The hidden city of Aurestra breathed in silence, a colossal fortress swallowed by dense forests and jagged mountain ranges. No map dared chart its borders, and no traveler had ever crossed its veiled threshold—except those born within. This was the cradle of the Pure Clan, the bloodline whose name alone whispered power and dread among the world's unseen rulers.
I am Azel Pure, the youngest of six siblings and heir to this secret kingdom.
Even at seven, the weight of the clan pressed down on me like an unyielding tide. Each day was carved from iron will and relentless training, surrounded by my older brothers and sisters—five shadows cast long before I was even born.
The cold morning air bit at my skin as I stood in the training yard, gripping the handle of my scythe, Duskweaver, the only weapon worthy of our bloodline's heir. The blackened blade gleamed faintly, almost humming in sync with the strange pulse of my veins. My left eye, a deep ruby red, burned with inherited strength. But it was my right eye, the platinum one, that set me apart—the gift, or perhaps the curse, that the clan both feared and watched closely.
Today, like every day, the elders would test me. The Auraseer Council never missed an opportunity to remind me of my place and the impossible legacy I was expected to uphold.
"Nirae," I called softly. My sister appeared silently beside me, her movements fluid, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. She was the eldest of us, graceful yet lethal, and today she would spar with me.
"Ready to embarrass yourself again, little brother?" she teased, though her eyes betrayed a trace of fondness.
I smirked, steadying my breath. "Only if you're lucky."
The yard around us was a vast expanse of polished stone and swirling mist, designed to mimic the unpredictable terrain of the outside world while protecting the clan's secrets. Training here wasn't just physical—it was ritual.
We bowed, and then the dance began.
Nirae moved like liquid shadow, her strikes fast but measured. My scythe sliced arcs through the air, guided by instinct and the faint glow of my platinum eye. I saw the threads of tension in her stance, the subtle shifts that gave away each strike's intent. My mind moved faster than muscle, reading and redirecting her attacks, testing the limits of my unique vision.
A clash of metal echoed sharply.
"You've improved," she said, breathing a little harder. "But your flow is still too rigid. You're fighting your own instincts."
Her words stung, but I nodded. The Pure Clan demanded perfection—and perfection was a distant horizon.
Later, in the halls carved from living metal, I found myself alone with the shadows of the ancestors. The walls whispered tales of blood forged into steel, of battles that shaped the land, and of the mysterious power that coursed through our veins.
My platinum eye flickered. Unlike the ruby eye, which burned with inherited might, this one saw beyond flesh and steel—it traced the invisible lines of force, the flow of blood, the subtle dance of mental willpower.
But even as I harnessed its gift, I felt the weight of control. Overuse meant madness, exhaustion, or worse.
A soft voice broke my thoughts.
"You carry a burden heavier than any of us, Azel."
I turned to see Elder Malren, his silver hair framing a face carved with wisdom and sorrow.
"Your eye is unique," he continued. "It is tied not to your life force, but to your mind—the domain of thought, prediction, and control. Use it wisely. Your power lies in balance, not in overwhelming force."
I swallowed, understanding yet wary. Balance was elusive in a world where strength often meant survival.
Outside the walls, the world was waking, restless and unknown. Monsters roamed the wilds, demons plotted in the shadows, and ancient powers stirred beneath the earth. Our clan remained hidden, but change was inevitable.
In two years, I would leave Aurestra for the first time, stepping into a world that had never known us—enrolling in Titanfell Academy, where the children of other powerful families would test their skills and ambitions.
For now, I returned to the training yard, to the scythe in my hands, and the path laid before me—a path of blood, metal, and silent power.
The legacy of the Pure Clan was mine to claim. Or to destroy.