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Chapter 13 - The Awakening

Morning arrived gently within Wilfred's domain. The sky shimmered with hues of gold and silver, reflecting across the calm surface of the water that surrounded the open plain. Mist drifted lazily, and the soft sound of ripples carried through the air. Everything was quiet — peaceful enough that even a whisper could be heard.

Leofric stood by the water's edge, his arms crossed, watching Olivia with a skeptical look. He still couldn't understand how a little girl like her could be "the destined one." She stood barefoot on the grassy bank, her hair dancing lightly in the morning breeze, eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. Edith was beside her, cheering softly, though she herself looked unsure of what exactly they were supposed to be doing.

Wilfred stood a short distance away, hands folded behind his back, as he observed them in silence. The air around him seemed stiller than usual, as if nature itself was listening to him breathe. His calm gaze never left Olivia.

"Your training begins today," Wilfred finally said. His voice echoed softly across the open space. "Not with strength, not with weapons — but with understanding. Power means nothing if your spirit wavers."

Olivia blinked, unsure if she understood. "So… I just have to stand here?"

Wilfred smiled faintly. "For now, yes. Feel the air around you. Listen to the rhythm of the water. Don't think — just be."

Leofric sighed under his breath. "This doesn't look like training to me."

Wilfred glanced at him without turning his head. "You train your sword, Leofric. She trains her soul. They're not the same."

Leofric shrugged but said nothing more. Edith giggled softly, while Olivia frowned, closing her eyes as she tried to focus. For a moment, nothing happened — only the sound of the gentle breeze brushing against the grass.

But soon, the calm began to shift. The air grew faintly charged, the water stirred ever so slightly. Olivia's hands trembled as she clenched her fists. She could feel something moving deep inside her — something wild, something waiting.

"I… I can feel it," she whispered.

Wilfred nodded slowly. "Good. Don't fight it — let it flow."

But Olivia's excitement got the better of her. The energy rushed out of her like a wave — uncontrolled, unsteady. The water flared upward for a moment, then crashed back violently, splashing in every direction. Edith ducked behind Leofric, who simply stood there drenched, staring blankly at the rippling water.

Olivia winced. "I didn't mean to—"

Wilfred raised a hand. "Control comes with calm. Power obeys those who listen, not those who demand."

There was silence again. Olivia's gaze softened; her small hands loosened. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching the water's surface settle. Then, closing her eyes, she tried once more.

This time, there was no struggle. The water around her began to shimmer gently, circling her feet like a quiet stream. Tiny specks of light appeared — faint at first, then brighter, dancing like fireflies around her. Her expression was calm, serene, as if she finally understood what Wilfred meant.

Wilfred smiled, his eyes softening. "She's awakening."

Leofric's jaw dropped. "By the heavens… what is that?"

"Her spirit," Wilfred said quietly. "Responding to the call of destiny."

The glow around Olivia pulsed once, then faded into the still air, leaving only gentle ripples behind. She opened her eyes, her breathing steady. For a brief moment, the reflection on the water showed not her face, but something vast and dark moving beneath — a faint shadow stirring in another realm.

None of them noticed.

Wilfred turned away, the faintest crease forming between his brows. "This is only the beginning."

Meanwhile, after Lucifer had made all the remaining seven kingdoms bow down to his rule, he made his way to his dark dungeon. Morvain followed closely behind, his steps steady but his mind heavy.

The dark dungeon lay far beneath Osric, buried deep under layers of black stone and ancient enchantments—a place sealed away from light and mortal sound. Only those bound to Lucifer could find their way there, for the paths shifted like shadows, concealing its entrance from uninvited souls. To reach it, one had to descend through the lower halls of Osric, past the silent corridors where the air grew colder and time itself seemed to hesitate.

Morvain was slightly dumbfounded as they moved deeper, under the weight of the stones and the whispering enchantments. Ever since he was born, he had never seen nor even heard of this dreadful place. He continued to walk behind Lucifer, his crimson cloak brushing the walls as the latter paved the way.

Though it was morning on the surface, this place knew no light. The darkness here was alive—breathing, crawling—and the only reason Morvain could see at all was because Lucifer willed it so.

When Lucifer noticed his silence, his voice echoed softly. "You should have noticed by now that I'm not your master."

Morvain's eyes narrowed slightly; he was caught off guard but only for a moment. "I knew the moment you began asking strange questions when I first met you," he replied calmly.

Lucifer let out a low chuckle. "So smart."

Then, his tone shifted, quiet yet sharp. "And you're not afraid I'll kill you as your master did his enemies?"

Morvain met his gaze with a faint, unreadable smile. "I know my worth, my Lord. I know I'm important—to you, and to this kingdom."

Lucifer didn't respond. He merely nodded once, a faint glimmer of approval crossing his face.

Soon, they reached the entrance of the dungeon.

The exterior was carved directly into the mountain's heart—a massive archway of black stone, veins of red light pulsing faintly across its surface like flowing blood. Chains hung from the arch, clattering softly even though there was no wind. The air was thick with power, old and cruel, and the ground trembled slightly with every step they took closer.

As they entered, the interior shifted into view—narrow corridors lined with ancient runes that glowed a dim violet, dripping with the residue of long-forgotten sorcery. The scent of molten stone and charred iron filled the air. Somewhere in the distance, faint echoes of whispers slithered through the shadows, as though the walls themselves remembered screams from ages past.

When they reached the main chamber, Morvain froze. At its center stood a vast dark throne, forged entirely from obsidian and shadow. It radiated authority and dread, its form neither solid nor ethereal, like something caught between worlds.

Lucifer's eyes lingered on it for a moment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before he turned toward a smaller door behind the throne.

Morvain trailed behind, his boots clicking softly against the cold stone floor. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—until every breath felt like swallowing smoke.

Lucifer opened the door without hesitation and stepped through. Morvain followed, but the instant his eyes adjusted to what was inside, his body froze.

His pupils dilated, his breath caught in his throat, and he stumbled backward, crashing to the ground in sheer disbelief—his heart pounding violently against his chest as

he stared at what lay before him.

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