The next morning arrived with a clarity that only the Whitecrest territory could summon. In the center of the village, the peculiar white grass flowed like a pale sea under the command of the wind, while the black-stone houses glowed with a soft, iridescent sheen as the rising sun touched their surfaces.
A massive circle of villagers had formed, their murmurs rising like the morning mist. At the heart of that gathering stood the small group that held the fate of the clan in their hands.
Yami stood with a heavy, proud arm draped over Eiden's shoulder. His white hair and long, layered cloak drifted in the breeze, his grey eyes catching the early light with a sharp brilliance. Beside him, Sienna held Eiden's other arm, her white fur cloak rippling behind her, an unwavering anchor for her son.
Nearby, the others waited. Iris watched with crimson eyes that seemed to glow against the morning pale; Vaelus wore a wide, nervous grin, his reddish hair whipping around his face; and Selyndra stood with a quiet, regal confidence, her blond hair streaming like gold behind her as her white dress flowed like water.
And then there was Eiden. Draped in his black robe and cloak, he was a dark contrast to the brightness of the village. His black gloves were fitted perfectly, his three blades sheathed at his waist, and his grey eyes gleamed with a weight that felt older than the mountains. The white ribbon tied in his hair shimmered faintly—a subtle pulse of infinite power.
"What's going on?"
"Is he leaving again?"
"Did anyone feel that aura last night?"
The voices of the villagers rippled through the crowd—a wave of curiosity, pride, and lingering unease. The Whitecrest people, with their uniform white hair swaying in the wind, leaned forward, waiting for the word of their leader.
Yami lifted his hand. He didn't need to shout; his presence alone commanded the air. "I ask you all to please quiet down and listen."
The silence was instantaneous. Elders placed their hands over their hearts; mothers pulled their children closer. The only sound left was the whisper of fabric against the wind and the rustle of the white grass. Yami inhaled, his chest expanding with the gravity of the moment.
"I'd like to introduce to you all… your new Chief."
Eiden's eyes widened. He had discussed this in the quiet of the night, but hearing it proclaimed under the vast morning sky, before the eyes of every living soul in his clan, made it real in a way that shook him to his core. It was no longer a conversation; it was a destiny.
Gasps of shock erupted, followed quickly by a rising tide of stunned joy and fierce pride. Yami turned his head toward Eiden, a small, knowing smile touching his lips, before facing his people one last time.
"I present to you Eiden—The First Divinity…"
The wind seemed to stop entirely. The world held its breath.
"…and now… Eiden, the Whitecrest's Divinity."