Smoke from sandalwood incense drifted through the room, mingling with the scent of burning pine from the fireplace. Shadows flickered across the faces of the Staril Council members seated in a circle on woven reed mats. I sat in the center of them, freshly bathed and with my dark hair still damp. I wore my finest tunic and trousers—relics of House Staril—threadbare though they were.


    Marak cleared his throat. “Normally, this induction ceremony would be performed by the First and the other Champions of Staril. But as you all know—” his voice caught—“Staril is no more. Her Champions are gone, save for this young man before us.”


    The elders nodded solemnly. I shifted, uncomfortable with their weighty regard. I still felt like an imposter, unworthy of the legacy of the Staril Family. How could I hope to live up to what my ancestors had accomplished, especially bereft of support from any other Champion?


    “There is nothing inherently magical about this ritual,” the elf continued. “Its purpose is not to bestow any gifts or powers upon the Champion, but to enlighten him as to his duty. And so it falls to us, the remnants of Staril, to see it done. To remind Bael Staril, the chosen heir of Reya Staril, of who he is. Of the proud lineage he represents.” Marak’s piercing green eyes found mine.


    I squared my shoulders and met the weaponmaster’s gaze steadily. I would not fail them. I would train harder, fight more fiercely. I would become a Champion worthy of the Staril name.


    Elinor rose to her feet, her gray robes swishing softly as she moved to stand before me. “The Induction Ceremony is a sacred rite observed by generations of Staril Champions,” she began, her voice resonating through the empty hall. “Since time immemorial, each Champion has undergone this ritual before taking up arms against the darkspawn.”


    My own face expressionless, I waited for her to go on. The ceremony itself, and the knowledge it was meant to impart was not news to me. I’d heard it all before—multiple times—from all my mentors. Yet, today, was different. Today, their words were infused with the power of ritual, and I suspected they would stay with me for years to come.


    “While each enclave has its own traditions,” Elinor went on, “Staril has always sought to remind its champions of their identity and purpose before sending them out to battle the forces of darkness.” She smiled at me then with pride and affection. “And now, Bael Staril, it is your turn to hear the tales of old. To remember who you are and why you fight.”


    Elinor sat down again and Borin lumbered to his feet, his stout frame exuding strength and vitality despite his advancing years. The dwarf tugged at his bushy beard, his eyes distant as if seeing into the mists of the past. “Before the coming of the darkspawn,” he began, his voice low and melodic, “Danias was a land of wonder and plenty. Humans, dwarves, elves—all the races in fact— lived freely, without walls to separate them or fear to constrain their movements.”


    I tried to imagine it—a world without enclaves, without the constant threat of the darkspawn dogging our steps. It seemed like a fantasy, a dream too good to be true.


    “Folk farmed the rich earth and raised their children in peace,” Borin said wistfully. “Yes, there was strife at times, as there always is when different peoples mingle. But there was also bustling trade between nations, and a sharing of skills.” The dwarf’s eyes sparkled in the flickering light of the hearth. “Dwarven metalworkers crafted precious armor mined from metals mined deep from the earth, elves roved the forests. Humans experimented in the arcane and gnomes tinkered as they were wont to do. And all prospered from the exchange of knowledge and ideas.”


    I leaned forward, swept up in the vision Borin wove. A world unconstrained and free. I wanted to fight for that Danias. To restore what had been lost.


    Hengar cleared his throat, drawing my attention. The stablemaster’s weathered face was grave as he took up the tale. “No one knows where the darkspawn came from,” he said. “We do not think they are of this world, nor is there mention of them in any history or legend before their coming. Demons, our scholars label them, for their cruelty and their unholy power.”


    I repressed a shudder. Demons. I’d seen a few of the creatures already, but always from a distance and always while deep in the wilds. And even I had not been so foolhardy as to try tackling them on my own. Demons were the sworn enemy of every sentient race on Danias, and they would have cut me down where I stood if they had spotted me.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    “The demons—or darkspawn, call them what you will—rose from the deep places of the earth, from cracks that split the ground and vomited smoke and flame,” Hengar continued, his eyes distant. “Dungeons, we call those foul pits, for they spawned only death and ruin.”


    I clenched my fists, remembering the one dungeon I had seen. It had been during my farthest trip yet from Erast. The dungeon had been a jagged wound in the land, from which a sickly red glow emanated. I’d not been brave enough to venture closer, though.


    “The dungeons appeared without warning, within cities, inside castles, amid the fields and deep in the forests. Darkspawn poured from them in unending tides of claws, fangs and twisted flesh.” Hengar’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Chaos reigned as the demons rampaged unchecked, slaughtering all in their path. Civilizations crumbled and cities fell.”


    He paused, before going on more grimly, “Then another catastrophe. The undead, once a minor blight, lone revenants or shambling corpses easily put down, joined the demons’ ranks. Now they too are darkspawn and bent on our destruction.”


    Undead and demons, that was what the darkspawn were today. A double menace that need to be ruthlessly culled.


    Hengar bowed his head. “All hope seemed lost as the darkspawn devoured the world, leaving only ruin and despair in their wake.”


    Marak rose , his silver hair glinting in the firelight. “But even in the darkest hour, a light still glimmered,” he said, his voice suffused with quiet intensity. “In the fabled city of Ardenna, seat of the most powerful mages ever known, the wizards labored in secret, pouring their wisdom and their very lives into a desperate gambit. And so was the Godstone born and the first Enclave Stone too, both artifacts of purest magic, and the last hope of a world besieged.”


    I leaned forward unconsciously. The Godstone—the source of every Champions’ power, was the key to our survival.


    “Little is known of the Godstone’s true nature,” Marak admitted. “But this much is clear—it is the heart and soul of the System, a System that it itself has birthed and that grants us the strength to stand against the darkspawn.”


    I thought of the Codex I’d seen a Erast champion carrying back from a dungeon he’d closed once. The silver-bound tome. The secrets of the Champion’s arts were concealed within its page, the path to honing body and mind into a weapon against the demons.


    “The Godstone creates the Codices that fuels every Champion’s abilities,” Marak confirmed, as if reading my mind. “It sets the quests by which they test they mettle and advance in power. And it is the Godstone that allows them to absorb the essence of the slain darkspawn, to take their unholy might and turn it to righteous purpose, thereby increasing in level.”


    In short, the Godstone was the System. Without it, we’d be lost.


    “The wizards poured their very souls into the Godstone,” Marak said softly. “Somehow, through magics lost to time, they imparted the artifact they created with a will and intelligence of its own. Now, it is the Godstone and its System that guides us, that shapes our fight against annihilation.”


    The elf’s gaze bored into mine. “Never forget, Bael—what the Godstone is. As a Champion, you are honor bond to protect it. For if the Godstone falls, so too does all hope.”


    I met Marak’s eyes steadily. “Where is the Godstone now?” The question was a formality, part of the ancient rite only and I didn’t truly expect an answer.


    “No one knows the stone’s whereabouts,” Elinor answered. “The wizards of Ardenna made certain it was hidden where none could find it. But we know the darkspawn seek it tirelessly. Finding it is their greatest desire and our deepest dread.”


    She turned to me. “Bael Staril, do you pledge to find the Godstone before the darkspawn do, no matter the cost to yourself? Will you guard it with your life and honor, as a true Champion must?”


    I did not answer casually as I knew I could have. Even after centuries of searching, the darkspawn had not found the Godstone, and it was highly likely they would not do so in my lifetime either. Still, I did not give my word lightly—to anything. A promise, Borin had taught me, always had to be carefully considered and weighed. This was especially true for a Staril.


    Would I do it? I wondered. If it came down to it, would I sacrifice everything to safeguard the Godstone, the very source of every Champion’s power?


    I thought of my mother, of the legacy she had left me. Of the Staril refugees, huddled in Erast’s slums, dreaming of a homeland they might never see again. They needed the Champions, warriors who would fight for them.


    I met Elinor’s eyes, my jaw tight with resolve. “I so pledge,” I said firmly. “I will find the Godstone and defend it against the darkspawn. This I swear, on my life and my line, until the last breath leaves my body.”


    The words rang out like a clarion, a promise that seemed to vibrate in the very stones around us. Elinor nodded slowly, pride and sorrow mingling in her expression. “Then let it be so,” she whispered. “Let the System hear and bear witness.”


    Whether the System could actually hear, was anyone’s guess. My promise, as much as it meant to me personally, was not a System Oath made on an Enclave Stone and would not carry the same weight as that.


    Nonetheless, that did not take away from the significance of the moment. I, Bael Staril, son of Reya, and last surviving member of the family, had taken the first step to becoming a Champion.