Cealith's POV
The flickering flame of the candle before me danced gently, casting elongated shadows across ancient pages of forgotten texts. My eyes wandered over words written thousands of years ago—words penned by trembling hands that had long since returned to dust. The quiet of this chamber had become as familiar as the rhythm of my own breath, each page a memory, each book a remnant of eras no one else had lived through but myself.
Ten thousand years.
Such time had a way of dulling even the sharpest edges of memory. Yet, somehow, the most painful ones remained vivid, etched permanently in my consciousness. I traced my fingers lightly across the worn parchment, feeling its delicate fibers beneath my touch, and allowed myself a moment of fleeting nostalgia.
The events earlier this evening lingered stubbornly in my mind—a powerful burst of Holy Essence, one that I knew, beyond any doubt, could shake the foundations of our carefully maintained balance. It was impossible, unprecedented even. Something like that should not have occurred, at least not now, not here. But the universe, in all its infinite irony, seemed to delight in testing my patience yet again.
A sigh escaped me as I rose slowly from the chair, my limbs moving with the practiced grace of centuries. Age had granted me knowledge, and immortality gifted me strength, yet I felt weary. A quiet ache, subtle but persistent, pulsed within my bones, reminding me of the immense passage of time I'd endured. Immortality, I often reflected, was far less glamorous than the younger races imagined it to be.
I crossed the room to a polished mirror framed in ancient silver, adorned with delicate elven engravings depicting the moons and stars—symbols of a homeland long lost. My reflection gazed back, unchanging: smooth skin untouched by time, silver hair cascading down my shoulders like moonlight itself, eyes sharp and clear but bearing the unshakeable weight of countless lifetimes.
"You have lingered too long, old friend," I murmured softly, addressing my own reflection. It offered no response, only stared silently back, as it always had.
Turning away from the mirror, I allowed my eyes to drift across the room—a place I'd dwelled in longer than any mortal could conceive. Shelves lined with meticulously ordered books reached upward, their spines cracked and faded. Each volume represented fragments of history, truths guarded from generations who lacked the wisdom or strength to bear their weight.
Outside, night blanketed Reslau Academy in its comforting darkness. My feet moved instinctively toward the large balcony, and I stepped out to greet the cool night air. The academy sprawled before me, silent, bathed in the soft, silver glow of the twin moons overhead. Towering spires stretched into the heavens, while manicured gardens lay in shadowed repose, their paths deserted at this late hour.
It was strange to imagine that this place—my home for thousands of years—would soon continue without me. By next year, the mantle I had borne for so long would pass to another. The knowledge I'd carefully cultivated, protected, and reluctantly shared, was already nestled within the hearts and minds of my chosen successors—the Top 4, as the younger generations called them.
A wistful pang tightened in my chest. Soon I would step aside, vanish quietly, and allow another generation to shape the fate of this world. But first, I had to ensure they knew the truths hidden from even their keenest perceptions. Secrets I alone had carried all these millennia—secrets that were mine alone to share or withhold.
For ten thousand years, I alone had guarded the reality of our existence, the origins of Essence itself. I alone had walked this earth since the time before Essence flowed within mortal veins. How long had I waited, watching silently as darkness rose and fell like relentless tides, each wave stronger, each battle more desperate?
My mind wandered to the last great conflict five years ago. Humanity and its allies had barely survived the wrath of darkness—saved, at great cost, by arkan, the shadowborn. A warrior of unparalleled skill whose strength still perplexed me. Yet, even he was just another temporary respite, another frail barricade against an unending storm.
These creatures—these shadows that crawled relentlessly from unknown voids—had driven lesser minds to madness. Scholars speculated endlessly on their origin. Religious zealots called them punishment from the gods, while mages considered them products of uncontrolled Essence. But I had grown weary of theories. Ten thousand years had taught me only one thing about the darkness: each return was more ferocious, more devastating. As if they were learning from our defenses, evolving, becoming stronger.
What troubled me most was not knowing if they were a natural phenomenon or punishment, or perhaps something altogether more sinister. My heart, ancient and guarded, ached with the burden of uncertainty. Madness had crept dangerously close more than once. Only my stubborn determination and perhaps arrogance had kept it at bay. But even I had limits.
My fingertips brushed lightly against a small carving resting upon a marble pedestal nearby—a delicate piece depicting a group of human youths. It had been years since I allowed myself to reflect upon their brief intrusion into my life. Carmen, with her unwavering strength and kindness; Nikita, whose courage overshadowed even his considerable skill; Amina and Daisuke, whose warmth and camaraderie had felt strangely comforting.
And Aleks.
Aleks, my... friend. My best friend, perhaps, though I never spoke those words aloud.
He was the quiet light none of us fully realized we orbited. Not the loudest, nor the strongest, nor the wisest, and yet somehow… he was the axis around which everything turned. Without trying, without knowing, he brought us together. Without him, we would have drifted—just fragments of a broken generation bound for war.
He was the first to fall asleep during those rare moments of peace. Always pretending he wasn't tired, always claiming he'd just close his eyes "for a second." He never did last long.
I remember one night, the rest of us stayed up after he'd passed out near the bonfire. It was quiet, stars flickering above us. We talked about leaving, about disappearing into some distant forest where the war couldn't find us. Carmen even joked about opening a tavern. Nikita said he'd be the bouncer. Daisuke ,calculating the statistical chances of the business actually succeeding—with a stick, in the dirt, like it was some sacred formula. I just watched them.
And when Amina looked down at Aleks, asleep with his arms curled beneath his head, she smiled and said something I never forgot.
"He makes it feel like we're a family."
She was right. For all my years, all my wisdom, I never understood that feeling—not truly—not until then.
He reminded me what it meant to belong. What it meant to be... alive.
Perhaps that was why, when the time came, I obeyed him.Aleks had looked me in the eye—calm, resolute—and told me to go."Get out of here. Tell the others. If we all fall here and no one knows, this was for nothing."Those were his words.
And I listened.
I told myself it was strategy. That someone had to survive. That the knowledge I carried was too important to die with me.
But deep down... I still wonder if that was just cowardice, dressed in logic.
I should have argued.I should have stayed.
He gave the order like a soldier, but he was still just a boy. My friend.
Even now, ten thousand years later, I still hear his voice, steady in the chaos, as the world collapsed around us.
And it still burns.
The brief time I'd spent with them had left an impression upon me deeper than expected. They were mortal, flawed, and so painfully human—and yet, perhaps because of it, they'd touched upon something within me that no other beings had in thousands of years.
I blinked slowly, startled by a sudden, unfamiliar sensation—a gentle warmth rolling down my cheek. Hesitantly, I touched my fingertips to my face, withdrawing them to stare at a single droplet glistening faintly in the moonlight.
A tear.
I frowned, uncertain how to respond to something I had forgotten how to feel. Emotion, genuine and raw, was an alien concept now. And yet, as I gazed at that solitary tear, I understood something had irrevocably shifted within me. It was a sign.
The time for hesitation had passed. It was finally time to share the truth that had burdened me for ten thousand years.
Slowly, deliberately, I moved back inside, slipping into formal robes. I knew exactly whom I needed to speak with: one of the Top 4, my trusted successor, who would inherit all I'd built.
The halls of the Academy were empty as I walked through them, my footsteps echoing softly against polished marble floors. Each step resonated with quiet resolve. The revelation I was about to share would alter everything; it would reshape their understanding of the world, of Essence, of existence itself.
Yet, it had to be done.
Soon, I arrived at a chamber adorned with flowing silks and crystalline lanterns. My chosen successor, Seraphina, a young woman whose wisdom far surpassed her years, turned in surprise as I entered. She bowed her head slightly in respect, curiosity clear in her eyes.
"Master Cealith," she spoke quietly, her voice filled with gentle reverence. "What brings you here at this hour?"
"It is time," I replied softly, my voice carrying the weight of millennia. "The truths I have guarded for too long must finally be spoken."
Her eyes widened slightly, confusion mixing with a careful eagerness. "Master?"
I raised a hand gently to still her questions. "Before Essence flowed in our veins—before it even existed—there was another truth. Tonight, I shall share with you not only the origins of Essence but the origins of our world itself. You must carry this burden now."
Seraphina opened her mouth to speak, her expression a mask of reverent awe and uncertainty, but before a single word could escape, hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway, abruptly shattering the delicate moment.
The chamber doors burst open, revealing breathless scouts, their faces tense and anxious.
"Master Cealith!" one exclaimed, urgency straining his voice. "We have searched everywhere! It's urgent—the surge of Holy Essence you sensed earlier, we found its source. It's beyond anything we have encountered. You must come now!"
My heart tightened as I met the eyes of my successor, silently communicating the severity of the interruption. With slow, deliberate calm, I turned to face the scouts.
"Then," I whispered, voice steady yet burdened, "it appears the truth must wait a little longer. Let us see what manner of being commands such impossible power."