Fire.
Water.
Earth.
Air.
These were the four primordial elements of creation the breath and bones of existence itself. From them, the world was born, shaped, and given rhythm. Their balance was the law of all things.
It was said that in the earliest age, these elements existed in perfect harmony, flowing together in a single pulse of divine equilibrium. But when the first breath of life entered creation, that pulse fractured. And from that fracture, World Energy was born the unseen current of existence, the breath of the universe that flowed through all living things.
When humans first learned to touch that current, everything changed.
They found that with the right resonance, they could draw fragments of this energy into themselves, shaping the elements according to their will. Fire that obeyed command. Water that danced to thought. Earth that bowed to purpose. Air that sang to their desire.
But such power was not freely given. The world did not yield easily to theft.
So the world created its Trials ancient pillars of existence, born from the will of the elements themselves. The Trials were said to test the heart, the essence, and the greed of man. Only those who passed would be allowed to take a fragment of the world's energy and rise to a new level of being.
These were the Trials of the World, and they became the foundation of human power.
Over the ages, scholars and conjurers alike categorized these paths into stages the Seven Stages of Ascension, each one representing a deeper communion with the elements and the laws of creation itself.
Of these seven, only three are known to this age:
Awakened — the first spark, the point at which a mortal first senses the breath of the elements.
Conjurer — the second path, when that spark becomes will, and will becomes control.
Shaper — the third, when the conjurer no longer commands, but understands.
But beyond these lie the lost stages, spoken only in fragmented texts, hidden by time and war.
Weaver — those who could intertwine the elements, weaving them into new forms.
Overlord — beings who could subjugate the elements themselves.
Sovereign — half-divine, whose existence blurred the line between mortal and god.
Paragon — the final threshold, those who became echoes of the divine itself lesser gods that walked the world.
Each stage required a trial a test by the Pillars of Creation themselves. To pass meant to ascend. To fail… meant to be devoured.
For centuries, these trials were preserved by ancient families, sects, and clans each one a guardian of a path toward power. But after the First Conjurers' War, when greed tore the world apart, most of these trials vanished.
Now, only two remain known to the world:
The Trial of Awakening, the first step into power.
The Trial of Conjuring, the second step that binds one to an element.
The rest were lost to ash and legend.
Each trial was unique. Each trial chose.
For even if two conjurers entered the same trial, their paths would differ shaped by their hearts, their fears, and their desires. The world chose their element not through wish, but through truth.
A man who sought strength might receive earth.
A heart burdened with sorrow might awaken to water.
A soul of chaos might be chosen by fire.
And one who hid behind silence might find comfort in air or shadow.
The trial was never random. It was a reflection.
Yet, before any trial could be taken, there existed a Ceremony of Attunement a rite that determined a person's affinity with the world's energy.
Affinity was everything. It defined not just what element chose you, but how deeply you could command it. There were five known ranks of affinity, immutable and sacred:
Echo — the lowest resonance, a faint imitation of power. Those with Echo affinity could touch the element but never shape it fully.
Veined — the standard affinity. The element flows through their essence like blood through veins.
Heartbound — rare and potent. The element becomes part of one's emotions, reacting to will and instinct alike.
Soulwoven — exceedingly rare. The element is no longer external but woven into one's very being.
Divinal — the highest rank, found only once in generations. The element itself bends reality for its wielder.
It was said that a Divinal of Ice could still the breath of the wind, freeze the blood in the veins of the unworthy, and silence flame itself.
While an Echo could merely call frost.
But affinity came with burden. To enter a trial was not an act of harmony it was an act of theft. The world did not offer its energy freely.
To take from it meant to steal from the universe itself.
Those who passed the first trial were said to be marked cursed by creation as punishment for daring to defy the balance. The mark varied: some lost emotion, some lost memory, some lost parts of themselves that could never be reclaimed.
Yet all conjurers accepted this curse. Because only through theft could power be born.
For every blessing of creation demanded an equal curse in return.
That was the law.
The law of the world.
The law of the gods.
The law of exchange.
And so the age of conjurers continued, marked by ambition, sacrifice, and endless pursuit of power.
***
Seven years ago.
In the Kingdom of Valeria, deep within the continent's beating heart, lay its capital Athelguard.
A sprawling metropolis of ivory spires and golden domes, where the light of the sun gleamed against marble towers and glass bridges that arched over flowing channels of water. The city pulsed with life merchants shouting in crowded streets, nobles carried in carriages of dark steel and velvet, the laughter of children echoing through the plazas.
At the edge of the capital, where the sun dipped into the horizon, a colossal castle stood
It rose like an unyielding monument, a fortress of pale stone veined with silver, its towers spearing the sky. Its presence dominated the city below, regal and imposing, as if it breathed authority into the land itself.
The people called it the Crown of Athelguard. To others, it was a reminder of power and the curse that came with it.
Because the bloodline that lived within its walls bore the gift of the gods.
Or perhaps, the curse of them.
Within the castle's grand courtyard, a procession moved.
Guards in polished armor stood in perfect ranks, their spears raised in salute. A line of horses and carriages glimmered under the afternoon sun.
At the center of it all, a young boy barely thirteen stepped from the shadow of the castle gates. His dark hair framed his face, his eyes calm yet distant.
He wore a formal robe trimmed in silver and deep crimson the attire of a prince.
His name was Kai Valeria.
He glanced around, quiet and observant, his expression unreadable. The air around him was heavy, filled with the scent of roses and burning incense, the sounds of distant bells echoing through the capital.
Two guards walked beside him as he approached a black carriage gilded in gold. The carriage's doors bore the emblem of the Valeria lineage a silver sun wreathed in flame.
The guards bowed as he stepped inside.
The boy said nothing.
The door closed.
And the carriage began to move through the streets of Athelguard, the sound of hooves echoing against the cobblestones like a heartbeat.
Outside, the city thrived merchants shouting, children running, nobles whispering behind silk fans but inside the carriage, silence reigned.
Kai looked out the window, his eyes tracing the streets he had known all his life. The towers of Athelguard blurred past, their white walls gleaming in the afternoon light.
There was beauty, yes but beneath it, there was something else. Something cold, something ancient, something that had been waiting for years to stir again.
And though he did not yet understand it, the path he rode now would lead him to the truth of the shards, the trials, and the curse of creation itself.
The same curse that had shaped the destiny of every conjurer before him.