Chapter 1: Rumours The weight of duty pressed heavily upon Lorien as he stood beside Queen Seraphina of Mythralia. A month prior, the queen had been besieged by a horde of malevolent forces, and Link, Lorien's revered mentor, had made the ultimate sacrifice to protect her. The sudden, violent loss had left a gaping void, and Lorien, though still reeling, was now poised to fill it. The assembled crowd, a sea of faces etched with grief and anticipation, awaited his inauguration. Seraphina's voice, usually a beacon of warmth, now carried an unsettling edge. "Attend, my people, and witness this... mendacity." Lorien, his brow furrowed in confusion, stepped forward as she gestured towards him. "Behold," she proclaimed, her voice ringing with accusation, "the slayer of Link!" A collective gasp rippled through the throng. Knights, their eyes blazing with righteous fury, glared at Lorien, their hands instinctively moving towards their weapons. Realization struck him like a physical blow: he was being framed. Driven by instinct, Lorien plunged into the dense, whispering forest, the undergrowth a blur of green and brown. Thorns tore at his tunic, and branches whipped at his face as he fled, the sounds of pursuit echoing behind him. He stumbled, his foot catching on a root, and tumbled into a dark, still pool. The water, cold and murky, enveloped him, and he surfaced, gasping, to find himself in a hidden grotto. A strange, ethereal light emanated from the depths of the cave, a soft hum resonating in the air, accompanied by a faint, metallic tang. He reached out, drawn by its allure, and then, darkness descended, thick and suffocating. He awoke to the sight of a hooded figure, its silhouette stark against the dim light. The figure gestured, urging him to follow. Lorien, his muscles aching and his mind reeling, obeyed, his hand tracing the rough, crumbling stone of the grotto wall, the dust of ages clinging to his fingertips. Deeper into the grotto, they encountered another figure, larger and more imposing, its presence radiating an unspoken authority. When the figure spoke, Lorien realized it was through telepathy, a silent, resonant voice that echoed within his mind. This was the leader, a figure who identified himself as hailing from Drakonis. He spoke of Link, a friend of old, and offered Lorien a path to understanding the ancient ways, a path to mastering the powers that lay dormant within him. His first lesson was one of resilience, a trial of mental fortitude. The leader, Aurikhan, who claimed to have guided his people for over two centuries, would attempt to penetrate Lorien's mind, to unravel the secrets hidden within. Lorien braced himself, and then, the invasion began. A torrent of emotions, long buried and forgotten, surged to the surface: the sharp sting of guilt from a childhood accident, the sting of Link's rare, disappointed gaze. Emerging from the mental tempest, Lorien met Aurikhan's gaze. "A story," Aurikhan murmured, his voice laced with a hint of melancholy. "At least you did not feel the weight Link carried, the earned respect of his peers." The training was arduous, a relentless cycle of mental and physical trials. One vision, however, stood out with chilling clarity. He saw himself, a young warrior, facing off against a horde of Bokoblins, while in the distance, Link battled a group of Lynels. As the last Lynel fell, a new, monstrous creature emerged, its form twisted and unnatural. A single arrow, fired from Lorien's bow, struck the creature, and it vanished into the earth, leaving behind only an empty, gaping hole. He rushed to Link's side, but his mentor was gone, his pulse stilled. The vision abruptly ended, leaving Lorien shaken and disoriented. He found Aurikhan weeping, a sight that belied the leader's stoic demeanor. When questioned, Aurikhan revealed his connection to Link, his role as the mentor who had guided the hero's early steps. Understanding the depth of their shared loss, Lorien silently vowed to dedicate himself to his training, to honor the memory of the man who had shaped his destiny. That night, as sleep claimed him, Lorien's mind drifted back to the day he had first met Link. He was a mere eighteen years old, toiling in the fields, his dreams of adventure seemingly out of reach. During a brief respite, he practiced with a crudely fashioned wooden sword. Link, drawn by the boy's earnest efforts, approached him. Without a word of inquiry, Link offered Lorien an apprenticeship, a chance to forge his own path, a chance that Lorien, without hesitation, accepted.
<--- This is Aurikhan
