"Excuse me, but perhaps I didn't hear correctly." a young voice called in the large room, surrounded by stone and the faint smell of dampness.

This room was built underground in a secret place, free from preying eyes and harm. The room itself was in a circular form as that of a castle tower with a large round table set for hooded persons to seat themselves. It was safe here as hardships have no doubt begun to escalate to desperate measures.

As the Ministry rise up again in their power, so have the contempt of those who do not relate to the usage of magic. Mortals, as these few called them, have come into harms way as the army searches for magicians, wondering why they should suffer if they did not possess such abilities.

No doubt sympathy was towards these mortals, but it could not be granted so easily as they have, through fear, began to "rid their homes" of magic users or those touched by evil.

War had begun and the opposing land of Faholgal hadn't even sent it's armies to fight yet. So much did fear drive others to break from rationality.

All this had been well known to these few ten members, forming this collective named the "Givers", whose purpose was to maintain upstanding in the uses of magic, watchful so purposes do not fall astray to evil. Perhaps that was why the young man interrupted.

"What is unclear to you?" An old dog asked, slouched in his seat from age, long whiskers filling his muzzle.

"This very idea!" The young man, named Gabriel, proclaimed, standing from his seat in reproach. "How dare Noiret encourage such a notion to bring back a deceased being? What good will that do? We would be hypocrites of our upstanding!"

"Calm yourself," Yolix said, seated across from Gabriel, a hood darkening his features. "This is no time to raise your voice."

"Yes, let us speak as a collective," the old dog voiced, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully, "Let us begin with this question; Why choose him, Noiret? We realize this man had been successful enough to remove Orca from her throne, not a simple task mind you, but the young ones learn from past mistakes...."

"This one is different." Noiret said silently, his voice only able to speak so loud. His head was bowed in grave thought as he accepted the doubt of his suggestion to the Givers. The resurrection of a being was considered as dark magic, going against all sense of what the Givers held as fundamental regulations. There was no doubt his idea would ring alarming bells to the others.

"Different." Yolix repeated, almost sarcastically. "Tell us what difference he has from others, if you will."

Noiret rose his gaze to the others seated before him, all eyes set upon him in expectation. But his eyes were determined, staring forward boldly, so set was he in his choice.

"Destiny." was the only word to escape his lips.

The others were almost too dumbfounded by this answer to think, a strange silence filling the room as all stared at Noiret. Suddenly a member began to chuckle, standing from his seat to pace away from the table in disbelief to such an absurd choice of an answer. Some looked between themselves, others furrowing a distasteful brow. All but the old dog looked patiently from across the table to Noiret, his thin fingers still stroking his beard.

Noiret chose to continue, "He traveled the earth in an understanding that fate drove him in all he did, but it was destiny he confused it with. He was the only one to assassinate Orca out of all others who had attempted. And he was destined to confront the demon in his brother and succeed in driving it out where his forefathers could not." Noiret lowered his head, "I believe if we summon him with this 'destiny' of bringing absolute order to the Eye of Michael, he will succeed in doing so."

Silence could be heard inside the domed room, each member dwelling in their own thoughts. A few minutes passed before the old dog spoke once more.

"...And you, Noiret. If you "believe" in this, you mean to say that it came to you in a prophecy?"

"That is correct..." Noiret answered, brows lowering in concern over his eyes. He dared not mention the rest of his foretelling.

"Simply absur--" the young man began before a swift hand was risen by the elder, the younger one quick to silence himself with a start.

The old man rose himself from his seat, the cane leaning against his chair taken in his hand to steady his feeble form. "All of us here understand that these dreams of Noiret's have never been of false telling. That is his gift...and his curse. There cannot be any other way, as some of you must be debating within yourselves now..." he mentioned, glancing towards a few still seated knowingly, "...This man will become one of the breathing to fulfill that which the land needs him for, to restore the broken bond between magicians and mortals. He will bear this difficulty on his shoulders. You should all support this man, for his second life will be full of strife once more."

Obediently, the others listened with sullen eyes to their elder, knowing this decision had gone past them. It was as Noiret said...the wheel of destiny had begun to turn.

"Tell us, Noiret, does this man have any fortune in your prophecy? Will he only be subject to suffering?" the old dog asked, lifting his chin slightly.

Noiret's eyes were lowered as he thought of this, glancing away until his shoulders gave a light shrug, gray eyes lifting to the elder after a minute. "...Solace will come from a past enemy. Unfortunately, that is the only positive my foretelling confirmed."

"A past enemy?" someone repeated in confusion.

The old man chuckled heartily to this, "If that is the only thing, then this 'enemy' should be considered a companion. Sometimes one good can outweigh much of the bad."

"Let us keep faith that this good we are to commit will be worth all the evil." Yolix voiced with crossed arms.

"Yes, yes." the old dog nodded, "I must rest these old bones for now. Prepare yourselves for what is to come and to be done." he said, turning to step slowly towards the door. Another member stood from the table to aid the elder and escort him to his room.

Before reaching the door, the old man stopped, turning his head back to the others. "I warn you. Do not give Vincent his last name. He must not have it. The Valerik name had died with him years ago; he must be birthed anew."

The others were left with this strange warning, silent as the door closed behind the elder.