Dorian awakened in the same abandoned warehouse with a violent jolt, air flooding his lungs as if he'd been drowning. For several disoriented seconds he lay there, staring up at the cracked ceiling where dusty beams of morning light filtered in. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat echoing the fading remnants of the nightmare—or was it a nightmare?—that clung to his mind like cobwebs.
'Was it all a dream?"
The question slipped from his lips in a hoarse whisper.
His head throbbed with a dull ache, foggy and heavy as if something had scooped pieces from his memory and crudely stitched the rest back together. He pushed himself up from the cold floor, palms slipping slightly in something wet. When he looked down, his breath caught in his throat.
Blood.
A dark, dried smear trailed across the concrete floor—evidence of the struggle, the attack, and the moment the Guardian had apparently rescued him. The sight punched clarity back into him.
It wasn't a dream…
No dream left blood behind.
He staggered to his feet, the warehouse tilting briefly as dizziness washed over him. He pressed a hand to his chest—instinct, memory, fear—but froze almost immediately.
Nothing.
Not even a single scar.
The stab wound that should've been tearing him open had vanished without a trace.
Confused and trembling, Dorian tugged his shirt up. His fingers brushed across his chest—and paused.
Something wasn't right.
His skin felt… different. Almost warmer, humming faintly beneath his fingertips. He ripped his shirt off completely, dropping it to the ground.
That's when he saw them.
Archaic runes—intricate, interlocking symbols that twisted in patterns he couldn't recognize—glowed faintly silver across his chest and upper abdomen. They pulsed softly, like living script etched into his flesh. Morning sunlight caught the glowing lines, giving them a ghostly shimmer.
"This… this is what it meant when it said it would mark me."
The memory of the Guardian's voice washed over him, deep, ancient, echoing from everywhere and nowhere.
He traced the runes with trembling fingers. The designs weren't random. Each line felt purposeful, humming under his touch with a strange energy that resonated deep in his bones, as if responding to him.
Minutes passed in a blur as he explored the markings, trying to understand them. Then a sudden thought struck him so sharply that he shot upright. The quick movement made his vision swim, but he steadied himself with a deep breath.
He closed his eyes.
And reached.
Not with his hands, but with his mind—toward the cosmic flow that only wizards could sense. The ambient energy that filled the world like invisible rivers, accessible only to those who had awakened the power to manipulate cosmic energy.
The warehouse seemed to darken behind his closed eyes.
Then—
A hum.
Soft at first, like a distant whisper. Then louder, richer, vibrating through every fiber of his being. The cosmic energy poured into him, surging through him like warm golden fire. His veins tingled. His mind sharpened. His senses expanded until he felt connected to everything—the dust, the light, the very air.
A wide grin stretched across his face.
Ecstatic didn't even begin to describe it.
He lifted his palm as he performed the hand gestures for a fire ball.
Fire should've burst forth—his original affinity, the one he'd awakened all those years ago.
But nothing happened.
No spark.
No warmth.
Nothing.
His grin faltered. He tried again, focusing harder, pulling on the natural heat of the world.
Still nothing.
His joy plummeted like a dead star. A cold weight formed in his stomach.
He slumped onto an old wooden crate, replaying the events. The Guardian had healed him. Marked him. Rebuilt him from the inside out.
Then—
Realization hit him like a thunderbolt.
Maybe i've been rebirthed… with a different affinity.
The idea was insane. Impossible. No wizard in history had ever lost their affinity and gained another—not even the most powerful,knowledgeable archmages.
But the evidence lay clear on his chest.
And in the silent, powerless palm he held out.
Dorian exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think logically. If he had a new affinity, he needed to identify it. Fortunately, he was uniquely prepared—Dorian, the genius, had spent years studying how different affinity users summoned their elements.
He tried again.
Water—nothing.
Wind—nothing.
Earth—still nothing.
Ice—absolutely nothing.
He stared at his palms in disbelief.
He was doing everything correctly. Every breathing pattern. Every mana direction. Every structural visualization of cosmic flow.
But he wasn't even close.
Confusion gave way to a creeping realization.
These were all Grade Three affinities.
The weakest. The most common. Fire, water, wind, earth, and ice.
If nothing worked… "does that mean,"Dorian thought as a wild idea formed in his mind. His heart thumped loudly as he stood up again, palms sweaty, nerves buzzing.
Could it be…?
He swallowed.
Do I have a Grade Two affinity?
The thought electrified him.
Grade Two affinities were rare—almost mythically so. Light. Wood. Lightning. Blood. Metal. Darkness. Shadow. Even a single Grade Two wizard was considered a national treasure. Some empires would start wars just to recruit one.
Dorian remembered reading about a single lightning user in the central empires a few years back. No one knew which empire exactly—reports were always vague—but the rumor alone had shaken the world. Grade Two users could fight full stages above their level.
If Dorian had gained a Grade Two affinity…
Revenge… the justice he'd dreamed of… would be within his grasp.
His fists clenched, runes shimmering slightly on his skin.
But if I do have a Grade Two affinity… why can't I summon it?
Silence hung heavy.
Then another realization dawned on him—one far more troublesome.
No empire outside the four central empires possessed the knowledge or techniques to train Grade Two affinity users. Only the central empires had inherited ancient techniques from the Great Wizard Era.
Which meant…
He was a wizard with a rare affinity.
But with no method to grow stronger.
A priceless weapon with no way to be sharpened.
Dorian sank back onto the crate, head lowered, breathing heavy. A path revealed itself before him—dark, dangerous, and filled with uncertainty.
He needed to reach the Central Empires.
But how?
He had no money.
No noble backing.
No connections.
No family.
No one who would vouch for him.And due to cosmic energy the scale of this world was much bigger,the journey alone would take him almost ten years on foot
And the another thought entered his mind if he was indeed a grade two affinity that meant he would be hunted, kidnapped or even killed
The thought entered his mind like a knife, and a deep fear arose within him, rising slowly, painfully, like heated metal,he needed to conceal his powers at all cost until he reached the greater wizard realm.
Pushing these thoughts aside another thing crept into his mind,What had the Guardian tied him to?
Why did he feel cosmic energy differently now, almost purer, almost—
His eyes widened.
Stronger.
The cosmic flow felt richer. Denser. More potent than before.
Then a far more terrifying thought surfaced.
If Grade Two affinities were considered rare…
What if his affinity wasn't Grade Two at all?
He swallowed, heart pounding.
Could I… have a Grade One affinity?
His breath hitched.
Grade One affinities were legend. Only two had ever been recorded. One wielded the power to shift cities with a wave of his hand. The other, it was said, could stop time itself.
Their names were whispered in myth, carved into ancient stone, feared even centuries later.
If Dorian possessed an affinity of that magnitude…
He wasn't just valuable.
He was dangerous.
He was a threat.
And threats were hunted.
The runes on his chest pulsed again, this time brighter—responding to his racing thoughts. Dorian stepped back in alarm, cold sweat beading across his forehead.
Dorian was completely losing his mind upto this point with nothing certain and without a proper plan frustration arose in him like a tidal wave.
Dorian clenched his jaw.
He needed answers.
He needed strength.
He needed to survive.
The Central Empires.
He had to reach them.
But with what?
He had no coin.
No transport.
No friends.
He exhaled shakily.
Then the anger he'd been holding back finally surged through him.
Raw.
Hot.
Unrestrained.
His hands trembled as memories flooded in—faces of those who betrayed him, who ruined him, who left him to die. Their laughter. Their arrogance. Their cruelty.
His vision blurred with fury.
"I will return," he growled softly.
"And when I do… all debts will be paid in full."
The runes glowed in agreement.
Unseen by Dorian, a thin ripple of energy spread across the warehouse floor, distorting the dust.
looking towards the floor Dorian had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he'd failed to notice an emerald the size of a man's palm on the floor.
Crouching down he reached down and started brushing his fingers on its surface and that's when it happened.
His mind was pulled intensely as his body collapsed on the ground.
Silence returned to the warehouse.
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