Somewhere, beyond the borders of Olkaris...
The dry lands of Velh'Ciriand fell silent under a moon shrouded by mists. A low, deep sound, similar to the call of an ancient drum, reverberated beneath the earth.
In the surroundings of a forgotten crater, hooded figures surrounded an altar made of bones and twisted roots. In the center, a black crystal pulsed with an opaque light.
A woman—tall, slender, with silver hair and eyes black as coal—approached the crystal.
Her garments were made of living fibers, moving like serpents. She touched the cristal with her fingertips.
"He has awakened," she said, her voice resonating like multiple echoes. "The Bearer is among us."
The Lady of Shadows, as she was known among her followers, was ancient beyond mortal reckoning. Though she appeared as a silver-haired woman of indeterminate age, her true nature was something far more complex—a being who had witnessed the creation of the Dome itself and had spent millennia plotting its transformation. Her black eyes reflected no light, instead seeming to absorb it, creating the unsettling impression of looking into bottomless wells.
The living fibers that composed her garments were not mere decoration but symbiotic organisms that served as extensions of her will and awareness. They writhed continuously, occasionally forming patterns that resembled the same sigil being created by the proliferation of Dead Zones across Inhevaen—a complex design meant to weaken specific points in the Dome's structure.
One of the hooded figures stepped back, trembling.
"Should we act? He is still young..."
The Black Thorn Guild members who served the Lady were not unified in their understanding of her ultimate goals. Some believed they worked toward the Dome's destruction and the liberation of Inhevaen from its confines—adherents to the Rav'Kaal philosophy who saw the Dome as a prison rather than protection. Others followed more nihilistic motivations, believing that the current cycle of existence had grown corrupt and stagnant, requiring a cleansing destruction before renewal could occur.
What none of them fully comprehended was that the Lady's true agenda transcended such limited perspectives. Her relationship with the entity she called the "son of Chaos" was not one of simple alliance but something far more intricate—a dance of manipulation and counter-manipulation spanning eons.
The woman smiled, without warmth.
"Precisely because of that. Before he learns what he is. Before the Dome teaches him to remember. The time of waiting is over."
Her cold smile revealed nothing of her true thoughts. The Bearer's awakening was both a threat and an opportunity in her grand design. While his potential power could disrupt her carefully laid plans, his youth and inexperience made him vulnerable to manipulation. More importantly, his very existence created instabilities in the Dome's structure that she could exploit—ripples in the fabric of reality that would allow her to expand the Dead Zones more rapidly than before.
The crystal pulsed more intensely as she withdrew her hand, its black surface reflecting distorted images of Mount Ilhyr and the aftermath of the attack. Through this scrying device, she had witnessed Karel's transformation and the Dome's direct intervention—information that would shape her next moves in the complex game she played against forces both within and beyond the Dome.
"Prepare the next phase," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for question. "The pattern must be completed before the Bearer fully comes into his power."
The hooded figures bowed in unison, then dispersed to carry out her orders. Each would return to their assigned territories across Inhevaen, coordinating attacks on Shyrr shipments, creating new Dead Zones according to the master pattern, and infiltrating key political structures to sow discord among the seven races.
Left alone with the pulsing crystal, the Lady of Shadows allowed her mask of calm confidence to slip momentarily. The Bearer's manifestation had occurred earlier tan her calculations had predicted, suggesting that other forces were at work—perhaps the Dome itself had accelerated events in response to her activities. This variable would require adjustments to her timeline.
She passed her hand over the crystal once more, shifting its focus to the University of Ny'theras where a young Sylarei woman was reporting her encounter with a Child of Silence in a recently formed Dead Zone. The Lady's eyes narrowed with interest. This Merial could prove useful—another piece to position on the board as the game entered its next critical phase.
Three days later, in the healing chambers of Mount Ilhyr...
Karel awoke with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat despite the cool mountain air. The chamber around him was dimly lit by bioluminescent fungi cultivated by Zhyren healers, casting everything in a soft blue glow. He tried to sit up but found his limbs heavy and unresponsive, as if he had been asleep for weeks rather than days.
"Careful," said a gentle voice from beside his bed. "Your body is still adjusting."
Karel turned his head to see Elder Tharolis seated nearby, his face lined with exhaustion but his eyes alert and watchful. The elder's robes were simpler than his ceremonial attire, but the five distinct colors woven into the fabric—representing his five awakened gifts—seemed to shimmer with unusual intensity in the blue light.
"What... happened?" Karel managed, his throat dry and voice raspy.
Tharolis offered him a cup of water infused with healing herbs before answering. "What do you remember?"
Karel closed his eyes, trying to organize the chaotic fragments of memory that swirled through his mind. "The ceremony... the attack... and then..." He hesitated, unsure how to describe the overwhelming presence that had taken control of his body and spoken through him. "Something used me. The Dome, I think. It spoke through me."
Tharolis nodded slowly, his expression grave. "Not just spoke through you, Karel. It awakened something in you that hasn't been seen among the Olkhar for generations."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice though they were alone in the chamber. "You manifested seven gifts."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Seven gifts—the theoretical maximum, mentioned only in the most ancient texts, never documented in living memory. Karel stared at the elder in disbelief, trying to process what this meant.
"That's impossible," he whispered. "No one has more than five. Even the histories only speak of six as a theoretical—"
"And yet, here you are," Tharolis interrupted gently. "We've confirmed it through multiple tests while you were unconscious. All seven magical signatures are present in your system, fully awakened and beginning to stabilize."
Karel felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, not entirely from physical weakness. The implications were staggering. Among the Olkhar, the number of awakened gifts directly correlated to social standing and political influence. A seven-gift bearer would be unprecedented—a figure of legend suddenly made flesh.