Flames of Destiny: The Rise of the Chosen

„Rise my champion." A woman's voice ordered him. „Emerge from the ashes, as I, N'elenia, the Goddess of Fire, bestow life upon you."

From the ashes next to the fire, a miracle started to unfold. The villagers of Nijerel watched in awe as the ashes by the fire started to tremble. Embers danced upon the ground like fireflies, and a warm, luminous glow began to shine from the center of the ashes.

From the light, a figure emerged, rising slowly and majestically. The form grew taller, its features becoming more distinct. First, the outline of a body took form, and then its limbs stretched out and took shape.

The villager's breaths caught as they witnessed the birth of a hero, brought forth, picked by the divine power of N'elenia the Goddess of Fire. The hero's eyes ignited with an intense blaze as he looked around himself. He radiated with a strange energy, with the blessing of a goddess.

The villager's expressions were filled with a mix of wonder and respect for the miracle they had just witnessed. The hero, now bearing the mark of the goddess on his chest, was ready to embark on a journey that would shape the fate of their world.

But not everyone watched with the same passion and respect; a man with red eyes looked with hatred in his eyes. And when others started praising the goddess for choosing her hero, he couldn't bear it anymore.

„This is not true! It can't be!." Everyone stopped and looked. Emberen, the chosen hero, still trying to figure out what just happened, looked at his friend. Pertion's intense crimson eyes were blazing like molten coals in the depths of the night. His gaze fixed upon Emberen, with mad jealousy. His brow furrowed with the weight of envy and anger, while his lips curled into a twisted smile. The firelight danced upon his sharp features, expressing even more the sharp angles of his jawline and his thin cheeks. His pale skin looked almost translucent in the dim light. But as his jealousy grew stronger within, his eyes seemed to burn even brighter.

„It was supposed to be me! I am the chosen one!!" He screamed.

An old man with a long white beard stood up from his stool. Other elders looked at him, waiting to see what he was planning to do.

„Pertion," the old man said gently. „The Goddess of Fire picked her champion; she knows the best; why are you acting like that?"

„But why? I was the one listening to all your stories. I lived the life of the saints! I was supposed to be chosen, so why him? Why Emberen?!" Every time he focused his gaze on Emberen, the brightness in his eyes grew larger.

„We can't know that Pertion, the Goddess knows the best." The old man couldn't understand why this was happening. He knew that Pertion from the first day he came to the village. The boy loved stories and history, and later on, for many centuries, he lived like a saint. Praying to the goddess of fire every single day. That's why he decided to stay in this village—to teach him. Over the centuries, he started taking care of Pertion like he was his own son. When he got the role of one of the Elders, Pertion stood by him; he was a perfect Luminarae. Last night, when the Goddess spoke to him in his dreams that she was going to choose her next champion after so many centuries, the old man thought that he was going insane, but then the blessed fire grew larger, and all the elders claimed that they had the same dream. It was all true; the goddess wants to choose a new champion, and he thought it must be Pertion. But he was mistaken.

„Thornvale, this must be a mistake, and you know it. I will prove it to everyone that I am the real champion of my goddess!" Without hesitating, he moved forward. His hands clenched at his sides, fingers twisting with the intensity of his emotions. And then he lunged towards the blessed fire. The flames, dancing and divine, embraced him with warmth. His form became a silhouette against the blaze, his painful expression visible even amidst the inferno. The fire devoured him, and a mixture of agony and ecstasy painted his features in their final moments. His screams were the loudest that night. And then, as the flames subsided and the air was filled with the scent of charred wood, only ashes remained—and his soul.

Thornvale bent over and picked up his soul. „I am sorry." And then he placed his soul next to two others who had died that day in the fire.

A hushed silence settled over the village. Whispers of the chosen one's name spread like wildfire among the villagers and of the events that happened. The news reached every corner of the settlement, and others started to gather at the village center, where the blessed fire stands. The villagers, young and old, line up in a semi-circle around the altar, their eyes fixed on the sacred fire that burns continuously at the goddess's command.

Then the hero steps forward. The chosen one by N'elenia herself. Many centuries passed since the last hero was chosen, and then there were more people attending this ritual. More people believed, but as time passed, the faith was not as strong as before. So instead of hundreds of people joining the ritual, where they sacrifice their own lives for their goddess, only six were willing to do so this time, and three of them died; one has been chosen. A sudden gust of wind sweeps through, causing the flames to dance higher.

„The Goddess has spoken; the hero is chosen!" Thornvale spoke loudly, so everyone could hear him. „By the ritual, all the souls of the fallen slaves of our goddess that were lost today will be given to the hero to feast on them, on his brothers, so our hero becomes stronger!"

People cheered as they watched him eat the souls.

Emberen became the beacon of hope in a world overshadowed by darkness and someone important overnight. His life has meaning now. While eating, he could still feel the fire burning on his skin and the kiss from the goddess giving him back his soul and his life. He must devote his life now to killing the demons in his goddess's name. As long as he has faith in his goddess, he will be fine; his soul is now in her hands. He is not like others, not anymore. If he dies, his soul won't be lost; with the blessing of N'elenia he will be resurrected every time as long as his belief in her is strong. The bonefires must be lit and the enemies of N'elenia slain; that is his quest.

Now he stood before the council of elders. Their faces were etched with wisdom, each line showing the testament of the passing of time and the burdens they had borne. As the newly chosen champion of N'elenia, he had come to receive their blessings and the tools he would need for his quest.

The atmosphere was heavy, and everyone's attention was focused on Emberen. The elders in robes looked upon him with hope. They entrusted him with a divine duty, and his journey would shape the destiny of their world.

An elder named Irmana, her eyes like pools of ancient knowledge, stepped forward. In her hands, she carried a suit of armor—a magnificent creation that looked like it was made out of light and fire. The armor was forged from the scales of dragons, melted in the heart of a volcano, and forged with the blessings of N'elenia herself.

„Emberen, chosen one of N'elenia," her voice carried the weight of centuries, „wear this armor with the knowledge that it carries the power of our goddess N'elenia. May it help you in your quest and shield you from any harm."

Emberen equipped the armor, feeling its weight settle on his shoulders.

Orek approached with a weapon, the sword known as the Flameclaymore, which gleamed with an inner fire and a sharp edge. The hilt was inscribed with ancient runes that seemed to dance and flicker like flames.

„Emberen, champion of fire," his voice was loud and sharp, „may the enemies of our goddess fall beneath your feat; with each swing, remember that you wield the fury of N'elenia herself."

Taking the Flameclaymore into his grasp, Emberen felt a surge of power course through him. The sword felt alive.

Emberen was now fully equipped to face the challenges that awaited him. The villagers watched him, their eyes filled with admiration.

„Go forth, Emberen," Thronvale's voice echoed, carrying the weight of the elders' collective wisdom. „May N'elenia's wisdom guide you, and may your deeds be a testament to her light."

Emberen slowly turned to leave; the road before him was uncertain and filled with danger. But with the fire of N'elenia that blazed within him, he took the first step, and then the next one; with each step, the flames in him burned brighter, lighting the path that would lead him to his destiny.