Chapter 8: The Festival of Hope

  The day had come. The day when all Stonehead breathed a sigh of relief – the Festival of Hope. People from all corners of the kingdom, travelers, merchants, curious souls and long-established residents filled the paths of Alexandrit, the highest of the three mountains. The entire city seemed bathed in a shimmering green, as if it itself had been woven from the light of hope. It was a sight that took the breath away even from the most experienced.

  Shin and Taro walked through the huge stone gate that marked the entrance to Alexandrit. Shin's eyes shone – wide open, full of wonder and childlike enthusiasm. He kept turning, looking up, to the side, trying to take it all in at once.

  “What an incredible city...” he murmured and turned to Taro. “Does it always glow so green?”

  Taro, who looked through the crowd and paid attention to every detail, smiled. “According to the keeper Jaseol, only today. Only on this day. Once a year – and it's the first time I've seen it myself.”

  Shin nodded, but his eyes were still glued to the flowing colors of the walls, the glowing characters above the stalls, the people laughing, dancing, celebrating. “I hope today stays peaceful. Why would anyone want to take such a gift... this hope, just like that?”

  Taro looked at him, silent for a moment. “Maybe, Shin... our hearts are still too pure to understand something like that.”

  They passed Keeper Jaseol, who stood at the entrance and greeted the guests in a raised voice. Taro just murmured softly, “No eye contact. We mustn't attract attention.” Shin nodded in understanding, but his eyes flicked to Jaseol, who threw a glowing symbol into the air – an orange spark exploded silently, and in flaming letters the writing hovered over the crowd: “May the festival of hope warm you and always give you joy.”

  “Was that... a blessing?” Shin asked in a whisper.

  “Probably. But little is known about the powers of the guardians. Maybe it was intentional...”

  Shin was silent. He understood. Too much knowledge could also be a weakness.

  At the same time, Sana strolled alone through the lively streets of the festival. Her eyes wandered curiously from one stand to the next, her fingers gliding over colorful fabrics, rare crystals, small pieces of jewelry. Everywhere she smelled the scent of foreign spices, freshly baked goods, and burning oil. It was lively, wild – and yet she felt a slight twinge in her chest.

  “Those two idiots... hardly know each other, and yet suddenly I feel... redundant?” she murmured softly and rolled her eyes slightly. But then she shook her head and forced a smile. “All right. More time for me, then. For herbs. For peace and quiet. And no nagging voice of Taro in my neck.”

  She laughed softly as she stopped at a stall. The vendor, Xander Rieek, an older man with a gentle smile and weather-beaten face, proudly presented small bundles of plants. “Rockweed,” he said. “Grows deep beneath Citrine. Heals wounds and lowers high fevers when properly processed.”

  Sana took a few samples and thanked him kindly. Her thoughts brightened as she continued down the alley – until something unexpected happened.

  A shadow – a hand. Suddenly she was roughly pulled aside. A short, frightened scream escaped her lips, but it went unheard in the noise of the festival. The curtain of a nearby booth swung open, and Sana disappeared into a dark side street.

  Her body tensed, she yanked the stranger's arm away with all her might, and was about to use her herb pouch as a weapon – but then she stopped.

  Something... held her back. Not the stranger's hand. Something else.

  Something... more familiar.

  Something that confused her – and at the same time made her feel insecure.

  Sana slowly went down on her knees. Her voice was barely more than a whisper – trembling, filled with fear and at the same time with the deepest respect: “My...” But before she could finish the sentence, a warm, calm voice interrupted him. “Get up, Sana.”

  She raised her eyes – her eyes filled with disbelieving amazement. A man stood before her, in whose presence even time seemed to stand still. He was surrounded by an aura that was beyond the human. And yet it was not a cold power, not a threatening force – it was warmth. Gentleness. Light. There was something shimmering in his eyes that she couldn't interpret. And yet... it was hidden by the glow of the light, so that no gaze could truly grasp it. Before she could find any more words, he had vanished. Just like that. As if he had never been there. But Sana knew what she had seen – even if all her questions remained unanswered.

  There was complete silence in the Alexandrit Palace. Lazuli stepped through the main gate, her footsteps gently echoing across the smooth floor. The heavy doors closed behind her, and with them the outside world. Now she was alone – alone with the responsibility that rested on her shoulders.

  “I will miss the festival,” she murmured softly as she strode through the wide halls. “But the safety of our city comes first.”

  The hall was magnificent – walls of polished stone, precious stone set in ancient ornaments. On one side a flaming ruby red, on the other a cool emerald green. At the end of the hall: a massive door, sealed with a symbol that even Lazuli had never seen before.

  “So this... is the seal that Guardian Zircon has guarded for so many years...” Her hand glided over the ancient pattern. But then – a shadow, barely perceptible, flitted across the room. Lazuli turned around abruptly, but there was nothing there. Only emptiness.

  At the same time, the festival grounds were bustling with life. Laughter, music, the scent of food – hope permeated every street of Alexandrit. Guardian Zircon stepped onto the stage and spoke to the people in a firm voice: “Another year lies behind us. It was not always easy. And yet... we are here to celebrate. To remember what it is worth living for: for each other, for what we love – and for the light that wakes us every day anew."

  Taro and Shin watched the scene from the crowd, immersed in the colors of the festival. But then – a whistling sound. A single moment that froze time. An arrow pierced the chest of Guardian Zircon and tore her from the stage, hurling her against a wall, where she remained impaled. A scream pierced the air. Then another. Panic broke out, people ran, fell, called out for their loved ones.

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  Blood dripped to the ground. The festival square, just moments ago filled with joy, descended into chaos.

  Two figures appeared from afar: one of them was wearing elegant red armor, the other was Ameth. Taro recognized her immediately, but Shin was faster: “That's the swordswoman... and the one with the portals! They're two of the five stones of the Black Orlov!”

  Taro only fixed them with his gaze for a moment before pulling Shin to the side. “Come on! We don't have a moment!”

  As they pushed through the panicked crowd, individual figures began to emerge from the people – members of the Black Orlov, long unrecognized, now ready to set everything on fire.

  One of them: small, his skin eaten away by scars, his body surrounded by blazing fire. He stretched out his arms, flames licked from his fingertips – hungry, destructive. His laughter was like a song of madness. “Come on, my flames! Let hope burn!” His name was Justivan.

  Shin wanted to intervene, but Taro held him back. “Not our job! Look up.”

  Shin looked – and saw, in the midst of the chaos, a floating script of light, signs that seemed to move. “Jaseol...” Shin whispered. “He knows.”

  Keeper Jaseol appeared. His steps were calm, his presence as heavy as the earth itself. Two glowing runes unfolded over his arms – shiny gold, like honey in the sun.

  “Gather the fire... and feed on them.”

  The runes spread out, covering every sea of flames Justivan had created – and devoured them. The fire turned honey-colored, its rage fading.

  Jaseol stepped up behind Justivan. His voice was calm, almost compassionate. “Tell me if your flames are still strong enough to nourish mine.”

  Justivan turned around, the fire in his eyes flickering. “So you are... Honeyflame Jaseol?”

  “That's what they call me,” Jaseol replied. “Then you know you've lost.”

  Flames raced toward each other. Jaseol's golden flames engulfed Justivan's blazing attacks, growing with each blow. Then a honey-colored wall appeared. Like a protective wave, it enveloped the surrounding residents. “Don't worry,” Jaseol called. “These flames don't burn. They protect.”

  Justivan raged. “What use are flames if they can't burn?!”

  Jaseol remained silent. Then he raised his hand. “Burn.”

  The flames on Justivan ignited in a bright honey gold. He screamed, trying to escape – but the flame stuck to him, would not let go, sucking the strength out of his body. He sank to his knees, gasping. Smoke rose from his mouth as his strength left him.

  Meanwhile, Taro and Shin were running through the devastated streets. “Where are we going?” Shin shouted.

  “To the palace!” Taro shouted back. “This is just a diversion. Their target is not the festival. Their target is what lies hidden.”

  Shin ran beside him, breathing heavily. “What are you talking about?”

  Taro looked at him with earnest eyes. “A divine artifact. Hidden in Stonehead. More powerful than anything I've ever seen. If they get it, all is lost.”

  Shin nodded, even if he didn't understand everything. “Then we'll stop them.”

  “That's right,” Taro whispered. “And this time... no one is left behind.”

  They disappeared into the shadows of the city, ready to fight the real battle.

  Amid the raging chaos, Sana pushed her way through the panicked crowds. The once festive atmosphere had given way to a wave of panic and destruction. Screams echoed off the stone walls, smoke rose, and the air smelled of fear. Sana pushed through the narrow alleys between the stalls, her eyes alert, her hands ready to intervene.

  “Damn it...” she cursed softly as she fought her way through the confused crowd. “What a mess. I have to find him – and fast.”

  But then, in the middle of the crowd, there was a scream. Sana turned her head – her heart stopped. A little girl, even younger than five, stumbled and fell to the ground. A woman in dark clothing, her face distorted with aggression, stepped towards the child. Without hesitation, she kicked the child. The child screamed. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  Sana was already on the move. In a single leap, she stood protectively in front of the child, arms spread, posture resolute. The little girl clung to her clothes, her voice trembling. But Sana knelt slightly lower to her height, her voice gentle but firm.

  “Don't worry, little one,” she said with a warm smile. “You're not alone. I'm here.”

  Then she looked up – directly into the ice-cold eyes of the woman who was now charging at her with her sword drawn. Her name: Kashara, a Black Orlov fighter accompanied by three other followers whose faces were blurred in the semi-darkness.

  Sana reached for her belt and pulled out the collapsible pole – the familiar weight calmed her. But before she could set up her defense, it happened.

  A whisper in the air – barely audible, barely perceptible.

  A moment passed.

  Kashara and her three companions lay motionless on the ground. Unconscious. Defeated without Sana having to strike a single blow.

  Confused, Sana looked around. Her hand still clutched the weapon, but her body was rigid. She had not felt or seen anything – only the result. The four attackers lay there, as if struck down by an invisible force.

  “What...?” she whispered – but her words went unheard.

  The little girl behind her looked up at her with wide, astonished eyes. Tears still streamed down her face, but now an expression of admiration had come to dominate her features. With a trembling voice but shining eyes, she said:

  “You're so strong... You're like an angel.”

  Sana smiled, her shoulders dropping a little – not out of weakness, but out of relief. She turned to the girl, gently placed a hand on her head and whispered,

  “I'm just me. And I'll protect you. I promise.”

  The sounds of the battle raged on around her, but in that one moment – there, between smoke and tears – a spark of hope had been born.

  In the middle of the Alexandrite palace.

  The huge halls lay in an almost eerie silence, broken only by the distant echo of the festivities, which penetrated the walls like a distant dream. Lazuli stood alone in front of the sealed door, whose ancient seal flickered in a faint light. The shine of the stones in which it was embedded was otherworldly – green like the heart of alexandrite and at the same time criss-crossed by golden lines that ran like veins over the rock.

  Then – a shadow.

  From the darkness of the hall, a figure emerged. With heavy steps, as if born out of the stone itself.

  “Granite?” Lazuli asked without turning around. Her voice trembled barely perceptibly – not with fear, but with certainty.

  The answer came cold and cloaked in authority: “For you, still Master Granite... understood, Obsidian?”

  Lazuli's demeanor changed. Her posture, her facial expressions, even the aura that surrounded her – all of this was no longer that of the guardian of Paraiba. Instead, a darker voice spoke from her, rough, deep, commanding:

  “Yes, master.”

  Granite stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the seal pulsating before him like a living barrier. He raised a hand and let it glide slowly over the surface of the sealed door.

  “This seal... is old. Powerful. But it is not Zircon's. No... this is not the work of a Guardian. This... is the work of pure, undiluted, divine power. The handwriting of an angel.”

  Obsid, now residing in Lazuli's body, stepped to his side. There was a playful glint in his eye, but a mocking sneer in his words:

  “Perhaps she is. Perhaps Zircon really does walk in the guise of a human—an angelic guise, hidden beneath the mask of a guardian. I find no memories in this woman. Nothing tangible. Nothing real. She is... too still. Too controlled. Even around those she calls fellow guardians.”

  Granit looked at the seal, his forehead wrinkled.

  “It serves only one purpose: protection. And she knows exactly what she is guarding here. Zircon is not only powerful – she is dangerous. And wise enough never to show it.”

  A moment passed. The tension between the two was like a quivering string.

  Then Obsid raised his head. On her forehead, the third eye slowly opened – the light blue slit illuminated the semi-darkness with a cold glow. The pupil raced from side to side, searching. Found.

  “Master...” Obsid said in a sober voice. “They are here.”

  And in that same moment, the air changed. A shimmer spread across the room, like falling dust at dusk – and then there was darkness. The magnificent hall was shrouded in a veil of black fog. The golden flames of the sconces went out – not from the wind, but from the presence of a power that seemed to deform space and time.

  And out of that darkness, two figures emerged. Determined. Ready.

  Shin. And Taro.