Chapter Twenty-One: The Dawn of Choosing

Elias hadn't slept after waking from the dream. He lay on his back, eyes fixed on the shadowed rafters above him, listening to the faint murmur of wind slipping through the eaves. The Sanctuary was still quiet, the world still suspended between night and morning, but his mind pulsed with images he couldn’t unravel—sand shifting beneath his feet, fire reflected in dark eyes, the impossible hall of light, the voice of the Firstborn echoing in a realm that didn’t obey mortal rules.

Who are you?

The question rang through him like a pulse. Who was he? Zekariel’s words felt like a seed—buried deep, already sprouting.

The gray light of dawn seeped slowly across the ceiling, soft and cold. Outside, somewhere far down the corridor, he heard the rhythmic thud of wooden brooms and the soft chatter of monks sweeping away the remnants of the festival. Even the laughter of children—still half-asleep—drifted in and out like birdsong.

Elias was caught between two worlds—the one he had walked in dreams, and the one waiting for him now.

A knock finally broke the silence. Three soft raps, followed by the door cracking open without waiting for a response.

Naomi peeked inside. Her short, dark hair was neatly combed, and she wore her usual robe of ash and river clay.

“You’re awake,” she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Good. I was worried I’d have to drag you out of bed.”

Elias sat up slowly. “What’s the rush for?”

“Big day,” she said, her voice bright with purpose. “The council will meet you this morning.”

He blinked. “Today?”

She nodded. “It’s time. You’ll learn which Circle you’re joining.”

The words felt heavier than he expected. As though she was naming a turning point he had been walking toward blindly.

Naomi watched him for a moment. “Come on,” she said softly. “You should eat breakfast first. The others are already waiting.”

The main courtyard was strewn with the quiet evidence of celebration. Festival banners hung limp in the morning wind, their bright colors muted by dew. Monks moved through the space in small groups, sweeping petals, folding lantern strings, and collecting trays left out overnight. Children darted among them, still buzzing with leftover excitement, occasionally stopping to help—or to get in the way.

Elias followed Naomi down the steps and through the corridor leading to the small dining hall. The scent of warm flatbread and spiced milk drifted out before they even reached the doorway.

Julian spotted him immediately. “There he is!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms as if Elias were returning from war. “The man of the hour! Future Circle member! Let’s hope it’s not the Watchers; they never laugh at my jokes.”

Reina gave Julian a light smack on the arm. “Ignore him. He’s been insufferable all morning.”

“I’m celebrating,” Julian protested. “It’s not every day one of us gets chosen.”

Valerie and Marcus were already settled at the table, a stack of flatbreads between them. Valerie gave Elias a small nod. Marcus raised a hand in greeting, though the gesture was half-obscured by the cup he was drinking from.

Elias took a seat beside Naomi. The wooden bench was warm from the bodies that had sat there before him.

“Did they tell you which circle?” Marcus asked, leaning forward slightly.

“No,” Elias said. “Naomi only told me about the meeting.”

Julian leaned in dramatically. “Well, obviously it’s not the Artisans. Kiran already tried to recruit you, and you completely ghosted him.”

“I didn’t ghost him,” Elias said.

“Yes, you did,” Reina said flatly. “You disappeared for two days.”

“I was helping Naomi!”

“That’s what ghosting is,” Julian declared. “It’s when you don’t respond because you’re doing something else.”

Naomi snorted into her cup. “He was literally cleaning the Sanctuary.”

“Ah yes,” Julian said, placing a hand over his heart. “A noble calling, truly. Scrubbing floors, sweeping dust, and avoiding emotional responsibility.”

Valerie sighed. “Julian, please stop talking.”

“See?” he said, gesturing at her proudly. “Even Valerie agrees. It must be destiny.”

The table erupted in overlapping laughter, and even Elias found himself smiling. The warmth of the moment settled over him gently. It felt like being anchored—pulled back from the confusion and weight of the dream.

But underneath the humor and noise, he caught a few shared glances—they were happy for him, yet brimming with curiosity and hope.

He found that strangely comforting and terrifying at the same time.

After the plates emptied and the chatter slowed, Naomi rose from her seat. “We should get moving,” she said softly. “The council chamber won’t wait.”

Julian leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Good luck, Elias. Don’t trip on the way in. It sets a terrible first impression.”

Reina smacked him again.

The corridors near the higher levels of the Sanctuary were quiet, almost echoing. They passed through long stone hallways lined with intricately carved friezes depicting the Sanctuary’s history—journeys of founders, scenes of ancient rituals, silhouettes of the First Ones represented in stylized, almost mythic forms.

Naomi walked beside him, hands folded behind her back.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said suddenly.

Elias looked at her. “What?”

She shook her head. “Not now. After the meeting. It’ll make more sense then.”

He frowned, but she didn’t elaborate. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, guarded.

“What’s going to happen inside?” he asked.

“The council will welcome you,” she said. “Formally. Then they’ll tell you which Circle you’re joining. Nothing complicated. No tests. No trials.”

“Seems too… simple.”

“That’s how it works,” Naomi said. “Circle assignment is just a recognition—an acceptance into the place you’re meant to be.”

Her voice faltered slightly on the last word. Elias didn’t say anything.

Two Guardians stood outside the heavy circular doors of the council chamber, an unmoving, formal barrier in their iron-grey robes. The morning light deepened the shadows in the crisp folds of their garments, making them look as if they were carved from the mountain itself.

One of them inclined his head. “Wait here until you are summoned.”

Naomi gave a small nod and stepped aside with Elias.

The corridor was quiet except for the faint thrum of the Sanctuary’s internal fountains echoing from deep below. The doors were dominated by a great seven-pointed star, its points tipped with the symbols of each Circle—a spiral for the Healers, a mountain crest for the Guardians, flowing script for the Artisans, a flame for the Hidden Ones, a starburst for the Heralds, a rooted tree for the Guides, and the sigil of the Watchers: two eyes within a crescent arc.

Naomi shifted her weight slightly. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not,” Elias said.

She raised one eyebrow.

“Okay,” he admitted. “I’m a little nervous.”

“That’s normal.”

He glanced at her. “You’re really going to tell me afterward?”

“Yes.”

“Is it bad?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Not bad. Just… important.”

Before Elias could press her further, the great doors swung open. Alistair stood framed in the doorway, his formal robes falling in clean lines over his shoulders. His eyes found Elias’s—unreadable, but not unkind.

“We’re ready for you,” he said.

Naomi squeezed Elias’s arm once—a small, grounding gesture—and stepped back.

Elias inhaled and stepped inside.

The room was circular, enormous, and carved directly into the mountain itself. The ceiling rose high above him in a domed arc, its apex open to the sky. Through the circular aperture, pale morning light spilled down in a sharp, brilliant shaft that cut across the chamber. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the opening, occasionally catching the beam like suspended crystals before vanishing into the shadowed air.

Seven seats stood in a perfect ring around the central space, each one carved from the same ancient stone as the chamber itself—smooth, broad-backed, and shaped with simple but intentional lines. Symbols of each Circle were carved subtly into the rock behind each chair, catching the light in faint grooves.

Miraya occupied the Seat of the Guides, the carved tree behind her seeming to root her to the very mountain. She was composed as always, her hands resting gently on her lap.

To her right, Lucien sat straight-backed beneath the Guardian sigil, eyes focused, posture rigid.

Next was Master Chiara of the Healers, serene and warm as ever.

Master Imani sat in the seat of the Hidden Ones—a still, quiet presence who met Elias’s gaze with a calm nod that made something in his chest tighten.

Master Lan of the Watchers sat with the stillness of a deep pool, her eyes holding a calm, all-seeing light.

Kiran occupied the Artisan seat, fingers tapping lightly against his knee.

And finally, the Heralds’ seat—where Master Alistair sat, with a small, welcoming smile.

The air was cold and still as Elias stepped into the center of the circle under the immense weight of the council’s gaze.

The doors closed behind him with a deep, resonant thud.

Miraya lifted her chin slightly. “Elias,” she said with a kind voice. “Welcome. We have much to speak of today.”

Elias was confused; this did not sound like the simple announcement Naomi had spoken of.

Before Elias could speak, she continued. “The council gathered today expecting a routine assignment. But we have not reached agreement. The problem is that two Circle Heads stand in firm opposition, and after much deliberation, we decided the final arguments must be heard with you present.”

She turned to face Lucien. “Lucien, you may speak first. Then we will hear Kiran’s argument.”

Lucien stood tall in his iron-grey robes, the fabric hanging in disciplined folds, perfectly pressed, perfectly ordered. He clasped his hands behind his back—a commander’s stance, controlled, unyielding. Every line in his posture suggested a man who looked at the world and saw threats before possibilities.

“Thank you, Miraya,” he said. His voice was smooth, formal, and utterly devoid of warmth. “I will be direct.”

He stepped forward just enough to command the space, positioning himself between Elias and the council rather than addressing Elias directly. “We are here to evaluate placement. To determine where this young man’s skills, temperament, and capabilities pose the least risk and the greatest benefit.”

Elias stiffened at the word risk, but Lucien didn’t spare him a glance.

“I speak from professional concern,” Lucien continued. “Not fear, not sentiment. Only facts.”

His eyes swept the circle, pausing briefly on Kiran before returning to Miraya and the others.

“Elias has the instincts of a guardian,” Lucien said. “He was born a soldier. His mind remembers combat. His reactions are shaped by trauma, and survival instinct.”

He clasped his hands tighter behind him.

“When I was a soldier,” he added, quietly, “I learned to recognize the ones who carried that kind of instinct. The ones who reacted before they understood why. The ones who had been shaped by danger into something sharp.”

His gaze hardened slightly.

“Elias is one of them.”

The chamber grew still.

Lucien began a slow, measured pace—not restless, but deliberate, each step a calculated point in his argument.

“You are all aware of the accident in the training courts,” he said, “that day, Elias faced one of my best men. He held back, yes—admirable restraint. But restraint is not control. The moment he was pushed, his instincts overrode conscious decision-making.”

His tone sharpened, though still carefully neutral.

“He fought like a seasoned warrior, moving faster than he understood. And when confronted with a threat, his awakening flared beyond his ability to moderate it. He was thrown across the field by an awakened Guardian—and his response was not fear. It was readiness for escalation, and automatic aggression as a reflex.”

The memory flickered through Elias, but he kept his eyes fixed on Lucien. He would not look down.

Lucien continued. “These are not the traits of an Artisan. Artisans require deliberation, patience, emotional clarity. A steadiness of heart. Elias has skill with his hands, yes—but that is not enough. Skill does not define a Circle. Temperament does.”

Kiran exhaled sharply, but said nothing yet.

“He has potential, I don’t deny that. But power without control is a blade without a sheath,” Lucien said, his voice low, cold, absolute. “In the Guardians’ ranks, discipline is a necessity, not a suggestion. We are trained to control our power, our reactions, our instincts. And he lacks that control—not by fault, but by nature of his awakening.”

He folded his hands before him now; a subtle shift that felt almost like he was closing an argument on a battlefield. He let the silence hang for a beat before delivering his final judgment, his voice the flat tone of absolute authority. “With all that said, I strongly believe that the Guardians are the only Circle equipped to provide the structure he needs—before that blade cuts deeper than he intends.”

Finally—though briefly—he allowed his eyes to meet Elias’s. The look was neither hostile nor kind. It was pure evaluation.

Then Lucien stepped back into his seat, and as he sat, the chamber seemed to exhale.

Miraya turned her attention to the Artisan’s seat. “Kiran,” she said softly. “You may speak.”

Kiran rose slowly—not with Lucien’s rigid precision, but with a quiet, controlled breath. His bronze Artisan robes shimmered faintly where the morning light touched them. Normally, he radiated an effortless calm, the serenity of a man who carved beauty out of silence. But today… there was a subtle unrest in him.

His fingers tapped once against the arm of his stone seat before he caught himself. His gaze slid briefly to Elias—not appraising, but searching. As though trying to understand him from the inside out.

He stepped forward only one pace. Enough to be seen, not enough to dominate the space. “Members of the council… Elias,” Kiran began. He said Elias’s name with warmth, grounding the room again.

“I hear Lucien’s concerns. And I understand them. He speaks from a place of caution—perhaps necessary caution.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“But caution without hope is simply fear dressed as wisdom,” Kiran continued.

A quiet murmur passed through the council. Kiran’s gaze returned to Elias, holding it with gentle steadiness. “You have lived as a soldier,” Kiran said. “Yes. Your hands have held weapons. Your life has been carved by conflict. But I have watched you closely these past days—not in the training courts, but where it matters more.”

He began to pace, slowly, thoughtfully, his fingers brushing the edge of his robe like an unconscious tether.

“I have seen the way you repair what is broken. The way you take time to fix hinges and mend frames no one asked you to touch. The way you stay late after meals to help carry trays, even when no one notices.”

He stopped pacing and faced Elias directly. “Soldiers react. But builders choose. And you choose kindness every chance you get.”

Elias felt heat rising in his chest—not embarrassment, but something deeper; maybe recognition.

Kiran’s voice softened. “You think your hands remember battle.” He shook his head. “But I see something else. Your hands remember creation too.”

“Elias,” he continued. “When you carved that wooden ornament in the courtyard—the lotus—you did it without thought. As if your fingers remembered the grain of wood more naturally than the handle of a weapon.”

Elias blinked. He’d barely remembered doing that—shaping the scrap of wood as he spoke with Julian and Reina.

Kiran pressed on. “You are drawn to the Artisans not because you are safe, gentle, or harmless. But because creation is how you breathe. How you make sense of the world.”

He took a slow breath, then looked to the rest of the council.

“It is not fair to force him into a mold shaped by fear—fear of his power, fear of his past. By doing so, we risk extinguishing a part of him that may be vital not only to him, but to us all.”

Kiran’s hands tightened slightly. “I won’t pretend he is not dangerous,” he said quietly. “But danger is not the absence of goodness. It is the presence of force. And force can be used to build, just as it can be used to destroy.”

Silence pooled at his feet. He stepped back, but before sitting, he offered one final thought—not to the council, but to Elias. “You are not what the world made you,” Kiran said softly. “You are what you choose to be.”

Miraya surveyed the circle,her gaze deep and reflective. “Kiran and Lucien both speak from truth,” she said finally. “They speak from what they see in him—both danger… and potential. They also speak from what they wish for him, and for his future. But we must not forget that this is not our decision to make; we are simply here to guide.”

She turned her gaze to Elias. “You have spent your life walking paths chosen for you. The world has shaped you with hardship. Circumstance has pushed you where you never wished to go. But now you have to decide—you should choose the path you want to take.”

Miraya’s voice softened into something almost maternal. “You stand between two noble paths. One of protection. One of creation. Your heart knows the rhythm it follows, you just have to listen to it.” She leaned back in her seat, her tone leaving no room for objection. “The council will honor your choice.”

Silence fell over the chamber. Elias felt his heartbeat in his throat. He drew a slow breath as the weight of the choice settled over him like a mantle.

He looked at Lucien. The Guardian sat rigid, his expression hard and inscrutable. Elias saw the reflection of his own fears in his eyes—the violence that came too easily, and maybe even the darkness that he carried. Lucien offered control—a cage for the monster, a way to ensure he never hurts the people he cares about. It was the safe choice. It was the soldier’s choice.

You have always been a warrior, a voice whispered in his head. It is what you know.

Then he looked at Kiran. The Artisan sat forward, hands clasped loosely, eyes bright with quiet faith. He didn’t look at Elias as something dangerous that had to be secured, but as a rough stone waiting to be polished.

Elias looked down at his own hands. They had held weapons. They had dug graves. But then he remembered the feeling of the chisel in his hand—the smell of shaved wood, the satisfaction of a joint fitting perfectly together.

He realized then that he had spent lifetimes fighting. For a heartbeat, he saw Sigrid’s face—blurring into faces he had known in lifetimes he could not name. He had thrown himself against the tide of suffering again and again, trying to protect, trying to save, and always failing. The sword could maybe stop the blow, but it could never heal the wound.

To stop trying is the only true failure, that’s what the old man said to Ravos in the play. But perhaps trying didn’t mean fighting the same war over and over; perhaps it meant building a world that made the war obsolete.

Elias took a breath. The air in the chamber felt thin and sharp. He turned his back on Lucien and faced Kiran.

“I have spent my life breaking things,” Elias said, his voice echoing in the stone dome. “Or trying to stop them from being broken. But I’m tired of looking at the world as a battlefield.” He paused, his gaze steady. “I don’t want to hold a weapon anymore. I want to build something that lasts.”

Kiran’s face broke into a smile—radiant and uncontained. Lucien exhaled sharply, a sound of frustration.

Miraya rose from her seat. “So be it,” she said, her voice ringing with finality. “Elias Shirazi, the Council recognizes your heart. From this day forward, you walk the path of the Artisans. May your hands shape the future you desire.”

The tension in the room snapped, replaced by a palpable sense of release. Kiran stood and walked over, placing a hand on Elias’s shoulder. “Welcome, brother.”

Elias smiled, letting out a breath he felt he’d been holding for a thousand years.

The Council dismissed the others, but as Elias turned to leave, Miraya raised a hand. “Elias,” she said gently. “Please stay; I need to talk to you.”

Kiran gave him a knowing nod and departed with the others. Elias waited until the great doors closed, leaving him alone with the Elder in the vast, sunlit chamber.

“You must be wondering what else I wish to speak of,” she began. “Not everyone on the council agreed I should tell you this, but I believe you must know.”

She walked toward him, closing the distance between them, her gaze unwavering. “The first time we met, I told you of our brother, Elyon—that our Father banished him from Heaven… but we never knew where to.”

Elias remembered seeing Elyon in that dream, walking toward his destiny, and a deep sorrow filled his chest.

“For thousands of years,”Miraya said, “we have searched for a sign of him. Of Elyon. We knew he was banished, cast down just as we were, but the Father erased his name so completely that not even a whisper of his fate remained. We feared he had been unmade. Dissolved into the void.”

Miraya paused for a moment, and a new intensity sharpened her features. “But that all changed when you guys found that artifact,” she said, her voice now clear and certain. “The stone tablet you brought back is not just a relic, it is proof.”

She took a deliberate step closer, her eyes locking onto his. “Elyon is here. He has been here all along.”

Elias felt a shockwave go through him. “He… he is here?”

“He is,” Miraya whispered. “Destined to cycle through mortality just as we are. Living, dying, forgetting. He is out there right now, walking among us, unaware of who he is.”

The words hung in the air, vast and inescapable. He is out there right now. Elias could only stare, the silence between them grown thick with the dust of centuries.

Miraya watched him absorb it, her own expression grave. Then, slowly, she drew a steadying breath. “But there is more,” she said, her voice lowering once more. “The tablet is not just a record—it is a prophecy.”

Elias looked at her. “What does it say?”

Miraya’s expression grew solemn. “It says that when this tablet is found, the sleep of the Firstborn ends, and he will awaken. That he will find the pieces of himself he lost.”

She closed her eyes briefly, as if steadying herself. “And it says that when he rises, he will gather his fallen brothers and sisters to break this endless cycle… and they will face the Final Judgment together.”

The room went silent. Outside, the wind howled softly against the stone dome.

“Judgment?” Elias asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Against who?”

“The prophecy does not specify,” Miraya said with a grave tone. “It only speaks of the Final Judgment—for what crime, by whose hand… we do not know.”

A cold, unthinkable question formed in the silence of Elias’s mind—would it be God’s judgment upon them… or theirs upon God?

Miraya broke the silence, her voice louder now. “Naomi plans to leave soon. She believes if she can track down the site where this tablet was found, she may find more clues.”

“I want to go with her,” Elias replied without hesitation.

She smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “I expected nothing less from you, but you are an Artisan now, and you answer to Kiran. However, I doubt if he would deny you the permission if you ask him.”

He huffed a quiet laugh—he was lucky he didn’t choose the Guardians.

“One more thing,” Miraya said, her gaze locking with Elias’s. “Whoever Al-Rashid works for knows we have this now. The hidden war is over. If they find Elyon first, we risk losing everything—and Naomi knows it.”

She reached out and took his hands. The worry in her eyes was unmistakable. “That is why she may act recklessly. I need you to be careful. I need you to bring her home safe.” She paused, her voice softening to a near whisper. “I am asking you this as a mother.”

Elias pressed her hands in return, his grip firm. “I will protect her with my life, you have my word.”

“Thank you,” she said with a small relief in her voice. “Now go, I am sure that she is waiting for you.”

Elias bowed slowly and then turned toward the chamber’s door. Pushing it open, he saw Naomi waiting for him with a kind smile. “Congratulations. You are now officially an Artisan.”

“So Kiran told you?” he asked with a laugh.

“Yes. He was practically glowing,” she replied.

“Well, it’s true. I’m an Artisan,” he said, returning her smile. “And I’m coming with you. I’ll get Kiran’s permission, no matter what.”

“My mother told you,” Naomi said, a hint of chagrin in her voice. “I wanted to tell you myself, but I didn’t want to worry you before you meet the Council.”

“Next time you have news that big, try telling me before the entire Order knows,” Elias teased.

“I will. I promise.” Her smile returned. “Now come on. The others are waiting to celebrate you officially joining the Order. Julian will finish all the good food if we’re late. I don’t think Reina can hold him back much longer.”

They both laughed and fell into step, heading toward the halls where the celebration awaited. Elias knew he should feel nothing but relief, but one thought anchored itself in his mind—Elyon was out there, and they were going to find him. He might finally have a chance to keep the impossible vow he’d sworn to Sigrid. After all, if anyone could help him do that, it was the Firstborn.

The past few months had brought him further than he’d ever dreamed. He was no longer lost. But as he walked beside Naomi toward the laughter and light, he knew with quiet certainty that his true journey was only beginning.

End of Book One.