Rhea's footsteps echoed as she walked into the cavernous darkness that stretched out before her. She felt as if the ground were leading her somewhere, but her steps were hollow and uncertain. Darkness danced along the walls, and the air was held something both familiar and foreign--a taste of the past, a scent that reminded her of home yet held something more ominous, something that was just out of reach. This was the Rite of Ancestral Communion, a sacred trial to connect with her forebears, and the weight of its purpose was almost crushing. If she was to ascend to one of the highest honors in Nahautl, she needed more than the storm. She needed her ancestors’ wisdom.

The torches along the walls flickered into life, and the Elf found herself standing in an open stone hall. The walls were etched with scenes from Stellan history; battles, feasts, rituals--every stone seemed alive with stories. In the center of the room lay a stone circle surrounded by offerings. Clay bowls filled with incense, bundles of herbs, carved idols of the gods, and blood-red gemstones that gleamed like the embers of the flames around her. She had prepared her mind and spirit for this communion, but now as she faced the reality of it, unease crawled up her spine.

Kneeling down, Rhea placed a bundle of sage and cedar into the offering bowl, striking flint until a flame caught and smoke began to rise. The smell was rich and woody, filling her lungs with every breath as she whispered an invocation she learned as a child. Slowly, deliberately, Rhea closed her eyes. The world around her fell into a deeper silence, the kind that rang with the presence of something vast and unknowable. To invoke her ancestors, she needed to demonstrate humility, an acknowledgment of her place in the unbroken chain of their legacy.

"By blood and by bone, by earth and by storm, I call upon the spirits of my lineage. Hear me, ancestors. I stand here as your descendant, as the daughter of Talis, Mzuma, and the storm’s chosen. I seek your wisdom, your strength. Lend me your voice, guide me through the shadows. I honor your memory, and I will not falter."

The smoke swirled, thickening and for a moment she thought her voice might disappear into the silence. But then the air shifted, charged with an ancient energy that seemed to vibrate beneath her skin. The nothingness began to take form, coalescing into figures that resembled familiar traits. The strong lines of their faces, the hint of wisdom in their eyes, the almost unamused set of their mouths. Spirits of her ancestors stood before her, gazing down at her in a way that seemed to glare into the depths of her very soul.

The young Stellan's breath condensed in the sudden chill and a soft mumbling could be heard throughout the chambers. Rhea could not see them, but she could feel them. Some were warm, others were cold. Not every ancestor was fond of her. Some carried the sharp, bitter tang of battle, and may have deemed her privileged, or spoiled and too prideful, while others exuded a serene calm and love, having faith in who their descendant would become. Yet all were undeniably there, watching, waiting.

"Rhea Alvarez," the elder intoned, her voice echoing in the stone chamber, "Do you come prepared?” a deep, raspy-like voice asked, dispelling the murmurs. It was the voice of an elder. Her tone was steady and commanding, yet carried an undertone of challenge. Rhea’s head bowed lower.

"I do," she replied. "In mind, in spirit, and in blood."

The murmurs and mumbled finally stilled. One presence stepped up forward--its weight oppressive yet oddly comforting, like the authority of a parent tempered by care. The elder spirit had taken the lead, as was tradition. The others, she knew, stood in silent judgment, their collective gaze heavy on the storm weaver's bowed head.

"So you say... But, do you think yourself worthy to bear the burdens and blessings of our lineage? Do you believe yourself capable of holding the power we guarded with our lives?"

Rhea felt a shiver slide down her spine but stood firm, her eyes never leaving the spirit’s. “I am worthy,” she replied, though her voice held a sliver of vulnerability. “I honor you and our kin. I seek your strength, your wisdom. I am here to uphold our legacy.”

“You seek our guidance and our blessing,” the elder said. “But such gifts are not given freely. You must prove yourself worthy. Since you speak of Honor, child, answer me this; what does it mean to honor those who came before you?”

The question struck her like a hammer. It was deceptively simple, yet its weight was profound. The Elf's mind raced, shuffling through memories and teachings, through moments of victory and failure. Slowly, she answered as she kept her voice steady.

“To honor those who came before me is to carry and defend their legacy with pride and humility,” she said. “It is to remember their sacrifices, to learn from their mistakes, and to build upon what they left behind. It is to live not only for myself but for the dreams they could not fulfill.”

The elder spirit was silent for a moment, and Rhea felt the weight of his scrutiny. Then, a low hum of approval rippled through the chamber. But the trial was far from over.

“Good,” the elder said. “But words alone do not prove devotion. We will test your spirit, Rhea, and if you falter, the communion will end.”

The elder gestured to the air, and three more spirits stepped forward. Each bore the fierce intensity of warriors, eyes gleaming with knowledge beyond this world. The first of the three, a man with broad shoulders and piercing eyes, stepped closer, folding his arms over his chest. His voice was a low growl.

“Riddle me this, child of storms,” he said, his tone challenging. “If you seek to protect, you must understand that which you wish to defend. So answer this: I am boundless but fragile, invisible yet heavy, life cannot be without me, and yet I may bring death with me. What am I?"

Rhea’s mind churned. She knew this was no simple test of wits--it was a measure of her awareness, her understanding of the fundamental forces of life and death. She drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes to feel the weight of the question, allowing her senses to guide her. Boundless yet fragile, essential for life… an answer bubbled to her lips.

“Air,” she replied, opening her eyes, meeting the warrior spirit's intense gaze. “Air is life, yet it can carry storms, sickness… even death.”

The spirit’s gaze softened as he nodded, and a silence fell over the chamber, as if the very stones were holding their breath. "Remember, child,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm, "death is not the enemy. It is a passage, an end, but also a beginning. Do not fear it, but wield it wisely." With the last riddle answered, the spirits moved closer, surrounding her. The elder woman, the first spirit who had spoken, looked at her with something akin to pride. "You have answered well, Rhea, but there is one more task before us."

Before she could brace herself, a cold wave washed over her, and suddenly, she was no longer in the chamber. "Open your eyes." The voice echoed. Of course, Rhea followed instructions.

Now, she could see that she was in the jungles of Stella, the air thick with humidity and the distant cries of creatures echoing through the trees. She recognized this place; it was a memory, one she had buried deep. She was a child again, barely old enough to wield a bow. Her cousins’ laughter rang out ahead of her as they chased through the underbrush, their target was a small but slippery dinosaur. Rhea had been so eager to prove herself to her cousins so desperate to outshine them as she had always done. But she had failed today. She had missed her shot, the arrow striking a tree instead of the creature’s flank. The disappointment in her cousins eyes had been worse than any scolding.

"What do you see?" the elder’s voice asked, though it sounded distant now, like it was coming from the wind itself.

"A failure," Rhea admitted, her chest tightened with the shame and embarassment of the memory. "A child who was not good enough."

"Look deeper," the elder urged. "What did you learn?"

Rhea closed her eyes within the memory, forcing herself to relive the moment. She remembered the sting of her mother’s words later that evening: "Strength isn’t about never falling. It’s about standing up, even when you’ve fallen a thousand times." She had spent the following weeks practicing relentlessly, not to impress her cousins, but to prove to herself that she could be better.

"I learned perseverance," she said finally. "I learned that failure is not the end, but the beginning of growth."

The jungle faded, and she was back in the chamber. The elder’s presence loomed closer, and he seemed to approve.

"You begin to understand," he said. "But your journey is not yet complete."

Once again, it felt like in an instant Rhea was ripped away space in time. It happened fast. One moment she was in the jungle, and the next she was... in the heart of battle? Within moments her ancestors memories began flooding her vision. The Former Rune Knight stood withiin a battlefield, the air was thick with smoke and the metallic stench of blood. All around her figures fell to the ground, their cries of pain echoed through her very soul. Her hands were covered in blood but they held a sword that felt familiar yet foreign.

She felt each life slip away, each soul passing as if it were her own. She was living the lives of her ancestors, feeling their losses, their pain and the sacrifices they made for Stella and all that they held dear. Each moment of agony became her own agony, a thousand voices crying out in pain none should have had to bare, and in this moment, she bore it all. The Elf let it carve itself into her heart. The weight of it was crushing. It pressed down upon her with the force of a mountain, and yet she did not fall. The emotional turmoil felt like thousand needles to her heart, and the roars of sorrow rang in her brain.

Tears slipped down her face, mingling with the blood on her hands, and she whispered a silent prayer for each soul she encountered. She honored them, felt their courage, their love and their fierce loyalty to their people. She saw her lineage laid bare, the warriors, the healers, the guardians...and she felt their hopes and dreams merging with her own hopes and dreams. Each of them fought for something greater than just themselves, yearning for total liberation. In Stella, one doesn't often choose the path of the warrior, the path chooses you.

When the memories faded, the young soon-to-be priestess found herself once more in the quiet chamber she first began her journey in. Her eyes remained closed as if they had never opened in the first place. The spirits surrounded the aspiring priestess with gentle, approving gazes. They reached out and their spectral hands rested on her shoulders, filling her with a comfort that chased away the lingering demons of the past, and burned way the trauma she had just endured.

The elder’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. "You have borne our pain and shared in our sacrifice. You have honored us, Rhea Alvarez. Now, we honor you."

In unison they placed their hands upon Rhea's head and a surge of power coursed through her veins. She could feel their strength, their wisdom flowing into her like a torrent of energy that left her breathless. The air around her shimmered and from that moment on, she knew she was forever changed. Rhea Alvarez was no longer merely Rhea Alvarez; she was the embodiment of her ancestors will, the vessel of their rage, the Storm Weaver of Stella.

Another question followed, and then another. Each one was clearly a test of her knowledge, her loyalty, and her resolve. The elder’s voice was unyielding, pressing her to confront truths she had long avoided. She relived battles she had fought, choices she had made, and moments she had doubted herself. Each memory was a sword, cutting away her defenses until only her raw self remained. The elf was completely naked before them.

Finally, the elder asked his last question. "What will you do with all that you have experienced, learned, and obtained?"

Rhea’s hands trembled, but her voice was firm. "The only thing there is to do; Protect and rebuild all that we have lost, no matter the cost"

The silence that followed was absolute. Then, one by one, she felt the spirits’ presences withdraw, their judgment rendered. The elder’s voice came last, a whisper that echoed in her very soul.

"Rise, Rhea Alvarez. You are worthy."

When she opened her eyes, the chamber was empty, but the weight on her shoulders had lifted. She was not alone. She carried her ancestors with her, their strength and wisdom a part of her now. And she would not falter. Her fists clenched, her heart steady, Rhea Alvarez walked forward, and back to where she first began. Now, she bore the weight of her heritage with a fiery determination. A fierce conviction. A dangerous courage. She was no longer just a warrior. She was the storm, the protector, the legacy of Stella--bound by blood, by bone, and by the whispers of those who had come before.