Chaos

It was a solemn day in the Aerendil home base, as the elders gathered to witness the passing of a great rite.

The sun had not yet risen, and the air was heavy with a sense of impending loss.

The mournful sound of ancient chimes drifted through the still morning air, adding to the sense of sorrow that hung over the gathered elves. They stood in an open-air hall, one with the resemblance of an indoor garden or reserve. The trees that lined this place seemed to stand a little taller, their branches stretching out to the darkening sky. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth, as if the ground itself was mourning the loss that was about to take place. The only sound that could be heard was the distant call of a crow, its mournful cry echoing through the stillness that seemed to be shrouded in a deep, oppressive shadow. The whole place had something ethereal about it, as if it was not quite of this world.

At the center stood a stone platform adorned with ancient symbols, their meanings lost to all but those who had studied the old ways, upon which was placed a shimmering crystal covered in intricate patterns, each one representing a different aspect of the elven world. A strange energy built up around the platform. The air crackled with static electricity, and a strange humming sound filled the entire place. The walls seemed to vibrate with the force of the energy, and the symbols that adorned them began to glow with a deep, fiery light.

Beside the crystal stood two elves, which were no other than Roman and Aroa, and surrounding them were the twelve council leaders.

Varg spoke, his voice low and sonorous. "The time has come for the passing of the right. It is a sacred moment, I ask now that all here bear witness to this rite of passage, and honor the sacrifice that is about to be made." As if the crystal on the platform had a sentience of its own, a bolt of lightning shot from the crystal at the center of the platform, striking the floor with a deafening crack. The ground shook, and the walls trembled, as if they were about to collapse.

The figures on the platform remained still, their eyes still closed, their faces serene.

"Bring in the successor," Varg ordered after a few moments of silence. It didn't take time for a figure whose face was covered with a hood to be brought in before those at the platform.

Varg had an unwilling expression on his face. If he could have his way right now, he wouldn't want to proceed with this rite.

As the hooded figure was brought before the platform, they stopped. He raised his head slowly to face Roman and Aroa. His face was still hidden beneath the hood, but his eyes were visible, and they glowed with a strange, otherworldly light.

Roman and Aroa looked at each other, their expressions reflecting the gravity of the moment.

They knew what was about to happen, and they knew that there was no going back, especially for Roman that had had a conversation with this person previously before now.

He couldn't help but recall the entire scene in his head at the moment.

His last words are very vivid in his mind: "I'm not some hero saving the world anymore. Instead, I'm a monster seeking revenge and won't care if I have to watch the world burn to achieve it. If the world stands in my way, I'll crush it just like my enemy, leaving their fine dust to the wind."

Just then, Varg's voice rang out once more, breaking the silence and waking him from his thoughts. "I ask the successor if you are willing to accept the legacy of the Aerendil?"

The hooded figure took down his hood, revealing his face, which was none other than Arthur.

He glanced around and had his gaze land on Roman once more. "I'll say what I told the old man. I'm not accepting any legacy, but I'm going to make those that have hurt me pay for their crime, and that includes your enemy. Whatever you guys do afterwards has nothing to do with me. If you still insist on giving me this legacy, knowing I'm going to go against everything you elves believe in..."

He took a moment of silence, allowing the first words to sink in. "Then I'll walk side by side with the Aerendil to victory in blood and war."

As he spoke, his voice was deep and resonant, echoing around the chamber. The words were spoken with conviction, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he meant what he said.

Varg nodded slowly and turned to Roman and Aroa. "Do you still accept this person as the successor?"

Roman nodded straight away, while Aroa had a special look on her face.

Aroa's face was a mix of emotions. "I just have one thing to ask you. How would you make the ones that harmed my son suffer?"

Arthur looked at her with a serious look, the coldness in his eyes sent a chill to whoever his gaze landed on.

"They would beg for life to be their enemy so they can embrace quick death," each word counted slowly and surely.

Aroa nodded in satisfaction. "I accept him as the successor of my house."

Varg turned back to Arthur. "Arthur, as you have accepted the legacy of the Aerendil, and are now a part of this family. With this comes a great responsibility, and a duty to protect our people. Are you ready to embark on this journey? Are you ready to be the arrowhead of the Aerendil to lead his people to success?"

He looked up and met Varg's gaze. "I am ready," he said, his voice clear and steady. "I'm ready to watch the world burn, leaving no hope for my enemy when I request retribution from them."

Varg nodded slowly, a look of pride and hope on his face, a look he was doing his best to hide as he couldn't help but be glad inwardly. The Aerendil family had been on the dust for too long, finally he could witness their rise once again.

A few female elves stepped forward, bringing elven clothes and accessories as they began taking away Arthur's former clothes and dressing him up with the new set after a pre-bath ritual done.

Arthur stood there with a single thought in his mind: chaos. With the bathing and dressing process done and over with, a newly forged weapon was brought over by a dwarf.

A sword made of pure ice, with intricate patterns carved into the blade.

It was as cold as the heart of winter, and it glowed with an otherworldly light.

The hilt was made of ice as well, and it was shaped like the head of a snow lion.

The sword's guard was adorned with the image of a roaring snow leopard, its eyes glowing with the same otherworldly light as the blade.

The sword's sheath was made of pure, clear ice, and it looked as if it was frozen in time.

The sword seemed to hum with power, and it felt as if it was alive, pulsing with the cold heart of winter.

It was as if the very soul of the sword was made of ice, and it radiated an aura of coldness and power that could be felt even from a distance.

It was both beautiful and terrifying, and those who beheld it could not help but feel a sense of awe and fear.

As Arthur gripped the hilt of the sword, he could feel its power coursing through him. It was as if he had become one with the sword, and it was an extension of his own body. As he raised the sword, the coldness of it was almost unbearable. It felt as if it was sucking the warmth from his body, and yet he felt invigorated by it. It was as if he had become one with the very essence of winter itself.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of energy coursing through him, and he knew what he must do. He brought the sword down in a sweeping arc, and a blast of coldness and power erupted from the blade. A wave of ice and snow rushed forth, freezing everything in its path.

And with that, Arthur knew that he had become a weapon of death and destruction, a weapon that was both beautiful and terrible, a force of nature that could not be controlled.

He had become something more than human, something that was both frightening and fascinating.

He raised the sword again, and felt the coldness of it fill his body. But this time, he focused on something else - something that had been calling to him ever since he had first touched the sword.

A memory, from long ago, when he had first begun his journey as a warrior, a hero on a mission to save the world.

Now he had begun the same journey but on a mission to destroy everything, he had become the exact opposite of the dreams he once had.

The memories flooded his mind, and he could feel the weight of the years that had passed.

He remembered his training, the battles he had fought, and the friends he thought he had made along the way.

He remembered his dreams of becoming a hero, and how they had slowly turned into something else.

Now, he was on a different path, one that would take him to dark places he had never imagined.

But he also remembered the people he cared about, the ones he wanted to do all this for in the first place, the ones he wanted to grow strong for and the ones he wanted to bring back.