In a world preparing for the Great Generation, power no longer slept behind noble crests. It stirred in places long ignored—within bloodlines erased from history, within children born under celestial events, and within those abandoned by society itself.
The Great Academy was not merely a school. It was the furnace in which future kings, calamities, and legends would be forged.
And now, it was nearly time.
---
Eastern Marches – Crimson Wastes
A girl stood barefoot in the middle of a scorched battlefield, her golden hair dancing in the furnace winds. Around her, seven bounty hunters lay sprawled—some unconscious, others twitching from the aftershock of her strikes.
Her name: Reina Valeheart.
A direct descendant of the Sun-Blooded Warlords. Said to possess the Solar Convergence Physique, a terrifying body type that absorbed heat and light to convert into raw combat strength.
"I thought they'd at least scratch me," she muttered, disappointed.
Behind her, an imperial envoy stepped forward, lowering himself into a deep bow.
"Lady Reina. The Great Academy extends its formal invitation."
She didn't respond, only reached for her blade.
---
Southern Highlands – Ghostveil Monastery
A silent figure floated down a cliff with no wings and no visible support. His robes were marked by faded runes, his eyes glazed over with permanent silver.
His name: Kael'ven of the Pale Soul.
Once believed to be dead at birth, Kael had risen at age three and begun whispering to spirits no one else could see. The monastery kept him isolated, feeding him knowledge, scripture, and training in spectral combat.
He now moved like a shadow dipped in poison. Untouchable. Forgotten. Feared.
And now, the Academy had come for him too.
---
Northern Glades – Whispering Lakes
Two elven twins, indistinguishable in form but opposite in aura, stepped onto shimmering water as if it were marble. One radiated harmony, the other dread.
Lirael and Dazeth Mooncall, known as the Balance of the Silver Grove, possessed a unique dual affinity—Emotioncraft, where their emotions dictated the shape and strength of their magic.
They were considered unpredictable. Unstable. Yet unrivaled when united.
The forest spirits bowed as they passed.
---
Back in Thorneveil – Alaric's Grounds
Alaric was in the middle of his sixth duel of the day—against enchanted constructs thrice his size.
Sweat glistened across his jawline. His breath ragged. But his eyes?
Clear. Calm. Cold.
[Binding Active: Target – Elric Vaelthorn]
[Elric Status: Accomplished Quest – "Subdue the Blazing Chimera"]
[Passive Sync Boost: +4% Flame Control | +1 Intermediate Astral Resonance]
The power seeped into him like a quiet tide.
He didn't gloat. Didn't smirk.
He just absorbed and kept moving.
His strikes were clumsy, his defense slightly off. Not due to lack of strength—but due to inexperience. That's what Alaric feared more than anything: being strong, yet ineffective.
"Again," he told the construct.
It charged.
---
Far from Alaric's grounds, the name "Elric Vaelthorn" echoed in every noble ballroom. He was the face of the new era, after all.
Every royal heir dreamed of meeting him. Powerful families trained their daughters in etiquette in hopes of a favorable marriage.
What they didn't know was that Elric was growing tired of it.
"Another mission?" he muttered as a system alert popped up.
[New Quest: Charm the Iceborn Maiden]
[Reward: 200 System Points | Skill Fragment – Glacial Control]
He smirked. "They're turning me into a walking political tool."
Yet, even as frustration mounted in his heart, the system never stopped. Neither did the offers. Neither did the fame.
He was a fire climbing too quickly. Everyone saw the light—but not the shadow that grew behind him.
---
In contrast, Alaric remained an enigma.
There were whispers, of course.
Some claimed the former fiancé of Lady Lysenia had been banished. Others believed the Thorneveil heir had no real talent and was being protected out of pity.
But behind the veil, Alaric's strength had grown into something monstrous.
[Binding Sync: Elric – 18%]
And more importantly—Alaric had begun to understand something vital:
The world didn't need to see his strength yet. It needed to fear it when it was too late.
---
One Week Before Academy Admission
The invitations had been dispatched. Elites, outlaws, prodigies, and nobles alike prepared for the day that would change everything.
Each child chosen by fate. Each one ready to carve their legend.
But there was one they never spoke of.
No stories. No whispers. No name etched into temple scrolls.
Only a boy who trained with desperation, burned with hunger, and walked with the patience of a serpent.
Alaric Thorneveil.
---