The Convergence Prophecy

"Dreams can be manipulated," he says when I finish. "Especially in a place like this, saturated with magical energy. Your father could be showing you what he wants you to see."

"Or what I need to see," I counter. "What if there's truth in it? Eryndisa admitted she and my mother were estranged. What if there's more to that story?"

Thorne sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's possible. The Twilight Accord has always played their own game—more moderate than the Covenant or Purifiers, but with their own agenda nonetheless." He leans closer, lowering his voice. "I've been asking questions while you slept. There are whispers among the lower-ranked members. They call you 'The Gatekeeper' or sometimes 'The Fulfillment.'"

A chill runs down my spine. "The fulfillment of what?"

"That's what we need to find out. Your father mentioned a Convergence Prophecy. I've heard of it, but only rumors. It's supposedly one of the Accord's most closely guarded secrets."

I'm about to respond when I notice Eryndisa approaching along one of the garden paths, accompanied by an elderly man leaning on an ornate staff. His robe is different from the others I've seen—deep purple rather than gray, with silver symbols embroidered along the hem and sleeves.

"Aria," Eryndisa calls. "I'm glad to see you've recovered. This is Elder Thaerin, one of our Council members."

We stand to greet them. Thaerin studies me with keen interest, his pale eyes seeming to look through rather than at me.

"So," he says, his voice surprisingly strong for his apparent age, "the daughter of Mira Moonshadow and Azrael the Gatebreaker stands before us at last. The pattern completes itself, as was foretold."

"Foretold?" I repeat. "You mean the Convergence Prophecy?"

Eryndisa's expression tightens fractionally—a reaction so quick I would have missed it if I weren't watching for it. Beside me, Thorne shifts his weight slightly, one hand casually moving closer to his concealed knife.

"You've heard of it," Thaerin says, sounding unsurprised. "Of course you have. Blood calls to blood, and knowledge seeks itself out." He turns to Eryndisa. "She should be brought before the full Council. It's time."

"She's barely recovered," Eryndisa objects. "And there are preparations—"

"The signs align," Thaerin interrupts firmly. "Three breaches in as many days. The Stalkers massing at the boundaries. Azrael's agents moving openly for the first time in decades." He fixes his pale gaze on me again. "We have waited long enough. The Council convenes at dusk."

Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks away with surprising speed for someone who appeared to need the staff's support.

"What was that about?" I demand once he's out of earshot. "What Council? And what exactly am I supposed to be the fulfillment of?"

Eryndisa looks troubled. "It's complicated, Aria. And not something to be discussed here in the open." She gestures toward a different path than the one Thaerin took. "Walk with me. Both of you."

She leads us deeper into the gardens, eventually reaching a small pavilion partially hidden by flowering vines. Inside, stone benches surround a shallow pool. Eryndisa checks to ensure we're alone before sitting.

"The Convergence Prophecy," she begins, her voice low, "was discovered over three centuries ago by the founders of the Twilight Accord. It speaks of a time when the barriers between realms would grow dangerously thin, when beings like your father would gain enough power to threaten the natural order of separation."

"What exactly does it say?" Thorne asks.

Eryndisa hesitates before reciting:

"When shadows lengthen and barriers fray,

When ancient powers seek the light of day,

Born of twilight and deepest night,

The Gatekeeper stands at boundaries bright.

Blood of two realms united in one,

Through whom the final battle is begun.

By their hand shall paths be sealed or thrown wide,

In their choice does fate of worlds reside."

A heavy silence follows her words.

"And you think I'm this Gatekeeper," I say finally.

"We know you are," Eryndisa replies. "Your lineage, your abilities—they match precisely. Blood of two realms—human and demon—united in one. The ability to create gateways without ritual or sacrifice. Even the timing aligns with other signs we've been tracking."

I exchange a glance with Thorne, whose expression remains carefully neutral. "If you've known about this prophecy for centuries, why didn't you find me sooner? Why let me grow up not knowing what I am?"

"Because Mira hid you too well," Eryndisa says, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "She used old magic—blood magic—to conceal your presence even from those who were actively searching. She believed keeping you ignorant of your heritage would protect you. That if you never used your abilities, you would never draw attention."

"But my father found me anyway," I point out.

"Yes. Because blood calls to blood, as Thaerin said. Azrael has been searching for you since the moment Mira took you from him. It was only a matter of time." She leans forward intently. "But now you're here, where we can protect you and teach you to control your gifts."

"To fulfill your prophecy, you mean," Thorne interjects. "To be your weapon against Azrael and whatever he's planning."

Eryndisa's gaze hardens slightly. "To prevent the destruction of the barriers between realms. To stop beings like Azrael from invading and conquering worlds unable to defend against them. Yes, we hope Aria will choose to help us. But it must be her choice."

"The prophecy said 'by their hand shall paths be sealed or thrown wide,'" I note. "It doesn't actually say which choice is right."

A shadow passes over Eryndisa's face. "That's the nature of true prophecy. It tells what may be, not what should be. The choice will be yours, Aria. But understand this—if the barriers fall completely, if beings like your father gain unrestricted access to other realms, the consequences would be catastrophic. Worlds would fall. Millions would suffer."

"And if all pathways were sealed?" Thorne asks. "What then?"

"Balance would be restored, but at great cost. The natural flow between realms would cease. Those trapped on the wrong side of the barriers might never return home. And certain types of magic that depend on that flow would fade." She looks at me directly. "Including your own, eventually."

I think about this, trying to process the weight of what she's suggesting. "When is this supposed to happen? This… convergence?"

"The signs suggest soon. Very soon. The barrier weakening at Millhaven is only one of several similar occurrences across different regions. Your father's forces grow more active daily. And there have been… other omens."

"Such as?"

Eryndisa hesitates. "Dreams. Visions. Many among our seers report the same images—a red door opening, a world consumed by shadow and flame."

The red door from my dream. I shiver involuntarily.

"The Council will explain more," Eryndisa says, rising. "They've been preparing for this moment for generations. They have knowledge and resources I'm not privy to."

As we leave the pavilion, I catch Thorne's eye. His slight nod confirms what I'm thinking—there's still more Eryndisa isn't telling us. Whether out of caution or deception, I can't tell.

Back in the central chamber, activity has increased—robed figures hurrying between archways, carrying scrolls or mysterious objects wrapped in cloth. There's a tension in the air that wasn't present before.

"Rest and prepare yourselves," Eryndisa says. "Someone will come for you at dusk."

After she leaves, Thorne and I return to the gardens, finding a secluded spot where we can speak without being overheard.

"What do you think?" I ask once we're settled.

"I think we're being maneuvered," he replies bluntly. "The Accord clearly has plans for you that go beyond just protection. That prophecy is suspiciously convenient."

"But what my father showed me in the dream—the conquest, the subjugation. That seemed real."

"It probably is. Azrael's reputation is well-earned. He's conquered three minor realms that I know of, and attempted at least two others." Thorne's expression is grim. "But that doesn't mean the Accord's intentions are pure either. They've been waiting centuries for someone like you to appear. That kind of anticipation breeds… expectations."

I touch the pendant absently. "I wish my mother had left clearer instructions. Everything she told me was about running, hiding, surviving. Nothing about what to do if I was actually found."

"Perhaps she didn't know herself," Thorne suggests. "From what Eryndisa said, it sounds like Mira broke with the Accord's plans. She might not have trusted them any more than she trusted Azrael."

The System suddenly flashes a notification:

"NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: BLOOD SCRYING, Ability to use blood connection to glimpse current events related to blood relatives. Energy cost: Moderate to High (dependent on distance/connection strength). Risk: Low to Moderate (psychic feedback possible)."

"What is it?" Thorne asks, noticing my expression.

"A new ability just unlocked," I explain, showing him the notification. "Blood Scrying. I think… I think I might be able to see what my father is doing. Right now."

Thorne looks concerned. "Is that wise? He might sense the connection, use it to locate you."

"Or I might learn something critical. Something that could help us understand what's really happening." I meet his gaze. "I need to know more before facing this Council and their expectations."

After a moment's hesitation, he nods. "How does it work?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but…" I remove the pendant, turning it over in my palm. "Blood calls to blood. That's what they keep saying."

Following instinct, I prick my finger with Thorne's offered knife and allow a single drop of blood to fall onto the pendant's gem. Instead of staining it, the blood seems to sink into the blue crystal, turning it momentarily crimson before it returns to its normal color.

"Focus on who you want to see," Thorne suggests quietly.

I close my eyes, focusing on the image of my father from the dream—the tall figure with burning crimson eyes. The pendant grows warm in my hand, then hot, almost painfully so. A rushing sound fills my ears, like wind through a narrow passage.

When I open my eyes, I'm no longer seeing the garden. Instead, I'm looking at a vast chamber carved from black stone. Hundreds of beings stand in ordered ranks—some humanoid, others decidedly not. At their head stands my father, exactly as he appeared in my dream, addressing them in a language I shouldn't understand but somehow do.

"The time approaches," he's saying. "The veil weakens with each passing day. Our agent within the Accord confirms the Gatekeeper has been found. Soon, she will come to understand her true purpose."

Agent within the Accord? I focus harder, trying to hear more.

"The prophecy they cling to is a half-truth, created to serve our purposes," my father continues. "When the moment comes, my daughter will have no choice but to open the Final Gate. It is written in her blood, in the very magic of her creation."

He turns suddenly, his burning gaze seeming to look directly at me. A cold smile spreads across his face.

"Watching, are we?" he says softly. "Good. See what awaits, daughter. See the truth they hide from you."

He gestures, and the view shifts to show something that makes my blood freeze—a massive red door, identical to the one from my dream, partially materialized in what appears to be a vast cavern. Dozens of robed figures surround it, performing some kind of ritual. Their robes are gray, marked with the eclipsed moon symbol of the Twilight Accord.

"Your mother's former allies work to close what they don't understand," my father says. "They believe sealing the Final Gate will restore balance. They are fools. That gate existed before all others. It is the source from which all paths between realms spring. Closing it would not just restore barriers—it would sever all connections permanently. Many worlds would wither and die, cut off from the flow of energies they depend upon."

The vision begins to waver, the edges growing dark.

"Your precious Accord seeks to use you as the final key in their ritual of severance," his voice continues, growing fainter. "They created you for this purpose, just as much as I did. Ask them. Ask them what became of the previous Gatekeepers they found. Ask them what the fulfillment of prophecy truly requires…"

The vision shatters like glass, and I'm back in the garden, gasping. The pendant has grown cold in my hand, its blue light dimmed.

"Aria!" Thorne is gripping my shoulders, his face tight with concern. "What happened? You went rigid, then started shaking."

I tell him everything I saw and heard, my mind racing with implications. "What if he's telling the truth? What if closing this 'Final Gate' really would cause more harm than good? And what did he mean about previous Gatekeepers?"

Thorne's expression is grave. "I don't know, but we need to find out before this Council meeting. Something doesn't add up." He helps me to my feet. "Can you walk? We should explore this place while we can, see what else we can discover."

I nod, slipping the pendant back around my neck. It feels heavier somehow, the weight of unspoken truths pulling at me.

"Where do we start?"

"Libraries," Thorne says decisively. "Places of record. If the Accord has been planning for this prophecy for centuries, they'll have documented their previous efforts. And perhaps information about these other Gatekeepers your father mentioned."

We make our way back toward the central chamber, moving with purpose but trying not to attract attention. Most of the Accord members are too busy with their preparations to pay us much mind. In the central chamber, we study the twelve archways more carefully.

"There," Thorne murmurs, nodding toward one marked with a symbol resembling an open book. "That looks promising."

The archway leads to a long corridor lined with doors. We try several before finding what we're looking for—a vast circular room with shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with books, scrolls, and various artifacts. A handful of robed scholars work at tables scattered throughout the space, but none look up as we enter.

"Split up," Thorne suggests quietly. "Look for anything about the prophecy, Gatekeepers, or the Final Gate."

I nod, moving toward a section where older-looking volumes are stored. Using Observe, I scan titles quickly:

"OBSERVE ACTIVATED, Scanning library contents. Relevant works detected: 'Chronicles of the Veil: A History of Known Breaches', 'The Convergence Cycle: Patterns of Prophetic Fulfillment', 'Blood Magic and Realm Binding: Theoretical Applications.'"

I pull "The Convergence Cycle" from the shelf, finding a secluded corner to examine it. The book is old, its binding cracked with age. The text inside is dense, written in a formal style that makes parsing difficult. But certain passages stand out with chilling clarity:

"The prophecy speaks of a Gatekeeper born of two realms, but history has shown that such beings appear approximately once per century. Not all possess the necessary strength or bloodline purity to serve as the Final Key. Previous subjects have been tested and found wanting."

I flip forward several pages:

"The Second Trial of Convergence (473 A.F.) resulted in the dissolution of Subject Maevis when attempting to seal the Lesser Gates. Though of mixed blood (human-fae), her essence proved insufficient to bind the necessary energies."

And further still:

"Subject Kieron (612 A.F.), while initially promising, rejected the Council's guidance and attempted to flee. Containment protocols were enacted. His energies, while insufficient for complete Convergence, provided valuable data on the binding requirements for the Final Gate."

My blood runs cold. Containment protocols? Dissolution? These clinical descriptions sound more like experiments than allies. I continue reading, finding similar accounts of other "subjects" throughout the centuries—mixed-blood beings with gateway abilities, all seemingly used in attempts to fulfill this prophecy. None survived the experience.

Across the room, I see Thorne beckoning urgently from behind a tall shelf. I replace the book carefully and make my way to him, trying to appear casual.

"Found something," he whispers, showing me an ancient scroll partially unrolled on a small table. "Original text of the prophecy, I think. There's more to it than what Eryndisa recited."

The scroll contains the verses Eryndisa shared, but below them are additional lines:

"The Key must be forged in sorrow and pain,

Then broken upon the Final Gate.

Only through sacrifice shall balance remain,

As life's blood seals the realms' fate."

I stare at the words, my breath catching in my throat. "Broken? Life's blood? This isn't talking about using my abilities—it's talking about sacrificing me."

Thorne's expression darkens. "That changes things considerably." He glances toward the scholars across the room. "We need to leave before someone notices what we're reading."

As we carefully roll the scroll and return it to its place, a notification flashes before my eyes:

"You've leveled up. You are now Level 3. All attributes increased by 1. New skill point available. New ability slot unlocked."

"New skill point, new ability slot… This could be huge."

I glance over my options, wondering which path to take next. Truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing or becoming.

Is there a right or wrong choice to this ?