Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

In the sun-drenched expanse of the Western Territory, where the Luminaries held sway, a small figure moved with predatory grace. Six-year-old Luci, an orphan with an adventurous spirit that defied her tender age, was on the hunt. By her side, a scrappy, loyal pup named Gale mirrored her intensity, his tail a stiff rudder as they stalked their unseen quarry.

"Bows and arrows on my quiver," Luci murmured to herself, a serious mantra. She tightened the laces of her worn shoes, then cinched the belt where her small dagger gleamed. With a final, decisive gesture, she pulled her wild hair into a tight ponytail. Her face, usually alight with curiosity, hardened into what she proudly called her "war face." She let out a small, fierce battle cry, more a whisper of determination than a shout. "The hunt is on, let's go, Gale!"

Old man Algen, his eyes crinkling at the corners, watched her playful intensity. "And oh, the little hunter is ready," he mused, a gentle smile on his lips. He shuffled closer, his voice soft but firm. "Alright, stay close to me, okay? And Gale, make sure to guard our very young huntress." He knelt, pointing at a small pile on the forest floor. "Now, observe. So tell me, this dung, what animal do you think it belonged to?"

Luci scrunched up her nose, poking it with a stick. "Umm, it smells bad, and it's... small? And a bit wet, and it feels and looks like it's fresh. Hahaha."

Algen chuckled, a warm sound that always comforted her. "Okay, go on," he prompted.

"It's a Randir!" she declared with conviction, naming an animal that was a local delicacy, prized for its delicious meat.

Algen laughed, a heartier sound this time. "Hahaha! You were just guessing, little sprout. This one is Gale's poop!" Before Luci could protest, a faint metallic click echoed through the trees. The distinct sound of their trap signaling a capture. "And it seems our trap has already caught one! Let's go!"

"Wow, for real!" Luci's eyes widened, her previous disappointment forgotten. "Yay! Our first prey!" She scampered ahead, then gasped, spotting the tiny creature in the snare. "Wowwww, so cute!"

Algen reached the trap, his face sombering slightly. "I'm sorry, Luci, but it will be our dinner."

"But... but... can't we just keep it as our pet?" she pleaded, her voice a small whimper.

"Well, our stomachs first, little one," he said gently, retrieving the rabbit. "Sorry, rabbit. It's survival of the fittest."

Algen had taken Luci in when she was very young, practically her neighbor's child, after her parents had succumbed to the Malice Bloom, one of the many insidious effects of the encroaching chaos. He raised her as his very own, their small, secluded village existing under the distant, almost theoretical, protection of the Luminaries. They hunted for their food and traded items in a nearby village, carving out a simple, precarious existence.

But time, as it always did, caught up with Algen. One day, he fell terribly ill, his old age finally claiming its toll. Luci, barely more than a child herself, tended to him tirelessly, hunting herself to ensure they had food on their table. She sought medical help from neighbors, from other nearby villages, but no one seemed able to help beyond offering meager support and prayers. Algen was simply too old, too sick.

In her desperation, Luci turned to the Luminaries. She journeyed to a nearby town that housed a modest Luminary church, approaching a kind-faced priest. "Please, sir, help my grandpa! He's dying!" she begged, tears streaming down her face.

"Come, child," the priest said, his voice laced with compassion. "We will help you and your grandpa. I will send someone to assist."

"Really? That's great!" Luci's face lit up with a fragile hope.

As he spoke, the priest, who bore a glowing divine ring gifted by the Luminary higher-ups, felt a peculiar sensation. The ring, used for detecting and purging ailments, pulsed with an unusual energy, its light intensifying rapidly. It was reacting to her. "Little girl, what is your name? Come, here for a second. My ring usually detects and purges ailments, but it reacted to you. Are you sick? Let me check." He reached for her hand.

Luci, trusting despite her fear, offered her hand. The priest's eyes widened. He didn't feel a sickness; he felt the ring being powered up, its holy light flaring almost painfully bright, as if her very touch was infusing it with raw, immense power. "What... what is this?" he murmured, bewildered. He quickly recovered, his tone shifting. "Luci, I will send someone to help your grandpa, I promise. But I have a request for you. Would you mind staying? Someone with higher authority will come and check your condition. My ring detected something from you... something beyond an ailment." He didn't reveal the true nature of his discovery, but his mind raced: "This girl is something truly different. A divinity of light reacts to her. Those above must know about this. This is unlike any blessing I've ever witnessed, a power that resonates with the very heart of the Luminary's light."

That night, a man with a very majestic and holy aura, almost blinding in its purity, appeared before Luci and the bewildered priest. It was Elder Valtherus, one of the three Athenari.

"Your Holiness," the priest stammered, bowing deeply, "this girl... the divine artifact reacted to her. It was unlike anything I've ever seen."

Valtherus's gaze, calm and all-knowing, rested on the priest. "You've done well reporting it." With a deliberate, gentle movement, Valtherus placed a hand on the priest's head. "I'm sorry, but you have to forget what happened here." A wave of light energy emanated from his hand, and the priest's eyes glazed over, his memories of Luci and the strange incident gently, completely erased. Valtherus then extended the same courtesy to the few other villagers who might have witnessed the encounter.

He turned to Luci, his gaze softening. "Little girl, my name is Valtherus. Your grandpa is sick, and there is nothing more we can do for him, but I promise to give him a proper burial."

Luci's small body convulsed with sobs, the unfamiliar ache of loss a gaping wound in her chest, sharp and cold. "Let me see my grandpa once more..." she whimpered, grief overwhelming her. Valtherus knelt and comforted her, his touch radiating a soothing warmth. A profound, alien comfort seemed to seep into her, a temporary balm against the biting cold of grief.

"I'm sorry, little child," he murmured, gently wiping her tears. "I will take care of you, if you allow me. No harm will come to you, and no one else will be able to." Luci, heartbroken and utterly alone, didn't deny the request. She knew very well that she had nowhere else to go.

And so, Valtherus took Luci to a secret, secluded enclave within the heart of the Luminary domain's capital. Here, surrounded by unparalleled beauty and comfort, she lived her life like a princess. Her new home was a symphony of polished marble and hushed echoes, the air perpetually scented with rare blossoms, a stark contrast to the damp earth and pine needles of her old life. Here, the chirping of crickets was replaced by the soft rustle of silk, and the distant call of a Randir by the murmur of unseen servants. Valtherus visited her often, ensuring she had everything she needed: maids, guards, and his personal selection for her Main Bodyguard: Hans.

Hans became Luci's shadow, her most loyal servant, butler, bodyguard, assistant, and secretary—everything she could possibly need. Their bond formed quickly, built on Hans's quiet, unwavering dedication and Luci's innocent trust. He moved with an almost imperceptible grace, his presence a constant, comforting vigilance. Once, when a stray gust of wind threatened to dislodge a loose roof tile above Luci's favorite reading nook, Hans was there, a blur of motion, securing it before she even looked up. His protection was absolute, anticipating dangers she never even perceived.

Valtherus, however, ensured Luci was not spoiled. Instead, he meticulously oversaw her education, grooming her to be a powerful leader someday. Luci, never once complaining, absorbed every lesson with a keen intellect and a deep sense of gratitude. She was determined to repay Valtherus for his kindness. She learned everything there was to learn within her access, and by "everything," Valtherus meant all the knowledge an Athenari could ever possess, including their most guarded secrets and ancient lore.

Valtherus had informed his two fellow Athenari about Luci, and they had all agreed to keep her existence a profound secret. No one outside their direct circle was to know about her. Their attitude and treatment of Luci were markedly overprotective, almost to an extreme degree, constantly reinforcing the idea that they were shielding her from "someone" – a very specific, unnamed threat. Sometimes, Luci would catch Hans's eyes darting to a seemingly empty corner, or see a fleeting tension cross Valtherus's regal features when the conversation brushed too close to the 'why' of her secrecy.

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Luci eventually met the other two Athenari, and they confirmed her unique status. "You are one of us too, child," they had told her. "That is why we will care for you, and one day, you will rule beside us." Young Luci, barely comprehending the full weight of their words, continued to study everything they taught her: academics, combat, sports, etiquette—the upbringing of a future ruler, and nothing less.

Years melted into a tapestry of growth and knowledge for Luci. The little girl who hunted rabbits with Gale blossomed, accumulating an astonishing amount of information from the Athenari's hidden vaults. She was trained in the Light Divinity by Valtherus himself, not merely as a student, but treated as a cherished daughter and an intellectual equal. Their bond was deep, built on mutual respect and shared curiosity. Luci never hesitated to question, and Valtherus, with his expansive wisdom, always remained open-minded, even to her most unorthodox inquiries. Yet, Luci, perceptive beyond her years, instinctively understood the unspoken limits of her questioning, the subtle boundaries she should not yet cross.

Her thirst for understanding soon extended beyond the confines of the secluded enclave. Luci yearned to see the world she was destined to lead, to understand the people she was meant to protect. She requested permission to roam outside, a privilege Valtherus never denied her. He trusted her judgment, and Luci, in turn, respected him too much to stray without his knowledge. Before each excursion, Valtherus would always cast a powerful protective spell upon her, one that carefully suppressed her raw light divinity, shielding her true nature from accidental exposure or malicious detection. In time, he even taught Luci how to cast the very same spell herself, using the nascent Light Divinity within her to shroud her own radiance.

Thus, Luci began her regular forays into the Western Territory, always guarded by her ever-loyal companion, Hans. Their outings were a blend of exploration and service. They visited bustling markets, not just to observe, but to shop for items for the enclave's maids and her household staff, a small act that connected her to the lives of others. Though she lived a life of undeniable luxury, Valtherus had instilled in her a profound ethos of helpfulness and sharing. She wasn't content merely to witness suffering; she actively sought to alleviate it. She made sure to help people within the West, offering her hidden resources and unwavering compassion. She even joined local missions, aiding in the search for lost travelers and dedicating her time to reuniting desperate families torn apart by the growing unrest.

The young Luci's upbringing was indeed a happy one, filled with experiences only royalty could dream of. Yet, she never once became proud or overbearing. Valtherus had meticulously groomed her with impeccable manners and a mindset perfectly suited to a future leader. She could go where she wanted, eat what she desired, but always with the understanding that she would ask for permission before leaving the enclave—a rule she had, in fact, imposed upon herself as a mark of respect for Valtherus. One could truly say she was a perfect daughter, embodying every virtue a parent could wish for.

But as she matured, her vast knowledge of history and the world's current condition clashed with the carefully constructed reality presented by the Athenari. She was not blind, nor was she foolish. She saw the pervasive injustice, the widespread hunger, the endless wars and conflicts, the insidious monsters, and the clear divisions between territories and their influential leaders. She had studied the lore of the Gods, the nature of Divinities, and the power of Divinants. Her knowledge was encyclopedic, far wider than any other.

Yet, this very knowledge fueled a growing, gnawing discontent. She was an Athenari, she knew, and the Athenari supposedly "ruled within the shadow of Luminaries." But why? Each new scroll she unrolled, each whispered word she unearthed, laid another stone in the foundation of her gnawing doubt. Nights often found her staring at the intricately carved ceiling of her chambers, the vast expanse of the world's suffering clashing violently with the Athenari's apparent inaction. The more she learned, the more her findings contradicted the narrative she'd been given, the more questions she had about the world, and about the Athenari themselves.

As the years advanced, Luci's questions deepened, simmering beneath her composed exterior. She never voiced these burgeoning doubts directly to the other Athenari, always respectful, always polite. Yet, the three ancient beings, Valtherus and his two peers, were acutely aware of the shift within her. They observed her quiet inquiries, her thoughtful silences, and the keen, discerning look in her eyes as she absorbed more of the forbidden knowledge.

In their private conclaves, hidden from all others, they discussed her. "Let her be," one of them murmured, their voice a low, resonant hum. "We don't want her to be like us. She is our hope, a shining, bright light."

"Indeed," another agreed, their gaze distant, as if looking beyond the confines of their hallowed halls. "One day, she will rule over the West, her light purer than our own."

Valtherus, usually the calmest among them, interjected with a rare edge of urgency. "Enough, brothers. Do not downplay yourselves. We didn't have a choice in our path, but we will make certain that Luci will not suffer the same fate."

A heavy silence descended upon the chamber, laden with unspoken burdens and shared, ancient regrets. Valtherus's normally serene expression was etched with a deep weariness, his fingers unconsciously tracing the worn patterns on the obsidian table. The air seemed to grow thick, charged with the weight of decisions made long ago, decisions that had shaped their very existence and bound them to a future they now desperately sought to spare Luci from. Their words, enigmatic and laced with a profound weariness, hinted at a force far beyond their considerable power, a destiny they had inherited rather than chosen. Luci was their chance, their one, precious hope for a future unburdened by the unseen chains that shackled even the mighty Athenari.

As Luci's secret travels extended even beyond the familiar Western Territory, breaching the invisible lines of the Luminary domain, she gained an unparalleled understanding of the world's fractured state. She witnessed the horrifying reality of the Chaos Beings: the Abyssals, their twisted forms and destructive fury. She observed the constant, simmering territorial disputes, and learned of the Untouched Northern Territory of the Elementalists, a land strictly off-limits, shrouded in an almost sacred mystery. The Athenari, she knew, held a profound reverence for the North, acknowledging its crucial role as the keeper of the Holy Veil—a term whispered in hushed tones among scholars, hinting at an ancient barrier or a repository of immense, volatile power.

But with each new piece of knowledge, Luci's curiosity deepened, intertwining with a growing, unsettling doubt, especially concerning the very Chaos Beings themselves. Her exhaustive research in the Athenari's hidden archives had led her to a shocking, almost unbelievable revelation: the Abyssals, or at least their foundational essence, were created by the Athenari themselves. Or so the ancient records implied. They had supposedly fought them for millennia, beings derived from the "Chaos Beings of the Malice Bloom," yet their purpose remained shrouded in layers of redacted text and cryptic allusions. She could almost grasp the theoretical purpose of a "Chaos God" in creating the Malice Bloom, perhaps as a force of balance or raw change. But her Athenari? Why?

The inconsistencies mounted, each one a sharp jab to her deeply ingrained loyalty. Each discovery chipped away at the foundation of her upbringing. She never understood the perplexing truce between the Athenari and the Western territories with the Sword King, a legendary figure whispered to be powerful enough to challenge even their might. Why allow the Abyssals to rule vast stretches of the South, creating enclaves of pure, unchecked chaos? It made no sense for supposed beacons of light. The Athenari, supposedly the world's protectors, felt less like benevolent guardians and more like careful wardens, managing a disaster they had either created or were forced to endure.

Then came a new learning, one that electrified her mind and sharpened her focus: the Legend of Thyranthe. This was no mere rumor; it was a potent, almost messianic prophecy woven by the Abyssals themselves, a fervent hope for a savior of their kind. Luci devoured every scrap of information, her intellect piecing together fragmented lore. She quickly deduced that Thyranthe was real, that he truly existed—a man named Aurel, the one and only Chaos Divinant, a true child of chaos, unlike the abominations called Abyssals which were merely products of some failed, perhaps deliberate, experiment.

Luci was not one to blindly judge the Athenari. She understood the weight of their responsibilities, the complexity of managing a world teetering on the brink. She knew they had undertaken actions that seemed wicked or morally ambiguous, but she always, always began with questions. For what purpose? What was the greater good they sought? Questions spiraled, layers upon layers of unanswered queries that led her to a chilling, undeniable deduction: something was fundamentally wrong with the Athenari's narrative. They were not fully in control.

The thought was a betrayal to everything she had been taught, everything she believed. She desperately hoped she was wrong. Yet, if she was truly an Athenari, destined to rule, why had they allowed her access to such dark secrets? Why groom her with knowledge that contradicted their public image, practically inviting her to discover their hidden truths? It was as if they were subtly, almost desperately, telling her: learn more... we are keeping you here and grooming you to be something specific... but not what you think.

The "why" gnawed at her, fueling an insatiable desire for answers. I know they have done wicked things, but for what, and why? Are they truly evil, or are they trapped? These questions remained unanswered, driving her relentless pursuit of truth.

Lately, the directives emanating from the Athenari, the hushed discussions she overheard, seemed to revolve almost entirely around Thyranthe. Apart from the untouchable Northern Territory and the Sword King, the absolute, inviolable command was clear: Thyranthe must not be touched. Nor provoked. But why? This absolute prohibition, this profound fear surrounding a single individual, was the starkest inconsistency of all.

And at the heart of their most baffling directives, always, was the figure of Thyranthe. Luci's mind, a whirlwind of logic and burgeoning suspicion, began to form a terrifying, yet exhilarating hypothesis. The Athenari weren't just afraid of Thyranthe; they were afraid of what he represented or of his true, possibly uncontrollable, power. Their actions seemed less like calculated control and more like desperate containment. What if Thyranthe wasn't merely a vessel of chaos, but something more? A key? A solution? Or perhaps, a variable that threatened to expose the entire, fragile edifice of the Athenari's hidden world?

Every whispered word, every redacted document, every chilling truth she'd uncovered, now coalesced around one figure. Thyranthe was not just another anomaly; he was the missing piece to her grand, terrifying puzzle. He was the answer to why the Athenari acted as they did, to who truly held the reins of power, and to the nature of the great antagonist they sought to shield her from. She needed answers, and she knew, with an unshakeable certainty, that Thyranthe held them.