The wind howled like a starving beast across the valley, dragging crimson leaves through the blood-soaked training field. High on the cliffs of Daervyn Academy, the elite heirs of the Nine Realms trained, laughed, and basked in privilege. Far below, alone and bruised, stood Ashen Vale.
He was seventeen—tall, lean, with raven-black hair matted by sweat and blood. His amber eyes gleamed with a stubborn fire, even as his knees buckled from exhaustion. His training robes were torn, his knuckles raw from striking ironwood dummies that didn't so much as shiver in response.
"Again." His voice was hoarse, nearly a whisper.
"You're pathetic, Vale."
Ashen turned just in time to catch a fist to his ribs. The impact lifted him off the ground and sent him crashing into the dirt. He gasped, bile rising in his throat, vision blurring. Through the haze, he saw Cassian Dren—the golden heir of the Thunder Lotus Clan—standing above him, sneering.
"You don't belong here," Cassian said, his aura flaring. Violet lightning crackled around him, scorching the ground. "No bloodline. No aura. You're not a cultivator. You're just a cripple pretending to be something more."
Ashen didn't speak. He didn't groan. He didn't cry. He reached for the dirt, pushed himself up, and stood again.
Cassian's grin faded. "Still standing? Impressive. Let's fix that."
A boot struck Ashen's jaw. He spun, crashed into the wall of the arena, and slumped to his knees. Laughter echoed from the crowd—students, instructors, even elders who should've known better. No one stopped the beating. They never did.
Because Ashen was born without a core.
In the Ninefold Realms, a child without an aura core was worse than dead. He was an insect, unworthy of cultivation, let alone nobility. But Ashen... Ashen had dared to enroll at Daervyn, the top martial academy of the realms, on sheer grit and cunning. No spirit beast. No family name. Just endless pain.
He spat blood. One tooth came with it.
Cassian's footsteps approached again.
"I'll give you a choice," Cassian said, his voice soft. "Kneel, kiss my boots, and declare me your better. Or I'll shatter your legs and make you crawl for the rest of your pitiful life."
Ashen looked up. The world spun around him. His lips cracked into a smile.
"Go to hell."
The fist came again—but Ashen moved. Not fast, not elegant. But just enough. The blow grazed his cheek instead of crushing it. He caught Cassian's wrist, pulled, and drove his elbow into the elbow joint. A crack echoed.
Cassian screamed.
Ashen headbutted him. Once. Twice. Blood gushed from Cassian's nose as he stumbled back.
Silence fell across the field.
Ashen turned toward the crowd. His eyes met a thousand others—mocking, shocked, disbelieving.
"I may be a cripple," he said, voice clear and low. "But at least I earned every breath I take. What about you?"
No one moved.
Cassian roared and drew his blade—a lightning-forged saber etched with divine runes.
Ashen braced. He had no weapon. No aura. No hope of surviving what came next.
Still, he stood.
Cassian lunged.
Then the world shattered.
—
Ashen woke to silence.
Not just the absence of sound, but the kind of silence that pressed against your bones, that screamed without making a noise.
He wasn't in the arena.
He wasn't anywhere he recognized.
The sky was a swirling void of black and crimson, streaked with silver lines that pulsed like veins. Floating islands drifted through the air, some upside-down, some cracked in half. Gravity itself seemed optional here.
He stood on a barren cliff of obsidian rock, surrounded by jagged pillars that hummed with ancient power.
"What... is this place?" he muttered.
Something laughed behind him. Not a sound, but a feeling—like teeth scraping against his soul.
He turned.
It wasn't a creature. Not exactly. It was a presence—a shifting mass of shadows and light, too large for reality, too dense for comprehension. It bled chaos and time.
"You amuse me, mortal," it said.
Ashen's heart froze. The voice wasn't in his ears. It was in his blood.
"What... are you?"
"A prisoner. A god. A mistake. Call me what you will. But you... you are the first to stand in my heart of silence and not shatter."
Ashen didn't understand. None of this made sense.
"I'm dead, aren't I?"
"In a way. Your body lies broken. Your soul is... in flux. I could let you fade. Or... I could give you a gift."
Ashen hesitated. "Why?"
"Because the world bores me. Because fate is a liar. Because even gods need entertainment. Pick your reason."
Ashen looked at his hands. They were intact. No bruises. No blood. Just... potential.
"If I take your gift?" he asked. "What's the price?"
The presence grinned. He felt it.
"You'll walk a path no mortal survives. You'll wield power that defies reality. You'll be hunted, hated, worshiped, and feared. And you'll never know peace again."
Ashen clenched his fists.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you fade."
Ashen closed his eyes.
He thought of the years of torment. Of the faces that laughed as he bled. Of Cassian's blade descending. Of the fire in his heart that never died.
"I accept."
The world screamed.
Power surged into him—white-hot, endless, terrible. It wasn't aura. It wasn't magic. It was raw creation, the power of broken laws and forgotten truths.
Symbols carved themselves into his soul. His body twisted, shattered, and rebuilt itself a hundred times in an instant. His eyes burned with silver flame.
When the pain ended, Ashen stood taller. Stronger. New.
"You are reborn," the voice said. "You are Sovereignbound. Now go. Burn the world. Or save it. I no longer care."
The world fractured.
—
Ashen gasped awake on the bloodstained arena floor.
Everyone froze.
His wounds were gone. His eyes glowed silver. Energy hummed beneath his skin, unlike anything the spectators had ever felt.
Cassian stepped back, uncertain.
Ashen rose.
The air distorted around him. The stone cracked beneath his feet.
Cassian screamed and charged.
Ashen raised his hand.
Cassian stopped midair—frozen in time.
A ripple pulsed from Ashen's fingers. The saber in Cassian's hand disintegrated. His armor fell apart. And then...
Ashen closed his fist.
Cassian dropped like a puppet with cut strings—alive, but broken.
Gasps erupted.
Elders moved forward, panic in their eyes. "Who—what are you?"
Ashen looked at them, his voice calm, deep, inhuman.
"I'm the last mistake you'll ever make."