The past had a different color.
Not brighter the world never bothered to gift Kai brightness but steadier, more certain in its cruelty. Before corrupted seas bled red and mirror skies shattered into false horizons,
Back to the past
there was the continent known as Archeonis.
A name that carried age.
A name that carried rules.
A name that never cared for the people living under it.
Archeonis was vast, sprawling across mountains that broke clouds, valleys carved by primordial storms, forests that whispered truths older than kingdoms. Eight kingdoms existed within it sometimes seven, when war took its due but only five true powers stood above them all:
The Five Clans.
Before the First Conjurer War, these clans were not simply families; they were living pillars of the world's balance. Some clans created their own kingdoms two did, shaping civilization with their lineage. The others ruled from behind the curtains of history, their influence heavy enough to topple thrones without raising a blade.
And among them, once shining brightest, once feared even by Sacred Beasts, stood:
House Valeria.
A house now reduced to two beating hearts.
Two fragile threads holding together a legacy that once terrified nations.
The decline had been slow, deliberate, orchestrated.
Other houses circled like carrion birds, waiting for the last breath.
But the Continent Alliance existed a council forged from fear, mutual reliance, and the knowledge that some powers should not be allowed to devour each other. Because when giants fought, nations cracked.
Still, House Valeria was fading.
And so, to show good faith — or perhaps to show she had nothing left to hide — Queen Elara Valeria, barely sixteen then, agreed to send her younger brother to the Pillar of Creation Ceremony.
Kai.
Thirteen.
Small for his age.
Quiet in ways that made adults uncomfortable.
Bearing a bloodline no one understood anymore.
The Pillar of Creation Ceremony was older than any kingdom. Older than most recorded history. It was the first trial of every mortal born with spark enough to grasp the elements. At fifteen, every youth of Archeonis touched the Trial of Awakening. A test whose nature was unknown, unknowable.
Those who failed… dissolved.
Not metaphorically.
Not spiritually.
Their bodies, their souls, their histories — absorbed into the world, returning as dust, whispers, forgotten echoes. The world fed on them, or perhaps recycled them. It did not matter. Failure meant erasure.
Those who passed gained affinity — and an element.
But with it, a curse.
To pass was to defy creation, to step into the world's domain and steal authority. No god approved. No ancient being blessed them. So the world punished. Every Conjurer bore a curse unique to their element, their affinity, their bloodline.
Affinity, once earned, never changed.
Locked forever.
Five ranks carved the path:
Echo
Veined
Heartbound
Soulwoven
Divinal
Only one in a thousand touched Soulwoven.
Only one in a million achieved Divinal.
But the world did not play favorites anyone could die in the trial.
After affinity came the stages of conjuring:
Awakener – the first spark
Conjurer – the first real power
Shaper – control
Weaver – instinct
Overlord – domination
Sovereign – law
Paragon – the peak of godhood
On the other side of existence, the beasts grew differently.
They were children of the world, not thieves of its laws.
Their affinity was fluid, changing as naturally as seasons:
Emberborn
Corelit
Heartforge
Soulpulse
Primordial
And they climbed their own seven steps:
Whelp
Feral
Wildborn
Elemental
Apex Beast
Tyrant Beast
Sacred Beast
But corruption was something else.
A wound in existence.
A hunger that devoured the boundary between worlds.
Its own affinity warped fivefold:
Tainted
Blighted
Defiled
Profaned
Abhorrent
And its stages — seven horrors:
I. Fractured
II. Husk
III. Ravager
IV. Parasite
V. Aberrant
VI. Abomination
VII. Cataclysm
Kai did not know it then.
But he would become intimately familiar with all of them.
For now, he was simply sitting on a bench.
The Falling Haste City was gentle that day the sky a pale blue, threaded with soft clouds drifting like remnants of forgotten dreams. As the residence staff guided him earlier through the bustling avenues, Kai saw the city properly for the first time. It was strange: an elegant mixture of futuristic brilliance and old-world charm.
Crystal streets ran between buildings with brick foundations and arcane runes pulsing softly between each stone. Spires rose above tiled rooftops a renaissance reborn in a world that remembered magic. Glimmers of light screens floated in the air, displaying announcements, clan symbols, or elemental patterns drawn by passing Weaver-rank conjurers.
At the city's heart stood a castle so massive it felt misplaced, like a relic from a time when gods were rumored to walk. It glowed faintly, humming with stored power the headquarters of the Continent Alliance.
Kai had been escorted through the outer courts, past dozens of arriving heirs from other kingdoms. Their clothes were fine, their guards many, their arrogance loud.
House Valeria had one guard.
And Kai.
Once in their private residence, Kai rested for an hour before asking for a guide to explore. He ended up at a small park just outside the residence walls a quiet garden with a stone path leading to a fountain shaped like a sleeping dragon. The air smelled faintly of moss and old stone.
Kai sat on a bench, elbows on his knees, eyes distant.
He wasn't thinking of the ceremony.
Or the world.
Or the decline of his house.
He was simply tired.
Thirteen, and tired.
The wind touched his hair lightly, as if sensing the heaviness in his chest. He closed his eyes.
Then—
A laugh.
Sharp.
Mocking.
Venom dipped in youth.
Kai's eyes opened slowly.
Three heirs boys around his age — approached, wearing clothing emblazoned with symbols of their clans or kingdoms. Their guards lingered in the background, pretending not to notice the unfolding cruelty.
"Wow," one heir drawled, arms crossed, "it looks like the last prince of House Valeria actually exists."
His friends snickered.
The heir continued with the confidence of someone too young to die and too privileged to fear consequences.
"I didn't even know your house was still alive. Isn't it just the two of you left now? A queen and… you." His eyes slid over Kai like he was dirt on polished marble. "A dying branch waiting to snap."
The laughter returned — light, but cold.
Kai felt something move inside him.
Not rage.
Not humiliation.
Just an old, familiar tightening.
A reminder that people loved to kick a house when it was already buried.
His fist clenched. Bone creaked.
He inhaled slowly not to calm himself, but to brace.
He rose, just slightly. Enough that the heir's smirk wavered.
Kai didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The weight of his bloodline dormant or not pressed faintly into the air. A ghost of Valeria's former fear.
He prepared to strike.
Then a voice.
Soft.
Warm.
Clear, like a bell chiming in a winter chapel.
"Stop. You're being cruel."
Kai turned.
And saw the girl who spoke.