Golden odyssey

The hooded figure advances slowly toward the group, their piercing gaze cutting through the darkness like a blade of iron. The wind howls around them, tugging at their clothes and casting eerie shadows on the ground. Eryndal feels an oppressive weight, as if the very air is growing heavier with each step the stranger takes.

— This isn't possible… this isn't a dream… I've seen him before…

The hooded man stops about twenty meters away, his weapon gleaming under the fading twilight. He says nothing, but his gaze seems to assess each of them in turn.

— This isn't a mere encounter. He knows who we are… he knows what you are, Eryndal. Elion speaks in a calm but guarded voice.

— We have no choice. We must keep going, even if this meeting was inevitable. Whether this man is an ally or an enemy, only time will tell, replies Eryndal.

— The Ark of Fate is near. What he's looking for isn't us… it's you, Eryndal.

A shiver runs down Eryndal's spine. He now understands that this figure is not here by chance. Something far greater than himself lies behind that masked face.

— Who are you? Why are you following me?

The hooded man does not answer immediately. He slowly raises his hand, and the air around him seems to warp. A burst of red light, intense like fire, erupts from his fist. Eryndal feels a wave of heat and power destabilizing the space around them.

— So, you have finally arrived, Eryndal. I've been waiting for you. For a long time.

He lowers his hand, revealing an intricate inscription carved into his palm—a symbol of ancient origin, barely recognizable to Eryndal. A seal tied to the old Divinities. A force greater than anything he had ever imagined.

— You are the one who walks between dreams. The Seventh Eye. The one who can either destroy everything… or save it all. The Ark of Fate will not lead you where you want to go. It will show you what you have refused to see.

— If you're talking about the prophecy, let me be clear—I won't be manipulated.

— He speaks in riddles. But every word matters, Eryndal. Remember what we have learned. You are not alone in carrying this burden.

The hooded man takes a step forward, his eyes glowing with the weight of ancient knowledge. He seems to be drawing from a primordial force, a power beyond Eryndal's comprehension.

— You try to run from fate. But fate never runs. It waits for you to embrace it. And one day, you will understand—it was you who chose it, not the other way around.

A heavy silence falls over them. The companions exchange uneasy glances, and Eryndal, though troubled, knows this is not the time to back down. He looks at the hooded man with newfound determination.

— I didn't choose this fate, but I will face it. If you want to stop me, do it now.

The hooded man lets out a cold, dark laugh.

— It is not you I must stop, Eryndal. It is you I must guide. The Ark of Fate is not a path for the weak, but perhaps… perhaps you are ready.

Suddenly, the figure melts into the shadows, vanishing as swiftly as he had appeared. The wind dies down, and an eerie stillness settles in the air.

— He will follow us, but not directly. He wants you to take the first step.

— There are always choices, Eryndal. But sometimes, the only path forward is the one of sacrifice. The Ark of Fate is within sight. We must move forward, and you… you must accept the truth hidden behind all of this.

— Then let's go. I am ready to face whatever comes.

The group resumes their journey, walking through the thickening night. The Ark of Fate looms on the horizon, mysterious and imposing, a symbol of the uncertain future awaiting Eryndal. But one thing is certain—there is no turning back. Fate, whether he wants it or not, is now in his hands.