"The others?" he asked, remembering the fellow initiates who had been caught in the Dome's intervention.
"All alive, though changed," Tharolis replied. "Most awakened more gifts than they would have naturally—two or three instead of one. A few managed four. One young woman, Liria, manifested five." He paused, his expression troubled. "But none showed signs of seven. That distinction belongs to you alone."
Karel absorbed this information silently, feeling the weight of uniqueness settle upon him like a heavy cloak. Then another memory surfaced—the voice that had spoken through him, addressing something as the "son of Chaos."
"What was it?" he asked. "The thing that came through the fissure. What was trying to attack us?"
Tharolis's expression darkened. "We don't know with certainty. The elders have been debating this question since the attack. Some believe it was a manifestation of the void that exists beyond the Dome—the chaos that our ancestors sought protection from.
Others suggest it might be something more directed, an intelligence that seeks to undermine the Dome's integrity."
He hesitated before continuing. "There are ancient texts that speak of entities that existed before the Dome's creation—beings of immense power that were sealed away. Some of the elders believe what you encountered may have been one such entity, testing the boundaries of its prison."
Karel shuddered, remembering the cold, alien presence he had sensed through the fissure—a consciousness so fundamentally different from anything in Inhevaen that merely perceiving it had felt like a violation of natural law.
"And the woman with silver hair?" he asked, the image surfacing from his fragmented dreams. "I saw her... directing things, somehow."
Tharolis straightened, his expression suddenly alert. "You saw a woman? With silver hair? This wasn't in your initial report."
"I didn't report anything," Karel said, confused. "I've been unconscious."
"You spoke in your sleep," Tharolis explained. "The healers recorded everything, but there was no mention of a woman." He leaned forward intently. "Describe her. Every detail you can remember."
Karel closed his eyes, trying to capture the fleeting image from his dreams. "Tall, unnaturally slender. Silver hair that moved like it was alive. And her eyes..." He shivered.
"Black. Not just dark, but... empty. Like looking into nothing."
Tharolis's face had gone pale. "The Lady of Shadows," he whispered, almost to himself.
"So the rumors are true. She has returned."
"Who is she?" Karel asked, sensing the elder's fear.
"A figure from our oldest histories," Tharolis replied carefully. "She appears in texts from the early days after the Dome's creation, always as an adversary to its stability. Some accounts portray her as a corrupted guardian, others as something that existed before the Dome and resented its imposition." He shook his head. "Most scholars considered her symbolic rather than literal—a personification of the forces that oppose order and structure."
"She seemed very real in my vision," Karel said grimly.
"If she is real, and if she's directing these attacks..." Tharolis didn't finish the thought, but his expression conveyed the gravity of the situation. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision. "You need to know what this means, Karel. What you are."
The elder rose and moved to a small chest in the corner of the room. From it, he withdrew an ancient scroll case made of a material Karel didn't recognize—neither metal nor wood, but something that seemed to shift subtly in the light. Tharolis handled it with extreme care, using a small key to unlock its sealed end.
"This text has been passed down among the Olkhar elders since the earliest days," he explained as he carefully extracted a thin sheet of crystalline material covered in script that seemed to move and rearrange itself as Karel tried to focus on it. "It speaks of a prophecy—one that we have kept secret from the other races for generations."
Tharolis held the crystal sheet so that Karel could see it clearly. The script stabilized, as if recognizing his gaze, forming words in an ancient dialect of the Olkhar language:
"When the Dome's song falters and the void encroaches, the Bearer shall awaken. Seven gifts united in one vessel, the voice of the Dome made flesh. With the Word as guide and the Broken Bond as shield, the Bearer shall either renew the cycle or break it forever."
Karel stared at the text, feeling as if the words were speaking directly to him, resonating with something deep within his newly awakened gifts. "The Bearer," he murmured.
"That's what it called me—what I called myself when it spoke through me."
Tharolis nodded solemnly. "The Bearer of the Dome's will. The one who can hear its song and channel its power directly. According to the prophecy, you are the first to appear in this cycle—perhaps in many cycles."
"And the Word? The Broken Bond?" Karel asked, sensing these were not merely poetic phrases but specific references.
"We believe they refer to individuals who will be crucial to your... mission, for lack of a better term," Tharolis replied. "The Word is likely a Sylarei with exceptional linguistic gifts. The Broken Bond..." He hesitated. "That's less clear. Possibly a Naruun who has lost their Anirû connection, though such individuals rarely survive the trauma."
Karel absorbed this information silently, trying to reconcile the ordinary life he had led until three days ago with the extraordinary destiny now unfolding before him. He had always felt the weight of expectation due to his lineage, but this transcended family obligation or racial pride. This was a burden of cosmic significance.
"What happens now?" he finally asked.
"Now," said Tharolis, carefully returning the crystal sheet to its container, "you begin to learn. All seven gifts must be trained and balanced—a challenge no living teacher has experience with. Your unique status will need to be revealed to the Crystal Council, which will create... political complications."
The elder's diplomatic phrasing didn't disguise the reality: Karel's existence as the Bearer would upend the delicate balance of power among the seven races. The Olkhar, long in decline, would suddenly possess a figure of unprecedented magical potential—a development the other races would view with both fear and opportunism.
"And the attacks?" Karel pressed. "The Lady of Shadows? The Dead Zones appearing across Inhevaen?"
"Those threats will require a coordinated response from all seven races," Tharolis acknowledged. "Which is why you will soon travel to Olkaris for a special session of the Crystal Council. Your uncle, the Regent, has already been informed of your... transformation."
Karel nodded slowly, feeling the weight of responsibility settling onto his shoulders.
Whatever normal life he might have imagined for himself was now gone, replaced by a destiny he had never sought but could not escape.
As if sensing his thoughts, Tharolis placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You are not alone in this burden, Karel. The prophecy speaks of allies—the Word and the Broken Bond. Finding them will be your first task."
"How will I recognize them?" Karel asked.
Tharolis smiled faintly. "The Dome chose you for a reason. Trust that it will guide you to those who are meant to stand with you." His expression grew serious again. "But be cautious. The Lady of Shadows will be seeking them as well—either to turn them to her purpose or to eliminate them before your paths can cross."
Karel closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion despite his long unconsciousness. The magnitude of what lay before him—mastering seven distinct magical traditions, navigating the treacherous politics of the seven races, confronting na ancient adversary, and somehow finding two strangers who were destined to join his cause—seemed impossible.
Yet beneath the fear and uncertainty, he felt something else stirring—a sense of purpose more profound than anything he had known before. The Dome had chosen him, had spoken through him, had awakened in him powers beyond imagining. Whatever trials lay ahead, he would face them.
For he was the Bearer, and the song of the Dome still echoed in his soul.