His words hung in the heavy silence as he stepped into the circle.
He could feel a hard surface beneath the thin layer of the fine white sand. His steps carried him closer towards the altar until he was standing in front of it. He reached out and touched its smooth surface. It was cool to the touch and covered with a layer of fine dust.
They were the first visitors of this place in perhaps centuries.
With a deep breath he turned around to look at the others. “Alistair?”
The young Orlein noble shot him a concerned glance. Unable to decide, his gaze turned from Midhir to Arwen, then to Lonan.
“It can’t be,” Lonan whispered, still stunned by Midhir’s words. “They succeeded? It can’t be…” He shook his head. “You’re mistaken, had an Old God awakened, we wouldn’t be standing here right now. The world as we know it – it would have come to an end. Eldoria, and even Calador would be thrust back into the dark ages!” He was pleading, almost as if he was trying to convince them. “You must be mistaken!” he repeated with a desperate voice.
“Alistair,” Arwen’s voice rose like a gentle chime. “The Old Faith is still practiced in places like Lohssa, and that village was a lovely place. Using one of the Old Faith’s instruments won’t bring about Bareon’s fall.”
“How can you be so sure?” Alistair clenched his fists. “We came here to destroy whatever was causing the overgrowth to try and take over the city – not to sacrifice something to the Old Gods. This is different, entirely different, and not what my father ordered us to do!”
“This is old!” Arwen pointed at the altar, and the rocks forming a broken circle around it. “Older than Bareon itself perhaps. Trust the ways of your people, Alistair. If you don’t, trust me. This will protect the city – if the ritual is conducted properly.” She spoke with more confidence than ever before. Her voice echoed in the darkness.
Alistair took a deep breath before glancing at Lonan.
“You’ll do it,” the historian muttered, defeated. “I know you will – you’re desperate to save the city.” He rubbed his eye covered by his hair. “If I was in your position, I would probably do the same.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “Please prove me wrong.” He walked away a few steps, then sat on the ground, still covering his eyes.
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“Thank you for understanding.” Alistair took a deep breath. “I should be the one who risks their life-“
“No.” Willow and Midhir spoke at the same time, stopping him before he could step into the circle.
Willow clenched her cloak. “I hate to say it, but you’re the Orlein heir.” She hissed through her gritted teeth. “You can’t risk your life here.”
“No life will be lost.” Arwen spoke with a hint of annoyance. “But either way, you should do it, Midhir. You already know how, don’t you?”
As three pairs of eyes turned on him, Midhir nodded. He knew what he needed to do. He knew it would cost a life – not a human life, but a life, nonetheless. He caressed the glowing flower hanging from his pocket.
“I – no, Bareon will be in your debt.” Alistair spoke with a heavy voice.
A smile flashed across his lips. “It’s my duty.”
He turned around and wiped the altar’s smooth surface with his palm. The fine layer of sand and dust cleared easily.
He took a deep breath, summoning his courage.
A caw echoed as he placed the flower on the altar. Symbols etched onto the rocks forming the broken circle around the altar lit up, they glowed a bright blue, piercing the darkness. Arwen’s golden orb of light vanished as the blue light grew stronger and stronger.
Then, the lights vanished.
Two men and a woman appeared in front of him. One of them was a young man, perhaps a few years older than him. He had blonde, wavy hair, and green eyes. A circlet decorated with three rubies rested on his head.
Emperor Morgan Ardagh, later called Morgan the Radiant, dusted off the altar, then shot a glance at the woman beside him. “Well, Circe? Is this it?”
The woman was beautiful, and just as mysterious. Her fiery crimson hair cascaded behind her, nearly reaching the ground. She wore a similarly coloured dress that looked like it was made for a royal ball rather than the exploration of underground caverns.
“Yes, this is bastion of the Great Ones.” Her voice rang like a bell, she raised her hand into the air, and crimson light gathered between her fingers. “This place will make for a fine home, Morgan.”
“My Lord, are you sure about this?” The third person spoke up. He was an older man, carrying a spear on his back.
“I trust her. You should too, old friend. She did save your House after all.” The Emperor chuckled softly as he watched the woman. “What is that?”
The light gathering in her palm formed into a small, round, brown object. “A seed,” she said with a smile on her lips. “So your children can do what we did, even when all knowledge is lost, and the Veil breaks once more.”
“Let us hope that time never comes.” The Emperor looked down.
“Oh, it will,” The woman replied with certainty. “But this is not the only seed I have planted – I will give your Empire a chance through this all, my good friend. Don’t waste your hope with the impossible. Make it so they will know to use what I leave them. Nurture your children so they grow always, and never stagnate.” She placed the small round object onto the altar. “Make them bloom.”