"You look so handsome, young lord Alane,believe me, if Lady Irina saw you, she'd be flattered by your looks."
The maid, likely in her mid-twenties, spoke with a radiant smile that could brighten the dim morning light. She adjusted his collar, the final touch to his carefully tailored birthday attire.
Alane gave a shy smile, his steel-blue eyes catching the light in the fancy mirror. His black hair, neatly combed, framed his noble face.
At twelve years old today, he was almost a man, and his shaking hands showed how big this moment felt.
"Thank you, Linda." His voice remained soft, always polite.
Linda, his nanny, who stood nearby with a kind smile. Her brown hair was held back with the flower-shaped clip he'd given her years ago,a present for her constant care. Linda's eyes shone with pride, but there was also a tinge of concern.
Alane's smile dimmed as he turned back to face the mirror. His chest tightened, and he saw a boy caught between fear and excitement in his reflection. It was more than just a birthday today.
Today, he would face the sacred Rite of Ascension , the trial that would decide his future.
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 she saw her son, her grey eyes softened.
"Mother!"
His nerves temporarily vanished as he rushed to her.
With her black hair in a braid, Sauvanne knelt down and brushed a stray lock off his forehead.
"Happy birthday, my dearest," she said, her voice gentle and loving. She kissed his cheek, her hand resting on his shoulder.
"You look magnificent."
Alane felt a surge of pride in his chest. "Thank you, Mom. I..... I think I'm ready.
Although there was a hint of concern in her eyes, her lips formed a knowing smile.
"Alane, the Rite of Ascension is an important event. Are you really ready for this?"
"This day has been in my dreams for years. I have faith that the gods will lead me. As they said, Lord Suarus himself will pick me."
Sauvanne laughed softly and with adoration. She stood and put a hand on his back, saying, "Nice Alane."
"Everything is prepared for the ceremony by your father. Don't make him wait. We'll celebrate with a Fitzgerald-caliber feast tonight."
Alane gave an enthusiastic nod, and they entered the Fitzgerald manor's opulent hall. As they went by, knights and servants paused to bow, their voices full of well wishes.
"May your blessing shine brightly, young lord."
"Lord Alane, happy birthday."
With his noble manners and genuine kindness, he nodded and grinned warmly at each one.
Everyone in the duchy loved him, not just because he was the eldest son of Duke Thomas and Duchess Sauvanne, but because he treated everyone, from stablehands to knights, with respect.
The large doors creaked open, revealing gardens ablaze with color, with purple irises, yellow marigolds, and red roses planted for the celebration that night. A sleek black carriage with armored guards mounted on horses, their armor shining in the early morning light.
Alane's sharp eyes spotted his father on the cobblestone path. Duke Thomas Fitzgerald stood there as his blond hair tied back, his blue eyes giving clear orders to the guards. He looked powerful, but his warmth showed when he turned to see his son.
"Father!" Alane called, running to him.
Thomas's serious face softened into a proud smile. He placed a strong hand on Alane's shoulder, his voice steady but full of feeling.
"My boy, look at you. Ready to meet the gods?"
Alane's chest puffed up. "More than ready, Father."
Thomas's eyes softened, and he squeezed Alane's shoulder.
"This day is yours, Alane. The Rite will show your path. Whatever blessing you receive, know that you are a Fitzgerald, and that is enough."
"I'll make you proud. I'll definitely get the only chosen blessing, Father."
Thomas smiled broadly and gestured toward the carriage. "So let's not keep the gods waiting."
The moment weighed heavily on Alane as he and his family climbed into the carriage.
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.
It was Alane Fitzgerald's turn today. He quietly believed that the most revered god of all, Saurus, the God of the Sun, would be the one to choose him.
The carriage rolled through Aderoda's cobbled streets, past stone courtyards and busy markets, as the morning sun bathed the city in gold. Inside sat Duke Thomas Fitzgerald, his wife Sauvanne, their youngest son Kaeln, and the boy of the hour, Alane Fitzgerald, peering out with quiet anticipation.
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 astonished eyes, Alane was the first to step down. But he noticed something.
A commoner boy, around his age, was running out of the church excitedly, his hand extended to show a glowing mark: a cracked stone circle with roots spreading outward , the blessing seal of Dundhor, God of Earth.
"Dad, I am blessed with an uncommon!" The boy literally bounced with joy, "I can finally become a knight!" With tears of happiness, his parents proudly embraced him.
Alane watched them with a faint smile.
A robed church official hurried up towards Dukes family.
"Lord Duke, I sincerely apologize for the wait. You were anticipated earlier."
The Duke returned a calm, measured nod , the composure of a man born to lead. After that, the family was led through enormous stained glass murals of the Twelve Gods, each pane glistening with divine hues, as they passed through the center of Concordia.
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, it is. And the prophecy describes a person born into Fitzgerald's lineage who will bear the light of the sun."
Alane's heart pounded in his chest. He had heard those words since he was a child. He was brought up for this. This was the result of everything, including the private tutors, the combat training, the etiquette classes, and everyone referring to him as the golden heir.
He turned to his parents. They shared his strong belief and stood with pride.
The High Priest said, "Come, young Lord Alane."
"The Twelve are waiting at the Altar."
With his polished boots resonating on the marble floor, Alane squared his shoulders and followed despite his racing heart. His family followed, with Kaeln, who was one year younger than Alane, smiling with excitement and Duchess Sauvanne's hand lightly touching her youngest son's shoulder.
"Good luck, brother!" With an enthusiasm in his voice, Kaeln called.
Alane looked back with a quick smile and a firm nod. With a quiet, "thank you, Kaeln," he turned to face the front.
The doors opened into a vast, semicircular chamber. Twelve tall silhouette portraits of the gods, each framed in gold and lit by a flaming torch above, lined the curved walls of the Altar of the Twelve, a sacred awe.
At the center stood a simple marble dais.
The dais was indicated by the priest. "Young lord, kneel down here and pray for the Twelve. A god will light a torch and mark you with their seal if they think you are worthy."
As Alane took a step forward, his throat constricted. He clasped his hands together and knelt on the chilly marble.
He closed his eyes and started muttering the holy prayers he had learned years before, each one a request for God's guidance.
"O Lords of Lavrios, hear my heart. Grant me your light, your strength, your will…" His voice, though soft, carried a fervent hope, his entire being focused on the image of Suarus, the Sun God.
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.
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…"