Darcelle’s heart raced as she stood among the throngs of people, her gaze darting from one person to the next.
The village was alive with whispers and hurried footsteps, all focused on one thing: the shrine.
The shrine of the wizard king, a place where wishes were granted, where secrets were uncovered, and where people placed their faith in exchange for something precious—a gift.
But Darcelle, despite her desperation, had no idea what to offer, or even what she truly sought.
She had barely escaped from Oliwier’s clutches, but now she found herself standing at the precipice of something far larger and more mysterious than she could have anticipated.
She had heard the rumors—the stories of the wizard king’s shrine from what Oliwier had told her before she ran away from him.
It was said that if you made an offering worthy enough, you would get what you desired. For some, it was knowledge; for others, power. But Darcelle wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She only knew she needed something—anything—to help her now.
The queue was overwhelming.
People were lined up, some carrying baskets filled with fruits and trinkets, others with golden jewelry, and a few with lavish silks and rare artifacts.
It was clear that each person believed their offering would be the key to unlocking their desires.
The air was thick with anticipation, and Darcelle could almost feel the weight of their collective hopes pressing down on her.
The shrine itself was imposing, built from a dark stone that seemed to absorb the sunlight, casting long shadows over the courtyard.
It stood tall, with ornate carvings of mystical symbols decorating its exterior.
The words "Vesporion Noctis Shrine" were etched above the grand doors in ancient script.
To Darcelle, the words looked almost foreign, as if they held a deeper meaning that only a few could comprehend.
She wondered briefly if the wizard king himself understood them or if they were just a remnant of some long-forgotten past.
The guards stationed at the doors were stern, their eyes scanning the crowd with practiced indifference.
Their armor gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting the nervous energy of the crowd.
Darcelle instinctively took a step back, feeling out of place among the others.
She had no gift to offer, no token of value to present to the wizard king.
And yet, she knew she had to enter—something inside her urged her forward, as if an invisible force was pulling her toward those towering doors.
Her hands clenched into fists as she struggled to control her breathing.
What was she even doing here?
The answers she sought could not be found in gifts and tokens.
She needed something more—something that went beyond mere offerings. But she had no choice but to follow the tide of people.
There was no turning back now.
And then, the moment Darcelle had been waiting for, arrived. The sound of massive wooden doors creaking echoed through the courtyard, followed by the soft murmur of excitement that rippled through the crowd. The gates were opening.
“The doors are opening… the doors are opening… someone is coming!” A voice from the front of the line rang out, filled with a mix of exhilaration and fear. The crowd stirred in response, shuffling forward, some people pressing against each other in their eagerness to be the first to pass through.
Darcelle’s breath caught in her throat.
Who was it?
Who was coming?
Was it the wizard king himself, or someone who had already been granted their wish?
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The thought made her heart race even faster.
She moved instinctively, following the crowd, her eyes fixed on the doors as they slowly parted.
Beyond the threshold, all she could see was a blur of shadows and faint, flickering lights. The anticipation in the air grew thick, almost suffocating.
Then, emerging from the darkness inside, a figure stepped forward. It was a tall man, dressed in robes of midnight blue that shimmered with an ethereal light. His face was obscured by a hood, but his presence was undeniable—calm, powerful, and somehow… otherworldly.
Darcelle froze. This had to be him—the wizard king.
The crowd stilled, their voices hushed as they awaited whatever would come next. The figure did not speak, but instead, he raised a hand, gesturing for the first person in line to approach.
Darcelle’s eyes widened as the chaos in front of her unfolded. The crowd was growing more restless, shouting in a mixture of desperation and anticipation.
People were scrambling to get Helios’s attention, lifting their gifts high above their heads in a frantic effort to be noticed. Some held up golden trinkets, others precious stones, and a few even had entire baskets of exotic fruits. But none of them seemed to catch the attention of the wizard king’s servant.
“This is Helios, the wizard king’s loyal servant... We have to make sure he points at us so we can go in,” Darcelle heard a voice shout from somewhere behind her. She turned her head, trying to locate the source, but all she saw were frantic faces, filled with nervous energy. The words had clearly spread through the crowd like wildfire.
The atmosphere was charged with a sense of urgency. The people around her were panicking, each person desperately trying to stand out from the crowd. It didn’t matter if they had the most extravagant gifts or the rarest items; they all wanted one thing: a chance to meet the wizard king.
To have their wishes granted.
Darcelle watched as a man in front of her began shouting, waving a glimmering jewel in the air. A woman to her left held up an intricately carved wooden statue, hoping it would catch Helios’s eye. Everyone seemed to think that if their offering was just a little more spectacular, they would be chosen.
Without thinking, Darcelle instinctively lifted her own offering—a half-eaten apple she had been nibbling on since she left Oliwier behind.
She didn’t have anything else to offer, and the apple was the only thing she had left.
She felt foolish, but desperation drove her actions.
Perhaps it was enough.
Maybe it would catch Helios’s eye, like the others.
Maybe this strange fruit, bruised and half-finished, would somehow earn her a place in front of the wizard king.
Her heart beat loudly in her chest, her gaze fixated on the servant who stood at the gates. Helios, the man who was supposed to grant access to the shrine, stood like a sentinel, unmovable and impassive.
His eyes, cold and distant, scanned the crowd with an air of superiority, as though he were evaluating each person as little more than an annoyance. There was no warmth, no empathy in his expression—only an eerie detachment, as if nothing here mattered to him.
Darcelle felt a chill run down her spine as she lifted her apple higher, hoping that somehow, it would be enough. She knew it was silly, but she had no other choice. The air around her was thick with tension as the crowd grew louder, their voices blending into a cacophony of pleas.
And then, as if to silence the world around him, Helios raised his hand. The crowd fell silent immediately, sensing the shift in the air. A small orb of light appeared above his outstretched hand, flickering and shimmering as though it were alive. The orb hovered there for a moment, casting an unnatural glow over the crowd.
Darcelle held her breath, waiting, watching as the orb descended slowly. The crowd seemed to freeze, their collective gaze fixed on the orb, which now hovered just inches above Helios’s hand. A moment of eerie stillness passed before the orb fell toward the crowd.
The moment it touched the ground, everything changed. The air seemed to shift, warping in an unnatural way. The energy in the atmosphere thickened, and the ground beneath Darcelle’s feet trembled slightly, sending a ripple of panic through the crowd.
Suddenly, the chaos erupted in full force.
People began shouting again, but this time, it wasn’t out of desperation—it was panic. The long line of people, once so orderly, scattered in every direction as though some invisible force had commanded them to flee. The air was thick with confusion and chaos as people trampled over one another, pushing, shoving, and scrambling to escape. Darcelle watched in stunned disbelief as the crowd split apart, each person running for cover in any direction, as if they were fleeing from something terrible.
She had no idea what had just happened. One moment, there had been anticipation, and now, there was nothing but madness.
Her heart pounded in her chest as the chaos unfolded around her. The shrieks of people running, the frantic cries as they tried to find safety, filled the air. But amid the scattering crowd, Darcelle found herself standing alone in front of Helios.
It was as if the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Her apple still clutched tightly in her hand, she looked around, confused, trying to understand what had just occurred.
The sudden silence felt deafening. The hurried footsteps and desperate shouts of the crowd were now distant echoes, and all that remained was Darcelle standing before the servant of the wizard king, helpless and uncertain.
Helios didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He simply watched the disarray with cold indifference, as if he were entirely unaffected by the chaos he had caused.
Darcelle’s mind raced.
What was happening?
Why had the crowd scattered?
Was this part of the ritual?
Did it have something to do with her offering, or was it simply a test?
She couldn’t understand it.
She had no answers.
Her gaze met Helios’s, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch. His eyes, dark and unyielding, bore into hers, assessing her, measuring her worth. There was no warmth, no mercy in them—only calculation, as if he were deciding her fate in an instant.
Darcelle’s throat tightened.
She didn’t know what to do or say.
She wasn’t sure if she was meant to speak, to beg, or to remain silent.
And then, as if deciding that she wasn’t worth the effort, Helios turned his back to her. "Since you have prepared your gift for the wizard king, then come in," he said as he looked at her through his peripheral vision.