The streets of Deon buzzed with life, even as the celestial timekeepers marked the twentieth hour. Days on Orion stretched long under the reign of twin Suns, whose lingering light seemed loath to yield to the encroaching night. Tyrese navigated the bustling roads, his steps faltering under the weight of the day's events, his thoughts clouded and fragmented.
For years, he had weathered life's trials alone. Orphaned at thirteen by a cruel twist of fate, he had been left to forge his own path. The accident that claimed his parents had stripped him of comfort but instilled a quiet strength, a resilience tempered by solitude.
His home stood at the edge of the Deon Kingdom, where the shadow of the Ancient Forest loomed large. Within its depths lay the Lost Sanctuary, a place steeped in legend and foreboding. Yet tonight, even the echoes of such mysteries could not break through the exhaustion that clung to Tyrese like a shroud.
Reaching the modest house, he called his own, Tyrese moved with a mechanical rhythm. A cascade of lukewarm water washed away the day's sweat and grime, and soon after, he collapsed onto his bed. The embrace of sleep was swift and unrelenting, dragging him into its depths.
When he awoke, the night was well upon him. The dim glow of sigil lamps cast flickering shadows across the room, their light soft and uneven. Tyrese stirred, his senses slowly returning, only to realize he was not alone. Maha sat beside him, her presence calm but heavy with concern.
Startled, he jerked upright. "Maha?" he said, his voice tinged with surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I… I was concerned," she admitted, her words faltering for a moment. "What happened to you today, Tyrese?"
Her voice, steady yet laced with worry, stirred the memories he had tried to bury. They surged back with the force of a tide, crashing over him. Tyrese trembled, his breath uneven as he tried to speak.
"I... I saw darkness," he began, his voice low and unsteady. "It wasn't just absence of light, it was alive, heavy, like it had weight and purpose. Then came fire, screams, chaos. The void itself seemed to churn, rumbling like a storm trapped within."
He paused, his trembling intensifying. "And then I saw them, seven beings, each standing before seven doors. Beyond them, there was... something. Vast. So immense, it felt as though the universe itself was folding in its presence." His voice broke, his eyes wide with terror. "And whispers... faint but relentless. They kept saying, 'Remember me. Remember me. Remember us.'"
The words had barely left his lips before a wave of nausea overtook him. Doubling over, he vomited, his body drenched in sweat. Pain lanced through his skull, sharp and unyielding, as though struck by an invisible force.
Maha's heart raced. Though the meaning of his words eluded her, something primal stirred within, an ancient, crawling fear that slithered beneath her skin. She fought to calm herself, forcing her breath to steady as she knelt beside him.
Her hands, firm yet gentle, helped Tyrese to his feet. "Are you alright?" she asked softly, her tone steady despite the tremor in her chest.
Tyrese nodded weakly, though his movements were sluggish and uncertain. "Yeah," he murmured, his words unconvincing. "Just... dizzy. I'll be fine."
But Maha wasn't so sure. As her gaze met his, she saw something that belied his reassurance, a shadow in his eyes, faint yet undeniable. It lingered, like the echo of a distant storm.
Tyrese had a restless night after the events of the previous evening. Maha had stayed to ensure he was well before leaving him to his thoughts, but sleep had offered little reprieve. The strange vision haunted him, its fragments swirling in his mind like shadows that refused to fade.
Now, a new day began as the twin suns rose beyond the horizon, their golden light spilling across the landscape, bathing the streets of Deon in a warm glow. The city buzzed faintly with the sounds of morning, vendors setting up their stalls, children laughing as they darted through narrow alleyways, and the occasional bark of a merchant advertising their goods.
Tyrese's mind, however, was elsewhere. He moved through his morning routine with mechanical precision. His usual training exercises, push-ups, sit-ups, and a set of stretches, did little to ground him. The headache that had plagued him the night before lingered, a dull throb at his temples.
He paused by the small wooden table in his home, sipping a bitter herbal tea. It wasn't as effective as he'd hoped, but it gave him a moment of quiet before the day's tasks. First, he would attend the second day of training at the Church. Afterward, he planned to visit the marketplace to purchase groceries and herbs for a stronger mind-calming infusion.
By the time Tyrese stepped outside, the twin suns were high in the sky. Their brilliance felt particularly intense today, or perhaps it was just his unsettled state of mind. He squinted against the light as he walked through the bustling streets, nodding absently to familiar faces. Everything around him seemed sharper, more vivid, as though his senses had been heightened since the strange vision.
When he arrived at the Church, the training hall was already lively. Maha stood near the far wall, chatting quietly with another trainee. Most of the others had already arrived, their presence filling the room with hushed anticipation. Tyrese frowned. He had thought himself early, yet it seemed the others had beaten him. Still, at least he wasn't late.
Sir Arras stood at the front of the hall, his imposing figure framed by the high arched windows that let in streams of sunlight. He waited silently, his piercing gaze sweeping over the trainees as the last few filed in. The room fell quiet.
"Good morning, trainees," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. "I trust you are well and have reflected on yesterday's lesson."
A ripple of nods passed through the group, though a few trainees exchanged uncertain glances. Satisfied, Sir Arras continued.
"Yesterday, you crafted your first sigil. Today, we move forward. We will discuss the steps to becoming a Will holder and the challenges you will face in this life."
He began to pace, his boots echoing faintly on the polished stone floor. "As I've said, there are three main types of Will holders: Will Sorcerers, Will Warriors, and Diviners. Each serves a distinct purpose, but the strength of the first two is measured by two critical factors.
"First, your Willpower. This determines how many sigils you can sustain at once, as well as their complexity. While sigils are shaped by Will and Intent, that does not mean anyone can become powerful simply by drawing a sigil. The more a sigil conflicts with the World's Will, the more Willpower it requires to draw and activate. And the more intricate a sigil's purpose, the greater clarity of mind the user must have to wield it effectively."
He paused, his gaze lingering on a few trainees. Tyrese felt his stomach twist as those sharp eyes seemed to land on him for a moment.
Sir Arras stood at the front of the training hall, his commanding presence drawing the attention of every trainee. His voice resonated through the room as he spoke, his tone both instructional and unyielding.
"Second is the level of cultivation of the Willholder themselves. To advance through each tier, one must undergo what we call an enlightenment. This manifests differently for every individual. First, the Willholder reaches a cap, their willpower attaining a threshold in both quantity and quality.
Yet, this alone is not enough. They must then experience enlightenment to evolve the very core of their will and successfully break into the next tier.
Enlightenment does not arrive the moment one reaches this cap. It may be found through many paths, deep meditation, a moment of life and death, an overwhelming desire, or a revelation born of despair. And sometimes, it does not come at all. Many spend their entire lives in pursuit of it, only to remain forever bound to the same tier."
He raised a hand, and the sigils etched into the wall behind him flared to life, each one igniting in turn as he unveiled the ten tiers of a Willholder.
The Novice
The Adept
The Knight
The Sentinel
The Centurion
The Paragon
The Ascendant
The Sovereign
The Exemplar
The Harbinger (Demigods)
Sir Arras paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the trainees. The glowing sigils dimmed as he turned back to face them.
"This is the scale of mastery. Your strength, your clarity, and your resolve will determine where you stand."
Afterward, Sir Arras spoke of the mental place.
"To deepen your willpower, you must learn the art of Visualization" he said softly. "By turning your Will inward, you may slip into a state between waking and dream. Within that threshold lies a hidden domain, what we call the mental place.
There, thought is substance, and intent is law. What you shape with clarity and conviction takes form, and the more vivid your creations become, the more your Will is refined. That strength does not remain bound to the mind alone. It seeps into the flesh, tempers the spirit, and binds body and will as one."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the trainees. "It is said that the mental place of a Harbinger is indistinguishable from reality itself. This is what enables them to engrave sigils directly into their minds. Yet, the Harbingers have never confirmed this, guarding it as a sacred secret. Many have criticized their silence, especially given humanity's relentless struggles against the Rodraks. Still, whatever the truth may be, this ability remains cloaked in mystery."
He scanned the room, his gaze sharp and steady. "What is certain is that every individual's mental place is unique. It is said to reflect their potential as a Willholder. The larger and more intricate your mental place, the greater your potential. But remember: size alone does not determine strength, for each mental place possesses unique characteristics. You must explore and understand your own."
Following Sir Arras's instructions, Tyrese closed his eyes and focused, channeling his Willpower into his mind. Slowly, he felt the waking world fade away, replaced by something new.
When his senses adjusted, he gasped, his heart racing with shock and fear. His mental place was unlike anything he had expected, it was a lesser version of the Lost Sanctuary, the ancient, crumbling palace hidden deep within the Ancient Forest.
The sanctuary in Tyrese's mind was incomplete, as if still under construction. Its towering pillars and intricate carvings hinted at its future grandeur, but it was far from finished. Even so, its resemblance to the real Lost Sanctuary was unmistakable, and the sight of it sent a chill down Tyrese's spine.
His concentration wavered, and he was pulled back into the waking world. Gasping for breath, he clutched his knees, sweat beading on his forehead. It took him several minutes to calm himself enough to re-enter his mental place.
As he dived back in, Sir Arras watched him from afar, his eyes flickering with a hint of apprehension. Yet, it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere. His gaze seemed unfocused, as if preoccupied with something beyond the training hall.
The atmosphere shifted when a young woman entered the training hall. Her long blond hair flowed behind her, and her steps were heavy yet steady with purpose. She approached Sir Arras and leaned in, whispering something into his ear.
The centurion's distant expression sharpened immediately, his focus snapping back to the present. He nodded at the woman before turning to the trainees.
"There has been a Rodrak attack in a nearby town," he announced, his voice grave. "Adept Willholders have already engaged the Seedlings, but this is an opportunity for you all. You will accompany me to the scene. Observe carefully. This will serve as your first experience watching a real battle between Willholders and Rodraks. Prepare yourselves."
The hall erupted into motion as the trainees scrambled to gather their things. Tyrese's heart pounded, not just from the announcement but from the lingering unease of his mental place. Something about the resemblance to the Lost Sanctuary gnawed at him, yet there was no time to dwell on it.