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The world had changed overnight.
Alaric Thorne—the quiet, overlooked son of House Thorne—had stood on the battlefield, unmoving, sipping coffee while others fought and fell. And yet, it was he who emerged dominant, defeating not one, but six of the academy's most powerful candidates, including the prodigious Elric Vale.
It was impossible to ignore him now.
The Thornebound had awakened.
---
Whispers surged across the continents, flooding noble courts, guild halls, shadowy taverns, and forgotten ruins. Some called it fate, others called it blasphemy.
In the golden halls of the Empire's capital, nobles convened with wrinkled brows and clenched jaws.
"How did we not see it?" muttered Duke Caldris, the very man who had once proposed breaking Alaric's engagement. "We gave up a legend for a rising flame... no, for wildfire."
His face paled as the words left his lips.
---
In the murky underground of the continent's forgotten places, cults began to stir.
One hooded figure in crimson robes bowed before a black altar, a bloody sigil carved into his chest.
"He has returned," the cult leader whispered. "The one foretold in the Severed Prophecies. The chainbreaker. The godbound. Thornebound."
A dozen eyes turned wide.
They chanted his name, not as a person—but as a force.
---
The strongest warriors across the world felt it.
A storm-eyed swordsman meditating in the shattered mountains paused. His blade, sheathed for decades, trembled.
A dragonkin war maiden in the southern isles looked up from her training field. Her breath hitched. The air had changed.
An elven high mage in the crystalline forests clutched her chest as her ancient heart thundered.
"What power… what hunger… It's coming."
---
But none of this seemed to faze Alaric.
He stood atop the academy balcony that night, looking over the moonlit courtyard. The sounds of celebration echoed in the background—songs, laughter, disbelief.
Elric had stood tall even after defeat, extending his hand to Alaric and calling him "worthy." That single word had shifted public opinion—slightly, cautiously.
But the world was too addicted to Elric's light to embrace Alaric's shadow.
Alaric didn't care.
He had gained something far more potent than fame—respect, fear, and control.
Beside him, the girl with icy eyes stood in silence. She had not spoken of the bond. She only watched him, almost in awe.
His mother had been terrifying that day—almost burning down the royal council chamber after watching her son ganged up on. Only Alaric's calm presence had kept her from turning nobles to ash.
"She's unstable," some muttered.
"She's protective," others corrected.
No one dared speak it aloud, but they all knew—if anyone touched her son again, it would mean war.
---
Meanwhile, Elric sat alone.
His system chimed:
> [New Target Detected: Alaric Thorne. Estimated Threat Level: Unassessed.]
[Quest: Analyze and Observe. Rewards: Unknown.]
Elric chuckled bitterly.
So this was what true power felt like—from someone who barely used it.
Elric had fought with everything he had, summoning all his elemental prowess, only to be countered and overwhelmed by Alaric's strange rhythm and seemingly bottomless strength.
But there was no shame—only curiosity.
He didn't hate Alaric. In fact, he respected him.
He wanted to understand him.
---
In dark places across the continent, shady figures began to move.
The Seven-Eyed Cult marked Alaric's face in blood, declaring him the vessel of the Ancient Chain.
The Crimson Brotherhood sent assassins—not to kill him, but to test him.
An ancient sealed ruin cracked slightly open, its centuries-old runes glowing in response to the awakening energy in the world.
---
And the Academy Headmaster watched.
From his private observatory, the headmaster sipped aged wine as he viewed the reports.
"Two anomalies," he murmured. "One the world knew too soon… the other, they'll never be ready for."
He laughed, soft and tired.
"They're both mine now."
---
But even with the uproar, Alaric trained. Not because he needed strength—his bonds and growth system handled that.
But because he refused to rely on them completely.
He fought with the sword until his fingers bled. He learned ancient techniques from House Thorne's library. He sparred with his mother. He tested strategies and feints.
Effort made experience. Experience made a monster.
---
The world had noticed.
But it hadn't yet realized…
Alaric was just getting started.
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