Bridging Worlds: Book 1 Celestoria's Time

-Minstrell Chalice, Ignisfell-

The night hung heavy over the city as Rosche and her group decided to take a much-needed rest after the revelation shared by Mr. Hargan. The weight of newfound knowledge pressed on them, and the air inside the tavern was thick with a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation. Rosche, unable to find solace in sleep, rose from her bed and wandered towards the window. The moonlight spilled through, casting a silvery glow across the room. As if lost in thought, Rosche gazed into the night.

Feeling the need to ease her troubled mind, she descended the creaking stairs of the tavern. To her surprise, Mr. Hargan, the source of the revelation, was still awake, sipping wine in the dimly lit common area. His weathered face held the weight of countless untold stories. Approaching the old man, Rosche inquired, “Mr. Hargan, you’re not asleep yet?”

Setting the wine glass on a nearby table, Mr. Hargan replied, “Can’t sleep right now.” Seating herself beside him, Rosche hesitated before voicing her thoughts. “Me too. I was just thinking if we could talk.”

Mr. Hargan, always an entertaining conversationalist, welcomed her inquiry. “Go ahead, child.”

With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, Rosche began, “I was just curious about what you said, that I am not familiar with the power I possess. I was wondering if you could tell me more about it.”

Mr. Hargan, seemingly pleased by her interest, began to unravel the mysteries. “Most mages know that Eclipsarians have the ability to control solar and lunar eclipses, darkening or brightening the sky at will. But what they don’t know is that we also have the power to bend time, though it’s the most dangerous aspect of our abilities.”

Rosche absorbed this information, her eyes reflecting a newfound understanding. However, Mr. Hargan, after observing her closely, expressed a different perspective. “But for you, I am more curious.”

Opening up in a way she hadn’t before, Rosche admitted, “Actually, I don’t know what I am. I was born with a damaged magical root, didn’t have powers growing up, and then one night, I suddenly had them. I also realized I wasn’t my parents’ biological child, and that they found me in Verdant Spire. There are many things that I don’t know.”

Concern flashed across Mr. Hargan’s face as he grasped the depth of her vulnerability. “That was a lot. I’m grateful you’re telling me this, Rosche. The information you’re sharing is significant for someone you just met.”

Rosche chuckled nervously, a blush coloring her cheeks. “Am I...? I don’t know. It’s just that I felt it’s better to ask, and I don’t think I asked a bad person, am I right?”

Hargan joined her laughter. “Well, you have a point there, but I suggest you keep this to yourself and only tell those whom you trust. I’ve been there, betrayed by the one I trusted the most.”

Acknowledging the weight of his advice, Rosche said, “I understand, and thank you for reminding me.”

Mr. Hargan continued, shifting the conversation to a more cryptic word. “But you’re not wrong to ask me, for I can tell you some information that might help you in the future.”

Mr. Hargan leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Rosche with a knowing intensity. “Are you aware of the mage race called Aurerians?” he inquired, his voice carrying the weight of ancient secrets.

Rosche’s brow furrowed in thought, the memory surfacing. “I think I heard about it during class in Crystalpeak, I heard about that and Ithilien,” she recalled, her eyes searching her own recollections.

Nodding at her acknowledgment, Mr. Hargan continued, “The Aurerians are not just another mage race; they stand at the zenith of mystical power. In fact, they surpass even the combined might of the 12 Council of Arantle. Picture them as unique beings, possessing an incredible ability to command and control all twelve elemental forces of their world. They aren’t just wielders of magic; they are, in essence, living embodiments of balance and harmony.”

Rosche, still absorbing the revelations, leaned in, her curiosity piqued.

“There is much more than what the school and books have told you, Rosche,” Mr. Hargan continued, his voice low and laden with the weight of untold secrets. “The books may have mentioned that the 12 Council of Arantle is immortal, but they left out the how.”

His gaze held a hint of mystery as he began to unravel a chapter not found in the pages of conventional knowledge. “During the great battle a thousand years ago, in which Ithilien and the 12 kings were embroiled, they stumbled upon an artifact. This artifact, aside from granting them a form of immortality, had a secondary effect. It intricately bound their bloodline, ensuring that their descendants would inherit this immortality as well. This, Rosche, is how the 12 kings are intricately connected to the 12 seals of the dark entity.”

Rosche’s eyes widened at the revelation, her mind racing to comprehend the significance of this newfound knowledge. Intrigued and perplexed, she couldn’t help but ask, “What do you mean by that?”

Mr. Hargan leaned in, his words now a confidential whisper. “The very place where the artifact bestowed them with immortality is the same place where another artifact, the one used to imprison the dark entity, was discovered. The threads of fate intertwine, Rosche, linking the immortality of the 12 kings to the seals that bind the ancient darkness.”

Mr. Hargan’s words lingered in the air, the gravity of his revelations sinking in.

“All descendants of the 12 are immortals,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of ages. “This immortality, however, is not without conditions. It can only be broken if the head—the leader—dies. In other words, if one of the 12 kings were to meet their demise, the chain of immortality would shatter, and along with it and so as the seal that binds the dark entity.”

Rosche’s gaze locked onto Mr. Hargan’s, absorbing the implications of her lineage and its connection to the fate of the world.

Hargan, his expression somber yet determined, spoke quietly, “And do you know where you stand there?”

Caught in the gravity of the moment, Rosche met his gaze and shook her head, her eyes reflecting a mix of shock and curiosity.

Hargan’s voice dropped to a hushed tone. “I don’t believe the last bloodline of Aurerian ended with Ithilien. It continues to you. If my suspicions are correct, you must be the one mentioned in the prophecy from long ago. You are the one destined to end Ebonthar.”

Rosche’s eyes widened, her shock deepening into a well of curiosity. “Ebonthar?” she queried, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hargan chuckled, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I suppose the books and lectures in Crystalpeak are not as informative as they should be. They’ve missed the most crucial information. In a forgotten era, dark practitioners known as the Obsidian Mages worshipped the malevolent entity Ebonthar. They wielded forbidden arts of soul manipulation and clashed with the Aurerian mage Ithirien, leading to their supposed extinction.”

His eyes held a hint of foreboding as he continued, “Ithirien’s celestial sword nearly wiped them out, but a few survived, hidden and still loyal to Ebonthar. Operating in secret, these remnants perpetuated chaos and strife, aiming to plunge the world into darkness while maintaining their hidden power.”

The room seemed to darken with the weight of this revelation, as if the shadows themselves were stirred by the echoes of a malevolent force long thought vanquished but quietly biding its time in the hidden corners of history.