The frigid night air felt sharp and real, a welcome anchor against the storm of revelations churning within Alph. Kael's question hung between them, simple and direct, yet impossibly complex to answer. For a moment, Alph's mind was a chaotic mix of a forgotten father, a fourteen-year-old aunt carrying him through unknown dangers, and the clinical, detailed descriptions of Professions from the hidden book. His lungs expanded, then slowly contracted, in a measured rhythm. He couldn't tell them about the letter—the secret wasn't his alone to share, and the implications were too vast. He also couldn't reveal the hidden book without admitting he'd snooped far more than he let on. The partial truth, as always, was the safest path.
"Important? I'm not sure," Alph began, his voice carefully measured, betraying none of the turmoil he felt. "But... interesting. Very interesting." He looked from Kael to Emil, choosing his words. "I found a scroll, an old one. It talked about the theories behind the Professions, beyond just folklore. It wasn't just about what you become, but the strengths you get right from the start."
Kael, who had been watching Alph's face with concern, perked up immediately, his curiosity overriding his worry. "Strengths? What do you mean? Like, right away?"
"Exactly," Alph nodded, seizing on his friend's interest. "It said that from the moment of Awakening, a Druid's body is naturally attuned to nature, allowing them to draw strength and resilience from their surroundings.. A Hunter, on the other hand, doesn't just get good with a bow; their senses are immediately heightened, letting them see and hear things others would miss."
"Whoa," Kael breathed, his eyes wide with excitement. "So it's not just about learning a skill? You actually... change?" The idea clearly resonated with his restless, action-oriented nature.
"Imagine," Kael continued, already picturing himself leaping across rooftops and scaling sheer cliffs. "If I Awaken as a Hunter, I could track a deer through a blizzard, hear a rabbit twitch its nose from a mile away! I'd be unstoppable!" He punched the air softly, a grin spreading across his face.
Alph chuckled, grateful for Kael's easy enthusiasm. It helped lighten the weight in his own chest. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he cautioned, though his own thoughts raced with the possibilities the scroll had revealed. "The scroll also talked about training, honing your abilities. It's not like you instantly become a master."
Emil, quieter than usual, spoke up, his gaze fixed on the swirling snow dusting the ground. "What about the Druid?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with a hint of wonder. "Could they… feel the mountain talking to them? Know where the strongest rocks are hidden?" He kicked at a loose pebble, sending it skittering across the frozen earth.
"Maybe," Alph admitted, realizing he hadn't absorbed everything in the scroll. There was so much to learn, so much potential locked within this world. He thought back to the descriptions of advanced Professions, specializations that branched from the core seven. His mind reeled at the thought of what he might become, what he could achieve. The possibilities felt endless, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once.
"We'll see," Kael declared, clapping Emil on the shoulder. "Just eleven more days!" His usual boisterous energy returned, infectious and bright. "And then, who knows? Maybe we'll all be soaring through the sky, talking to rocks, or… whatever Leif does. Probably counting snowflakes." He nudged Alph playfully, their familiar jest a reassuring constant in the shifting ambiguity of what lay ahead.
Alph smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. Despite the lingering unease about his past and the looming threat to Oakhaven, a spark of excitement flickered within him. The Awakening Ceremony, once a source of anxiety, now felt a gateway to a world of possibilities. He imagined himself wielding the powers described in the hidden book, becoming something more than he ever thought possible.
"We should probably head back," Alph said, glancing at the darkening sky. The first stars were beginning to appear, cold and distant. "It's getting late."
"Yeah," Kael agreed, his earlier exuberance tempered by the encroaching night. Emil simply nodded, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere.
With that, Alph and Kael said their goodbyes to a still-pensive Emil, leaving him at the door of Hemlock's dwelling. As the two older boys walked away, Kael continued to chatter excitedly about the possibilities, spinning wild tales of what he'd do with a Hunter's enhanced senses. They parted ways at the small, snow-drifted junction near the center of the village, and Alph walked the final stretch to his own cottage alone. The sudden silence felt profound after Kael's enthusiastic monologue, and the weight of his secrets, old and new, settled back onto his shoulders.
His feet moved on autopilot, his focus lost to the warring truths in his head: a father's last words, Elara's impossible sacrifice, the existence of the hidden book, and the threat of armed men in the woods. He didn't register his path until the crunch of his boots changed, and he looked up to find he'd walked straight past his cottage. He now stood in a secluded grove of pines at the foot of the snowy hills, just beyond the village edge. The moon had risen, casting a stark, pale light that bleached the colour from the world, leaving only deep shadows and glowing snow.
From this slight elevation, Oakhaven's seven scattered lights seemed like tiny, fragile embers threatened by the immense, dark mass of the mountain behind them. The only sound was the faint hiss of the wind through the treetops. The absolute stillness of the scene—the frozen trees, the undisturbed snow—felt like a held breath. It was a place of immense tranquility, a quiet that made the chaos churning inside him feel like a roaring betrayal of the peace around him.
The desire for control, for some tangible action, was overwhelming. Alph brushed the snow off a fallen log, sat down, and crossed his legs in a posture he'd only vaguely seen in illustrations. He closed his eyes. The first step, he reasoned with a lawyer's logic, was to silence the noise. He focused on his breathing, the simple in-and-out rhythm a singular point of focus against the torrent of thoughts. Slowly, methodically, he pushed back against the tide. The urgent questions, the raw wound of the letter, the fear of the mercenaries – he pictured them as distant echoes, fading with each deliberate breath. It wasn't silence, not at first, but a gradual distancing, a quiet space opening up at the very center of his being, profound and calm.
As Alph sank deeper into this ethereal state, the external world began to fall away. The biting cold on his skin, the scent of pine, the faint whisper of the wind – all of it muted, then vanished entirely, replaced by a boundless, quiet dark. He was aware only of his own consciousness, a single point of thought in a vast, empty void. Unbeknownst to him, as his inner world went still, the physical world around him began to stir. The gentle snowfall in the grove intensified, the flakes no longer drifting lazily but falling with purpose. They began to converge on his seated form, not landing on him, but swirling around him in a slow, silent eddy. The swirl quickened, tightening, pulling in more snow from the surrounding air, transforming from a gentle dance into a miniature, focused blizzard. Within moments, the blizzard became a vortex, a churning, roaring tornado of snow and ice with the utterly serene form of Alph sitting at its absolute, unmoving center.