Chapter 09 Beaconfires

  The only movement in the room was the slow travel of the daylight as if the walls had absorbed the weight of what had been spoken.

  Lord Eldric ran a hand over his short beard, his gaze distant, his expression carefully measured. “The law is clear,” he said at last.

  “Any individual of Orange Essence or higher must be reported to the Council of Magisters. But a child displaying White Essence?” He exhaled sharply. “They will demand to see him immediately.”

  Lady Seraphine’s fingers clenched the fabric of her gown. “And the gift—what of it? If it is truly bound to this, it must also be disclosed. But how?”

  Somanta crossed her arms, and her brow furrowed in thought. “We cannot simply march to the Council and say, ‘Hey, great and wise overlords, we’ve got a kid here with an Essence that shouldn’t exist and, oh yeah, the gods seem to be meddling. Thoughts? She let out a slow breath. “That would bring the desire of every faction that seeks power in the land.”

  Reiki Master Havlo nodded. “Precisely. Which is why we must be careful. The world has not seen a Violet Essence in over two thousand years, and White Essence was considered a myth.” His gaze flicked toward the unmoving boy. “Even whispers of this will shake the foundations of power. We must tread lightly.”

  Lord Eldric shifted his weight. “Then what do we do? If we hide this information, we break the law. If we reveal it recklessly, we risk war. And if the wrong people learn of the boy’s existence, he will not live to see his fifteenth year.” His voice, though measured, carried the unmistakable weight of a father’s fear.

  Eldric slammed his fist onto the wooden table beside the bed. “Damn it all! We need a plan—one that protects the boy, ensures we are not branded as traitors, and does not plunge the realm into chaos.”

  Havlo exhaled slowly, folding his hands before him. “We begin by controlling the narrative.”

  Seraphine tilted her head slightly. “Meaning?”

  “We do not report everything at once,” Havlo explained. “We start with the simplest omission—the Essence itself. We ignore it for now. Say nothing. If the boy recovers, we teach him how to conceal it. It’s not as if anyone would believe us anyway. We just have to keep him away from those who could sense it.”

  Somanta scoffed. “And when they test him at nineteen?”

  Havlo’s voice darkened. “Then we pray the divine is on our side.”

  Somanta broke the silence. “Master, you always tell me to gather all information before planning, and I feel like we’re missing too much. The prophecy. The other Beaconfires. Should we not discuss it all before we commit to treason?”

  Havlo’s expression turned grim. “The prophecy…” He sighed. “Very well. Listen closely. Hand me your journal—it is the law that we record and report every prophecy to the king. Fortunately, this one comes from a mother at her sick child’s bedside. The learned men will never give it the weight we know it deserves.”

  Somanta passed him the book, and he opened it flat on the wooden table, tracing invisible patterns along the grain. He began to murmur, and a pen began to form over the journal. His voice faded, and he turned toward Lady Seraphine. She nodded in understanding. Then, a whispering voice filled the room:

  Hear me well, the winds now call,

  Fate is shifting—watch them fall.

  Your son stands where shadows creep,

  Bound by blood, lost in the deep.

  Two souls clash, both torn and tried,

  Each with burdens, none can hide.

  Forged in fire, locked in fight,

  Wills collide in darkest night.

  Mercy fades, hope may wane,

  Only trials fierce remain.

  One may stand, or none at all,

  Destiny waits—it heeds no call.

  Rise or fall, his choice shall be,

  Shaping all the world to see.

  From ruin’s ash or glory’s flame,

  An age shall rise—none dare yet name.

  As each word rang out, a red light showed where the pen burned the passage into the journal.

  “Wait—two souls,” Lord Eldric murmured. “Perhaps the White Essence will fade like the divine remnant.”

  “You are a clever man, Lord Eldric,” Havlo said with a knowing smile. He turned to Somanta. “Now, my best disciple—here is your test for the month. Give us your interpretation.”

  Somanta read the prophecy three times, then closed her eyes with deep concentration. Four minutes passed before she spoke.

  “This passage speaks to the inevitability of fate and the harsh trials that shape a person’s destiny,” she said. “It implies that the noble’s son is undergoing a profound transformation, tested by forces beyond our understanding. The struggle between two entwined souls could symbolize an internal conflict… or an external battle. Survival is uncertain, and change is inevitable. The prophecy emphasizes the weight of choice, the unforgiving nature of fate, and the potential for either life or death — Ultimately, it suggests that the outcome will have far-reaching consequences—not just for the boy, but for the course of an entire era.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Master Havlo’s smile widened. “This is why you are my best and brightest. Most would have focused only on the boy and disregarded the last part. If we are lucky, those who read this for the king will not be as sharp as you. They will see only a child’s life in the balance of fate, a mother’s desperate hope.” He turned to the parents with a strange glint in his eyes. “Of course, that will be my attached interpretation to steer them toward that conclusion.”

  Lord Eldric narrowed his eyes. “Why would you do this?”

  “I will not disobey the King,” Havlo said, his voice unwavering. “But if his ministers cannot discern the truth from a written report, then he needs better ministers. Understand this—I do not do this for you, nor for the king. I do this for the divine… and the boy who has been placed in my care.”

  Havlo withdrew a coin purse and breathed deeply. A reddish light shimmered across the leather, staining it crimson in his hands. As he placed the soul stone inside, it began to glow—White, even without touching the boy, but now the light did not escape the bag.

  “Now,” he said, his tone growing more serious, “we must discuss the third Beaconfire. But first, my lord, I must ensure that no one overhears this conversation.”

  Lord Eldric frowned. “Why worry now?” while he confirmed no one was near, with his gift Command.

  “The earlier discussions were less… tangible. This, however, is a matter of grave importance. I strongly recommend caution—for the safety of your family.”

  His words sent a ripple of unease between the husband and wife.

  Havlo’s expression turned solemn. “Before I reveal what I know, understand this: First, this is how I will prove the divine has acted here. And second, the object I am about to show you… is already owned.”

  He moved toward the boy once more, carefully removing the doeskin bag from around his neck. The boy’s eyes burned with an intensity that made his parents recoil.

  Lord Eldric’s breath caught. He could feel the weight emanating from the small bag—tangible, undeniable. “That is not possible!” he exclaimed.

  “I assume neither you nor your wife inherited one of these,” Havlo said, “nor have you left it lying around in a fourteen-year-old’s room?”

  Somanta extended her essence, only to flinch as something dense and ominous pulsed within the bag. “What… what is that?” she whispered.

  With every gaze fixed on him, the master slowly overturned the bag, letting its contents spill onto the boy’s blanket.

  Two small white cubes tumbled out, coming to rest beside the boy’s leg.

  Lady Seraphine gasped. “Those are the stones I found while digging in the garden… but they’re different now.”

  “That is an artifact!” Somanta declared, her voice laced with disbelief.

  Lord Eldric’s voice was tight. “Do you know their power?”

  “No,” Havlo admitted, his tone final. “I only know that they are owned!”

  Owned by whom was the unspoken question, and everyone followed the Master's line of sight to the boy.

  “But how is that possible? Asked Lady Seraphine. “He is only 14 and has never seen them before.”

  Somanta’s face shifted as she concentrated, her mind racing through the possibilities. But before she could speak, Lord Eldric’s voice cut through the silence.

  “There is only one way, True Ownership,” he said, his tone heavy with realization.

  In the silence that followed, Master Havlo carefully maneuvered the stones into the coin purse without touching them directly.

  “Now, observe the last and final Beaconfire—the one we must find a way to conceal,” he said, moving to the head of the bed. “Watch what happens to the essence of the artifact, and you will see the final Beacon.”

  The moment the bag touched the boy, they all felt it—the artifact’s presence vanished. No hint, no shadow of its power remained.

  “This boy himself is the final Beaconfire,” Master Havlo declared. “We cannot yet fathom what he is capable of. Even as he lies in his recovery bed, he is affecting myself and the entire household.”

  He hesitated, his eyes narrowing with unease. “That tune—the one the servants whispered about, the one no one could name—it carries his influence. A bedridden, mute child is bending the world around him without effort, without intent. If he can do this while trapped in his own body, what happens if he wakes? How can we possibly hope to keep this hidden?”

  His voice grew grave, weighted with uncertainty. “This… this will be the most dangerous and unanticipated Beacon of all. And worst of all—we have no way of knowing how or when it will ignite.”

  The air hung heavy with unspoken thought as Master Havlo withdrew his hand from the boy’s bedside. No one spoke for a long moment—the weight of what had just been revealed pressed upon them like an unseen hand.

  Lord Eldric, ever the pragmatist, broke the silence first. “If he is the final Beaconfire,” he said, voice steady but taut, “then what does that make us? Custodians? Traitors? Shepherds of something the world is not ready for?”

  “No,” Havlo said gravely. “It makes you his protectors. But it also makes you a target.”

  Lady Seraphine’s grip on her gown tightened. “And if the Council learns of this?”

  “They will come,” Somanta said simply. “Not to take him—to control him. And if they cannot?”

  Havlo closed his eyes. “Then they will ensure he never reaches his full potential.”

  Seraphine turned toward her husband, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “We can not let them take our boy.”

  Eldric took a deep breath, pressing his fingers to his temples before exhaling sharply. “Hiding him isn’t an option, and leaving his fate to chance is foolish. We must prepare him.”

  Havlo nodded. “But carefully. First, we ensure he wakes—and when he does, we must be ready.”

  Somanta furrowed her brow. “Ready for what?”

  Havlo turned his gaze back to the boy, “For whatever he becomes.”

  A chill settled over the room. Lady Seraphine, ever the mother, moved closer to her son and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Then how do we proceed?” she asked softly.

  Havlo clasped his hands together, his mind already calculating the steps ahead. “First, no one outside this room must know what we have learned today. Not his brother, sister, or any household staff. If questions arise, we will provide answers that do not provoke further inquiry. Second, the boy must be shielded, not just physically, but from those who would sense his Essence. This will require subtlety, misdirection, and a very controlled environment.”

  Eldric crossed his arms. “I assume you have ideas?”

  Havlo nodded. “A few. But before we enact anything, we need to stabilize him.”

  Lady Seraphine’s worry deepened. “You fear his condition will worsen?”

  “No,” Havlo admitted. “I fear that when he wakes, the world itself may react.”

  A tense silence filled the room. Then, Eldric straightened, his presence commanding. “Then we begin at once.”

  Somanta lifted her chin. “I will research the other Beaconfires. Perhaps they hold clues to what this boy is becoming.”

  Havlo gave a satisfied nod. “Good. And I will ensure that should the Council take notice, they see only what we wish them to.”

  Seraphine turned to her husband, eyes blazing with resolve. “And we will do what parents must—protect him, guide him, and keep him safe.”

  Havlo allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Then let us see if fate will be kind.”

  Outside, the wind picked up, carrying with it the distant echo of an unearthly tune, one that none of them could name yet all of them had begun to fear.