< Forty-four years earlier >
The Silverwing Palace had not looked this grand in centuries. The entire city of Osilon had trooped into the great Willow Hall, eager to witness what powers the second prince would manifest. It was widely believed his awakening would reveal a profound rarity; young Arinthal had harnessed magic at the tender age of twenty-four (in elven years), the youngest ever to claim the power of the velori.
Young Arinthal, however, was terrified to the bones. He lay curled under his bed, anxiety clawing at his mind.
"Arinthal? Where are you?" Naudra's sweet voice echoed from the doorway of his chambers.
Arinthal remained completely still, paying no heed to his sister's calls until he heard heavy sniffing right beside him.
"Arinthal, you knew Leonora would find you eventually, didn't you? Come out, you little flameball." Naudra laughed, dragging him from his hiding spot. She lifted him into her arms and kissed the top of his head, expertly braiding his silver hair into a traditional elven plait. Arinthal wore a deep pout on his face, but Naudra ignored it cheerfully, dusting the dirt from his clothes until he was clean before setting him back down.
Instantly her dragon, Leonora still a hatchling and only the size of a deer leapt toward him, ready to flatten him with a barrage of wet licks.
"Leonora! Heel!" Naudra commanded.
The young dragon recoiled instantly, lowering her head in shame at her master's displeasure. Naudra sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her younger brother up beside her.
"Are you nervous?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"The whole of Eldrida is out there watching," Arinthal mumbled. "That's way too many elves for one room."
"You know the various types of velori a person can manifest, don't you?"
"Yes, why?" Arinthal asked, glancing up warily.
"List them for me."
"There's the elemental call, the mind call, the shadow call, the rare call, the celestial call, the light call, the spirit call, and the holidar call."
"Good," Naudra smiled. "Now, what call am I?"
"You're an arcavel of the light call! The strongest wielder in all of Eldrida!" Arinthal cheered, throwing his small arms out wide to emphasize the scale.
Naudra laughed warmly at his sudden enthusiasm. "Exactly. So today, you're going to show all of Eldrida exactly who you are and what your call is."
"Really?!"
"Yes. Now tell me, who are you?"
Arinthal puffed out his chest with immense gusto. "I am Prince Arinthal Calanthir, second prince of Eldrida, sister to Princess Naudra Calanthir of the glorious seek!"
Naudra burst into cackling laughter at his display, and even Leonora let out a scaly, clicking sound that mirrored a chuckle.
"You little imp. You're my brother, not my sister."
"Oh. Well, close enough, right?"
Before she could answer, the heavy chamber doors swung open, revealing a royal butler. "Greetings, my princess. The prince is required in the Willow Hall immediately," he announced with a formal bow.
"Very well, Jura. We will be there in just a moment." Naudra dismissed the butler with a polite wave, then turned back to her brother. "Arinthal?"
"Mmmm?"
"Are you ready?"
Instead of answering, Arinthal reached up and took her hand.
Together, they stepped out toward the Willow Hall.
Every gaze in the grand pavilion locked onto the anxious young prince as he marched alongside Naudra toward the center of the hall. Before them stood an ancient awakening formation:
A spherical artifact constructed of looping metallic rings, large enough for an elf to stand upright within. At its dead center suspended a glowing orb of raw light, casting a vibrant glare across the interlocking runes etched into the artifact's exterior.
Naudra gently guided Arinthal toward the Saintess of the World Tree, who ushered him into the heart of the device.
The Saintess offered a serene smile, leaning down to whisper, "Listen, child. Listen close to the voice of the Velori. Hear the quiet whispers of magic and mystery, and you will find the force that calls to your soul."
Arinthal nodded, facing the glowing orb as it descended to match his height. He wrapped his small arms around its warm surface, completely forgetting the hundreds of piercing elven eyes fixed upon him. The artifact radiated a comforting, deep warmth, and a relieved smile broke across his face.
Then, disaster struck.
The orb violently convulsed, writhing like a dying beast. Panic spiking, Arinthal tried to yank his hands away, but his palms were completely fused to the burning light.
The audience erupted into murmured panic. The Saintess's sightless eyes went wide with shock, her hands freezing mid-incantation.
Naudra darted her eyes toward her father sitting passively upon the throne, but the King remained entirely unmoved. Snapping, Naudra surged toward the stage herself, but Jura swiftly blocked her path.
"Let me rescue our little flameball, my princess," the elderly butler said with a reckless wink.
Despite the terror of the moment, Naudra gave a tight nod, her chest heaving as she watched the old elf sprint toward the unstable platform.
Inside the artifact, an impossible, devastating torrent of power was tearing through Arinthal's veins. Something ancient and pitch-black stirred deep within his consciousness. It was dark, suffocating—but he wasn't afraid of it. He welcomed it, opening his mind to let it take hold. His eyes flared with a blinding, absolute glow. As Jura breached the steps to reach him, Arinthal's grip on the surging energy slipped entirely.
The magic erupted.
A catastrophic beam of raw, concussive energy detonated outward, striking Jura squarely in the chest before the old man could even react. The blast tore through his heart like paper. The loyal butler collapsed instantly, his final breaths completely swallowed by Naudra's screams and the chaotic uproar of the panicked court.