greatest test.