Part 4 – The Choosing

The Wizards’ ultimatum sent a shockwave through the highest echelons of Lemurian power. General Kaelen was apoplectic, demanding the Wizards be arrested for treason. But in the end, desperation won. With the armies of The Hoard advancing daily, the Grand Council had no choice but to acquiesce to the Wizards’ demand. A decree was issued: all citizens of Eldoria were to assemble in the Grand Plaza at midday for a sacred Choosing Ceremony.

The news was met with a mixture of fear and a desperate, fragile hope. In the market district, Sheral and her family heard the summons. “More theatrics from the Council,” Sheral’s father grumbled.

“Have faith,” her mother urged. Sheral felt a strange, inexplicable trepidation as she walked with her parents toward the city’s heart.

The Grand Plaza was a breathtaking sight, a vast, circular expanse of polished, iridescent stone, now filled with the entire population of Eldoria. On a high, crystalline dais at the plaza’s center, the key players were assembled. The Grand Council stood in a solemn row. Before them, his expression radiating supreme confidence, was General Kaelen, looking every bit the champion-in-waiting. To one side, Master Elara and the order of Wizards guarded a single, floating plinth, on which rested a shape shrouded in a simple cloth.

Sheral, a face lost in a sea of thousands, stood with her parents far in the back of the crowd, a mere spectator to the momentous event.

Elder Theron, his ancient face lined with the sorrow of the ongoing war, stepped forward. His voice, magically amplified, was a calm, resonant baritone that washed over the silent, anxious crowd.

“Sons and daughters of Lemuria,” he began, his voice heavy but clear. “We gather today under the shadow of a war we did not seek. A war brought to our shores by one of our own, who has armed hatred with the tools of our genius. Our armies fight with a courage that will be sung of for ages, but they face an enemy that is numberless, a tide of savagery that seeks to extinguish our light.”

He paused, letting the weight of the truth settle over the plaza.

“For weeks, your Council has debated the path forward. We have reached the limits of conventional warfare. And so, in our desperation, we have tasked our most brilliant minds, our Wizards, with forging a new hope. A last resort. A weapon, yes, but more than a weapon. A vessel of immense power, capable of turning the very tide of this war.”

A hopeful murmur rippled through the crowd. Theron raised a hand for silence.

“But listen closely, for this is a truth you must all understand. Power of this magnitude cannot be commanded like a soldier. It must be bestowed. It cannot be seized by the fist of the strong; it must be accepted by the heart of the worthy. To give such power to one who is not pure of spirit would be to trade one warlord for another, and doom our civilization to a rot from within. Therefore, today, we do not choose a wielder. Today, we ask the very spirit of Lemuria to show us its champion.”

Theron stepped back. A wave of awe and confused cheering swept the crowd. All eyes turned to General Kaelen, who accepted their adoration with a proud, confident nod. He was the obvious choice, their greatest warrior. He turned his expectant gaze to the Wizards.

Master Elara stepped forward and, with a dramatic flourish, pulled the cloth from the plinth.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. There, hovering in a gentle containment field, were the Artifacts of Power. The belt and choker shimmered, their gems of brilliant, untainted white pulsing with the soft, pure light of a newborn star.

At a nod from Elara, the containment field dissolved. The two artifacts lifted into the air, free. They hovered for a moment, then began to move, gliding directly towards the dais, towards General Kaelen.

A victorious smirk touched the General’s lips. He raised a gauntleted hand, ready to receive his destiny.

But then, just feet from his outstretched fingers, the artifacts stopped. They seemed to pause, to consider him. Then, as if finding him wanting, they veered sharply away.

A murmur of stunned confusion rippled through the plaza. Kaelen’s face cycled from triumph to disbelief, and then to a mask of dark, humiliated rage.

The artifacts paid him no mind. They began to drift slowly, methodically, over the massive crowd, which held its breath in a silent, collective plea. They drifted on, towards the back of the plaza, over the common folk, over the artisans and the laborers. They passed over the weavers of the Crimea clan’s district.

Then, they stopped.

They were hovering directly above the head of a stunned, terrified, seventeen-year-old girl.

The silence in Sheral’s section of the crowd was absolute. People instinctively backed away, creating a circle of empty space around her and her shocked parents. She looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs, at the two impossible, glowing objects descending towards her.

Her hands, guided by an instinct she didn’t understand, rose to meet them.

The Artifacts of Power settled gently, almost reverently, into Sheral Crimea’s trembling hands. The moment she touched them, the pure white gems flared with a brilliant, welcoming light that enveloped her completely.

Palace guards were already moving, parting the stunned crowd to escort the girl and her family to the dais. The chapter of her old life was over. The chapter of a legend was about to begin. And the entire city, from the furious General to the awestruck Elders, stared in utter disbelief at the small, frightened girl who was now the chosen champion of Lemuria.