The sky above Thirtos darkened not with the approach of night, but under the weight of a palpable silence that seeped from the very soul of the world. The ground shuddered beneath an unseen force, while a white mist floated aimlessly around the ruins, as if reluctant spirits wandered, hesitant to choose a side. Amidst the desolation of waning power, where the voices of the people faltered and the faces of the nobles faded into obscurity, a single voice rose in the hush. Its tone was neither a rallying cry for battle nor a supplication, but rather an ancient whisper that curled through the still air:
"You who slice the truth with a sword,
"Will you heal the world with the same wound?"
Rinoa's mind drifted back to Juliet's insights about the various healer roles, yet none resonated with her unique situation. Traditionally, a healer required a mana core to ensure a stable and focused flow of energy. However, Juliet had shared tales of a healer distinct from the rest, a spiritcaller, who drew strength not from mana but from the very essence of life itself.
Reflecting on her earlier conversation with Fitran, Rinoa felt an unexpected calm wash over her heart.
Emboldened by newfound hope, she began to chant the ancient ritual, her voice weaving through the air, each word infused with deep meaning and unwavering conviction.
Rinoa's body was neither burned nor radiant, but rather deeply rooted. Tendrils of ethereal light sprouted from the soles of her feet—these were not mere flickers of magic, but the poignant memories of the world surrounding her. As she experienced this transformation, her eyes shifted from sharp, gleaming silver to a warm and vibrant dew-green. In this moment of clarity, she wept not out of loss, but out of profound understanding. All that she had witnessed, all the emotions she had felt, converged within her, creating a powerful wave of sensation that washed over her entire being.
The Spirits had arrived, their powerful presence infused into the very atmosphere, bestowing a serene calmness that balanced a palpable tension in the air.
The four main spirits encircled Rinoa, each embodying their sacred forms as if they were intertwined by a gentle beam of light:
Lirael, the Spirit of Compassion
manifested as an ancient woman adorned with morning dew, vibrant flowers blooming in her hair and exuding a fresh, sweet fragrance that seemed to fill the air around them. Her voice was like the soft whisper of a soothing breeze dancing through the leaves. She spoke first, her melodious tones akin to healing water, cascading around Rinoa and enveloping her like the tranquil flow of a gentle river.
"You have rejected hatred. Therefore, we grant you love that knows no bias." Lirael's voice radiated warmth, wrapping Rinoa in a cocoon of safety and understanding.
Caelum, the Spirit of Silence
Silently present in the soothing stillness, he gazed intently at Rinoa, as in an instant, all sounds faded away, wrapping them in a profound and serene silence. In that hushed moment, Rinoa became acutely aware of the vibrant pulse of life surrounding her, as if the very essence of the world resonated within her chest, a gentle thrum that seeped deep into her bones.
This enveloping tranquility deepened the significance of the moment, allowing Rinoa to not only sense the weight of her newfound responsibility but also to appreciate the beauty of the unblemished love she had received.
But you embraced me.
So I will be with you… even when the world hates you."
Everyone bowed their heads.
A heavy emotion settled like a thick fog in the room, as if the voices of the world lay trapped in a profound silence. Rinoa felt the ebb and flow of emotions from Aquestra, cascading over the souls surrounding her, their hearts connected in an unspoken bond. "It is not clean. It is not perfect.
But it is a wound that chooses not to retaliate.
It is a broken chain… and chooses not to form a new link."
As those words lingered in the tranquil air, a crown of roots and wildflowers blossomed gracefully upon her head. The vibrant petals, radiant with colors of spring, seemed to absorb all pain and sorrow, transforming into a luminous symbol of new hope. This was the Crown of the Blooming Oath, a rare sight that emerged only when the spirit embraced the belief that the world was not truly dead. An atmosphere thick with hope enveloped the gathered souls, seeping into their very essence, imparting the strength they needed to face the uncertain future ahead.
Nearby, his sword lay in ruins—not shattered by weakness, but broken as a testament to his newfound purpose; he no longer needed a weapon to be the voice of the world he sought to protect. His cloak transformed dramatically; where once it shimmered in gold and royal purple, it now took on the hues of green, earth, and dew—emblems of rebirth and renewal. The Raiment of Eternal Spring wrapped around him, signifying his ongoing metamorphosis into something greater.
The sky above Thirtos opened wide.
It didn't simply crack; it unfurled like the first breath of a long-forgotten earth, releasing a sweet and invigorating aroma that stirred the very essence of the soul.
Flowers blossomed defiantly on the battlefield.
Amidst the remnants of chaos, every patch of ground that once soaked in blood now erupted in a riot of color with a unique type of grass: Aelora. This extraordinary plant thrived only when souls gathered, serving as a beacon of hope amid the bitter shadows of memory.
The sorcerers wept, though they could not explain why.
Under the radiant sky, a sense of sanctity enveloped them, as if nature itself was caressing their hearts, providing solace in the absence of any physical touch.
Fitran, somewhere distant, simply gazed at the sky...
In the profound silence surrounding him, he whispered softly, "Finally, you have chosen your path, Rinoa." His words floated into the air, not merely as an expression, but as a mantra heralding a new journey.
Then, the spirits guided Rinoa towards a dimension,
a space suspended between worlds, unreachable by foot. It existed neither in the sky nor on the ground, but within the delicate gap between the breath of the earth and the stillness of the sky. This ethereal realm felt like a border between two existences, where only spirits could lead human souls, weaving a bridge between the tangible and the divine.
Rinoa arrived not merely as a guest—but as the embodiment of the world's wounds. Her presence was ethereal; her feet barely grazed the ground as she floated above a tranquil mirror lake, where the water held not a face, but the deepest memories of a person. Each gentle wave whispered secrets and emotions, weaving a tapestry of anticipation for a moment of hope to rise amidst the encroaching dark shadows.
Then, as if summoned by unspoken longing, all the minor spirits and regional spirits from the farthest corners of the world began to emerge, rekindling the cherished memories hidden within the soul. The mist spirits rolled in gracefully, swirling like the soft breath of the wind, while the ancient mountain spirits stood as solemn sentinels, their silent presence a testament to the passage of time. Among them, the spirits of trees, their trunks scarred by the ravages of war, pressed forth with an overwhelming sense of sorrow, and the spirits of extinguished stars—together sang an ancient song. Yet, this melody transcended human voice; it flowed through vibrations, painting the sky with captivating colors and memories that stirred the very depths of the soul. Within the embrace of this sacred gathering, the song wove a Circle of Harmony around Rinoa, enveloping her in an unimaginable peace, as if the very fabric of reality had momentarily unraveled, leaving only serenity in its wake.
As the ritual reached its climax, the atmosphere throbbed with an undeniable energy, a palpable silence hanging like the calm before a storm. The spirits, ageless and formless, began to sing "Symphonia Mundi" (Song of the World). Their voices, ethereal and haunting, reverberated through the air, weaving an enchantment that enveloped Rinoa. The sound of the vibrations seeped deep into her very being, igniting a gentle warmth within her heart. They did not touch her physically; instead, they flowed into her like pure light, intertwining with her warm breath, and causing her soul to vibrate with an unyielding hope.
As this luminous energy surged through her, Rinoa's body began to radiate from within—not as a blaze of destruction, but as the tender glow of a flickering candle, layering her essence with an unstoppable hope that spread like ripples on a still pond. Each moment pulsed with significance, each heartbeat resonating in perfect harmony with the haunting melody of the spirits' song. In that transcendent instant, her hands felt both heavy and warm, brimming with the love and prayers of those who had long since departed, as if the very air around her vibrated with their sacred echoes.
"We do not crown you because you are strong. We crown you because you do not give up, even when the world asks you to stop caring." Their voices, soft and ethereal, whispered in her ear, weaving a tapestry of hope and unwavering determination around her. From the collective presence of these faithful spirits, the Crown of the Blooming Oath took shape, intricately formed from shimmering tendrils of light, encircling her head like a radiant halo amidst the shadows. The crown glimmered with a warmth that contrasted the darkness surrounding her, a beacon of resilience in a world fraught with uncertainty.
With this irrevocable sacred title, Rinoa embraced a newfound power and responsibility, her heart aflame with purpose. The spirits, in a gesture of profound respect, gently bowed their ethereal forms before gradually dissolving into luminescent wisps, returning to their serene realms. Their departure left Rinoa enveloped in a tranquil silence, a stillness thick with significance and the lingering echoes of their unwavering support.
Rinoa returned to the mortal world, feeling the weight of her new role settle upon her. Her first step gently touched the rich, fertile soil of Thirtos, and instantly, a chill brushed against her skin, a lingering echo of the battle she had just endured. As her feet made contact with the ground, the remnants of conflict metamorphosed into a breathtaking field of white flowers, their delicate petals dancing gracefully in the soft breeze. The air was infused with the sweet, intoxicating scent of blooming blossoms, a fragrant counter to the bitterness that had previously hung heavily in the atmosphere. No human present understood the profound transformation that had transpired; they stood astonished, witnessing the miracle unfolding before their very eyes. Yet, as they gazed upward at the sky turning brighter and more serene, a sense of newfound tranquility enveloped them; the wind blew more gently, as if tenderly erasing all traces of sorrow. Within the hearts of the people, a subtle yet profound feeling emerged:
"Someone has chosen to bear a wound that is not their own."
Rinoa was taken aback by a surge of powerful energy coursing through her entire being, akin to an electric current igniting every fiber of her essence. She sensed how the energy from the Spirit enveloped her, intertwining her life force with a bond that felt both ancient and eternal. The Spirit, possessing extraordinary sensitivity, could detect the latent energy within Rinoa, as if it glimpsed the depths of her soul and recognized the vast potential lying dormant within her.
A gentle whisper from one of the spirits brushed against Rinoa's ear, its voice as soft and soothing as a delicate breeze:
"In Rinoa's body flows Aether and Essence, two forces that fuel the Spirits."
Rinoa recalled the vast reservoir of knowledge she had immersed herself in; Aether and Essence were not just mere concepts, but profound forces that shaped existence. She had poured over the delicate pages of ancient texts, their edges worn, where the ink danced upon the parchment to tell tales of an enigmatic race, one devoid of a mana core. This extraordinary race did not emerge from the gentle flow of the world, but rather from the first pulse of creation—a time when the universe held its breath, suspended in silence, not yet divided into the realms of light and darkness, order and chaos.
They harnessed:
Aether – a vibrant form of pure energy, cascading from the depths of consciousness and reality itself, flowing forth like an unbounded river, shimmering with potential and weaving through the fabric of existence.
Essence – a radiant spark of life residing within all living beings, imbued with emotional and spiritual depth, a repository of invaluable feelings and rich experiences that echoed the very heartbeat of life.
"You are now the Avatar of Harmony."
The origins of the first Avatar remain shrouded in mystery, cloaked in the mists of time. Some legends whisper that it emerged from the crystalline tears of Gaia, her sorrow cascading like a gentle waterfall in the aftermath of humanity's devastating first war. Others tell tales of the Avatar as the reincarnation of guardian spirits, ethereal beings who, in an act of profound empathy, chose to inhabit human form to fully experience the sorrow, joy, and struggles that humanity endures, a stark contrast to the eternal compassion they typically embody.
One truth stands unwavering: the Avatar is not chosen by humanity. Instead, it is summoned by the spirits, whose call resonates with a voice that is both gentle and profound, echoing through the silence like a soothing lullaby. This sacred summons can only be heard by souls that are silent yet sensitive, wounded but not bitter, and broken yet still yearning to embrace the world.
Ultimately, every Avatar will fade away, not through the finality of death, but by melting back into the spirits from which they once borrowed their forms. When they depart, the land will erupt in a radiant bloom, teeming with fresh life and vibrancy. Yet, in the passage of time, no one will remember their faces… Only a gentle vibration lingers in the air, the soft whisper of the wind, and an elusive sense of longing that drifts aimlessly, always searching for its source.
One spirit, with a voice that resonates like distant thunder, describes and names the previous seven avatars using the magical pen that dances across the page before Rinoa.
1. Eliath the First Flame
Era: The Age of Eternal Ice
Origin: The Firefolk of Selnor
Harmony version of Eliath:The unification of enemies through shared suffering.
The flames ignited by Eliath were not meant to incinerate; rather, they sought to make all nations feel the same pain, a scorching reminder that fueled empathy and compelled them to shatter the cycle of mutual harm. With a searing intensity, he scorched ancient cities, their crumbling edifices standing as silent witnesses to the ageless wars. While the world desperately yearned for the warmth of hope, Eliath lay in slumber within the crater of a vast, smoldering volcano, a guardian ensuring that the earth radiated warmth even amidst the suffocating embrace of eternal coldness. Once his noble mission reached fruition and peace unfolded its gentle wings over the lands, he melted into magma, seamlessly returning to the earth's core, whispering secrets of rebirth to each submerged layer.
Main Spirit:Ignarun, Spirit of Shared Pain
2. Virelya of the Hollow Song
Era: The First Racial War
Origin: The Wind Singers of Ronael
Harmony Version of Virelya:Erasing memories of hatred.
Virelya's voice rose like a gentle breeze, weaving haunting melodies that penetrated the very souls of those who heard her. With each note, even the fiercest invaders found their hearts softened, so tenderly embraced by her song that they forgot the bitter reasons which had drawn them to battle. While many historians scorned her, deeming her a mere agent of erasure, she wielded an extraordinary power that transcended the confines of time: two generations of bloody warfare came to a sudden, peaceful halt, as the sharpness of swords was dulled into the serenity of silence. With her final, lingering note, she slipped away, leaving behind only a melancholic echo, akin to the gentle whisper of the wind dancing mournfully through the desolate ruins of what once was.
Spirit:Lyss, Spirit of Forgetting
3. Thornwald the Bound One
Era: The First Demon War
Origin: The Forbidden Forest of Yeren
Harmony Version of Thornwald:Becoming the antidote to curses by bearing them oneself.
He sealed 77 curses of the world within his frail body, an act marked by both heroism and horror. His form, now rotten and crumbling, was a reflection of the unbearable burden he silently bore. For 300 years, he stood motionless, trapped within the ancient tree of life—a statue of sorrow, forever ensnared in unyielding pain. His mind, shattered by the ceaseless torment, found no solace in words; they had lost all meaning in such a wretched existence. Even the birds, once carefree, dared not nest in his tree, haunted by the weight of his profound sorrow, which rendered the place eerily lifeless and frozen in time.
In stark contrast, Kael opened his soul to both angelic entities radiating warmth like sunlight and shadowy beings as dark as the deepest night. Within him, these dual forces coexist, crafting a rare sanctuary amidst a world rife with warfare and tension. He heals wounds while simultaneously shattering hopes with his every breath, embodying the light and dark sides of a single coin. Described as having two eyes of contrasting colors—one bright and gleaming like a distant star, the other dark and deep like polished obsidian—he constantly blinks, signaling the tumult between the two worlds battling within him.
Era: Collapse of the Ancient Civilization
Origin: Plant Nation of Verdantha
Harmony according to Mirelis:Erasing civilization to return to nature.
Mirelis wielded powers that transcended the boundaries of imagination, invoking monumental forces that brought even the grandest cities to their knees, all without drawing a single drop of human blood. As she summoned forth nature's fury, dense clusters of verdant forests enveloped the crumbling remnants of opulent palaces, gracefully reclaiming the land. She called out to humanity, urging them to reconnect with their primal origins, to remember the gentle rustle of leaves dancing in the breeze overhead. Following her passage from the mortal realm, she transformed into a colossal tree, an enduring symbol of life and rebirth, revered as the heart of the world, nurturing all beings that flourished in her shade.
Main Spirit:Caeluna, Spirit of Renewal Through Loss
6. Azham the Silent Pact
Era: The War of the Seven Kings
Origin: Noble Sorcerer from Arvendium
Harmony of Azham:Sacrificing his voice and name to extinguish war.
With a heart heavy with sorrow and resolute determination, he forged the highest spirit contract, whispering a haunting promise into the void: "If the world seeks peace, then erase me from history."
In a breathtaking display of magic and will, he bound the kings with an eternal oath, weaving their destinies together under the watchful gaze of the stars.
Then, like a fleeting shadow at dusk, Azham vanished without a trace from all historical records.
His existence was meticulously scrubbed from every scroll and tome, leaving behind an eerie silence. Even the spirits who once called him friend found themselves unable to recall his face, leaving only a buried mystery within their ethereal memories.
Main Spirit:Th'ruen, Spirit of Forgotten Oaths
7. Ashael the Grieving Child
Era: The Long Night, when the sun ceased to rise
Origin: Child of the ruins of the desolate city of Nel
Harmony of Ashael:Uniting humans and spirits with his heart-wrenching cries.
Though he had never uttered a single word, Ashael's sorrowful wails filled the air, each tear cascading down his cheeks like torrents of rain, soaking the heavy, gray sky. In his profound grief, he wrought a miracle—an awakening as the sun, brazen and vibrant, pierced through the darkness, casting light upon the world once more.
In the depths of his confusion, he remained unaware that he was the Avatar. It was not until the highest spirit bent down to him in a vivid manifest dream that the world began to acknowledge the extraordinary weight of his presence.
Primary Spirit:Ilsha, Spirit of Grief and Dawn
No Avatar arises from a longing to be a hero; they are summoned into existence when the moment has come, when hope for an ordinary hero can no longer endure the wait. And now, Rinoa steps forward as the 8th Avatar, her being a vessel of countless wounds and fervent prayers passed down by her predecessors. Encircled by the haunting shadows of past trauma, Rinoa weaves a unique harmony of her own:
"Harmony is not a perfect unification... but the conscious choice to remain united, even when everything seems cracked and shattered."