I dragged my feet across the stone floor, groaning internally. Can’t we just have one break? Just one? My head throbbed faintly, a lingering reminder of my exhaustion.


    A soft giggle brushed against my mind, and Thessrael nudged me lightly with her elbow.


    I can hear you, her voice echoed in my thoughts.


    I groaned aloud this time, rolling my eyes at her smug grin. “Great,” I muttered. “Now my own thoughts aren’t even safe.”


    Thessrael giggled harder. “Relax, Zenith. You’re not as mysterious as you think.”


    “I didn’t hear your thoughts,” Alaric joined in, “but, please, your face has subtitles.”


    Despite myself, I chuckled too. The weight in my chest lifted—just a little.


    Andora’s voice cut through our chatter like a blade. “Get ready.”


    “Get ready for wha—” I started, but before I could finish, Andora snapped her fingers.


    The air lurched, and the world twisted inside out. My vision blurred for a split second before snapping back into focus. We were in a different room now—a stone-walled chamber that looked like a classroom. Desks made of carved stone formed neat rows, each paired with a matching bench. The walls were lined with glowing runes that pulsed faintly, casting a soft golden light over the space. At the front of the room, a raised pulpit stood like a throne of rock, where Andora took her place.


    “Please,” Alaric groaned, clutching his stomach. “Warn us next time you do that.”


    “I said, ‘get ready.’” Andora’s tone was dry. “It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”


    As we shuffled to our seats, I glanced around. “Where are Kaldi and Dero?”


    “Where they need to be,” Andora replied with a dismissive wave.


    Before I could push further, she started her lecture.


    “Now,” Andora began, voice carrying through the chamber, “you’ve gained far more than just new names and powers. Each of you has inherited a title—one passed down from the first Cardinal Mages of Mysteria—and a gift tied to that role. These titles are not just symbolic; they define the magic you wield.”


    She paced as she spoke. She waved her hands and images of the past appeared out of thin air.


    Andora’s words lingered in the air, the weight of her warning still heavy in my mind. But then, without warning, a pulse of magic radiated from her fingertips, and the room shifted again. Light flickered at the front of the chamber—swirling particles weaving into shapes like smoke curling into form.


    Figures emerged from the mist—ten warriors clad in ornate, regal armor that gleamed with power. Each figure stood tall, their presence commanding attention even as they were nothing more than illusions.


    “This,” Andora said, her voice quieter now but no less firm, “is what you’ve inherited.”


    I stared, unable to look away. The first figure was a man—broad-shouldered and imposing, with wings like a hawk’s arching from his back. He wore sleek silver armor with sapphire accents, a bow slung across his shoulder. The bow’s limbs shimmered with what looked like constellations carved into the metal.


    I knew that figure. He was the one who greeted me when I first arrived in Mysteria.


    “This is Yashka,” Andora said, and my breath caught in my throat. "Pharaoh of the Heavens. He could summon storms with a whisper and command the sky itself."


    The figure’s gaze seemed to pierce right through me, like he knew I’d never fill his shoes.


    Beside him stood an elven man clad in armor that resembled living bark, winding vines etched into every plate. He wore silver gauntlets on his arms—thick, jagged, and crackling faintly with magic.


    “Sayan, K?t?r, the Duke of Supremacy,” Andora continued. “He wielded unmatched strength and speed—able to tear down walls with a single strike. His gauntlets amplified that strength a hundredfold.”


    I heard Titan mutter something under his breath, probably sizing himself up against the warrior.


    Next came another elf—lean and wiry, dressed in dark leathers reinforced with steel plates. He held a pair of short fighting sticks—simple-looking weapons, but his stance suggested he didn’t need anything more.


    “Dantalion, the Emperor of Earth,” Andora said. “His gift allowed him to reshape terrains, break the ground, shake the earth itself.”


    The next man, another elf, stood with a pair of whips coiled in his hands. His armor was sharp and angular, lined with glowing runes. Even as a projection, he exuded a kind of quiet menace.


    “Draganta, the King of Fire,”  Andora explained. “His flames could burn without heat—or consume without leaving ash.”


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    And then the last of the men—a figure that left me staring longer than the others.


    He looked Mysterian, but not quite. His fin-like ears twitched as though they could pick up sounds the rest of us couldn’t. His skin shimmered faintly where it shifted from smooth flesh to delicate scales along his arms, chest, and neck. The scales glinted like polished silver in the light. A slender staff rested in his grip, crowned with a crystal that pulsed like a heartbeat.


    “And that is Zagan,” Andora said, "the Czar of Changes. A merfolk who sacrificed his tail and fins for legs to walk among the surface-dwellers. His power allowed him to alter his form—and sometimes others’—with uncanny precision."


    I glanced at Alaric, who was watching the image with something between fascination and unease.


    Andora waved her hand, and the five male warriors shifted to the side. The female Mystic Knights took their place, each just as striking—and dangerous-looking—as the men.


    The first was a tall elven woman clad in polished silver armor with a massive shield strapped to her arm. The metal rippled like liquid steel, constantly shifting and reshaping as she moved.


    “This is Keturah, the Empress of Reflections,” Andora said. "She could assume the form of others whose thoughts and motivations she understood, takeover the powers of enemies she had conquered, and reflect magic back at her enemies—stronger, sharper, and more devastating than before."


    Next was a woman clad in flowing robes, her slender wand twirling gracefully between her fingers. Her presence made my skin crawl—like she could unravel a person’s mind with a flick of her wrist.


    “Asenath, the Czarina of Senses,” Andora said grimly. “My beloved fool of a sister . . . her magic could pierce thoughts, memories, and even bend perception itself.”


    Beside her stood an ethereal figure, her wings resembling those of a moth or butterfly—delicate yet mesmerizing. Papers swirled around her, inscribed with glowing runes, and a tome floated beside her, its pages turning as if guided by an unseen hand.


    “Serafina, the Angel of Life," Andora said, her tone softer. “She was a healer, a guardian who could mend wounds, cure sickness, and preserve life itself. Her magic kept entire cities from ruin.”


    The next figure was a woman shrouded in midnight blue, her twin daggers flickering like liquid shadows in her hands. Her sharp eyes seemed to pierce everything in sight, scanning the room as though she knew every hidden threat.


    “Ashtaroth, the Duchess of Creations,” Andora said. “Her power allowed her to bring her imagination to life—conjuring weapons, beasts, and anything she willed.”


    And finally, the last figure—a tall, elegant elf in flowing robes that shimmered like sunlight on water. In her hands, she held an ornate trident adorned with gleaming gemstones. The gems pulsed faintly, like drops of captured ocean light.


    “And this is Vinea,” Andora said softly, “the Queen of Waters. Her dominion stretched across every river, lake, and sea. Her power could call forth waves that swallowed fleets or gentle tides that nurtured entire ecosystems.”


    I swallowed hard, feeling like the air had grown heavier with each word. These weren’t just warriors—they were legends.


    “These are the ones who came before you,” Andora said. “The Cardinal Mages of Mysteria, the Mystic Knights who faced countless battles and left their marks in history. They succeeded . . . but not without a cost."


    Her voice hardened.


    “And now it’s your turn. Their power is yours—but only if you’re strong enough to wield it.”


    The images flickered and faded, leaving nothing but empty air behind. Yet somehow, their presence lingered—a reminder that whatever awaited us wasn’t something we could afford to face lightly.


    “However, do not assume your powers will manifest the same way,” Andora warned. “The way you wield your magic depends on your discipline, not your title. For example, while you, Atlantika, Aegis, Havoc, and Zenith, all command the four elements, your magic will behave differently. Havoc will conjure flames as weapons, while Aegis may command the earth itself to swallow his foes.”


    She paused, letting her words settle.


    Thessrael raised her hand. “What about the Gems? Where do they come from?”


    Andora smiled faintly. “That’s a story for another day,” she said. “I am sure someone more knowledgeable of the Gems will tell you everything you need to know about the Gems who chose you.”


    Alaric leaned forward. “But where are the Gems now?” he asked. “I reckon they are powerful relics. Shouldn’t they be guarded or something?”


    That faint smile grew sharper—almost smug. Andora didn’t answer right away. Instead, she just stared at us in silence.


    A cold suspicion twisted in my gut. Many times over, we were referred to as Chosen of the Gems, Vessels of the Gems, Guardian of the Gems. The way Andora kept staring . . . no, it couldn’t be. Could it?


    “You don’t mean . . . ” I started, my gaze fixed on Andora.


    “Looks like you’ve figured it out,” Andora said, smiling at me. “Go on, Zenith," she continued with a nod. “Hold out your hand and think of the Gem of the Heavens.”


    I hesitated. Still, I extended my hand and focused. My magic circle flared to life, spinning indigo patterns in the air above my palm. Then, as if the circle itself was breathing, a gem flickered into existence—a deep blue stone, glowing faintly like a distant star. It twirled slowly in the air, light shimmering across its surface. The air around it seemed to hum with power.


    The others followed suit. One by one, their gems appeared, each glowing with its own distinct hue. Scarlet, silver, hints of yellow, lavender, gold.


    Andora crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Do you see now why it was foolish to run back into battle unprepared?” She shot a pointed look at Havoc and Alaric and, then, at Atlantika and Titan. “Yes, Dero told me everything.”


    I winced. Of course he did.


    “Now listen,” she continued. “The Gems provide you endless magical energy, but never mistake that for invincibility. Magic still drains your stamina. Push too far, and your body will pay the price. They’re a well that never runs dry—but you can still drown if you aren’t careful.”


    “Any questions?” she added, almost daring us to ask. “Good, no questions.”


    “Yeah—” Alaric started, but Andora raised her hand sharply.


    "I said no questions.”


    Before anyone could argue, she waved her hand—and the world blurred.


    The stone chamber twisted away like smoke, and suddenly I was somewhere else—somewhere familiar. The sky stretched overhead, endless and luminous. A field of stars shimmered around me, and the air seemed to hum with whispers and forgotten thoughts.


    The Plane of Consciousness. It felt the same when I arrived, however, it now looked different.


    “Welcome back, Zenith,” a calm voice greeted.


    I turned, already knowing who I’d see. “Hello, Yashka,” I said.