The day of Elian's Choosing Ceremony arrived, casting a long shadow of anticipation and anxiety over the village. Skilvyo, now three years old but possessing the intellect and awareness of a seasoned warrior, watched the preparations with a keen, calculating gaze. The festive atmosphere was tinged with an underlying tension, a somber awareness of the looming war and the weight of the choices that would be made.

  Elian, a young man of exceptional strength and agility, stood at the center of the village square, surrounded by his family and friends. He wore simple but well-made clothes, his expression a mixture of determination and trepidation. Skilvyo observed him closely, searching for any hint of the "importance" the Author had mentioned. There was a raw power in Elian, a potential waiting to be unlocked, but also a vulnerability that resonated with Skilvyo.

  The village elder, a woman with eyes as ancient and knowing as the gnarled trees that surrounded their settlement, began the ceremony. Her voice, though aged, carried a surprising resonance, filling the square with an aura of reverence. She spoke of the five war gods, their legendary weapons, and the sacred pact between gods and mortals.

  "Today," she proclaimed, "Elian will choose his path. He will beseech one of the gods to grant him a weapon, a tool to defend our world against the encroaching darkness. May his heart be pure, his spirit strong, and his arm true."

  Elian stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the makeshift altar where five symbols representing the war gods were displayed: a blazing flame for Ignis, a silver crescent moon for Luna, a swirling vortex for Zephyra, a flowing wave for Aqua, and a solid, unyielding stone for Terra. He closed his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer, his entire being radiating an aura of intense concentration.

  Skilvyo watched, his mind racing. He knew, with a certainty that defied his age, that Elian's choice would have far-reaching consequences. Not just for Elian himself, but perhaps for the entire world. He felt a strange pull, a resonance with the energy that crackled around Elian, a sense of… familiarity.

  As Elian's prayer reached its peak, a beam of light descended from the heavens, illuminating the square. It was not a single, focused beam, but rather a confluence of energies, a swirling vortex of all five elements – fire, moonlight, wind, water, and earth – converging upon Elian.

  A collective gasp swept through the crowd. The elder's eyes widened in disbelief. "This… this has never happened before," she whispered, her voice filled with awe and a hint of fear. "The gods… they are all answering?"

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The combined light intensified, and for a moment, Skilvyo could have sworn he saw five distinct figures shimmering within the radiance – the fiery silhouette of Ignis, the graceful form of Luna, the swift outline of Zephyra, the fluid shape of Aqua, and the steadfast presence of Terra. They seemed to be… acknowledging Elian, recognizing something unique within him.

  Suddenly, just as the spectacle reached its zenith, a voice boomed across the square, startling everyone present. It was not the voice of the elder, nor the murmurings of the crowd, but a voice that seemed to vibrate in the very air itself.

  "Alright, alright, everyone calm down! No need to get your divine knickers in a twist. We're just having a little… narrative divergence here."

  The voice, undeniably the Author's, sent ripples of confusion and disbelief through the crowd. Harlan and Elara, standing near the edge of the square, exchanged bewildered glances. Even Elian, bathed in the combined light of the gods, opened his eyes in stunned surprise.

  "Who… who said that?" a villager stammered, his voice trembling.

  "That would be me, folks! Your friendly neighborhood Author, here to provide some… color commentary. And to prevent any… predictable outcomes." The Author's voice chuckled, a sound that was both booming and oddly casual. "You see, we can't have our protagonist's future ally choosing just one weapon, can we? That would be far too… pedestrian."

  The combined light surrounding Elian began to coalesce, to solidify. Five distinct weapons materialized, hovering around him in a breathtaking display of divine power: a flaming greatsword, a silver bow that shimmered with moonlight, a pair of daggers that danced with miniature tornadoes, a trident that pulsed with the energy of the ocean, and a shield that seemed to be made of solid earth.

  The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs. The elder sank to her knees, her face filled with a mixture of reverence and terror. "The gods… they have chosen him… all of them…"

  "Not quite, Granny," the Author corrected, his voice laced with amusement. "They're just… loaning him a set. Think of it as a divine multi-tool. He'll need them, trust me. Things are about to get… interesting."

  Elian, his eyes wide with awe and confusion, reached out and grasped the five weapons. They felt… alive in his hands, extensions of his own being, pulsing with a power that both exhilarated and terrified him. He looked at Skilvyo, a silent question in his gaze.

  Skilvyo, despite his infant form, met Elian's gaze with a knowing look. He couldn't speak, not yet, but he knew, with a certainty that transcended words, that this was the beginning. The seed of destiny had been sown, and the world of Aethelgard was about to reap the harvest. The Author's cryptic words echoed in his mind: Things are about to get… interesting. And Skilvyo, the infant blessed by the god of weapons, knew that he was at the heart of that impending storm.