Chapter 8: The Rite of Wills

Morning dawned upon the royal palace with a quiet, tense anticipation. Servants moved swiftly through marble corridors, polishing brass sconces and lighting tall ceremonial torches with oils of pine and amber. Emerald and silver banners were unfurled along the grand halls, each bearing the sigil of House Daelion – the Verdant Crown entwined with the Serpent of Wisdom.

Throughout the castle, whispers floated among pages and disciples alike:

"The Rite of Wills is near…"

"Tomorrow the princes will enter the Sanctum."

"I wonder what blessings they will claim."

The Chamber of Verdance was alive with hushed conversations and rustling robes. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows depicting the Tree of Wills, casting deep green and silver patterns upon the obsidian floor. The scent of myrrh and pine resin curled through the air from brass braziers.

The grand oaken doors opened with solemn weight, silencing the room.

Doster entered first, walking with quiet certainty. Beside him strode Lyo, his friend whose storm-touched eyes and slight build belied the deep strength within – the boy who could hear what the world itself whispered. Lyo's calm presence grounded Doster, a silent bond formed since that storm-choked evening in the market alleys when they had found him broken yet unbowed.

At Doster's other side walked Kain, a broad-shouldered disciple from the Hall of Disciples who admired Doster's discipline and unwavering resolve.

Behind them came Arnold, his gaze curious yet shadowed by thought. To his right walked Tyra Halwen, tall for her age, wild auburn hair cascading down her back, golden eyes glimmering with quiet defiance. She was the drake tamer who had walked out of the shadows with Neza at her side, the girl who spoke to wildness as though it were kin. To Arnold, she was both protector and friend – someone who spoke to him as though he were not a prince, but simply… Arnold.

On his left was Noir, the dark-haired boy with storm-grey eyes who had become Arnold's quiet shadow since their earliest sparring sessions, always watchful, always silent.

Both princes wore ceremonial tunics: Doster in deep teal embroidered with gold, Arnold in silver-grey lined with faint blue threads. Their companions wore simpler disciple robes, marking them as respected yet subordinate presences.

At the dais sat King Kaelion, regal and solemn upon his ironwood throne, robed in deep emerald lined with gold filigree. His pale grey eyes were sharp with command yet softened with quiet fatherly pride as he studied his sons.

To his right stood Master Razdan, draped in deep blue robes etched with glowing runes, his staff topped with a crystal pulsing faintly with arcane light. To Kaelion's left stood General Morris, arms crossed calmly, his polished black armour catching the flickering torchlight.

Kaelion's deep voice resonated through the silent hall.

"My sons. Tomorrow dawns your Rite of Wills. You shall enter the Sanctum of Eternal Wills, where the Divinity will grant you fragments of its infinite power – blessings that will shape who you are and what Daelion shall become."

His gaze drifted to Razdan and Morris before returning to his sons.

"As I once chose my own partisans – Razdan to be my wisdom, Morris to be my arm – so too shall you choose your Eternal Partisans. They shall walk with you into every shadow and every dawn. They will be your reach beyond your own, your will enacted when your hand cannot."

As Kaelion spoke, Master Razdan's gaze lingered upon Arnold. His ancient eyes narrowed faintly, sensing… something. A flicker, subtle and undefined, brushed against his perception – like a note out of tune in a perfectly composed melody.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of Razdan's lips. Whether it was amusement, curiosity, or something deeper remained unclear.

"There is… something within this boy," he thought silently. "But what, even I cannot yet see."

He inclined his head slightly toward Arnold in quiet acknowledgment. To others, it appeared a courteous gesture. But to Arnold, it felt as though Razdan's gaze passed through flesh and bone into something hidden. A faint chill prickled along his spine. He shifted uncomfortably, unable to name the unease rising within him.

Noir noticed Arnold's discomfort, stepping a little closer, his storm-grey eyes narrowing protectively at Razdan.

Tyra glanced at Razdan sharply before leaning in to whisper to Arnold, "Don't let his stare freeze your courage." Her voice, though soft, burned with quiet resolve.

Lyo stood beside Doster, silent and unmoving, his keen senses listening beyond spoken words, while Kain leaned in with a faint grin and whispered, "Tomorrow begins your legend, Doster."

Kaelion rose from his throne, robes pooling regally at his feet as the chamber held its breath.

"Tomorrow, at dawn, you shall enter the Sanctum. You will choose your Wills, and you will name your Partisans. Choose with wisdom… for what is granted by the Divinity cannot be undone, nor can its price be refused."

As they bowed and turned to leave, Doster's eyes lingered upon a mural near the dais – a king reaching into a swirling pool of black liquid, his reflection twisted into a monstrous shape. A chill settled in his chest.

"Is this what Razdan's warnings meant…? That the price of power is becoming its prisoner…?"

His thoughts drifted to tomorrow's ceremony. What blessing would strengthen me the most…? Who among those I trust could bear the weight of being my Partisan…? His gaze flicked briefly to Lyo walking beside him, silent and steady as always. Would Lyo accept such a bond… or would it bind him to chains he never asked for?

Beside him, Arnold walked silently, eyes unfocused, lost in thought. The echo of Kaelion's words reverberated in his mind:

"Choose with wisdom… for what is granted by the Divinity cannot be undone."

He wondered what blessings the Divinity would offer him. A power to protect… or to heal… or to command the storms? His eyes drifted to Tyra, who walked just ahead, her auburn hair catching the torchlight like living flame, and to Noir at his side, his silent shadow. Would they… would they want to stand as my Partisans?

The thought of asking them brought a nervous flutter to his chest. He did not know if he deserved their loyalty in such a sacred bond.

Behind them, Master Razdan watched Arnold retreat into the sunlit corridor, his faint smile lingering like a shadow only he could see.

"Let them wonder," he mused silently. "For choice is the birthplace of both greatness… and ruin."