10th day of Raincrown, 1368

[Quintessence] 7245/16000

Ebonheim felt a peculiar excitement bubble in her chest, a thrill that prickled her skin like the gentle touch of a forest breeze. Her hands gently cradled the divine artifacts: the Gauntlet of the Storm Giant and the Chalice of Eternal Nectar, recent spoils from her celestial jaunt.

She had gathered the villagers to the commons to announce the artifacts she had won at the Divine Auction. They huddled around the dais erected at the heart of the village commons. A soft luminescence emanated from the two items she held in her hands, casting ethereal shadows onto her youthful face. The villagers watched with bated breath, their eyes reflecting the strange glow.

She raised the first item, a massive gauntlet wrought from darkened steel, inscribed with ancient runes, and carved with intricate geometric motifs. The aura around it crackled like an impending storm, and arcs of lightning danced around its surface as she waved it through the air, drawing startled gasps from the onlookers.

"This," she began, her voice carrying through the silent crowd, "is the Gauntlet of the Storm Giant."

Eyes widened. A collective murmur echoed through the crowd as they beheld the divine artifact.

She observed the villagers, her eyes lingering on the trio of warriors standing a little apart from the crowd. Bjorn, Thorsten, and Serrandyl stared at the gauntlet in awe, their mouths hanging open.

"This Gauntlet," Ebonheim began, "is imbued with the power of a storm giant. Not only will it bestow immense strength, but it also has the ability to summon a storm and command lightning from the sky, and expel bolts from its fingertips!"

She placed the gauntlet down on the dais and shrugged her shoulders. "I was thinking of using it, but I like archery more than melee combat, so..." she gestured at the crowd as she continued, "I was thinking of gifting it to one of our warriors," her gaze shifted from one warrior in the crowd to the next as she added, "So I'll let you decide."

A momentary silence hung in the air, thick as the evening fog that often shrouded the forest's outskirts. Then, a hearty chuckle broke the stillness. It was Thorsten, his laughter booming, a playful grin splitting his weathered face.

"Ah, Ebonheim, are you trying to stir a feud between us?" He raised an eyebrow at Bjorn and Serrandyl, his voice brimming with joviality. "What say you, Bjorn? Fancy being the storm-bringer?"

Bjorn's reply was calm but firm, "If it's for the village's safety, I'll do whatever is needed." His blue eyes, usually as placid as a serene lake, now blazed with a resolve as solid as the mountains that bordered their village. "A divine artifact deserves to be in the hands of someone experienced, Ebonheim. I have the strength to wield it."

Thorsten chuckled, shaking his rust-colored hair out of his eyes, "With all due respect, Bjorn, the gauntlet calls for more than strength. I reckon it needs a wielder who can challenge its stormy temperament, much like mine. Besides, everyone knows I'm the stronger one."

A ripple of amusement flowed through the villagers at the banter. Even Ebonheim couldn’t help but laugh, her light-hearted chuckles resonating in the evening air.

A loud cough echoed in the ensuing silence. All eyes turned to the fiery figure of Serrandyl, her ruby eyes gleaming like fiery coals as she stared at Bjorn. "We Aslankoyash are children of the sun, but we are no strangers to the storm, either," she declared with a feral grin. "If anyone can master the gauntlet, it would be me."

"Is that right?" Thorsten folded his arms over his broad chest and grinned. "You think your little twig arms could even wield the gauntlets?"

Serrandyl's expression shifted into a fierce scowl, her jaws clenched as she glared at Thorsten while flexing her biceps. "You call this 'little twig'?"

Thorsten flexed his own, larger biceps in response, his muscles bulging to the point of bursting out of his tunic. "Bigger than yours, that's for sure."

Serrandyl's scowl deepened as she seemed to struggle with her words, but Thorsten chuckled, raising his hand to pat her on the head before she could respond. "No need for such a fierce expression," he said, his voice calm and steady, "I was only playing with you."

Ebonheim watched the friendly rivalry play out before her, her heart warm as she admired the warriors' camaraderie. She thought about the conversation she had shared with Ariastra just days before—about the potential dangers of having a close relationship with mortals. It wasn't that she had forgotten about Ariastra's words, but she had also come to understand that she could never live her life according to those rules, and that, sometimes, the risk was worth the reward.

This was her family, her village. Even though they bantered and teased, she knew that when it mattered, they stood together, strong and united. Their strength was her strength, and as she looked at the artifact in her hand, she felt a sense of rightness wash over her. Yes, it would be in better hands among them—that much was certain.

Once the clamor of the banter receded, Ebonheim summoned their attention back to the second object she held. She lifted the Chalice of Eternal Nectar into the air, a goblet wrought of pure crystal, its surface reflecting the rays of the sun in shimmering, fractal waves. The aura it emanated was subtler than the gauntlet, more reserved—a quiet yet steady power that seemed to beckon with its inviting warmth.

The Akashic System displayed its properties for only her eyes to see:

[Name] Chalice of Eternal Nectar

[Effect] Consuming the elixir provides the following effects: Restores all health lost to full, regenerates all bodily injuries, cures all non-magical ailments, increases Endurance by four, and increases lifespan by twenty years.

[Limitation] The chalice can only be used up to twenty times per year. The recipient can only benefit from its effects once every twenty years. Each subsequent consumption after the first use will have a cumulative two-percent chance of acquiring an addiction to the elixir.

"This," Ebonheim introduced, "is the Chalice of Eternal Nectar. It holds within its embrace a divine elixir, a nectar that grants vigor and prolonged life to those who drink it.”

A wave of chatter rolled through the crowd once more as they stared at the glowing chalice in awe. But the murmurs were different this time, tinged with an undercurrent of unease.

"How does it work?" A villager called out from the crowd, his voice laced with doubt. "Do we just...drink from it?"

Ebonheim nodded, her smile brightening with each passing moment. "That's right! The nectar will replenish your vitality and heal any injuries and ailments you might have. It will also extend your lifespan by twenty years!"

At first, there was silence, as if no one dared to speak, or wanted to be the first to do so. A moment passed, then another, until finally, a man stepped forward from the group. It was Kervan, the village herbalist. He wore a solemn expression on his face, his voice hesitant as he spoke.

"Ebonheim, forgive my words, but are you saying the chalice will grant us...immortality?"

The question caught Ebonheim by surprise. She had not thought about immortality, only a longer life. But the way Kervan had asked the question made her hesitate. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, unsure of how to respond. She could see the weight of uncertainty and confusion on the villagers' faces, and she quickly tried to reassure them.

"Kervan, the chalice doesn't make you immortal, not exactly. It merely prolongs your lifespan. It doesn't prevent death from occurring, but it does slow its approach." She smiled gently, hoping to alleviate their concerns. "Think of it as a boon, a blessing."

The villagers glanced at each other, their expressions uncertain.

Kervan shifted uneasily. "A boon? A blessing? Is it truly what you call it? What happens when the Chalice runs out of the Elixir? If we are not given more, what then? Would we still live longer, or would our bodies grow weaker? Will we age faster?"

The questions tumbled out of him as fast as falling leaves, his voice rising with each one. He stopped and took a breath, trying to compose himself.

That's...odd. Wasn't quite the reaction she had envisioned. This chalice was a blessing, a gift of celestial vitality. Surely, they could see that, couldn't they? Why were they so hesitant?

"Will everyone be able to have a share, goddess?" A voice rose from the crowd, feminine and uncertain. It belonged to Masha, one of the village bakers.

Ebonheim glanced at the woman's round face, framed by braided auburn hair streaked with grey.

"No. The chalice can only produce enough for twenty people every year," Ebonheim replied, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. "And once you've consumed its nectar, you can't benefit from its sustenance until twenty years have passed."

A murmur swept across the villagers. Some shook their heads, while others mumbled anxiously.

Engin approached from the crowd and walked beside her, his gaze flickering from the cup in her hands to her face, his expression solemn as he spoke. "Ebonheim, living long and healthy is a blessing...but isn't there a danger in gifting such power to us?"

Ebonheim turned to him, her eyes wide, before lowering her gaze to the cup in her hands and a heavy silence settled upon the clearing. "I think it would only make our lives better," she responded, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Why shouldn't everyone have the chance to live as long and as healthy as they can?"

From the crowd, a soft voice rose. Hilda hobbled forward, her worn face crinkled into a frown. "There is truth in Engin's words, dear goddess. The promise of a prolonged life can lure many into paths they might regret. What would it mean for our village if we live longer than nature intends?"

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Ebonheim lowered the cup to her side and faced them again, her expression earnest. "I see your concerns," she assured them, "but consider the possibilities. With this nectar, our people can live healthier lives, free of sickness and frailty. Can that not be a boon for us?"

Engin shook his head, a pensive frown creasing his forehead. "Life is a journey, Ebonheim. Its beauty lies in its ephemerality. What will happen to our sense of purpose, our drive, if we are no longer bound by time?"

Hilda nodded. "Living longer may not mean living better, Ebonheim. The nectar might grant us life, but can it also give us the wisdom to use that life well?"

Ebonheim’s brows furrowed—a sense of unease creeping into her. The jovial atmosphere had shifted. The trepidation in their voices was something she hadn’t expected. To her, the offering was one of love, of wishing the best for her villagers. She wanted them to see the joy, the blessing. Yet, all they saw were potential complications, fears she had naively overlooked. The sudden realization made her stomach churn.

Before she could voice another response, Serrandyl spoke, her words blunt and steely, "Isn’t a longer, stronger life worth a little change?"

"It's a matter of perspective," Engin retorted. "For some, it may not be."

"It’s a divine gift, why deny it? It’s a chance for us to be stronger, live longer. What’s there to debate?" Serrandyl's response was curt and lacked the warmth and jovial tone that Ebonheim was so accustomed to hearing from her.

The villagers' whispers crescendoed into a symphony of diverse opinions. Each voice, each word, each emotion resonated with the crowd, carrying from person to person as they spiraled into a buzzing, incoherent storm of discussion.

"Why should we meddle with the divine?" Greta, an elderly woman asked, her frail voice echoing through the silence that briefly consumed them. "What is the meaning of a life unnaturally prolonged?"

"But doesn't it offer a chance to achieve more? To learn more?" countered Jorund, the alchemist. "Imagine the knowledge one could amass over centuries! The contributions we could make!"

"Indeed!" Eramis, the village bard, stepped forward with his lute slung across his shoulder, his handsome face alight with excitement, “Imagine the songs we could sing, the tales we could tell with the sands of time on our side! The Chalice is a treasure, a miracle!”

Bjorn, who earlier vied for the storm giant's gauntlet, now bore a contemplative look. "Aye," he began, his deep voice cutting through the clamor, "A long life is a precious gift, but what of our spirits? Will they not grow weary of the world, of the battles, of love and loss repeated over the endless stretch of time?"

"But think of the possibilities," Thorsten argued. "The nectar could give us time, time we need to perfect our crafts, to bring glory to our village."

Engin shook his head, his face somber. "There is truth in your words, Thorsten, but there is also folly. The Chalice would offer us time, yes, but what if it saps away our desires? Our motivation to succeed? Will we live long and simply exist, content with the illusion of perfection rather than pursue true excellence?"

"No one is denying that we need motivation, Engin, but a longer life could serve as the fire in our hearts to reach for the stars and the heavens!" Jorund chimed in. "More years could allow us to contribute more to our village, to the world."

Liliana, a young mother, wringing her apron nervously, voiced her fears, "But what about our children? Will we deny them their rightful place because we refuse to grow old and pass on?"

"She's right!" A young man with scruffy dark hair, Nels, raised his hand. "If the elders live for so long, will they ever give us a chance to lead, to bring new ideas to the village?"

An old man, his back bent with the weight of his years, lifted a crooked finger as he offered his own insight. "Twenty more years of life, but at what cost? I don't want to be a burden to my children or my grandchildren, nor do I want to lose myself in a fog of apathy."

"If Master Artem lives for another twenty years, when will I ever become the lead blacksmith?" Eron, a burly apprentice shouted his grievances for the whole crowd to hear.

Ebonheim remained silent as she listened to the villagers argue amongst themselves. She didn't have answers to their questions. In truth, she herself did not know how a prolonged life could affect them.

"You're all skirting over the real issue here," Kervan cut in, his expression grave. "She said the Chalice could only grant its boon twenty times a year. It means that not everyone in the village can have a turn." He let his words sink in before continuing. "So how are we supposed to decide who gets to live longer than everyone else?"

Silence blanketed the gathering as the villagers' murmurs faded, the question hanging over them like a suffocating fog. Ebonheim turned away and studied the ground as Kervan's words weighed heavily upon her mind. In the excitement and exuberance of winning the auction, she hadn't thought much about the limitations and possible consequences.

Her decision to grant the Chalice to the village was done solely with the hope of bringing happiness to her people, without considering the alternative perspectives. As she listened to their doubts, her conviction faltered. Were her actions misguided and short-sighted? Had she been so blinded by her desire to improve their lives that she neglected to take the time to fully consider the ramifications?

No, she mustn't waver. They didn't understand, yet. She needed to find a solution. Something she hadn't considered before, something to ease their minds, to prove that everything was going to be alright. There had to be a way, there had to be...

Others joined the conversation, each voicing their fears and hopes, their dreams and apprehensions. Arguments about natural order clashed with cries for seizing divine gifts. Philosophical debates over life's value if stretched beyond what nature intended intertwined with heartfelt pleas of mothers wishing to see their children live longer, healthier lives.

Ebonheim stood amidst the tumult, her mind spinning. She felt dizzy, overwhelmed, and helpless, unable to pick a side, unable to convey the words she wished to say—words of gratitude, words of apology, words of regret, words to console her villagers' fears and concerns.

So this was what Ariastra had warned her about.

She retreated into the comforting embrace of her thoughts, turning inward, seeking solace in her mind's quiet corners. The village's harmony was paramount, but so too were the promises held by the chalice—she believed it could do good. For a long moment, she stood there, silent, as if in a trance. A solution seemed elusive, dancing just beyond her grasp, and then, like the break of dawn, it dawned on her.

Ebonheim stepped forward, her gaze calm, her voice steady.

“Enough,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the heated discussion.

The villagers fell silent, their attention drawn to her.

She bowed her head, closing her eyes for a brief moment before looking up again at the villagers, her expression earnest. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I hadn't meant to cause strife." She took a deep breath, and continued, "I'm sorry for getting ahead of myself. I was so excited to share this with you that I hadn't stopped to think about what this gift may bring. I've made a mistake."

They watched her with wide eyes, listening quietly as she continued. "It is my responsibility to offer you blessings and provide what you need. I had hoped to offer you something that will make our lives better, but I failed to consider your concerns."

"You haven't failed, dear goddess," Greta spoke, her voice gentle as she added, "You only wish to do what's right."

"You're not wrong to want the best for us, Ebonheim," Engin assured her with a patient smile. "It's your heart that wishes us to prosper. It's just that this gift is...hmm," he paused and stroked his beard thoughtfully, "Complex. There's much to consider, and much to discuss."

Ebonheim gave him a grateful nod and then continued, "That's what I've come to realize. So, I've thought of a plan to address this issue."

The crowd stirred, their expressions eager as they awaited her next words.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself. "I propose," she began, her voice measured and strong, "the formation of a council. This council will be made up of representatives from our village—warriors, crafters, farmers, parents, elders, anyone who has a stake in the life of our community. They will make the decisions about when and how the Chalice should be used. Its purpose will always be to serve our village’s needs without favoring anyone unduly."

Engin stroked his beard thoughtfully. "So, you're suggesting shared responsibility and decision-making. That sounds reasonable. What would happen if a dispute were to arise?"

"Well, the council will have to reach a consensus, or make a ruling if it can't come to one," Ebonheim replied. "It would be up to the council to make the right decision, but I'm hopeful that any disagreements will be resolved amicably."

"But how would this council decide?" Bjorn queried, his deep voice rippling through the crowd.

Ebonheim nodded at Bjorn, acknowledging his question. "They'll implement a set of guidelines. For example, the Chalice could be used when someone is gravely ill, when there's a significant challenge, or when the village needs the wisdom or skill of a particular individual for a longer period."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Nods followed, thoughtful looks replaced initial skepticism.

"But won't this create another form of power struggle, Ebonheim?" Thorsten asked.

"Maybe," Ebonheim said, her gaze shifting from Thorsten to the rest of the crowd, "but the council will be diverse and will operate on consensus. It will be a collective decision, not the mandate of a single person. It would be our shared responsibility to prevent that from happening."

Argoran stepped forward from the crowd. "And what of the individual who drinks from the Chalice? What ensures their prolonged life is used for the good of the village?"

"I thought of that as well," Ebonheim responded. "Whoever drinks from the Chalice must commit to serving the village in a way that aligns with their skills and abilities. In this way, their extended life benefits everyone."

Thorsten scratched his head, his face etched with thought. "So, the Chalice will not be a tool for personal gain, but rather a means to serve the village better?"

"That's right," Ebonheim answered, her tone firm and confident. "This chalice isn't intended to be a blessing for any single individual. It exists to provide a benefit to our community."

Engin turned to the crowd. "What say you all?"

A murmur swept across the crowd, voices intertwined in a chorus of approval and contemplation. This was the essence of their village—negotiating, debating, making decisions together.

Jorund, the village alchemist, voiced his approval. "This... this is a prudent plan. It keeps the power of the Chalice in check, it prevents abuse, and it ensures the gift serves the village."

Greta, the elderly woman, raised her voice next. "I suppose that sounds fair and just," she declared. "I've already lived a long and fulfilling life so the gift is lost to me. But, I can appreciate the goodwill in offering such a boon to others."

Even Liliana, the young mother, seemed comforted by the idea. "As long as we remember that our children are our future, and we don’t overshadow them, I see no harm in this."

Hilda patted Ebonheim on the shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. "It's a good plan, Ebonheim. It maintains the balance, gives everyone a voice. But remember, we'll need to tread carefully. Too much trust can be harmful."

"Are you going to be part of this council?" Bjorn asked.

Ebonheim nodded. "Yes, I will be. I'll be the only one to bestow its blessings, but I will not act as the sole arbiter."

Engin smiled, clapping a hand on Ebonheim's shoulder. "Well said, Ebonheim. This is why we trust you—you take our worries seriously, and you come up with solutions that are thoughtful and fair."

A wave of agreement washed over the crowd. Their faces lightened, their postures relaxed, and they looked at Ebonheim with respect and relief.

Ebonheim breathed out, her heart lighter. Her hands, which had been clammy with sweat, were now dry and steady again. Yes, this was the right choice. It was not only the safest route—but also the right one.

"Great, great. Glad that's over with," Serrandyl's voice rang in her ears as she felt herself being pulled into a tight embrace by the beastkin, "Can we go back to the more important matter? Who gets to wield the gauntlets?!"

A collective sigh echoed through the crowd as the villagers laughed heartily.

Ebonheim laughed as well, shaking her head and stroking Serrandyl's wild hair gently, before she glanced back at the rest of the crowd. "Does anyone have an idea on how to decide who gets the gauntlet?"

Silence settled again, but then, Engin cleared his throat and spoke up. "If we are to do this, we should do it properly. We will host a tournament. The victor earns the right to wield the Gauntlet of the Storm Giant."

Serrandyl's ears perked up. "That sounds like a fine idea."

Thorsten, too, grinned and said, "Now you’re speaking my language."

A chorus of agreement followed as the villagers murmured their assent. Ebonheim blinked in surprise. A tournament?