The Shards of Elarion

The candlelight flickered, casting restless shadows against the towering shelves of the royal archives. Alaris sat hunched over a weathered manuscript, his fingers tracing the faded ink with a reverence that bordered on obsession. The prophecy he had uncovered days ago had burrowed into his mind like a parasite, refusing to let go. Each word, each cryptic verse, weighed heavily on his soul, and the burden was becoming unbearable.

His mentor, Master Eldrin, watched from across the chamber, his face carved with lines of worry. "Alaris," he spoke softly, breaking the thick silence. "You haven't slept in days. The mind cannot function without rest."

Alaris didn't look up. "How can I rest, Master?" he murmured, eyes fixated on the passage that had haunted him since he first laid eyes on it.

*When the five shards are whole once more, the Shattered One shall rise, both savior and harbinger.*

"The Shattered One..." Alaris whispered the words again, the weight of them pressing into his chest like a leaden stone.

Master Eldrin sighed and leaned heavily on his cane, the wood creaking beneath his grip. "You cannot carry the weight of prophecy alone, my boy. Many scholars before you have pondered its meaning, and many will come after."

Alaris finally looked up, his deep-set eyes filled with something beyond mere curiosity—a desperate yearning for understanding. "But what if I am meant to do more than just ponder, Master? What if I am meant to act?"

Eldrin's eyes darkened, and for a fleeting moment, there was something there—fear, perhaps, or something deeper. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Prophecies are dangerous things, Alaris. They twist men's hearts, cloud their judgment. They are not guides, but traps."

Alaris clenched his fists. "Then why does it feel as if this one is speaking to me? As if it knows me?"

Eldrin rested a hand on the young scholar's shoulder. "Because that is the nature of such things. They whisper in your ear, convincing you that you are special, that fate has chosen you." He hesitated, his voice trembling slightly. "But the truth, Alaris, is that prophecies destroy more men than they save."

Alaris swallowed hard, torn between the wisdom of his mentor and the gnawing certainty within him. "Then why was it hidden, Master? Why did the Council of Elders banish these writings to the deepest recesses of the archives?"

Eldrin's face tightened. "Because some knowledge is better left forgotten."

A tense silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant rustling of parchment and the dripping of melting wax.

***

Later that night, Alaris found himself pacing the halls of the grand library, his thoughts swirling like a tempest. His footsteps echoed against the marble floor, the rhythmic sound offering little solace. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the words scrawled across the parchment, the ink bleeding into his mind.

He stopped before an ancient tapestry that hung in the eastern wing—a depiction of the Heartstone's shattering, each kingdom embroiled in the chaos that followed. The image had always fascinated him as a child, but now it filled him with unease.

"What are you hiding?" he whispered to the empty hall.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the corridor, causing the tapestry to shift ever so slightly. Alaris turned sharply, his heart hammering. He wasn't alone.

From the shadows emerged a hooded figure, cloaked in robes of midnight blue, their face obscured. Alaris took a cautious step back, instinctively clutching the satchel at his side.

"Who are you?" Alaris demanded, his voice steady despite the unease creeping up his spine.

The figure did not respond immediately. Instead, they reached into their cloak and produced a small, sealed scroll. They extended it toward him without a word.

Alaris hesitated. Everything within him screamed that this was a trap, yet the allure of knowledge proved too strong. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the parchment. The figure withdrew their hand as soon as the transfer was complete and melted back into the shadows without another sound.

Alaris stood frozen, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He glanced down at the scroll, the wax seal stamped with an unfamiliar sigil—a broken crown encircled by thorns.

With trembling hands, he broke the seal and unfurled the parchment. His eyes scanned the hastily written words:

*The Shards are awakening. Seek the Guardian of the First, before it is too late.*

His blood ran cold. The burden of the prophecy had just become heavier.

***

The next morning, Alaris found himself before the council chamber, his nerves frayed and his thoughts in turmoil. He knew he shouldn't be here. The Council of Elders did not look kindly upon unsolicited visits, especially from lowly scholars. And yet, he could not keep silent.

The great doors opened with a resounding groan, revealing the semicircular hall where the kingdom's most powerful minds gathered. High Scholar Balthus, an imposing figure draped in crimson robes, fixed Alaris with a disapproving glare.

"Alaris of Taldoria, you stand before this council unbidden. What business do you bring before us?"

Alaris swallowed his fear and stepped forward. "My lords, I have come across something... troubling. A prophecy hidden deep within the archives—one that speaks of the Heartstone's return."

Murmurs erupted among the scholars, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright disdain.

Balthus raised a hand, silencing the chatter. "And what of it, young scholar? The Heartstone is a relic of the past, nothing more. The kingdom has no use for myths."

"With all due respect, my lord," Alaris pressed, his voice unwavering, "prophecies have a way of becoming reality. I have reason to believe that forces are already moving to claim the shards. If we do nothing..."

Balthus leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "You dare suggest that you know more than this council, boy?"

Alaris clenched his jaw. "I suggest only that we should not ignore the past. History repeats itself when we refuse to learn from it."

A silence fell over the chamber, thick with tension. Finally, Balthus sighed and leaned back. "You are young, and your passion is commendable, but beware, Alaris—knowledge is a double-edged sword. Dismissed."

Alaris felt his stomach drop, but he bowed respectfully and turned to leave, disappointment gnawing at him. As he stepped out into the corridor, a voice stopped him.

"Scholar."

He turned to see a figure in the shadows—a council member he did not recognize. The man stepped closer, his face partially obscured by the hood of his robe.

"Seek the Guardian of the First," the man whispered, his voice a ghost of sound. "You are not alone in this."

Alaris' heart pounded in his chest as the man disappeared into the shadows, leaving him with more questions than answers.

***

Later that night, as the weight of the council's dismissal pressed heavily on his shoulders, Alaris stood atop the library's grand balcony, gazing out over the kingdom. The stars above seemed to whisper secrets of their own, and for the first time, he felt truly afraid.

The prophecy's burden was his to bear now, whether he wanted it or not. And deep down, he knew the path ahead would be fraught with danger.

But still, he could not turn away.