Ouralis's pillars groaned like anguished souls, citadel foundations shifting in grief with deep creaks. Obsidian fragments, jagged-edged with a pulsing glow, fell from upper vaults, striking a stone with crystalline chimes like distant bells heralding change. A wave of bowed heads followed the clamour; the crowd held its breath, stunned silence broken only by stifled gasps. Those obsidian shards held ancient essence, earth's very spirit, black surfaces flecked with red veins throbbing like living blood. Their fall was an omen: a signal that citadel energies stirred at their lord's departure, a magical disturbance prickling every nape.
As the crowd looked up, eyes sought pieces now resting on the stone floor, gleaming with defiant inner light. Some believed shards held past secrets, whispers of forgotten battles; others murmured they foretold the future, glimpses of coming storms. Whatever the truth, the fragments' presence recalled the citadel's ancestral magic and mysteries beyond understanding. For that reason, no one dared touch them, fearing to awaken forces the eternal fire had just claimed for itself.
Amid the chaos, as all bowed their heads in collective grief, no one noticed the child's movement. Eryndor's hands rose with lightning speed, snatching a pair of fragments before the knights could see, his small fingers closing around the hot shapes with an audacity surprising even him. The obsidian's heat seeped into his skin, its pulse beating in time with his own heart, a racing rhythm hammering his temples and sweating his palms. He hid the fragments in his tunic folds, feeling their heat burn against his chest like living embers threatening to scorch fabric, a secret weight anchoring him to the trembling ground.
Standing amid the crowd, Eryndor's eyes gleamed with a trembling secret, a possession overshadowing the moment's sadness, as adults murmured prayers and crossed themselves before fire's remains. Invisible eyes seemed to watch the boy from Ouralis's depths, making his nape prickle, but no one looked up; While others wept Lord Vaelric's passing with stifled sobs and clasped hands, the child's heart swelled with forbidden thrill, a fascination torrent drowning budding fear. His cousins beside him kept heads bowed, oblivious to the burning bulge now distorting his childish silhouette.
Amid rite and reverence, destiny had chosen him silently, granting a secret to guide his path, a forbidden artifact whispering promises in his immature mind. The hidden pulse of the fragment seemed to awaken something within, a dormant purpose awaiting breath to ignite, like a seed underground waiting for rain. Eryndor clenched teeth to not gasp at growing heat, glimpsing fleeting visions: flames dancing in strange patterns, shadows moving with cunning intelligence. The crowd began dispersing slowly, dragging steps scraping stone, low voices trading fallen lord memories, but the boy lagged, pretending to adjust cloak to buy time.
As the crowd dispersed, he blended among them, eyes shining with knowledge of his hidden treasure, heat spreading through torso like unknown vitality. Each step a test, fragment brushing bare skin under tunic, sending energy waves prickling his arm hairs. The world around was about to change, with him at storm's centre, though his childish mind grasped only greater truth's echoes. He passed a knight bowing in respect, holding breath, hiding the luminous bulge under clothes.
Cousins sought him with worried glances, whispering: "Eryndor, come, don't lag," but he waved vaguely, heart pounding as he concealed burden. Air still smelled of smoke and hot obsidian, aroma clinging to his skin like invisible brand. In the cobblestone streets' gloom, as the procession unravelled into scattered groups, Eryndor felt the fragment throb stronger, as if responding to touch, infusing boldness he never knew. No one stopped him; no one suspected the silent child now bearing citadel's omen against chest.
Noon sun struggled through grey clouds, casting long shadows hiding secret as he walked to humble outskirts home. Each fragment brush sent heat sparks, reminding risk: discovery meant harsh punishment, exiled from sacred rite as profaning thief. That chance only fueled resolve, a childish fire propelling forward. Reaching the splintered wood door, he slipped inside unseen, fragment still pulsing against heart, promising a revelations young soul barely imagined.
His young mind could not comprehend what had just happened and its magnitude, but deep within, something stirred, destiny's invisible thread tightening, ready to pull toward the unknown. What power slept in stolen obsidian? What storms would it unleash in the years ahead? The child curled on the cot as heat spreading into his body like a blessed fever. Outside, the world continued ignorant of the happenings and mourning.