"Is it time?"
A voice, soothing as the night breeze, resonated through the sacred chamber. A young woman, her hair cascading like moonlit silver to the ground, gazed intently into a pedestal. Upon it rested a large bowl brimming with a mysterious liquid.
"Soon, I shall send forth the decrees," replied a raspy voice, echoing with the gravity of ages.
The voice, harsh as a rusted blade scraping stone, filled the chamber as an elder gentleman approached the pedestal. His face bore a stoic resolve. "I fear it may not suffice this time," he murmured, his breath a heavy sigh.
"It must," came a shadowed retort from the obscurity.
A venerable elder, his gaze as deep and dark as a cave's mouth on a sunlit day, advanced toward the pedestal. His hair, long and unkempt, trailed behind him, touching the ground with indifference.
"We lack the luxury of time, for the seals will not hold indefinitely," another voice called from the darkness, sharp and urgent.
The air seemed to slice with those words, halting the elder's speech as a middle-aged man emerged into the dim light, his eyes aflame with a fierce determination. "War is upon us; we must alert the oracles. The summons must be proclaimed."
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The young woman, her purpose resolute, turned to the figure known as War. With a graceful sweep of her hand over the pedestal, the bowl's contents shifted from a deep white to an unfathomable darkness, as though opening a portal to another realm.
"We alone cannot wield this power; we must implore them to invoke our aid," she declared.
"Enough," the elder gentleman interjected sharply, his voice cutting through the murmured exchanges. "I invoke the call. Who joins in the invocation?" His gaze, penetrating and relentless, fixed upon the swirling abyss within the bowl.
"I, the God of War, invoke the call," declared the figure of War, his voice resolute.
"I, the God of Heroes, invoke the call," affirmed the venerable elder, his tone solemn.
"I, the God of Healing, invoke the call," proclaimed the young woman, her voice clear and compelling.
"I, the God of Violence, invoke the call," stated the elder gentleman, his declaration firm.
Together, the four gods spoke, and the dark liquid began to solidify, transforming into a sheet of crystalline paper. Words etched themselves onto the surface, blazing like fire from the earth's core, their glow vibrant and commanding.
"I, the God of Rebirth, heed your call. Your petition is granted," a hollow, angelic voice rang out, enveloping the gods.
Before each deity, a small glowing orb materialized. They each grasped the orb before them.
"Let us issue our decrees," said the God of Violence, his form beginning to fade from sight.
The remaining gods exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable yet filled with an unspoken understanding, before they too disappeared into the ether, their presence echoing in the stillness of the sacred chamber.