The academy gates closed behind him with a muted clang that echoed far longer than it should have, reverberating through the quiet morning like the final toll of a bell. Ael paused on the threshold, turning slightly to glance back at the tall marble archways of the Grand Academy. The banners above the entrance — once symbols of aspiration and triumph — now hung limp and damp from the morning mist, their colors dulled by dew and shadow. For the first time in years, the courtyard beyond those gates no longer belonged to him.
He stood there for a long moment, hands loose at his sides, eyes tracing the worn grooves of the path he'd walked every day. The stone still bore faint scuffs from training duels, etched lines from elemental trials, and the ghostly residue of hundreds of awakenings that had come before his. It felt sacred in its own way — a place of endings and beginnings. But this time, the change didn't bring the thrill of victory or growth. It felt like exile.
The dawn light had not yet burned through the fog that rolled over the academy's terraces. The world seemed half-formed, as if waiting for something to happen before it could commit to existence again. Ael inhaled deeply. The air smelled of rain and marble dust, cool against his skin. Beneath that calm exterior, though, a quiet rhythm persisted — that strange, second pulse that had begun the moment he awakened.
It was there still, faint but constant, like a heartbeat that wasn't entirely his. Each thrum resonated deep beneath the surface of his consciousness, the way thunder murmured beneath distant mountains. It wasn't painful or overwhelming, merely... omnipresent. An awareness, an echo of something vast and ancient humming quietly inside him. He had tried to suppress it, to still it through sheer willpower, but it always returned — patient, insistent, alive.
He walked slowly toward the plaza, boots whispering against wet stone. Hours ago, this same space had been alive with motion — guild banners fluttering in every color of the elemental spectrum, recruiters calling out offers, students laughing nervously as they weighed their futures. Now, only remnants of that fervor remained. Torn posters clung to pillars, the faint smell of charred air lingered from sparring demonstrations, and a few abandoned crates stood like sentinels at the edges of the square.
It was quiet now — too quiet. Ael stood in the center of the plaza where he had stood during the ceremony and looked up at the pale sky. The silence pressed against him. Every now and then, he caught the faint whisper of conversation from a distant corner — a few remaining emissaries who lingered, their eyes sharp, their murmurs low. They had not left with the crowd. They waited.
He could feel them watching him. Not with malice, but with the peculiar intensity of those who saw a prize they did not yet understand.
"Manaless," someone had whispered during the ceremony.
"The one without a core."
The words echoed through the capital by now, he was sure. Titles born from misunderstanding. Ael didn't need to hear them again. He turned away, letting the soft trickle of the fountain in the plaza's center guide his thoughts.
He found a seat near its edge — the same worn marble ledge where he and Isla had sat waiting before his Awakening test. The water's surface rippled gently, reflecting the pale morning light, fractured and imperfect. The sound was steady, soothing in its indifference. For a while, he let himself listen — not to the city, not to the whispers, but to the rhythm inside him. The pulse.
It wasn't malevolent, yet it wasn't what he expected. It moved through him with quiet purpose, untouched by doubt or fear, responding faintly to his emotions — quickening when he tensed, easing when he breathed out.
He looked down at his hands. The faintest shimmer flickered across his palms, disappearing almost instantly. Just a silvery color, no element. Just light. Pure and formless.
He didn't know how long he sat there. Eventually, he rose and began the slow walk home.
Morning came, and before he could muster up and think about everything that happened the day before, his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock.
Ael opened the door to find a woman dressed in flowing white and gold robes, her movements elegant and practiced. The insignia over her chest was unmistakable — a sunburst crossed by twin rays of light: the Radiant Dawn Guild. Her silver hair caught the morning light, and the air around her seemed almost cleaner, calmer, simply by proximity.
"On behalf of Archon Seraphine Lysar," she said, bowing gracefully, "the Radiant Dawn extends its invitation." Her voice was soft but carried weight, the tone of someone accustomed to reverence. "The Archon believes your awakening is a miracle in need of guidance. Light can shelter what is misunderstood. It can clarify the uncertain."
She placed a small crystal orb on the threshold. It pulsed with a gentle radiance — neither blinding nor sharp, just warm, comforting. Ael stared at it for a moment, seeing how the glow seemed to sync faintly with his own inner pulse.
He inclined his head politely. "Tell the Archon… I'll think about it."
"Of course," she said, with a serene smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "The light waits for all who seek it." And then she was gone, her steps silent on the cobblestone path.
Ael watched the orb for a long moment before picking it up. The warmth it gave off wasn't unpleasant, but there was a subtle pull beneath it — something that wanted to draw him in, to shape him, to define him. He set it carefully on his table and closed the door.
The second knock came not an hour later.
This time, it was a broad man clad in crimson armor streaked with black. The symbol of the Titan's Fist Guild — a gauntleted hand grasping a mountain peak — was embossed on his shoulder plate. His presence filled the doorway, casting Ael in shadow.
"Lord Kael Dorn sends his regards," the man said in a voice that could have shaken walls. "He offers you strength, training, and a brotherhood that values action over theory. The world fears what it cannot control, boy. Control it, and the world will kneel."
He extended his hand, revealing a black iron ring with molten veins of red that pulsed faintly with heat. "Wear this, and the Fist will stand with you. Refuse, and—"
"I'll think about it," Ael interrupted gently.
The man paused, eyes narrowing. Then he laughed once — a low, thunderous sound. "You've got spirit. I like that." With a curt nod, he turned and left, the heavy tread of his boots echoing until the sound faded entirely.
Ael looked at the ring, feeling the faint thrum of heat even through the air. It was power, raw and unfiltered, but when he touched it, the warmth bit into his skin — too possessive, too commanding. He placed it beside the crystal orb and moved away.
By midday, a new visitor stood at his door — a woman draped in a cloak streaked with silver and gray, the insignia of Stormveil emblazoned across her shoulder. Her movements were quick, almost electric. When she spoke, her words came like lightning — sharp and alive.
"Master Thalen Rynn doesn't offer control," she said with a smirk, "he offers freedom. Lightning doesn't obey. It strikes, it learns, it adapts. If you're looking for someone who'll let you find your own path — Stormveil is the place."
She placed a pendant shaped like a lightning bolt on his table. It hummed faintly, sparks flickering across its edges like a living current.
Ael touched it lightly. "It feels… restless."
She smiled. "That's the point."
And just like that, she was gone — a streak of movement that vanished down the road before he could say anything else.
By evening, one final visitor arrived — a tall man with dark hair and eyes like frozen glass. His cloak was trimmed with fur, his expression unreadable. Eryndor Vale's emissary.
"The Frozen Heart does not offer emotion," he said, his voice calm and cold, "it offers mastery. Power without discipline destroys itself. You stand at the edge of something vast. Join us, and you will learn to stand above it."
He set a small crystalline cube on the ground. Frost gathered at its base, spreading across the stone until the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
When the emissary left, Ael found himself alone again — surrounded by gifts that were not gifts at all. The orb of Radiant Dawn, the iron ring of Titan's Fist, the lightning pendant of Stormveil, and the frozen cube of Frozen Heart. Each a promise. Each a chain.
He stared at them as twilight fell, the soft blue of evening settling across the city. The air outside was cool and damp; his breath misted faintly as he stepped out into the empty streets. The noise of the capital had quieted to a distant hum — faint laughter, the echo of vehicles, the murmur of life continuing.
He walked without destination, each step echoing against cobblestones slick from evening dew. The city lights shimmered faintly off the puddles — fragmented reflections of the world he now stood apart from.
The rhythm inside him stirred again. With every uncertain thought, faint threads of color danced at the edge of his vision — fire when he grew angry, wind when he hesitated, shadow when fear whispered, light when resolve flickered to life. The air responded to his spirit, to every conflict he tried to hide.
He stopped by a window's reflection, catching the faint glow beneath his skin. Not bright, not obvious, but undeniable. He didn't look human in that moment — he looked like something caught between two worlds, belonging to neither.
When he finally lifted his gaze, the academy spires loomed again in the distance — tall, silent, outlined against the night sky. His steps carried him there before he realized it, guided by something deeper than thought.
The gates stood open now, unattended. The lamplight flickered faintly beyond the entrance. And there, beneath it, she sat.
Lyra.
Her cloak was drawn close, her hair faintly illuminated by the orange glow. The insignia of the Phoenix Guild glimmered at her shoulder — a flame etched in gold. She looked up when he approached, eyes catching his with quiet recognition.
"How long have you been here?" he asked softly.
"Since you walked out," she said, voice calm, steady. "Didn't want to miss it."
He gave a faint, weary laugh. "You didn't send a messenger."
"I didn't need to," she replied, shifting slightly beneath the lamplight. "If it was fated, we would of met."
For a moment, neither spoke. The world around them seemed to narrow to the quiet space between words — the hum of the lamppost, the faint rustle of leaves, the warmth radiating from her presence.
"I got offers," he said finally. "From everyone else. Promises of training, command, power. They all think they can teach me what this is."
Lyra's eyes softened. "And they can't?"
He shook his head slowly. "They see potential — but not the danger. This isn't something to wield. It's something I have to survive."
Her gaze didn't waver. "Then you need people who won't try to cage it."
He looked up at her, the faint glow of his pulse reflecting in her amber eyes. "And the Phoenix Guild wont?"
"I think I better than anyone else know that fire can burn… but it can also protect," she said. "We don't tame it — we learn to live with it. To breathe with it."
The wind stirred faintly, carrying the scent of smoke and night blossoms. Ael felt something shift within him — not a revelation, but a quiet understanding.
"You're saying you won't try to control me and study me?"
"I'm saying," Lyra replied, "you shouldn't have to walk with it alone. I will teach when needed, and let you understand your self when need be."
He studied her face — no pretense, no calculation, no fear. Just calm warmth and a strength that came not from force, but from acceptance. For the first time since the Awakening, the pulse within him steadied, its rhythm aligning with his own heartbeat.
He took a step closer. The air trembled faintly — not with violence, but with awareness. The threads of energy that had followed him all night began to calm, drawn inward, merging into stillness.
Lyra rose, brushing the dust from her cloak. "You sure?" she asked quietly.
"No," he said, a small smile breaking through. "But I will be."
Their eyes met, and something in the air changed — a warmth spreading through the quiet night. The lamppost flickered once, its flame glowing brighter, steadier.
He didn't bow. He didn't kneel. But when he stepped beside her, the air itself seemed to catch fire.
That was how the Phoenix Guild gained the Ether Paragon.