"You're the Cursed one"
Alane jolted upright as the word echoed in his mind, gasping, his breath ragged, his eyes snapping open.
Cold sweat trickled down his thin cheeks and beaded on his forehead. Yes, it was a nightmare, but it was also a memory that made his heart race.
His steel-blue eyes blinked as he looked around him in the dim, foul-smelling cavern. He had grown indifferent to the smell of perspiration, wet stone, and hopelessness that pervaded the atmosphere over the years.
As he lay on the cold, hard floor, dozens of slaves slept around him, their ragged breaths a grim chorus in the darkness.
There were no comforts or blankets, only the hard bite of stone against his bony body. The heavy iron chains that bound his hands, thin and calloused from years of hard work in the mines, clinked softly as he moved. A slave collar bit into his skin around his neck.
However, his life had been very different six years ago. As the heir to a dukedom, Alane had been a nobleman with a promising future. He had been cast into this miserable life by a single, terrible event that had robbed him of his freedom, his family, and his title.
He still remembered that day clearly. Because, it's not a memory to forget, but a nightmare.
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"You look sharp, young lord," Linda said, her smile warm as she adjusted Alane's collar, the final touch to his tailored birthday attire. Her brown hair, pinned with the flower clip he'd gifted her years ago, caught the dim morning light.
Alane, twelve today, managed a shy grin, his steel-blue eyes glinting in the ornate mirror. His black hair was neatly combed, framing a face still soft with youth but sharp with purpose. His hands trembled from the weight of what lay ahead.
"Thanks, Linda," he said softly, always polite.
Linda, his nanny, watched him with pride tinged with worry. "Big day," she murmured, her voice catching. "You ready?"
Alane nodded, though his chest tightened. Today wasn't just his birthday. It was the Rite of Ascension, the sacred trial that would change his destiny.
Knock knock
A knock on the door broke the stillness of his spacious, opulently furnished bedroom.
"I'll get it," said the maid softly. She walked across the velvet carpet and opened the door, revealing Duchess Sauvanne Fitzgerald. She entered with the grace of a queen.
When her eyes lay down upon the elegantly dressed boy...
Alane's face lit up. "Mother!"
She knelt, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead and kissing his cheek. "Happy birthday, my dearest," she said, her voice velvet-smooth. "You look magnificent."
"I think I'm ready," Alane whispered.
Her expression softened. "The Rite is a sacred thing. Are you ready, truly?"
He nodded, chest tightening. "The gods will choose me. Lord Suarus himself will pick me. I believe that."
Sauvanne chuckled gently. "Of course. Our golden heir." She stood and offered her hand. "Your father is waiting. Let's not be late."
Alane gave an enthusiastic nod, and they entered the grand hall of the Fitzgerald manor, knights and servants stopped to bow, their voices full of well wishes. "Young lord, may your blessing shine."
Alane gave each a nod, his smile sincere. He had always been kind to servents, knights and even stablehands, winning their affection as Alane wasn't just the duke's son.
Outside, the gardens blazed with color—irises, marigolds, roses planted for tonight's celebration.
Armoured guards stood on either side of a sleek black carriage. As he gave orders, Duke Thomas Fitzgerald stood on the cobblestone path with his blue eyes and blond hair tied back. His stern face broke into a rare smile upon seeing Alane.
"Father!" Alane ran to him.
Thomas touched Alane's shoulder. "Boy, are you ready to meet the gods?"
Alane stood taller and said, "More than ready."
"The Chosen Blessing will be given to me. The light of Suarus"
Thomas's eyes grew gentler. "You're a Fitzgerald. Champion Blessing or common blessing, we'll be happy with anything."
Despite his clenched jaw, Alane nodded and climbed into the carriage with his family.
In the vast continent of Lavrios, every child has to take part in the sacred and obligatory Rite of Ascension when they turn twelve. On that day, one of the Twelve Gods bestows upon them a blessing, a gift from God. Everything is determined by that blessing, including their status, fate, and life's course.
Alane had been raised for this, groomed to bear Suarus's light, the Sun God's Champion. The prophecy spoke of a Fitzgerald born to carry it. It had to be him.
The carriage rolled through Aderoda's cobbled streets, the morning sun gilding the city. Alane peered out, his family quiet around him, his parents steady, his younger brother Kaeln fidgeting with excitement.
After nearly an hour, the carriage slowed before Concordia Church , a grand sanctuary of gleaming white marble and golden spires.
Concordia was a neutral sanctuary that existed in each region, in contrast to the separate temples devoted to the Twelve Gods. More significantly, unlike the separate temples of each god, Concordia honored all Twelve together.
It was the official location for the Rite of Ascension.
With his boots clicking on the polished stone, Alane was the first to step down. But he noticed something.
A boy of his age bounded through the cathedral doors, a green sigil glimmering in his hand like roots sprouting from a circle of cracked stone.
"Dundhor's blessing! It's Uncommon blessing, I can become an official knight with this!" As his parents embraced him, he yelled while giggling.
Alane observed them for a while. After that, he straightened his back.
An official in robes rushed to meet them. "I sincerely apologize, Lord Duke. You were expected earlier."
They were guided through the enormous halls, where the holy marble floor was illuminated by rainbow-colored stained-glass murals of each god.
The church was magnificent inside. Holy sigils carved into the marble floor, floating orbs of sacred aether, and vaulted ceilings. A glimmer of divinity filled the air.
The High Priest, an elderly man dressed in ceremonial gold and white, stood at the far end, atop a raised altar.
With a kind, practiced smile, he said, "Welcome, young Lord Alane."
"Happy twelfth birthday, too. A worthy event for a worthy child."
Alane bowed in a manner he had practiced.
The priest gave a small chuckle. "Are you aware of the significance of today's ceremony?"
Alane raised his head. His tone was composed and assured.
"Yes."
He had studied the types well: Common, Uncommon, Rare, and the fabled Legendary also called the Champion.
Legendary bestowed only upon the Chosen. One per god. Passed only when the previous bearer died.
Currently, the Champion for Lord Suarus is empty.
The priest nodded, clearly impressed.
Alane's gaze lingered on the golden mural behind the altar , the image of Suarus, the Sun God, haloed in radiant fire.
"The current Chosen of Suarus…" he paused, "…is still vacant, is it?"
The priest nodded solemnly.
"Yes," the priest said gravely. "And the prophecy speaks of a Fitzgerald bearing his light."
Alane's heart pounded. This was his destiny, every tutor, every sword lesson, every prayer had led here. He glanced at his parents, their pride a silent vow, and at Kaeln, who grinned. "Good luck, brother!" Kaeln called.
Alane flashed a quick smile. "Thanks, Kaeln."
The priest guided him to the Altar of the Twelve, a vast chamber lined with golden portraits of the gods, each lit by a torch. At its center, a marble dais waited. "Kneel and pray," the priest said. "If the gods find you worthy, a torch will flare, and their sigil will mark you."
Alane's throat tightened as he knelt, the marble cold beneath him. He clasped his hands and whispered the prayers he'd memorized, each word a plea. "O Lords of Lavrios, grant me your light, your strength…" His mind fixed on Suarus, radiant and unyielding.
With an invisible presence, the air became heavy. With the exception of Alane's hushed prayers and the slight crackle of the torches, the room became quiet.
Then there was a low hum that shook the room, and everyone in the room gasped.
Unaware of the chaos, Alane closed his eyes and prayed. All twelve torches roared to life above him, their flames rushing with unnatural intensity,emerald, crimson, azure, and blinding gold, each burning brighter than the last.
Wild shadows writhed like living things in the overwhelming light. While Sauvanne clutched Kaeln's shoulder and her eyes widened in terror, the priest stumbled back, his face going white.
Then, all twelve torches vanished at once , swallowed by darkness, followed by a tremor that shook the altar. The faint clink of cooling metal was the only sound to break the deafening silence.
Only the faint glow of aether orbs floating overhead illuminated the pitch-black room.
Alane opened her eyes. Confused, he gazed at the charred torches.
He got to his feet and looked at the silent portraits of the gods, whispering, "What…?" his voice trembling.
The High Priest stepped back again, his face drenched in sweat. He had presided over countless Rites in his sixty-seven years, but he had never witnessed this. As he spoke, his voice trembled, barely rising above a whisper.
"The Cursed one…"