A week had slipped by in silence and snow, and now, at last, the long-awaited day had arrived.
The Awakening Ceremony.
The first light of dawn spilled across the peaks, gentle and warm. The sun's rays stretched their golden fingers over the Aurelis Mountain, melting the shallow frost clinging to rooftops and coaxing mist to rise from the white-covered earth. The air was cold enough to sting, turning the children's cheeks pink and their breath into little clouds.
Before the towering pavilion of the Aurelis Clan, more than fifty children were gathered, tiny figures bundled in furs, ranging from eager thirteen-year-olds with wide eyes to nervous fifteen-year-olds who carried the weariness of failed attempts. Their small hands fidgeted, their gazes darted nervously, and some whispered prayers under their breath.
For the youngest, this was their first brush with destiny. For the older ones, their last.
The laws of the world were absolute:
Awakening was only possible between the ages of thirteen and fifteen.
There had never been an exception. Not one child had awakened earlier. Not one soul had crossed the threshold after fifteen.
Among this crowd of trembling hearts, two stood out like twin stars.
The first was Lunaris Aurelis, the rightful heir of the clan. His golden gaze and quiet composure as well as the Old Book in his hands carried a weight far beyond his years, and whispers already painted him as the inevitable successor, the next head of Aurelis. Every step he took seemed touched with inevitability.
The second was his younger sister, Caelrisu, standing half-hidden beneath her raven hair. Where Lunaris drew admiration, she provoked thinly veiled resentment. More than few saw her as nothing more than someone who had stumbled into fortune, unworthy of her place, especially the children.
In truth, the elders had concealed her accomplishments, twisting clan law and influence to keep her tethered as both protected and powerless, keeping her very existence as a hidden blade due to rising tension between the clans. Their meddling left the clan divided, some offering her affection, others seething with hatred.
And yet, amid the heavy mix of expectation and scorn, the siblings leaned on each other. To Lunaris, she was the only warmth within the cold weight of destiny. To Caelrisu, he was the shield against a world all too eager to cast her aside.
The pavilion before them rose like a monument carved from time itself, its dark wood and white stone glimmering faintly beneath the morning sun. It loomed higher than any other building in the stronghold, crowned with eaves heavy with snow and banners of silver silk swaying gently in the breeze. Heavily armored sentinels lined its steps, their spears planted firmly into the earth, their presence a silent warning that this place was untouchable.
At the pavilion's heart stretched a garden of living memories, a riot of colors and scents where countless flowers bloomed even in winter, their petals nurtured by the previous Clan Head himself, Lunaris and Caelrisu's father. Beyond it lay the sacred hall, where the records of Aurelis' ancestors were enshrined. Here, every clan head had lived, every oath had been sworn, and every clan-changing decision had been made. It was both a home and a throne, both cradle and grave of Aurelis' authority.
And today, it was the stage where the children of Aurelis would gamble with fate.
"Good, all of you are on time. Today is the Awakening Ceremony; it will be your life's greatest turning point. You may end up as kings… or peasants… depending on what happens here.
But don't worry even if you end up with a bad ability. It just means you don't know how to properly use it right now. Now, please line up and follow me."
The speaker was the Second Elder of Aurelis, Vermas Aurelis, the man entrusted with shaping the clan's young minds.
His beard and hair were still black, though patches of his scalp betrayed thinning strands he had cleverly hidden with care. Despite his age, his stride was firm, his back unbending, and his voice carried the weight of a man who had seen everything. Calmly, almost casually, he turned and began to lead the children toward the pavilion.
But they did not climb its grand steps. Instead, attendants approached and handed each trembling child a blindfold and earplugs. A murmur of nervousness ran through the group. Some fumbled nervously with the cloth while others simply took it around as though normal.
"Do not resist," the Second Elder warned, his tone final. "This is for the secrecy of the location of the ceremony. As it is a secret to everyone other than the Clan Head and Elders. If you still wish to fulfill your curiosity, aim for a seat in council."
One by one, the children covered their eyes and ears. The world went black and silent. Guided only by the elder's voice and the faint push of winds, they walked forward in darkness.
Then, suddenly, an invisible force wrapped around them. A pull, gentle yet irresistible, yanked at their very clothes. Tiny bodies stiffened, some whimpered, and then they were swept into a vortex.
The sensation was dizzying. The ground vanished, and they were swept by the currents of the vortex.
Stomachs churned, and when the pull finally released them, many fell to their knees at once. Some coughed, some gasped, and more than a few children bent forward and vomited, the sound echoing through the silence.
"You can now remove your blindfolds," the elder's voice gently resounded.
Little fingers tugged at knots, slipping off the cloth. A soft bluish glow spilled into their eyes, gentle yet dazzling after the darkness. The earplugs came out, and sound poured back like a rushing river.
The children froze.
They were standing in a cave unlike any they had ever seen. It was vast and high, its walls glittering faintly as though tiny sapphires were pressed into the stone. From the ceiling, glowing moss drifted down in threads of silver and green, casting a dreamlike light across the chamber.
And in the air… butterflies.
They floated slowly, wings of radiant blue shimmering like bits of the night sky set free. With every flap, a faint streak of light followed, drawing lines that vanished too quickly to catch. Beautiful, delicate, and fragile, they made every child want to reach out. But everyone knew the stories.
Eternity Butterflies.
Strange, otherworldly beings said to have drifted in from realms beyond. They were always seen fluttering near Awakening grounds, their wings shimmering with colors no brush could capture.
It was said they lived forever. At the end of every decade, when their bodies weakened and their light began to dim, they would not truly die. Instead, they regressed into fragile eggs, waiting in silence for a year before emerging anew, reborn, untouched by time.
But to touch them, even once, was to gamble with memory itself. A face, a name, a laugh you cherished, a song that once moved your heart, any of it could vanish in an instant, stolen away with no return.
The butterflies were dangerous, yet so mesmerizing that it hurt to look away.
At the heart of the cave lay a lake. Its surface was flawless, gleaming like polished glass, so clear it seemed less like water and more like a perfect mirror. Looking into it felt uncanny, as though the reflection wasn't your own, but a doorway to somewhere else.
Around it bloomed countless white flowers, petals so fine they looked like snowflakes spun from moonlight. From afar they were lovely, but the closer one drew, the more breathtaking they became, clearer, brighter, as though revealing hidden beauty only to those who dared approach.
They gave off no heavy perfume, only the faintest fragrance, like the first breath of snow on a winter morning. Standing near them felt like sinking into calm water; worries eased, hearts stilled, and even trembling hands grew steady.
The cave was a contradiction, with blue butterflies that could steal memories and white flowers that soothed the soul. Between danger and peace, the Lake stayed still, silent and timeless, as though it would judge whoever stepped forward.