Chapter 7:
The guildhall of Astralis was alive with murmurs when Kaelen and Elira returned. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, scattering fractured colors across the polished floor. Apprentices clustered near the mission board, whispering, while senior members sharpened blades or pored over scrolls. Yet all activity seemed to pause as the two entered, their arrival weighted by unseen eyes.
"They're back," someone hissed.
"They say they faced the Order…" another murmured.
"Children's tales. No one's seen the Obsidian Order in decades."
Kaelen clenched his jaw, lightning snapping faintly along his knuckles. He hated whispers more than blades—words carried poison without leaving scars. Elira kept her head high, silver eyes forward, but the pulse of her moonstone betrayed her unease.
At the dais, Guildmaster Aurelius rose from his seat. A tall man with streaks of gray in his hair, he carried authority like a blade at his hip. "Step forward, Kaelen, Elira. Report your findings."
Elira bowed lightly, then recounted the night in Luthmere—the wraith-hound, the cloaked figures, the leader's words of prophecy. Kaelen added sharp interjections, describing the shattered staff, the beasts dissolving, and the final burning departure.
When silence fell, Aurelius's stern face remained unreadable. "You claim the Obsidian Order returned. You claim they spoke of prophecy."
Kaelen scowled. "Not a claim. We were there."
Aurelius's eyes narrowed. "Be careful, boy. The Order are phantoms of history. Their very name is used to frighten apprentices. And prophecies—" He shook his head. "Superstitions woven by clans to bind their children."
A ripple of laughter ran through the hall. Kaelen's fists sparked violently, and for a moment Elira thought he might unleash a storm then and there. But she touched his arm lightly, a silent tether.
"Guildmaster," she said calmly. "We do not ask that you believe blindly. Only that you heed the possibility. If shadows stir, better to prepare than to mock."
Aurelius's gaze softened briefly at her words, then hardened once more. "Prepare for shadows, and you waste steel on smoke. Enough. You are dismissed."
The dismissal stung. As they turned away under the weight of skeptical stares, Kaelen muttered, "Cowards. Blind fools, all of them."
Elira's silence spoke louder than words.
It was then a voice rose from the far end of the hall—smooth, measured, yet carrying a strange warmth. "Not all are blind, boy."
The crowd shifted as a man stepped forward. Cloaked in robes of midnight blue, embroidered with constellations, he walked with the ease of one who belonged yet remained apart. His hair was dark with streaks of silver, his eyes the pale green of distant glass, sharp yet kind. In his hands he carried a staff, not of obsidian but of carved oak etched with ancient runes.
Gasps rippled through the guild. "The Archivist…" someone whispered.
He smiled faintly. "You may call me Master Darius. Keeper of records, seeker of truths. And I, unlike some, listen when shadows speak."
Kaelen blinked. "Finally, someone with sense."
Elira tilted her head, studying him. "You believe us?"
Darius inclined his head. "More than that. I believe you were meant to see what you did." He gestured toward a side passage. "Walk with me. The guildhall has too many ears."
Against their better judgment, they followed. The passage wound down into the guild's archives, a cavernous chamber lit by lanterns of hovering flame. Shelves stretched endlessly, stacked with tomes and scrolls that smelled of dust and secrets.
Darius moved with practiced ease, leading them to a secluded alcove. He set down his staff and drew from his robe a scroll sealed with silver wax. His smile was calm, almost tender, as he broke the seal.
"This," he said, "is older than the guild itself. A fragment of the Celestial Codex, a prophecy carved in moonlight and stormfire."
The parchment unfurled, revealing faded glyphs that shimmered faintly in the lantern glow. Elira leaned closer, breath caught. The words were written in a mixture of runes—half familiar from her clan's teachings, half foreign. She traced them softly.
"When moonlight binds with storm,
And night howls upon the earth,
The heavens shall tremble,
And a path shall open—
To salvation… or to ruin."
Kaelen scoffed, though his voice was uneasy. "Cryptic poetry. Nothing more."
"Nothing less," Darius corrected gently. His pale eyes lingered on Kaelen, then on Elira. "You are the moonlight and the storm. Together, you are convergence. And the Order knows it. They will not stop until they have either broken you… or claimed you."
A chill crawled up Elira's spine. Her pendant throbbed faintly as if the words resonated with its core. Kaelen crossed his arms, masking discomfort with bravado. "So what, we're supposed to save the world because some dusty scroll says so?"
Darius chuckled softly. "Save, destroy, reshape… prophecy does not dictate how. Only that you cannot escape it." He rolled the scroll closed and slid it back into his robe. "Which means, children, that you need guidance. Protection. Someone who knows how to shield you from the Order's claws while you learn to wield the destiny laid upon you."
Elira studied him carefully. His words carried weight, and there was sincerity in his tone—but something in the way his smile lingered, just a heartbeat too long, pricked at her instincts.
"What do you gain from helping us?" she asked quietly.
Darius did not flinch. "Knowledge. Prophecy has long been fragments and whispers. With you, I might see the full tapestry woven. That is enough."
Kaelen shrugged. "Better than blind old Aurelius laughing in our faces." He grinned faintly. "Fine. Teach us, Archivist. Just don't expect me to bow and scrape."
Darius's eyes glimmered with amusement. "I would expect nothing less."
As they departed the archives later, Elira glanced back once. Darius remained in the alcove, his hand resting on the sealed scroll, his smile fading into something sharper, colder.
"The storm and the moon," he murmured to himself. "At last, the threads align. And soon, the gate will open… for me."
The lanternlight flickered, casting his shadow long across the shelves.....