The schoolyard lay empty beneath the soft morning sun. the pale stone warming by a gentle blue glow that almost seemed to rise from the ground itself. Lumenhaven never looked natural in day light, the lanterns looked almost confused, lost, just sort of floating but not knowing where the dark corners are too light. The air carries a faint shimmer, as though resonance threaded invisibly through every surface., smoothing edges, polishing shadows. Even in silence the city hummed.

  A light breeze whispered across the dry earth, lifting up small spirals of dust that danced lazily across the cracked beaten pavement. Beyond the school walls, towers of white and silver rose towards the sky in the centre was the Lumenhaven spire, rising high in the sky holding the crystal that is responsible for all the power that flows through the city, banners hanging in long, elegant ribbons. From somewhere distant came the sound of bells and the low, steady rhythm of the city beginning its day.

  Freya skipped across the yard, her dark hair catching the wind, her steps light and carefree. She spun around with her arms out, the hem of her crimson dress flaring. For just a moment she allowed herself the illusion that she belonged, and she was care free, that the weight pressing quietly at the edges of her mind did not exist.

  Then a voice cut through the silence.

  “Freya.”

  She stopped abruptly. A tall, grubby-looking man stepped into her path. His brown trench coat was frayed at the edges, stained with travel and dust, and his long hair was tied loosely in a rough ponytail. He never looked like he belonged in Lumenhaven. Not in this clean ordered place. The white and silver walls cascading against his brown grubby coat, almost seems like a silhouette anywhere he goes. His eyes however, were sharp and focused, watching her with this eerie unsettling nerve.

  “Who are you?” Freya demanded, narrowing her eyes.

  He shifted his stance, raising his hands slightly to look less threatening. “My name is Lazarus Theun. I’ve been watching you for some time now.” He had been waiting for the moment she had stopped hiding.

  Freya’s brow furrowed.

  “I’ve seen what you can do,” Lazarus continued quietly. “The shadows that move when you’re angry, the whispers that follow your will. Black magic. The rarest kind.”

  Her stomach twisted because hearing it spoken aloud made it real. Made is dangerous.

  Freya blinked, taking a cautious step back. “Sorry, you must have the wrong person,” she said quickly, brushing past him.

  “You don’t have to lie to me,” Lazarus called after her. “I’m at your service. You are one of the Chosen… are you not?”

  Freya froze mid-step.

  Slowly, she turned back toward him. “How did you know that?” she whispered.

  He smiled faintly, lowering his voice. “Am I wrong?”

  Freya’s eyes darted around the empty yard. The lamps above drifted lazily, but she knew better.

  Lumenhaven was never truly empty Listening wards were hidden in stone. Crystal eyes watched from corners. Even the wind sometimes carried secrets.

  “Come with me,” she murmured. “We shouldn’t talk here.” Even empty places had ears in a Shoven city. “My house is just around the corner, and my mother’s waiting.”

  They walked in silence. The streets were already alive, but in the careful way Lumenhaven was. Well-dressed citizens moved with purpose. Students in pressed uniforms passed by, some human and some Shoven, their eyes flicking curiously toward Lazarus's rough coat. Patrols walking in pairs, not oppressive, but present. Peacekeepers the city “like” to call them.

  Above a Shoven diplomatic cruiser glided slowly across the sky, its shadow drifting over the rooftops like a passing cloud.

  “Why are we going to your house?” Lazarus asked.

  “Because today’s the day,” Freya said softly. “The day I’m taken to the High Council… to meet the rest of the Chosen.”

  For the first time, Lazarus wondered if he was already too late.

  The small house appeared at the end of the lane, surrounded by a riot of flowers that spilled over a white picket fence. The garden almost felt like defiance in it's brightness, the splash of reds and oranges in a controlled city.

  Freya pushed the door open and gestured for him to sit.

  “Wait here,”

  A voice called from another room. “Freya? Is that you, darling?”

  “Yes, Mum! I brought someone with me,” Freya called back, her tone careful.

  “Just a moment love, I’m finding your birthday present!” her mother’s voice came again, followed by a loud crash.

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  “Mum, everything alright?” Freya frowned.

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine! Just dropped some boxes!”

  Lazarus smiled awkwardly. “Happy birthday, by the way. What a coincidence—it’s my birthday too.”

  Freya paused, blinking at him. “Really? You’re eighteen today as well?”

  He nodded. “Strange, isn’t it?”

  Before she could answer, her mother, Lian, appeared in the doorway, her arms wrapped around a long, gold-covered package. Her kind face lit up when she saw Lazarus.

  “Lazarus,” she said softly, setting the package down. “I thought I might see you today.” Her voice carried the certainty of someone who had been waiting for years.

  Both Freya and Lazarus looked stunned. Lian crossed the room and embraced him. “I’m so sorry about your parents,” she whispered. “They were good people. They believed in the light, even when the world went dark.”

  Freya stared at them, confused. “Mum, you know him?”

  “Of course,” Lian said gently. “The Royal Guards contacted me when Lazarus lost his parents. I was told to expect him.” She turned to the table and brought out another long, gold-wrapped package.

  Lazarus looked bewildered. “The Royal Guards… the lords of the Chosen contacted you?”

  Lian nodded. “Yes. They knew you would find Freya today. You both share the same destiny.”

  Freya’s pulse quickened. “Mum… are you saying...?”

  “You are both Chosen,” Lian said with quiet pride. “Lazarus, you seek justice for your family. Freya, your gift is creation through darkness. Together, you are meant to stand against the Shoven.”

  Neither of them asked what standing against them would take.

  Lazarus exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Freya. “What happens now?” he asked.

  “This afternoon,” Lian explained, “a Royal Guard ship will arrive in the schoolyard. You’ll need to be ready in one hour. But first…” She gestured to the gold packages. “You must claim your weapons. They were crafted by the gods themselves.”

  Freya hesitated, then slowly unwrapped her package. The fabric fell away to reveal a gleaming white staff, laced with golden ribbons that shimmered faintly in the light. At its crown rested a crystal, clear, alive, pulsing softly at her touch. For a moment the shadows in the corner of the room seemed to lean towards it.

  Lian smiled. “That, my dear, is the Staff of the Gods. Forged from the remains of the Life Tree, That tree once kept balance between all living things. When it fell, magic fractured. The world has been paying for that ever since.”

  Freya ran her fingers along the intricate carvings, breathless. The crystal pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

  Lazarus unwrapped his package next. Inside lay a rifle unlike any other, a long silver barrel gleamed beneath the light, perfectly balanced against a white, bone-carved stock. Gold filigree traced the weapon’s form from the butt to the trigger, delicate yet deadly.

  Lian’s eyes softened. “And that, Lazarus, is the Rifle of the True, it felt less like a gift and more like a promise he would one day have to keep. A weapon for the gods’ sharpshooter. Its barrel is hand-carved from sacred carbon, straight and unbreakable. The stock comes from an ancient beast, one said to travel across Shahero in a heartbeat. This rifle will never fail you. But remember Lazarus. Balance always demands a price”

  Lazarus lifted the rifle reverently, feeling its weight, the hum of quiet power beneath his fingers.

  “How… how could anyone make something so perfect?” he murmured.

  Freya smiled faintly, her staff glowing gently beside her.

  Lian took a deep breath, eyes misting with pride and sorrow. “You are both ready. Heroes of Shahero, may your names live forever.” Her hands shook when she turned away.

  Freya moved first, slipping books and trinkets into her worn leather bag. She turned and hugged her mother tightly. “Thank you… for everything.”

  Lian held her close. “Be brave, Freya. Be true.”

  When they finally stepped outside, the sky was beginning to shimmer with the heat of early afternoon. Lazarus and Freya walked together in silence, the weight of destiny settling between them.

  “So this is it,” Freya said softly. “Goodbye to the life I knew.” Neither of them said the word forever.

  Lazarus gave a small laugh. “Yeah. No turning back now.”

  As they approached the schoolyard, a familiar figure waited by the gates—Seb, a tall boy in a cadet’s uniform.

  “Oh, not him,” Freya muttered under her breath.

  “Seb’s alright,” Lazarus said, grinning.

  Seb straightened as they approached. “Happy birthday, Lazarus. And, Freya…” He hesitated, lowering his gaze. “I’m sorry, for everything.” Seb didn't meet her eyes.

  Freya blinked in surprise, then offered a small smile. “Thank you, Seb.”

  Lazarus clapped Seb on the shoulder. “You wanted to help me take down the Shoven? Then step aside.”

  Seb frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

  Before he could finish, the air filled with a deep, melodic hum. A gleaming white craft descended from the clouds, its golden insignia glinting in the sunlight. The ground trembled as it touched down in the schoolyard, steam hissing softly from its wings.

  The hatch opened with a mechanical click, and a soldier in white and gold armor emerged. His red cape rippled in the wind as he strode toward them. Removing his helmet, he placed a fist against his chest and bowed.

  “Lazarus Theun. Freya Scar.”

  They both nodded.

  “Chosen Sharpshooter,” Lazarus said.

  “Chosen Black Mage,” Freya added.

  The soldier smiled. “It is an honor. The High Council awaits your arrival. Another of your team has already been collected. Come, your destiny begins now.”

  None of them yet understood what that destiny would demand.

  He replaced his helmet and turned back toward the craft. Freya followed, her staff glowing faintly at her side. Lazarus paused briefly, giving Seb a firm salute. Then he stepped aboard.

  The hatch closed with a hiss, and the ship lifted from the ground, ascending into the bright sky until it vanished among the clouds.

  Seb stood alone in the empty yard, watching the dust settle.

  “Well,” he muttered with a faint smile, “I’ll be damned.”

  amned.”

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner