📜 Entry: “Stroke of Luck”

Location: Onadbyr, Upper Rooms of the Lucky Leap Tavern
Recorded: Night following escape from the coronation massacre

Until now, I have believed that clarity was something pursued. Earned through diligence. Revealed in pieces through ritual, research, and reflection. But what if clarity does not arrive—it descends?

I was spared during the slaughter. Not untouched, not unshaken—but spared. Amid blood and betrayal, I moved like a ghost between moments. I aided the wounded. I stood above the chaos. Even the Queen’s betrayal passed beneath me like a shadow I could study, but not feel.

And then I was struck from the sky.

Not by blade or spell. Not in battle. I had already survived what should not have been survivable. We had already escaped the palace and the tombs, the choking rain and the sewers. We had seen the face of tyranny and refused to kneel.

Then the gods, or something older still, looked down and chose me.

The bolt came without warning. I had not raised my hand. I had not spoken a prayer. But I had asked—somewhere in the quiet chambers of my will—I had asked to matter. And the storm answered.

I remember falling. I remember the pain. But most of all, I remember the silence after. The way the world paused around me. I should not have survived. And yet, I rose.

I know I dreamed, though the dream is gone. I remember color. Distance. The impression of voices too large to name. And this certainty: I was not punished. I was marked.

By what, I do not know. The Wise One? Perhaps. But it could just as well have been a lesser force, an echo, or even the fabric of magic itself recoiling and realigning in a moment of clarity too sudden for thought. What matters is not the source—but the call.

I was not chosen to observe. I was chosen to act.

Yes, the Queen has outlawed divine magic. She has condemned priests and faith. She fears what she cannot bind. And that fear is power. It tells me we matter. It tells me I matter. And if fear can name me enemy, then perhaps truth can name me servant.

From this day, I will no longer simply follow clarity. I will carry it. Even into the dark. Even if no one else sees it.

The next bolt will find me ready.

May clarity walk with me.

— A.J.