Aurelius awoke with a sharp gasp, his body jolted by a bolt of searing pain that radiated from his ribs. Groaning, he cautiously attempted to sit up, maneuvering his body to minimize the agonizing sensation. With trembling fingertips, he winced as he gingerly touched his ribcage, mapping the fractures and breaks. Two cracked ribs—thank the gods for small mercies. He had endured far worse in the past.

As his senses cleared, Aurelius' memory flooded back, linking the pain to the events of the previous night. He recalled returning to his favorite sleeping alley later than usual, his sleep-addled mind failing to be as cautious as it should have been. The cover of darkness had given him a false sense of security, and he had neglected to ensure he wasn't being followed. In hindsight, that was obviously a mistake.

Piecing together the events, Aurelius remembered being attacked and beaten by the city guards in the alley, a customary pastime of theirs.The echoes of their cruel laughter still reverberated in his ears, mixing with the symphony of the city. Although such encounters were not uncommon for Aurelius, he couldn't help but feel an extra surge of resentment towards this particular group of guards. Not only had they beaten him, but they had chosen to do so on New Year's Blessings of all days.

Today was New Year’s Blessings, a sacred celebration of past triumphs and future aspirations. It held immense significance for the High Elven race as they honored their High Elven God, Augustus, and his earthly emissary—the Chosen one. While the exact nature of the gods and their chosen representatives remained mysterious, especially to a poor, backwater commoner like Aurelius, some key beliefs were widely known.

Each race, from the High Elves to the Dwarves, was under the watchful reign of a single god, and each god had a singular Chosen representative. These Chosens possessed abilities and powers beyond those of ordinary individuals. While they are not invincible, and there have been plenty of cases where ordinary mortals have killed a Chosen, the Chosens are often revered as beings akin to demigods. Although some individuals naturally possessed the gift of magic, the Chosens were on another level, serving as the physical embodiment of their god's will and objectives. They were the ones who executed the divine plans, frequently engaging in cataclysmic wars against rival champions and the races they presided over. In essence, the existence and strength of a god depended on the survival and success of their race, which was often entrusted to the Chosen.

However, fate had dealt a cruel blow to the High Elves five years prior when their last Chosen had perished, leaving them in a vulnerable state. Normally, on the day of New Year’s Blessings, Augustus would appoint a new Chosen, breathing new life into the High Elven race. Yet, confusion and unease had settled among the masses as Augustus defied tradition and refused to select a new Chosen. Whispers spread, speculating about the god's demise or his abandonment of the High Elven race. Meanwhile, rival races and empires capitalized on the High Elves' weakened state, seizing settlements and cities along their borders. While the High Elves, for the most part, valiantly thwarted the advances of other Chosens and races, the struggle grew with each passing day. Furthermore, without a powerful figurehead to guide them, corruption and chaos began to fester within the High Elven Empire, exemplified by the recent attack on Aurelius by the city guards.

Many hoped that this year, at long last, Augustus would anoint a new Chosen to lead them out of their turmoil and restore order.

Groaning again, Aurelius focused on the pressing matter at hand: getting up and out of this alleyway. The reason Aurelius liked the day of New Year’s Blessing so much was because the city offered free food, an opportunity that Aurelius could not miss out on. He attempted to rise, but the pain surged, tormenting his entire being. Rethinking his options, Aurelius pondered the best, and least painful, way to get out of this alleyway and towards the stands that he knew would have food.

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***

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"We beseech our lord, for today heralds the bestowal of divine blessings upon us, paving the way for our future. Our lord shall grace us with a new Chosen, a beacon of hope and destiny."

The High Priest's voice thundered, resonating through the crowd with an intensity that gripped their souls. Yet, doubt flickered in the eyes of those gathered beneath him when he mentioned the new Chosen. Understandable uncertainty, the High Priest mused, for even he questioned whether Augustus would ever favor another.

Secretly, he reveled in the absence of a Chosen—the last one had been far too stuck-up anyways. As the High Priest of the capital city within the High Elven Empire, without a Chosen he had nearly full autonomy to do whatever he pleased. Normally, the Chosen would be the leader or ‘Emperor’ of the High Elven Empire, with the High Priests and the City Lords serving beneath him. But in the Chosen's absence, power and freedom blossomed for the City Lords and the High Priest. Yet, discontent seeped through the cracks, whispers of unrest and covert power plays. Some groups yearned to anoint an unofficial Emperor until Augustus made his selection. However, no one dared challenge the system Augustus had established.

Fading back into the present, the High Priest continued to preach.

"Let us not forget the bountiful blessings bestowed upon us by Augustus in the past, and the unfathomable ones awaiting us. His might knows no bounds, and his love for us endures eternally. On this day, we honor him, as we should every day."

The High Priest gestured towards the statue of Augustus, a towering figure that stood tall and imposing in the center of the city square. The statue was a symbol of the High Elven Empire's faith in Augustus, and it was customary for prayers and offerings to be laid at the statue's feet.

Hovering directly above the statue resided a sizable bell known as the Bell of Bestowal. It was widely understood that the bell's resounding toll, thrice repeated, symbolized Augustus' selection of a new chosen one.

“I personally believe that young master Gadaran will be the next chosen because of his excellent swordsmanship ability and his leadership qualities. Furthermore, I believe that he is a favorite of Augustus.”

Alistar Gadaran, the young master of House Gadaran, exuded smugness and pride, basking in his perceived superiority. The High Priest doubted that Alistar would actually become the chosen one, but he had proclaimed his faith in him due to a 100 gold coin bribe he had received earlier from the patriarch of House Gadaran.

"The anticipation is palpable, my brethren, but let us savor the splendid feast crafted for this momentous day!"

As the High Priest stepped off the podium, his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for any sign of dissent or unrest. He knew that the lack of a Chosen had caused tension and frustration amongst the people. Commoners seethed with anger, witnessing the relentless ascent of nobles, their power wrenched from the grasp of the downtrodden. Even within the noble class, discontent brewed. The High Priest feared that it was only a matter of time before someone, like house Gadaran, tried to seize power for themselves. 

Just then, a chime of a bell rang out and the High Priest’s head snapped towards the Bell of Bestowal. It hadn’t moved. Slowly, realization dawned upon him — it was merely the city bell, announcing the arrival of noon.

“That gets me every year,” the High Priest grumbled, his sigh blending with the collective disappointment rippling through the crowd. 

The High Priest's gaze clung to the Bell of Bestowal, just as he was on the verge of diverting his attention elsewhere he discerned a subtle shift—a tremor that coursed through the very core of the bell. The movement persisted, captivating his senses. Suddenly, his eyes widened, a surge of realization flooding his being as he realized what was about to happen. 

Three awe-inspiring chimes soon sounded out. 

Ding. Ding. Ding.