Meeting the God of fate

Two nights had fallen since their departure, and the group found themselves near Essed, forced to halt their journey to rest. The once-roaring bonfire had dwindled to embers, casting a warm glow across the tents. The moon hung low in the sky, accompanied by a scattering of stars.

The tension between Arnin and Immortal Elyon still lingered, a residual echo of their argument two days prior. Elyon's attempt to restore Prince Khane's meridian had ended in failure, causing the prince to spurt blood. Arnin's own essence, counterproductive to Khane's, left the prince to meditate alone.

As Arnin slept, Elyon had vanished into the night, his destination unknown. Lady Phera's foresight in packing tents had proven fortunate, providing shelter for the weary travelers. She and her bodyguard slumbered in separate tents, while Arnin shared a tent with Prince Khane – or so he thought.

Arnin stirred, instinctively reaching out to the other side of the tent. His hand met empty air. He opened his eyes, disoriented, and sat up to scan the darkness. Prince Khane's absence struck him like a cold breeze.

Crawling out of the tent, Arnin spotted Prince Khane meditating beneath the starry sky. Sitting in a lotus form and eyes closed, Khane seemed lost in his own world.

Concern etched on his face, Arnin approached and settled beside him on the ground.

"You've been at this for too long," Arnin said softly, worry creeping into his voice. "Get some rest

Prince Khane's furrowed brows reflected his frustration. "Why doesn't it work? Why does it feel like I'm wasting my time?"

He opened his eyes, bitterness lacing his voice. "If I were truly a great martial artist, wouldn't recovering my essence be easier?"

Arnin settled into a comfortable position, resting his cheek on his palm,while his elbow was on his knee that was slightly raised. "Many great martial artists have had their meridians destroyed, never to practice martial arts or recover their essence again."

Prince Khane nodded solemnly. "You're saying I have no hope."

Arnin shook his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're not many martial artist." He chuckled. "You are you. And you will get your essence back. The chance isn't slim; it's yours to take."

Prince Khane's curiosity piqued. "You sound certain."

"I am," Arnin said, his confidence unwavering.

"Sometimes you act... different," Prince Khane observed. "What do you mean by 'you are you'? Are you referring to my name, 'Nameless'?"

Arnin yawned, his gaze drifting sideways. "More than that. But when the time comes, I'm not sure I'll be around to see it."

Prince Khane's curiosity turned to confusion. "What do you mean?"

Arnin had already retreated into the tent, leaving Prince Khane with unanswered questions.

"Arnin!" Prince Khane called out, following him into the tent.

Inside, Prince Khane found Arnin settling in, his eyes already closing. "What did you mean?" Prince Khane pressed, his voice low and urgent.

Arnin's gentle smile was the only response, his breathing slowing into sleep.

************************************

IN HEAVEN

Elyon's eternal strides carried him through the shimmering silver mist that veiled the threshold of the Hall of Fate. The air vibrated with the whispers of countless destinies, echoing through eternity. Towering trees with bark like polished obsidian stood sentinel, their branches tangled in a canopy of glittering starlight.

As Elyon walked, the mist parted to reveal the Hall's entrance: a majestic archway crafted from a single piece of gleaming crystal.

Elyon stepped through the archway, and the crystal seemed to hum in resonance with his immortal essence.

The entrance chamber's walls were adorned with intricate Chronokeep, woven from fibers that shone like gold and silver. The floor was polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the Chronokeep and creating an illusion of infinite depth.

Beyond the entrance, the Hall of fate unfolded like a vast, crystal cathedral. Towering pillars supported the vaulted ceiling, where a mosaic of celestial bodies wheeled in an eternal dance. The room pulsed with a soft, ethereal glow.

At the hall's center stood the legendary Loom of Destiny, its frame shimmering with an otherworldly energy. Threads of every hue crisscrossed the loom, weaving the Fabric of Fate. Seated beside the loom, on a throne carved from a single starstone, was the God of Fate: xiylara

Her gaze, like the stars on a clear night, shone with ancient wisdom as she raised her eyes to meet Elyon's approach.

And beside her was the immortal of fate,Aethon.

"Welcome, Elyon, Immortal from the Hall of Time," Aethon, the Immortal of Fate, said, "Your presence is expected."

Elyon bowed deeply, his raven hair with subtle streaks of silver cascading down his shoulders. "Greetings, God of Fate, Xiylara," he said, his hands crossed across his chest.

Raising his head, he intertwined his fingers and met Aethon's gaze. "Greetings, Aethon, Immortal of Fate."

Xiylara gaze beckoned him closer from her throne. "Come forth and state your request."

Elyon stepped forward, his voice clear and purposeful. "I seek knowledge of one named Arnin's fate."

Unspoken thoughts swirled behind Elyon's eyes. Long ago, he had deceived Arnin, claiming to have read his fate to bolster the young warrior's courage.

Yet, their recent argument had stirred unrest within him, for he saw echoes of his own master from 200 years past in Arnin's.

Aethon's eyes narrowed. "State your reason, Elyon. Omit no detail if you desire an accurate answer."

"Or perhaps," Aethon, the Immortal of Fate, ventured, "do you think Arnin is the reincarnation of Tarath?"

Immortal Elyon's hesitation was palpable before he responded, "No, but this matter is connected to that. It concerns Bain."

Aethon's gaze darted to xiylara, the God of Fate, before returning to Elyon. "Bain, the demon guardian of Lyrien Alsan? Was he not the brother of the Demon Gold red Fox clan's leader, renowned for his unparalleled power among the realms and died 200 years ago?"

Elyon's affirmation was simple. "Yes."

xiylara's grin illuminated her face as she chimed in, "Aethon, you omitted a crucial detail.

Bain was Immortal Elyon's master during his mortal life, was he not?" Her eyes sparkled with intrigue, fixed on Elyon.