Kapitel 1: The Awakening Ceremony [Part 1]
The ceremonial drums echoed through the streets like a relentless heartbeat, their pounding rhythm surging from head to head in the tightly packed crowd.
Their source might have been lost, but their weight was inescapable, hammering against the ears of the city.
Colors—vivid and clashing—swirled through the cobblestone streets. Suits of silk, tunics of linen, and glittering jewelry mingled with weathered faces and wide, eager eyes.
Horse-drawn carriages, their metal alloy wheels catching the light, rolled through the crowd at a deliberate pace.
A distant train whistle screamed through the air, its cry demanding attention.
Every soul in the city seemed to pause and acknowledge the announcement, the weight of its arrival settling like dust on a page.
Among the carriages, one shone brighter than the rest, a beacon of wealth and authority. Its golden surface reflected the sun with such brilliance that people shielded their eyes, forced to glance away before returning to gaze in envy.
Adorning its sides was the unmistakable sigil of the Dukedom of Veyne: a lion's head pierced by a long, gleaming sword.
Inside, the air was heavy.
A young boy sat on a plush red seat, his posture stiff, his chin resting on clasped hands, which in turn rested atop the hilt of a sword.
His scarlet eyes stared distantly out the window, their focus lost in the blur of movement outside. His jet-black hair fell just below his cheeks, strands rebelliously slipping free from the tie that bound the rest behind his head.
Though unintentional, the defiant wisps softened his sharp features, lending him a look of effortless grace.
"Young Master."
The voice broke the silence, soft yet insistent.
A blonde woman dressed in a maid's uniform sat across from him, her blue eyes fixed on his face. There was care in her gaze, but it brimmed with a stubbornness that refused to be ignored.
"You need not worry about your brother. He will be at the ceremony before he leaves. Your father left early for a meeting with the other nobles."
"I'm not worried about anything, Relisé," Auren replied curtly, his tone flat but firm.
Relisé frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. She leaned forward slightly, her concern unwavering.
"You say that, but you look like the weight of the empire is on your shoulders. Maybe you could start by relaxing against your seat?"
He ignored her, his gaze drifting back to the bustling streets outside the carriage window.
Her persistence, however, was unyielding.
"Young Master Auren," she pressed, "you're the pride of the Dukedom. No one your age can rival you—not in skill or intelligence. Even Master Ezryn said you'd be his equal if he were your age. The Archon of Light rewards effort, and you've worked harder than anyone. There's no reason to fear receiving a Divine-grade Blessing."
Auren's lips twitched, his voice cutting through her optimism like a blade.
"You're rambling, Relisé."
Her face scrunched into a brief pout before she turned away, muttering, "Your manners are the only thing that need work…"
Finally, Auren leaned back, letting his sword rest against the seat beside him.
His crimson eyes shifted to the ornate red ceiling above, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic creak of the carriage wheels.
"Divine grade," he murmured, his tone laced with quiet disbelief.
"One appeared last year. Before that, three whole generations of awakenings passed without one. A grade that can turn a commoner into someone as revered as royalty? It's a fantasy. Keep dreaming, Relisé."
Her frown deepened. "Young Master—"
"Let's deal with reality," Auren interrupted, his gaze strong.
"I'm not even expecting a Mythic grade. Pessimism is safer. It hurts less than shattered hope."
"And in case you've forgotten—again—we happen to be in a city that worships the Archon of Light and Hope. Hope is the foundation of faith here. There's no shame in it."
Relisé's tone was kind but had a tinge of stubbornness that wouldn't give up.
Auren's crimson eyes flicked toward her, something unspoken lingering in his gaze.
He opened his mouth, hesitated, then shook his head.
"Never mind. Hope is useless, that's all I'm saying."
Relisé stared at him, her lips pressed together. She seemed to want to speak but hesitated.
By the time she eventually managed to open her mouth, the carriage suddenly jolted to a stop.
The sound of the drums outside grew louder, the crowd's hum rising to a fever pitch.
Auren straightened, his hands instinctively finding the hilt of his sword. His expression hardened, a calm mask falling over his face.
"Finally. The moment where my fate will be decided."
The weight of his words hung in the air as Relisé looked at him, her worry unspoken but undeniable.
The carriage door opened, and light poured in, gilding the boy's black hair and scarlet eyes as he stepped out.
"Arrival of Auren Veyne, second son of Duke Baryster Veyne."
Auren stepped down from the carriage, his polished black boots meeting the crimson carpet with a muted thud.
The roar of the crowd surged around him like a tidal wave, their voices an indistinct cacophony of cheers, wails, and murmured prayers as the voice announced his arrival.
Flowers rained down in his path—white lilies, golden marigolds, and crimson roses—but their beauty failed to stir him.
He kept his gaze forward, his expression carved from stone.
The gilded spires of the temple loomed ahead, their brilliance catching the midday sun. Each step toward the grand hall felt heavier, as if the weight of every hope and expectation pressed down on his shoulders.
At the temple's base, Relisé paused, her delicate features clouded with worry.
"You look like I am going to die. Weren't you talking about hope some minutes ago?" Auren said with a short grin, trying to look tough himself.
Relisé bent down slightly and touched Auren's forehead with her lips. She straightened and patted his head.
"I wish you luck, Young Master."
He blinked, caught off guard by the gesture, but said nothing as she stepped back, her expression soft yet firm.
"Remember, Young Master. No matter what happens, you carry the pride of the Veyne name."
She turned and walked away, her figure vanishing into the crowd.
Left alone, Auren inhaled deeply, steadying himself.
The massive temple doors loomed before him, carved with intricate reliefs of the Archon of Light and Hope.
On either side, sentries clad in golden armor pushed the colossal doors open, the creak of ancient hinges reverberating through the air.
From this point onward, only the children themselves were allowed forward. The awakening ceremony was going to be begin.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein