The sky was a mix of dark purples and grays, the kind of color it only wore when something was about to change. Beneath that sky, a boy crawled through the ruins of a forgotten city. His hands, scraped and raw, sifted through piles of broken metal, stones, and twisted roots. Everything he touched would be considered worthless by most—but to him, it was hope.
His name was Kaen.
In the world of Auraterra, every child was born with an Eclipse Mark—a symbol of power tied to the ancient relics known as the Relics of Ecliptica. These marks determined everything: your identity, your strength, your future. But Kaen was born without one. He was Shadowless—a curse in a world that only valued power.
Without the mark, Kaen was invisible. Not a threat to anyone, but not someone worth acknowledging either. He wasn't hunted or praised—he was simply ignored.
A cold wind howled through the remains of crumbling towers. Kaen tightened his ragged cloak around himself and continued to dig through the debris, his search for something he could use never-ending.
"Hey, garbage rat!" a voice shouted from the alley behind him.
Kaen froze.
Three figures emerged from the mist, all wearing ash-colored uniforms, stitched with glowing emblems—the Academy elites. The one in front, a tall boy with broad shoulders, twirled a chain in his hand, a cruel grin on his face.
"What are you looking for now? More scraps to build your imaginary glory?" the leader sneered.
Kaen didn't respond. He lowered his head and kept digging.
"You still pretending you belong in this world? Still hoping some power will awaken just because you keep begging for it?" The boy stepped closer, his voice dripping with mockery.
Kaen didn't flinch. He had heard it all before.
But fate, in all its cruelty, had a strange way of showing up at the right moment.
The ground trembled.
A low hum came from beneath the rubble—unnatural, ancient, and alive.
Then—BOOM!
A shockwave of energy burst from the ground, sending dust and debris into the air. The other boys staggered back, coughing, fear creeping into their eyes.
"What the hell is that?!" the leader, Turo, yelled.
Kaen turned slowly. Amid the chaos, something hovered—a small sphere, glowing with veins of gold across its obsidian surface. It floated toward him as if it had been waiting for centuries.
And then—
> "At last..."
"Bearer of ruin, you have returned..."
The voice didn't sound in his ears—it echoed deep within him. A memory, not his own, whispered through his bones.
Without knowing why, he reached out. His fingers brushed against the sphere, and everything shattered.
When Kaen opened his eyes, he was no longer in the ruins.
The sky was torn open, threads of lightning stitching it together. Oceans defied gravity, flowing upward. Mountains floated, suspended in a sky filled with swirling mist.
> "Welcome to Nexveil."
The voice returned, clearer now. Kaen looked around, but there was no ground, no horizon. Just a surreal and empty space that felt ancient and forgotten.
From the mist, a figure emerged—tall, cloaked, wearing a mask etched with runes that seemed to shift and change.
> "You have touched a Fractured Relic. One that no chosen dared to bind."
"You should not have survived. Yet, here you are."
"Why?"
Kaen took a deep breath, the air cold and sharp. He stood slowly, his legs trembling as if they weren't used to holding him up.
"I don't know," Kaen said, his voice steady but quiet. "But I have nothing to lose. So if you brought me here for a reason, tell me what I need to do."
The figure tilted its head. "Bold. But boldness is not strength. Archeflare must be earned."
"Archeflare?" Kaen asked.
The figure extended its hand. A weapon materialized—half flame, half ice, a blade caught in eternal conflict.
> "The Archeflare is not power. It is belief made manifest—a weapon forged from what drives you. But power here demands a price."
"Are you ready to pay it?"
Kaen stared at the blade, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached for it, trembling.
He thought of every insult, every punch, every night spent hungry and alone. Every name he had never been called—son, brother, friend.
"Yes," he whispered. "Take what you want. Just give me the strength to change it all."
The moment his fingers closed around the weapon, the world roared. Memories flooded him—battles fought in forgotten times, cries in languages he didn't understand, monstrous creatures that shouldn't exist.
The blade ignited with black fire, and Kaen screamed as something ancient tore into his soul.
Back in the real world, his body levitated, his eyes glowing with a faint ember-red light. The ruins around him burst into flame, and where the sphere had been, a mark burned into his back—an eclipse surrounded by shattered chains.
Kaen collapsed to his knees, gasping. Blood streamed from his body. But he was laughing. Crying. For the first time in his life, he felt seen. The world had chosen him.
But the final words of the masked figure echoed in his mind:
> "Power does not make you a god. It reveals what kind of monster you truly are."
End of Chapter 1