The scene opened upon the sprawling lands of the Magical Kingdom of Iliad, a kingdom vast enough to stretch beyond sight, but one that, despite its size, bore deep scars of division. Here, those blessed with magic lived in privilege, while those without it toiled at their feet.
Mages owed their very existence to the throne, serving under King Joffrey himself. Each was bound to one of four great Mystic Orders, led by a Highwarden of Spells:
The Ashens, Unyielding and merciless in battle;
The Stormveil Sentinels, The Kingdom's fierce defenders ;
The Verdant Covenant, guardians of life and nature;
And the Silver Arcanum, keepers of ancient and forbidden magics.
Far from the marble towers and gleaming castles, in the quieter district near the city's outer walls, Ren Caelis wiped the last of the mugs clean and his hands on his apron behind the counter of his mother's modest bar and inn, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. He was lean but strong, with eyes that seemed to hold a quiet determination, though they often seemed distant, as if his mind was somewhere else. His clothes were simple—worn but practical—just like most folks in the small town of Illiad.
After the last customer settled his tab and left, Ren tossed his apron over his shoulder and called out to the back room, "Mom, I'm heading out now!" His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of excitement behind his words.
From behind the kitchen doors, his mother, Arlene Caelis, popped her head out, wiping her hands on a cloth, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Good luck, my dear!" she said warmly.
Ren grinned, waved, and rushed into the gathering dusk.
Tonight was important. The Magic Energy Assessment — the time of the year to be recognized by a Mystic Order. It was Ren's third attempt. Both times Ren attempted the assessment had been disappointing and though hope was a fragile thing, it still burned quietly in his chest. Every mage, whether born in the kingdom or a wanderer, had to take the measurement if they wanted to be accepted into a Mystic Order. Ren didn't just want to be part of a Mystic Order, he wanted to prove himself, to make a name for himself and elevate his family's social standing. His mother, Arlene, had worked hard all her life to provide for him, and Ren couldn't bear the thought of remaining stagnant in their current station. That desire to rise above, to give his mother a better life, was what kept him trying year after year, even when the results weren't what he hoped for.
Each person attempting to become a mage of any Mystic Order usually had a particular magic they were born with. It was called their Primary Magic. One of the reasons people wanted to join a Mystic Order was to harness their primary magic and develop it into a specialized form of usage. They also had the opportunity to learn secondary or sub-magics, additional skills that could aid them in their magical work. Ren's primary magic was Lightning—at least, that's what he hoped. The tiny sparks he could summon at his fingertips barely counted, and he wasn't sure they were enough to get him into a Mystic Order, let alone one of any renown.
He hurried through the winding streets toward the Magic Council Hall at the kingdom's heart. But halfway there, he paused. A man, cloaked heavily, stumbled onto the cobbled path ahead, nearly collapsing as he tried to reach the city gates.
Without thinking, Ren darted forward, catching the man by the arm.
"You alright, sir?" he asked, steadying him.
The stranger gave a soft chuckle, gripping Ren's wrist briefly in thanks. A massive hat shadowed most of his face; only a flash of white hair was visible beneath the brim.
"I'm fine," the man rasped, straightening himself.
With a nod, Ren let him go and continued on his way, unaware of the sharp, lingering gaze that followed his retreating back.
The Magic Council Hall was already teeming with hopeful candidates by the time Ren arrived. He stood among them, waiting his turn, nerves fraying at the edges.
At the center of the hall stood the Prism Vault — an ancient artifact said to reflect the very soul of a mage. A crystalline, cathedral-like structure, the Vault shimmered with countless colors, shifting with the ambient magic around it. Stepping inside would measure one's latent power and assign a preliminary rank, the first step toward joining an Order.
When Ren's name was finally called, he was ushered to the Vault by an elderly councilman wearing small glasses. The man gave a small, knowing smile.
"Third time's the charm, eh, lad?"
Ren smiled back. "Hope so."
He stepped into the Vault.
Light immediately danced around him, and the Vault began its work. The readings surged, first to expected levels… and then beyond. The crystal spires flared blindingly, the indicators climbing to heights no one had ever seen at an initial assessment.
Gasps filled the hall.
The councilman adjusted his glasses frantically.
"That… can't be right. Step out, step out — we must recalibrate!"
Ren stumbled back, confused, heart pounding. He reset his breath, stepped back in… and once again, the Vault exploded with impossible readings.
Silence fell. The old man's voice was almost a whisper, trembling with disbelief.
"You… you're at the level of an Arcane Knight."
A wave of stunned whispers swept the crowd. Eyes widened. Someone dropped a pen. Even from across the city, the four Highwardens turned their gazes sharply toward the Council Hall, sensing the disturbance in the magical currents.
Ren staggered back, shaking his head. "That's… impossible."
Still in disbelief, he tried to step forward again — but the moment he crossed the Vault's threshold, the world around him blackened.
Time stilled.
Golden glyphs, intricate and ancient, began to etch themselves into the void. A system message, woven into the very fabric of his soul, appeared:
[AwakeningComplete] > [Ren Caelis, you have become a Pathwalker]
[Name: Ren Caelis]
[Status: Pathwalker]
[Rank: Arcane Knight]
[Primary Magic: Lightning Magic - Rank A]
[Sub-Magic: Copy Magic - Rank B]
Statistics:
[Power: 25 Speed: 25]
[Cast Power: 35 Cast Speed: 35]
[Intelligence: 20]
Stamina:
[Life Force: 100]
[Magic Energy: 500]
[Available Points for Stamina: 0]
[Available Points for Stats: 0]
The message lingered for a second that felt like an eternity. Then the vision shattered, and Ren collapsed, unconscious, onto the floor of the Vault. Chaos erupted. The old councilman shouted for healers. The candidates rushed forward in confusion and awe.
Far beyond the council building, on the winding road leading away from Iliad's gates, the cloaked stranger continued his journey. The brim of his hat dipped lower as he reached up slowly, theatrically, and pulled it away — revealing a man with long white hair and sharp, mischievous eyes.
It was Liam Reeds! — or at least, an avatar of him.
A devious smile curved his lips as he gazed toward the distant kingdom.
Meanwhile, far across reality, in a throne room made of stars, the true Liam — the Almighty — sat upon his vast throne, head resting against his hand, a matching smirk crossing his face.