Jack and Elyra found themselves caught in a swirl of disorienting light and shadow, the library around them disintegrating like sand slipping through their fingers. The world twisted and warped until they were no longer standing in the cold, dim vastness of the library. Instead, they were immersed in a vivid memory, one so rich and all-encompassing that their own senses seemed secondary to the moment they were experiencing. This was not a mere vision; it was a recollection so detailed and alive that it felt as if they had been thrust into the past itself.

  They stood in the middle of a grand corridor, its high-vaulted ceilings stretching into a distant gloom punctuated by the delicate gleam of crystalline chandeliers. Polished stone walls rose around them, intricately etched with the elegant script of an ancient elven language. The craftsmanship was otherworldly, each line and curve shimmering faintly with residual magic, giving the entire place a living, breathing presence.

  Every detail was breathtaking, from the towering archways engraved with mythic tales to the golden inlays tracing the borders of mural-like windows. Those windows, impossibly tall and delicate, caught and fractured the sunlight, casting the corridor in a dazzling interplay of amber, gold, and silver hues. The warmth of the sunlight mingled with a delicate scent carried by the breeze—wildflowers, fresh and sharp, entwined with something sweeter, almost intoxicating.

  Jack felt Elyra’s presence beside him, but even their own identities felt muted by the overwhelming clarity of the memory. They were no longer observers, separated by time and space; they were part of this world, woven into its fabric.

  Ahead of them, a child’s hesitant footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor. The girl couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. She walked with the caution of someone both curious and unsure, her gaze flitting from the ornate architecture to her parents with wide-eyed wonder. Her hair, a brilliant cascade of silver, rippled down her back like liquid moonlight, its shine so pure it seemed to absorb and reflect the light surrounding her.

  Her golden eyes, however, told a different story. Beneath the curiosity, there was apprehension. A sense of duty perhaps too heavy for her small shoulders, as if she was acutely aware of the importance of this moment.

  “Stay close, Celia,” came a voice rich with authority yet softened by affection. It was a voice that commanded attention effortlessly, deep and powerful. The man who spoke towered beside her, his tall frame draped in resplendent robes woven with silver thread so fine it looked like stardust sewn into fabric. His hair matched Celia’s in its silver sheen, though faint lines of age marked his face, giving him an air of both wisdom and severity.

  “Husband, she’s fine.” The woman’s voice was softer, melodic even, but there was a sharpness to her words, a quiet strength. She moved with a grace that seemed instinctual, her emerald hair shimmering with the deep, vibrant hue of ancient forests. It reminded Jack of Elyra’s green tresses. Unlike her husband’s robes, her attire was more practical—still elegant, but designed for movement and purpose. Her expression, though gentle, bore a resolute determination.

  “I just want her to be prepared, Mirala,” the man—Valloran—replied, his gaze never straying far from the child between them. “She will awaken her Light Attunement today, and this marks the first step toward embracing her destiny.”

  Mirala’s eyes narrowed, her mouth tightening as she glanced toward their daughter. “She’s still so young, Valloran. Can’t we let her enjoy her childhood just a little longer? She should be playing, not… whatever this is.”

  “The gift of Light is not something to be taken lightly,” Valloran’s voice lowered, his tone bearing the weight of tradition and expectation. “If she possesses it, then her training must begin. You know as well as I that the world is becoming more perilous with each passing year.”

  Celia’s fingers clenched around the fabric of her dress, her small hands trembling as if the gravity of her father’s words seeped into her bones. “I’ll do my best, Father,” she whispered, her voice high-pitched but steady.

  Valloran’s expression softened, a brief, genuine warmth breaking through his stern demeanor. “I know you will, Celia. You have greatness within you.”

  Jack exchanged a glance with Elyra, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is Celia’s childhood… and those must be her parents.”

  “Yes.” Elyra’s eyes were fixed on the family ahead of them, her expression tight with concentration. “They seem… important. Powerful.”

  “They definitely are,” Jack agreed, his attention shifting to Valloran’s commanding presence. “The way he talks about Light Attunement… it sounds like it’s something only a select few can achieve.”

  As they followed the family down the corridor, the memory continued to pull them along. Their phantom-like forms passed effortlessly through solid walls and obstacles, as though nothing in this world could hinder them. It was a sensation both freeing and deeply unsettling.

  Ahead, the corridor widened, opening into a grand vestibule dominated by a massive door of radiant gold. The door’s surface was engraved with exquisite sun motifs, their curves and flourishes so intricate they seemed to shift and dance under the light. Etched between the designs were phrases in ancient elven, words that thrummed with raw power.

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  Flanking the door were two beings of pure light. Towering figures sculpted from radiant energy, their forms rippled and shimmered like living flames given structure. Their eyes, glowing orbs of amber, radiated a cold, merciless awareness.

  “What… what are those?” Jack’s voice was hoarse, barely containing his astonishment.

  “Luxarions. Solar Elementals,” Elyra answered, her voice hushed. “Beings from the Plane of Molten Skies where Light, Air and Fire overlap. They aren’t alive in the way we are, but their consciousness is undeniable. When summoned to this Plane they exist only to fulfill their purpose.”

  “And if someone tries to get past them?” Jack asked, unable to tear his gaze from the creatures’ luminous forms.

  “They would strike down intruders without hesitation,” Elyra replied grimly. “The fury of the sun itself… turned into guardians.”

  Valloran stepped forward with the unwavering confidence of one accustomed to power. His words were clear and commanding. “By the grace of the Hightower and the Light that binds, let us pass.”

  The Solar Elementals shifted, their forms parting like curtains of flame, revealing the entrance to the chamber beyond. As the golden door swung open, the air grew warmer, a heavy, oppressive heat that felt alive.

  Beyond the door lay a vast, circular chamber. The domed ceiling rose high above, glittering with gold-threaded patterns that spiraled and intertwined like celestial constellations. At the chamber’s heart floated a radiant crystal, pure and blinding in its brilliance. It pulsed like a living thing, its glow gentle yet fierce.

  “Behold the Sunheart,” Valloran proclaimed grandly as he gestured at the floating crystal. “An artifact of unimaginable power. It’ holds the purest essences of Light and Fire. Who knows little Celia, if you awaken a Fire Attunement as well you might eventually gain the Sun Attunement. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

  Celia stared at the Sunheart with a mixture of awe and terror, her golden eyes reflecting the crystal’s brilliant glow. Her small hands clenched at her sides, trembling with a mixture of excitement and fear. The air itself seemed to hum with energy, vibrating at a frequency that made Jack’s teeth ache. This chamber was more than sacred. It was a place where power and destiny intertwined.

  “What if… what if I don’t have the Light Attunement?” Celia’s voice came out strained, as if the weight of her father’s expectations threatened to crush her small frame.

  Valloran’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing. “You are my daughter, Celia. I am the son of the Hightower Patriarch, and every descendant of our bloodline has possessed the Light Attunement. You will not fail.”

  His words were meant to be reassuring, but they landed like a command. The kind of statement that didn’t allow for weakness, for doubt, or for failure.

  Celia swallowed hard, her shoulders straightening as if she could force herself into confidence through sheer will. She glanced up at her mother, searching for comfort, but Mirala’s expression was unreadable—her eyes shadowed with concern, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

  “Go ahead, Celia,” Mirala said softly. “No matter what happens, we will still love you.”

  The words seemed to give the child a measure of courage. Celia stepped forward, her bare feet making barely a sound on the polished stone floor. Her small hands reached out toward the Sunheart, her fingertips trembling as they made contact with the crystal’s surface.

  The response was immediate. A surge of radiant energy flared from the Sunheart, enveloping Celia’s entire body in a shimmering aura of light. The glow was so intense Jack had to avert his gaze. Even Elyra raised a hand to shield her eyes, her expression one of stunned reverence.

  But then something went wrong.

  The brilliance of the light began to fracture, splintering into chaotic patterns of crimson and gold. Where the glow should have been pure and steady, it became a turbulent storm of color. The golden hue of the Light Attunement was present, but it struggled against the angry, dancing embers of red, like a wildfire fighting to consume a radiant flame.

  Celia’s face twisted with pain, her eyes wide with terror as the light fought against her. And then, slowly, the glow faded. The warmth dissipated, leaving her shivering in the sudden chill of the chamber.

  Her eyes lifted to meet her parents gaze, but they stepped back in shock.

  “The Fire Attunement…” Mirala’s voice cracked, the words spoken as though they hurt to utter. “But that’s impossible. No one in your family has ever failed to—”

  “No.” Valloran’s voice was low and trembling, his fists clenching at his sides. His jaw was set so hard it looked like it might shatter from the tension. “This… this cannot be.”

  “Valloran, please,” Mirala began, her voice thick with desperation. “She’s our daughter. What does it matter if her attunement is—”

  “It matters because she is meant to carry the Light!” Valloran’s voice exploded with fury, echoing through the chamber like the crash of thunder. “My bloodline is pure. Every descendant of the Hightower has borne the Light. The only explanation… is that she is not truly mine.”

  Mirala’s expression went deathly pale, her eyes wide with horror. “What are you saying? Of course she’s yours. I have never—”

  “Lies!” Valloran roared, his face twisted with rage and betrayal. “You have deceived me. Betrayed me! You’ve tainted my legacy!”

  The ferocity of his accusations seemed to ripple through the chamber itself, the air growing heavier and hotter. The golden lines etched into the ceiling flickered and dimmed, their glow waning under the force of his anger.

  “Please, Valloran, listen to me. You’re letting your pride cloud your judgment,” Mirala pleaded, her voice trembling but still strong. “This doesn’t change who she is. Celia is still our daughter, regardless of her attunement.”

  “No more lies, Mirala.” Valloran’s hand rose, his fingers crackling with luminous energy. His expression was one of sheer, cold determination, as if all the warmth he’d ever felt toward his wife had been burned away in a single instant of fury.

  The glow intensified, swirling around his hand like molten gold. Jack could feel the heat from where he stood, his own body instinctively recoiling from the raw power Valloran wielded. It was the sort of power that could tear through flesh and stone with equal ease.

  “Stop!” Celia’s voice was a shattered cry, but the plea barely registered. Valloran’s rage had consumed him, leaving no room for mercy or reason.

  In a blinding flash of golden light, the energy lanced forward, striking Mirala with merciless precision. The force of the blast slammed her against the stone floor, her scream cut short before it even fully formed.

  The silence that followed was deafening. Mirala’s body lay still, her emerald hair fanned out around her like spilled paint.

  For a moment, Valloran stood frozen, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with something caught between madness and disbelief. But the weight of his own actions settled upon him quickly, his gaze falling to his daughter, who knelt beside her mother’s lifeless body, her tiny shoulders shaking with sobs.

  “Mother, please… wake up.” Celia’s voice was small, broken. She reached out to touch Mirala’s arm, her fingers trembling as if by sheer will she could undo what had been done.

  Valloran’s face twisted with a different sort of anguish, his own eyes brimming with something akin to panic. But that panic quickly hardened into resolve, the rage within him transforming into something colder, sharper.

  “She’s dead because of you,” he spat, his words laced with venom. “Because you were born flawed. Corrupted. A stain upon my bloodline.”

  Celia’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face staring at her father in horror. The accusation hit her like a physical blow, her small body quivering under the weight of his hatred.

  “No… Father, I—”

  “Enough!” Valloran’s voice cracked like a whip. “You are not my daughter. You are nothing but a mistake, a curse I should have purged the moment you drew your first breath.”

  Without another word, he turned and stormed from the chamber, his furious steps echoing down the corridor until even those sounds faded into the crushing silence.