Chapter 7
The Prophecy
The streets of Paris glimmered under a pale moon as Alaric and Seraphine slipped back into their safehouse, a small and unassuming inn tucked away in a quiet alley. The weight of the knowledge they had uncovered in the Ancient Library lingered heavily between them. Every creak of the floorboards or murmur of voices from the street outside set their nerves on edge.
Alaric placed the Chronicles of Eldarath on the rickety table at the center of the room and stared at it as though it might leap off the surface. Seraphine shut the door firmly behind them and muttered an incantation, the faint shimmer of her protective spell settling around the room like an invisible barrier.
"We can't afford more surprises," she said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. "Whoever that was back in the library, they'll come for us again. They might not come alone next time."
Alaric nodded absently, his fingers tracing the intricate flame-etched cover of the book. His mind was consumed by the figure's cryptic warning and the chilling possibility that Eldarath's secrets were far more dangerous than he had anticipated.
"I know," he said quietly. "But this book—this might be the only thing that can help us understand what we're walking into."
Seraphine pushed off the wall and walked over, her sharp eyes narrowing at him. "Understanding is one thing, Alaric, but what if this is a trap? What if we're playing right into someone's hands by chasing this?" She gestured toward the book. "The witches, the figure in the library—they all want Eldarath for a reason. What if we're just pawns in a much bigger game?"
Alaric sighed and rubbed his temples. "I don't think we have a choice. Eldarath's tied to everything—your past, my powers, and now this prophecy. We can't just ignore it."
Seraphine frowned but said nothing. Instead, she gestured for him to open the book.
With a deep breath, Alaric flipped through the pages until he reached a section near the middle. The text shifted and shimmered as he read aloud, the ancient language bending to his understanding:
"In the time of shadow and light, when the Veil thins and the forgotten city rises, one will come forth who holds the power of both destruction and salvation. The fate of Eldarath will rest in their hands. They shall be tested by the flames of darkness and the light of truth, for only one path shall prevail."
Alaric paused, his voice faltering. He glanced up at Seraphine, whose expression was unreadable.
"There's more," she said, her voice unusually quiet. "Keep reading."
He continued:
"The one who finds the city will awaken the powers long buried, igniting a war between the forces of dark and light. The victor shall claim Eldarath's throne, and the world shall never be the same again."
A heavy silence settled over the room. Alaric set the book down, his hands trembling slightly. The words echoed in his mind, their implications sinking in like cold iron.
Seraphine was the first to speak. "A war between dark and light magic," she said, pacing now. "The city's return would destabilize everything. The Council of Magic, the balance of power—none of it would survive."
Alaric slumped into a chair, his head in his hands. "And the prophecy says the one who finds Eldarath—me—will either save it or destroy it."
Seraphine stopped pacing and turned to face him. "You don't know that it's you. Prophecies are vague for a reason. It could mean anyone."
"Come on, Seraphine," Alaric said, looking up at her. "The book, my powers, the way everything's been leading us to Eldarath—it has to be me. And what if I choose wrong? What if I destroy everything?"
"You're overthinking," Seraphine said sharply. "Prophecies are just guidelines, not guarantees. They're designed to be dramatic, not definitive."
Alaric shot her a skeptical look. "You don't believe that."
"No," she admitted. "But I also know that sitting here and spiraling about it won't help. If you really are the one this prophecy is about, then we need to make sure you're prepared to make the right choice."
Alaric stared at her, surprised by the rare note of encouragement in her voice. "You're not worried I'll pick the wrong path?"
"Of course I'm worried," she said bluntly. "But worrying doesn't change anything. Action does."
Alaric let out a weak laugh. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one being told you might doom the world."
Seraphine's expression softened, just slightly. "You're not in this alone, Alaric. I don't trust easily, but we've come this far together. I'm not about to let you shoulder this on your own."
Her words struck a chord, and for the first time since discovering the prophecy, Alaric felt a flicker of hope. "Thanks, Seraphine," he said quietly.
She waved him off. "Don't get sentimental. We still have to figure out what this prophecy actually means."
Alaric picked up the book again, his resolve hardening. "The prophecy talks about a test—'the flames of darkness and the light of truth.' Maybe it's a clue about what we'll face in Eldarath."
"Or it's a metaphor," Seraphine said. "Either way, we need more information."
Alaric nodded. "The library might have had more clues, but going back there isn't an option. We'll have to find another way."
Seraphine tilted her head, considering. "The witches mentioned something about a council. If they're after Eldarath, they might have access to information we don't."
"You're suggesting we spy on them?"
"I'm suggesting we get creative," she said with a smirk. "Besides, we're already on their hit list. What's a little more risk?"
Alaric couldn't help but laugh despite the gravity of their situation. "You're unbelievable."
"Thank you," she said, heading toward the door. "Get some rest, Alaric. We'll need our strength for whatever's coming next."
As she left the room, Alaric stared at the open book, the weight of the prophecy settling over him once more. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face the destiny laid out before him, but one thing was certain: the path to Eldarath was fraught with danger, and every step would bring them closer to the brink of a war that could change the world forever.
The next morning, Alaric woke to find Seraphine already up, her shadows twisting idly around her as she studied a map spread out on the table.
"I've been thinking," she said without looking up. "If the prophecy is real, then we're not just dealing with witches or shadowy figures. We're dealing with something ancient. Something that won't follow the rules we're used to."
"You're saying we should expect the unexpected," Alaric said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Exactly." She looked at him, her expression serious. "You need to keep training your magic. If this prophecy is about you, then you'll need every ounce of power you can muster."
Alaric hesitated. "What if the more I use my magic, the closer I get to... I don't know, losing control? What if I end up being the destroyer?"
"Then we'll deal with it," Seraphine said firmly. "You're not alone, Alaric. You've got me—and whether you like it or not, we're in this together."
Her unwavering confidence was both reassuring and intimidating. Alaric nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Alright. Let's do this."
As they prepared to leave, Alaric couldn't help but feel a strange mix of fear and determination. The prophecy loomed over him like a storm cloud, but with Seraphine by his side, he dared to hope that he might find a way to defy its darkest predictions.
For now, their journey continued—and the fate of Eldarath hung in the balance.