The Rise of the Virelios Empire: The Prophecy

In a world scattered with countless nations and forgotten rulers, a monumental shift began when one man claimed a small, overlooked land. And from it, rose to rule over half the world.

That man was Addison: a renowned adventurer, universally celebrated writer, and a soul unbound by maps. Ruling a nation had never crossed his mind. In his forties, unmarried and orphaned, Addison had no blood family. But he was blessed with a circle of loyal, eccentric friends: scientists, engineers, lawyers, historians, and explorers. Together, they turned his every venture into legend.

But everything changed on his final expedition to a secluded island known only in whispered tales: Mages Valley.

There, something strange happened.

Addison lost half of his memories. And with them, the very fire that once fueled his soul. The insatiable curiosity, the thrill of the unknown, the wanderlust that once carried him across deserts and oceans... replaced by a strange, hollow calm. The man who could never stay in one place now found peace only in stillness.

And yet, he remained unchanged.

Following his heart as always, Addison left the island, planning to publish the final volume of his travels using the data recorded by his "mad scientist" companions. But something had shifted within him.

A secret had taken root.

He didn't understand it, but from the moment he stepped off that island, his mind was different. Knowledge of governance, diplomacy, law, and ancient political systems flooded his thoughts, disciplines he had never studied. It was as though another mind had been stitched into his own: the mind of a ruler.

To test this terrifying gift, he devoured books, journals, and political records. Every test confirmed the same impossible truth. He now possessed the traits of a great leader. Brilliant. Just. Strategic. Compassionate. Composed. Even his personality shifted, echoing those of legendary monarchs.

It was as if he had crossed into a parallel world, where the restless wanderer now bore the spirit of a king.

He tried to revisit his old self by reading his books, but after a few pages, he would shut them. The tales once written with fire now read like idle fantasies. Naive and hollow. For a week, he resisted the change. And then came the dream that would haunt him forever.

---✯｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+-----

The Dream

In the dream, he walked barefoot through a desert. The heat was bearable, but his throat burned with thirst. Sweat clung to him. He wore only his sleep clothes. A mask still clung to his face, the one he always wore to bed. He pulled it off and cast it into the wind.

Behind him, his glowing footprints lingered in the sand, silent echoes of a self he once was.

Hours passed, or perhaps minutes, time warped in dreams. Just as despair clawed at him, green rose on the horizon. Trees. Tall silhouettes. Life. Hope.

He ran, childlike, wild. With only a few steps, reality bent. The oasis surged toward him like a wave.

He stood amid lush grass and thick-leaved trees. Rows of vegetables and fruits thrived, each leaf still wet with droplets as if someone had just watered them. The freshness was divine. A lake shimmered nearby, accompanied by deep wells with wooden buckets. Even a small, green-covered mountain watched from a distance.

Addison drank from the lake, ate from the land, and let himself breathe again. It was heaven. Under the warm but gentle sunlight, he laid on the grass and let the light seep into his bones.

But curiosity stirred once more.

He rose, wandered past the lake and wells, beyond the little mountain, to a field where animals and plump dogs slumbered in peace, guarding the land like gentle kings.

He followed a winding path that led toward a distant village.

And just before he could reach it, the dream ended.

---✯｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+-----

He woke with the dream clear in his mind, like light refracted through crystal. But he ignored it.

Dreams are dreams, he told himself.

He returned to reading, political articles, government systems, debates. He tried to bury the images. To ignore the pull.

That night, he slept early.

And once again, the dream returned.

But this time, it came with a warning.

---✯｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+-----

The Second Dream

In a deep emerald forest, Addison stood like stone. Light poured from the sky like a celestial torch, illuminating the ground before him.

Then a figure stepped into the glow.

Tall. Ethereal. Dressed in a nature-woven tunic and trousers, reminiscent of elven tales, yet not quite elven. Silver hair shimmered like falling starlight. His skin bore faint, glowing sigils. Ancient, unknowable. Adornments of leaves, stone, and bone hung from his crown to his waist. The loose garment swayed like wind-draped silk.

He approached with urgent steps, then stopped five paces away. Though sunlight cloaked his face, Addison felt the gaze pierce his very soul.

The figure spoke in a whisper. Low, but clear, like a teacher speaking to a student who must remember every word:

"A light unseen shall rise through you, shaping history with silver bones and golden breath. But stray from the dream's beginning... and regret shall burn your name into the winds of death. Your soul was not changed by chance, nor gifted without cause. Return to the root, the garden before the gate. Or be unmade by the very future that calls your name."

Then the forest faded.

Addison awoke. His heart thundered.

It was no longer a dream. It was a message. A prophecy.

---✯｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+-----

Despite the intensity of the dreams, Addison did not act at once. Logic prevailed. He focused on the mystery of his transformation. The dreams could wait.

He resolved to return to Mages Valley. To find the cave. To search for answers.

But something strange happened.

Every attempt failed. Storms rolled in from nowhere. Flights were delayed, then cancelled. Equipment stolen. Records missing. Even his private jet suffered damage on the runway.

It was as if the world itself conspired to keep him away.

Five days passed. Restlessness bloomed in his chest like wildfire. Reason still whispered, Return to the island. But instinct screamed louder.

He remembered the village. The glowing footprints. The figure of prophecy.

And so, Addison made his choice.

He followed the dreams. For no matter how hard he tried to return to where it began, he knew now...

The end of the old path was not the answer.

But the beginning of a new one.

---✯｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+-----

The Round-Table Meeting

Days later, a night draped the study in velvet shadows, and candlelight flickered like memory. The scent of wax and old paper filled the room, as Addison sat at the head of a round mahogany table carved with the maps of old kingdoms. Before him were two of his eleven closest friends, Elira, the soft-spoken psychologist, and Torrin, the sharp-tongued historian. The others, bound by duty or distance, had sent promises of support.

Maps were spread across the tabletop. Weathered photographs. Crumbling notes. A journal worn down to its stitching. Addison began to speak, not with drama, but with clarity. His voice, deep, steady, and edged with fatigue, unfolded the strange truth he had kept locked in silence.

He spoke of the Mages Valley. Of the moment his memories broke like glass. Of the strange calm that replaced his restlessness. Of the political knowledge that was never his, yet bloomed in his mind like second nature.

He told them of the dreams. The garden. The voice. The prophecy. And of Avestria, a forgotten land, impossibly real, that had mirrored every vision.

He spoke as one unsure of his own words. And yet, he could not stop. Because it was no longer about belief, it was about truth.

"I know how it sounds," he admitted softly.

"Like the ramblings of a fevered mind. Like a myth we used to mock when we were children. But I lived it. I felt it. And now... I cannot undo it."

He looked to his friends, not for validation, but for presence. He needed them here, even if they couldn't follow.

Silence stretched across the room like fog.

Addison finally broke it, voice low and raw:

Addison:

"I don't know what's happening to me. It's not magic. It's... knowledge. As if someone rewired my mind and told my heart to forget who I was."

Elira (softly, thoughtful):

"You may be experiencing identity reformation. Trauma, or subconscious reconditioning. But dreams... they don't carry prophecies, Addison. They carry warnings."

Addison (nodding faintly):

"Then let it be a warning. But isn't a prophecy just a warning written in stars instead of ink? A forecast of fate? Something not yet real... but waiting?"

Elira's eyes searched his. A quiet fear tugged at her thoughts-that Addison, her brilliant, grounded friend, had begun to spiral into obsession. Had he lost his tether to logic? Has the island undone something in him?

But then... she saw the weight in his gaze. Not delusion. Conviction.

So she pushed her fears aside. This moment was not for diagnosis. It was for loyalty.

Torrin (scoffing):

"You expect us to believe you dreamed of a land. And then just found it? Addison, dreams aren't blueprints. They're-"

Addison (quietly interrupting):

"Then explain this."

He reached into the folder beside him, his fingers trembling, not from fear, but the magnitude of the truth he held. He laid down photographs one by one: the lake, the wells, the vegetable rows glistening with dew. A green-covered hill. Napping dogs under fruit trees. The village in the distance.

Torrin leaned forward. The scoff faded from his face.

Torrin:

"That's... impossible."

Addison gave a small nod, then slid a map toward them, marked with a circle.

Avestria.

Addison:

"This isn't about belief. It's about the truth. If something inside me is borrowed or stolen, I need to return it. Or understand why it was given."

---✯｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+-----

That night, after his guests had gone, Elira silent in thought, Torrin still shaking his head, Addison stood alone on the balcony outside his study.

The wind curled through the trees. The moonlight painted silver trails across the floorboards.

In his left hand, he held the worn map of Avestria. In his right, a brass lantern.

The words of the dream returned to him like a prayer: