The Two Old Friends

The sacred chamber was a place known only to the highest of the College, reserved for grand masters alone. The room itself felt alive—magical apparatuses hummed with latent energy, and an ethereal waterfall cascaded from a glowing crystal sphere, its waters pure and pristine. A warm, golden light, reminiscent of the gentle glow of dawn, danced along the ceiling, illuminating what many described as a "heavenly garden."

Master Grandir, seated in one of the finely carved wooden chairs, gestured for Alious to take a seat opposite him. "Would you like some refreshment? Perhaps something sweet?" Grandir asked, opening several jars filled with an array of biscuits and cakes.

Alious, after sitting down with a slow, deliberate sigh, nodded. "Why not? It's been a while since I've tasted anything but dust and ash." His voice was raspy, but the familiarity between the two wizards brought a rare ease to his tone.

Grandir chuckled softly. "Still as dramatic as ever, Al." He poured tea into two delicate cups and handed one to his old friend, sliding a plate of biscuits across the table.

"Thank you, Grad." Alious took a sip, letting the warm tea settle his worn nerves.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though the troubles of the world were distant memories. But that peace was quickly shattered as Alious leaned forward, his tone serious. "The dungeon... it’s starting again, Grad. The mountain’s awakening, and the core’s power is surging. You know as well as I do—when we sealed it using the Magnum Sigil, we bound our very souls to keep it at bay."

Grandir sighed deeply, the weight of ages pressing on his shoulders. "I know. The Gods Valdran and Sylarean's ancient conflict stirs once more. The Affray Cycle... it's been 111 years since the last eruption."

Alious nodded grimly. "I’m not as strong as I once was. My soul fades a little more each day, and while I still possess the power to fight, to defend—this time may be my last. Someone... something has broken the fragile peace among the gods, and now Valdran and Sylarean are posturing, flexing their strength. It’s the innocent who will pay the price."

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Grandir’s gaze turned hard. "Aethyrvald’s journal speaks of growing anomalies around the dungeon, things that point toward chaos. The timing couldn’t be worse."

Alious clenched his fists. "Grad, the boy is too young. He’s powerful, yes, but unprepared for what’s coming. His strength needs to be tempered. I came here to delay his expedition, to train him myself."

Grandir placed his cup down slowly, his eyes thoughtful. "I’ve always known you’ve had a hand in his training—illegally, of course. But I trust you, Al. You wouldn't have done it if you didn’t believe it was for his good. Yet, you and I both know... his mind is still fragile. There’s a risk he could be broken by the madness of the gods."

Alious nodded gravely. "I know. He’s spent years in the Time Chamber, growing far faster than normal, with results that would impress even the gods. But there’s a danger to pushing him too fast. The gods... they’re watching him. If we’re not careful, Aethyr could end up a mere puppet, a vassal to their will."

Grandir sighed again, the weight of history heavy between them. "Have you noticed the Greenwarden’s aura around him?"

"I have," Alious said. "Sylarean, the Greenwarden, has marked him. And with that dryad mother, Madremonthe, watching over him, it’s no wonder Aethyr has such a close connection to nature. But more troubling is that Valdran, the Earthshaper, has blessed him as well—with endurance, intelligence... gifts that go far beyond what we’ve seen in most mortals."

"Which explains his genius with forging and science," Grandir said. "That boy has a mind that’s a marvel of its own."

Alious nodded, his brow furrowed. "But therein lies the problem. He’s not just a mortal. He’s the product of something far more powerful—a forbidden lineage from the 3rd Era. The blood of the Elf Virilis and the human Elara flows in his veins. He is the bridge between two worlds, and now the gods want to claim him for themselves."

Grandir’s eyes darkened. "The gods wish to bind him to their will, to make him a Thrall. But I agree, Al. We need to prepare him, to ensure that he chooses his own path. He must be free to decide his fate, not enslaved to any divine power."

Alious exhaled heavily, his thoughts racing. "Aethyr must learn to resist them, to stand as his own person. And for that, I’ll train him. He’s not ready yet, but I will make sure that when the time comes, he will be able to face his destiny on his own terms."

Grandir smiled softly, the unspoken bond between them stronger than any words. "I trust you, my old friend. As do the gods... though they may not yet realize it."

The two old wizards sat in silence, the weight of the future pressing heavily upon them, but for now, they shared a brief respite. A meeting of minds, as in the days of old.