The wind tore through the jagged spires of Elraen Academy, carrying the scent of frost and old stone. As the first rays of morning light cracked over the rooftops, the grand marble halls of the elite towered high above the servant quarters nestled at their base. From one of those shadows emerged Raen Liora—boots soaked, soles half-torn, yet his steps were steady.
Today was the Testing Day.
His cloak, patched and faded, barely shielded him from the cold. But it wasn't the wind that made his chest tight—it was the weight of another chance. Another year. Another prayer. Another likely disappointment.
"Seventeen and still nothing."
He muttered it under his breath, as if saying it aloud might dull the ache.
Every year since his tenth birthday, he had stood before the Marking Stone, hoping. Waiting. Watching it remain cold beneath his hand while others lit it aflame with their destined powers. Now, most had stopped watching. Even the instructors only glanced at him with dull pity—like a stray dog too stubborn to die.
He reached the courtyard where dozens had gathered. Some wore finely polished uniforms, the crest of noble houses shining on their chests. Others—like him—wore nothing but hope and fear.
A familiar voice spat behind him.
"Move, rat."
Raen turned. Veylan Marren, heir to House Marren, stood in gleaming armor that still smelled of fresh forging oil. A smirk twisted across his face. Around his shoulders, sparks danced—embers crackling in the air.
Elemental class. Fire-born.
"Didn't you get the message last year?" Veylan said, voice loud enough to draw attention. "Or the year before that? Or the five before that?"
Raen said nothing. He stepped aside without a word.
Let them mock. Let them laugh. I didn't come for them.
Inside the Testing Hall, the air shimmered with ancient sigils, etched into blackstone walls by forgotten hands. The Marking Stone stood tall and silent at the center of the chamber—a slab of obsidian pulsing faintly with hidden energy.
One by one, students stepped forward, placed their palms, and awakened light. Power. Destiny.
Raen waited his turn in silence, heart thudding. Not with hope—but with defiance.
When his name was called, the room went still. Even the instructors looked up, not out of anticipation—but routine.
He stepped forward. Placed his palm.
Cold.
Silent.
Empty.
Again.
A single laugh broke the silence. Then another. And then the hall erupted into cruel amusement.
An instructor, seated near the registry, scribbled something into a ledger. "Seventeen," he said, voice flat. "That's enough. I suggest you find a trade, boy. Power doesn't come to those it deems unworthy."
Raen didn't look back. Didn't argue. He walked out slowly—but inside, something coiled.
It wasn't despair. That emotion had dried up long ago.
It was something else.
That night, long after curfew, Raen wandered beyond the academy's walls. The moon hid behind clouds. The wind had died. Silence reigned, broken only by the crunch of his boots across frostbitten leaves.
His feet moved on their own—carried by instinct. A pull. A whisper beneath his skin.
He reached the edge of the abandoned ruins. A place long sealed, cursed by the academy's elders. "Forbidden ground," they had warned. "Built over old blood."
Raen crossed the boundary without hesitation.
Within the ruin's broken bones, ivy had devoured stone. Statues crumbled under their own weight. He moved slowly, drawn toward something buried beneath centuries of neglect.
There—half-submerged in moss and rubble—lay a ring.
It was forged of dark silver, etched with sigils that shimmered beneath the surface. At its center: a blood-red core, pulsing.
Raen stared.
His breath caught.
He reached out.
The moment his skin brushed the ring, pain exploded through his hand.
He screamed—but not aloud. The sound existed only in his mind. A psychic roar. Visions—flashes of war, of empires in flame, of shadows rising over the world—blinded him.
He fell to his knees, hand clenched around the ring as it latched onto his finger.
And then—
> [RELIC IDENTIFIED: Vael'Thar – Dormant Echo Stage]
[NEW HOST ACCEPTED]
[WARNING: Power Detected – Suppression Protocols Failing]
His body arched as heat surged through his veins. Every nerve in his body screamed. He collapsed, gasping for air, cold sweat soaking his brow.
The ring pulsed again.
A voice—ancient, hollow, and terrible—whispered into his thoughts.
> "You are the last. The cycle begins again."
From the shadows behind him, something shifted.
Unseen eyes opened.
Something old had been awakened.
And it was watching.
[End of Chapter 1]