Date: February 12, 542 since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The moment Arannis's fingers touched the cold, vibrating facet of the octahedron, the Temple of True Balance ceased to be a dead pile of stone. The emerald flame in which the Sylvan was burning did not have time to transmit its will to the crystal — instead, the Crystal itself "inhaled," drawing in the remnants of Arannis's strength and all the fury permeating the air of the Central Nexus.
An absolute, unnatural silence fell.
And then came the Light.
It was no ordinary flash. A torrent of blinding white radiance, devoid of shadows, erupted from the center of the octahedron. It filled the hall's chamber instantly, turning all existence into an endless milky haze. Grak Axe, whose axe had frozen millimeters from Kaellen's "Absolute Aegis," felt his weapon suddenly become light as if made of down. Baron Kaellen, Legate Valerius, Mirza — all the Harbingers, poised at the edge of their greatest strikes, were blinded and disarmed by this power.
Kaedan shielded his eyes with his hand, but the light penetrated through tightly shut lids, through the bones of his vambraces, reaching the Vessel itself. The youth felt a strange sensation: his inner essence, previously torn and exhausted, suddenly went still, as if listening to something grand. This was a light that did not burn, but weighed every spark of life in this hall.
Space began to vibrate. A thin, crystalline ringing grew until it became a powerful chord that shook the very foundation of the mountain. The light in the center of the hall began to condense, taking on a form that had nothing to do with the human shape.
From the blinding core, slowly, with majestic deliberation, a figure emerged. It was a Giant Hawk. Its wings, whose span covered half the platform, seemed woven from living silver and obsidian chips. Each feather of the bird was a perfectly cut crystal facet, reflecting the fates of all present. Instead of eyes, two motionless suns blazed in the creature's head, their light piercing through the fog of entropy and mirrors of memory.
The Hawk gave a lazy beat of its wings, and a wave of warm air, smelling of ozone and the purity of the primordial world, swept through the hall. Arannis, who had touched the Crystal, was thrown back — not by brute force, but by a soft, yet unyielding refusal. The Sylvan collapsed onto the tiles, his emerald glow finally extinguished, leaving him in a state of profound exhaustion.
The Spirit of the Temple hovered in the air, and its presence suppressed the will of all five Harbingers. Mirza, Grak, and Magnus — the strongest in the hall — felt like children frozen before the face of an enraged father.
"Too much fuss over what cannot be bought with gold or taken with steel," the Hawk's voice did not sound in the air; it arose directly in everyone's mind. It resembled the rustle of a thousand wings and the rumble of a distant avalanche. "You came here for a Relic? You sought an instrument to elevate your pride over others?"
The bird slowly turned its head, and its amber gaze swept over the wounded knights, legionnaires, and mercenaries. "Zanra the Dishonored left no things here. He left a Trial. This Temple is not a treasury; it is a Place of Power that breathes in rhythm with this world. It belongs neither to the Order, nor the Dynasty, nor the Forests. It belongs only to one who can hold Balance within themselves."
The Hawk folded its wings, and its form became even denser, almost material. "I am the Shadow of Balance. And I myself will choose the one who receives the right to accept the power of this place. Not the one who ran first, nor the one who killed the most. Power will choose purity of intention and the strength of the Vessel capable of bearing the true weight of the future."
The light in the hall began to slowly dim, taking on a golden hue. Everyone froze. The Harbingers, ready to tear each other apart moments before, now stood motionless, awaiting the verdict of the ancient being. The Hawk began to slowly descend towards the platform, and its eyes began to search among the crowd of wounded warriors for that single spark for which the Temple of True Balance had awakened after centuries of oblivion.