Page 68 of The Divine Shallows
Perhaps it stemmed from the High Priestess’ declaration of Elyria as unblessed before the assembled monarchs of Neramyr, sealing her fate with a curse that would shadow her throughout her life. Moreover, the High Priestess served as the ambassador and emissary of the Moon Goddess, further intertwining her with the forces that had brought Elyria such sorrow. Whenever Elyria found herself in the presence of the divine Priestess, a sense of unease and caution enveloped her.
Surveying the six other candidates on the platform, Elyria mentally recited their names in order from her position. To her left stood Sylas on the sigil of House Bloodweaver, followed by Lillia Sagebrook of House Mirthwood, Galen Wolfspire representing House Darkmaw, and Lynora Lionwind from House Blackbane. Elyria’s apprehension peaked when her gaze landed on Kerrick Graylon, positioned on House Driftmoor’s sigil. Completing the circle to her right was Iva Rosefall, the candidate from House Skyborn.
Despite their shared status as candidates, Elyria felt a sense of alienation from her fellow warlocks and sorceresses.
Indeed, earlier in the lounge, she had overheard Kerrick sharing how the other candidates had formed strong bonds with each other. She closed her eyes, mentally distancing herself from their favoritism towards each other. Her father’s refusal to allow her training at the Seven Spires only served to deepen her isolation from the cohort.
However, she suspected that the prejudice against her would have persisted regardless of whether she had spent the last seven years training alongside them at the Spires.
It would make no difference to theiropinions of her.
Nothing would.
Opening her eyes once more, Elyria sought out Elowyn in the crowd. High above, she scanned the area where the royalty from the seven realms were seated. Spotting Elowyn beside their parents and the newly appointed Commander, Elyria felt a wave of comfort wash over her. Elowyn raised a reassuring hand towards her, her smile encouraging. Amidst the sea of snow-haired fey behind her, Elyria only saw her little sister’s face. Returning Elowyn’s smile, Elyria turned her attention back to the arena.
As her gaze returned to the High Priestess, she locked eyes with Sylas, who stood ten feet away. He offered her a gentle smile and a supportive nod. Suppressing the bitter retorts bubbling in her throat, Elyria refrained from revealing that she had overheard his private conversation. Instead, she masked her distrust and returned his smile. His lips moved silently, forming the words ‘good luck’ to her. Suppressing an eye roll at his pretense, she redirected her focus, digging her fingernails into her palm to distract herself from his feigned camaraderie.
“Today marks the Sixth Day in the Ceremony of Caena!” The High Priestess’ voice resonated across the arena, commanding the attention of the thousands of fey gathered. As her powerful voice filled the stadium, the audience fell silent. “Today, we are gathered here to witness the sacred ritual of theVitus. On this day, we come together to witness the talent of the seven chosen divine candidates. Soon, I will invoke Caena’s judgment to determine which candidate is worthy of the title ofprimis.”
The High Priestess continued, “Tonight, the chosen candidates will showcase their mastery of magic under the watchful gaze of the Moon Goddess, vying for her favor to claim this illustrious title. Theprimiswill be unveiled tomorrow on the Seventh Day, during the Crossing of Kin. Let us rejoiceas we usher a new generation of divine magic wielders to protect the fey of Neramyr and uphold the peace of the New Age!”
The crowd erupted into applause and enthusiastic cheers, their excitement unmistakable throughout the arena. Spirited shouts echoed from every corner, confirming the crowd’s eager anticipation for theVitus. As the dynamic ovation enveloped her, Elyria felt her heart rate quicken under the weight of thousands of stares fixed upon her.
From the High Priestess’ weathered palms, the inked crescent moons began to glow, casting an otherworldly light. Beneath the sleeves of her alabaster robe, the eight phases of the moon inked along her arms also illuminated. Motionless, the High Priestess blinked, her eyes turning a translucent white as she spoke, “The connection to Caena’s realm holds firm. Tonight, the Moon Goddess will bear witness to this sacred Ceremony.” The air in the arena crackled with ethereal magic, and Elyria felt a tingling sensation as if the moonlight itself had intensified. The High Priestess declared, “Following tradition, we will grant the honor of the first performance to the candidate representing the hosting kingdom.”
The crowd sworn to House Driftmoor burst forth in proud cheers and admiration for their candidate. With a graceful gesture, the High Priestess extended a slender palm towards Kerrick Graylon.
“I humbly accept this honor, High Priestess,” Kerrick bowed deeply towards her, his smile taking on a subtle twist. “However, for this season’sVitus, our cohort has decided on a unique approach—a collective performance, showcasing our talents simultaneously for the Goddess.”
The High Priestess’ demeanor stilled as she responded coolly, “Such an aberration from tradition is unusual, Kerrick.”
Kerrick cleared his throat, his tone smoothing over with practiced diplomacy. “Indeed, High Priestess. Nevertheless, we defer to your judgment.”
There was a brief silence before the High Priestess spoke again. “Very well.” With a single nod of acknowledgment, she stepped into a moongate that materialized before her, joining theother monarchs of the seven realms in the stands above, leaving the divine candidates below in the arena.
Elyria’s gaze lingered on Kerrick, her expression guarded. As if sensing her scrutiny, he met her eyes, his grin widening slightly.
The High Priestess’ voice echoed across the arena, “Let theVitusbegin!”
The explosion of cheers from the crowd was thunderous, filling the air with tangible excitement. The entire arena was pulsating with suspense.
A translucent ward began enveloping the seated monarchs and royalty of Neramyr. It expanded rapidly, spreading over the seated spectators surrounding the stage below. This magical barrier cloaked the audience in the stadium, acting as an invisible shield to protect them in case any demonstration from the candidates extended beyond the arena’s high walls.
Kerrick strode away from his House sigil, greeted by the enthusiastic cheers of the Driftmoor crowd as he made his way to the center of the arena. He possessed the archetypal appearance of a Driftmoor-born fey, with long, lapis-colored waves cascading down to his tanned chest. A few stray strands framed his cheekbones, escaping the knot that bound half of his hair. Casting a brief glance towards Sylas, he then turned his cerulean gaze skyward.
Raising his palms and lifting his arms slightly, Kerrick saturated the air with a thrum of magical energy. Elyria observed as the clouds in the twilight sky thickened and began to churn, ebbing and rippling into a brewing storm. It was predictable, almost mundanely so. She nearly muttered her observation under her breath, knowing full well Kerrick’s proclivity for elemental magic.
Each fey born into a House of Neramyr harbored a natural affinity for a specific class of magic tied to their kingdom’s lineage. While some could master all seven classes, most excelled in only one or two, typically aligned with their House’s inherent nature.
The denizens of the Elune Isles, including the Driftmoor fey, were particularly adept in elemental magic. Elementals could manipulate various natural elements to their will, encompassing light, darkness, weather, flora, metals, minerals, and so forth. Similar to all magic-users, the extent of their gift and strength varied. Judging by Kerrick’s divine candidate status, Elyria had to suspect he was unquestionably gifted to be chosen by the Goddess.
Lost in her thoughts and entranced by the swirling clouds above, Elyria scarcely noticed the subtle transformation unfolding around her. It wasn’t until she felt the ground beneath her feet sinking—or was it rising?—that she snapped back to attention. Glancing down, she realized her boots were partially submerged in brine-filled water. Casting a quick glance towards the stands, she witnessed sleek currents flowing over the barriers and into the arena. Kerrick, it seemed, was summoning the very waters of the Swyn Sea to flood the arena.
In an instant, the gentle currents morphed into violent torrents, surging forth and inundating the arena. The water level escalated rapidly, creeping up her shins with alarming speed. To her right, Elyria observed Iva unfurling her alabaster wings from beneath her lavender locks. With a graceful flap, Iva ascended a few feet above the water, her lithe form soaring like a phoenix into the skies. On her left, Sylas navigated towards one of the large wooden crates scattered across the arena.
As she surveyed the arena, Elyria noticed the other five candidates also gravitating towards the crates. Lacking specific abilities to maneuver the waters like Iva, with her wings, or Kerrick, with his merfolk heritage, they began dismantling the crates and swiftly constructing makeshift rafts. With practiced efficiency, they stacked the wooden walls atop each other, interweaving rope to secure them together. In a matter of moments, they had fashioned sturdy rafts capable of supporting their weight.
Elyria couldn’t discern any change in the aura of the othercandidates. It was as though they were unaffected by Kerrick’s manipulation of the arena terrain. What could they be plotting? She pondered this question as she hurriedly made her way to an unclaimed wooden crate, swiftly assembling her own raft. Tying the final knot of rope, she scrutinized her makeshift creation. It was rough and hastily crafted, but it would suffice for the moment.
