Chapter 1 Awakening
The rain tapped against the cracked windows of Vildor's old district like a thousand tiny drums, beating a steady rhythm against the suffocating silence. Neon signs bled colors into the puddles below, painting the streets with broken reflections of dreams long abandoned.
Inside a cramped apartment on the seventh floor, Icaris Thanis sat hunched over his desk. His apartment smelled faintly of aged paper and ink the scent of old books and older regrets. Before him, an unfinished manuscript lay open: "Ancient Concepts of the Aether: A Myth or Forgotten Science?" A thesis that no university had cared enough to fund.
Icaris tapped the end of his pen against his notebook, his mind wandering. Lately, the air itself had felt heavier, denser as if reality was growing tired of maintaining its own illusion. A soft hum, just below hearing, vibrated against his bones. Some nights he thought he saw flickers of things that shouldn't exist: glyphs burned into walls, shadows twisting against the natural shape of light.
"Just stress," he whispered to himself.
His eyes flickered to the clock. 2:17 AM.
The world outside was asleep. But something inside him had begun to wake.
A sudden knock shattered the fragile stillness.
Three measured raps.
Not the knock of a neighbor too forceful, too certain.
Icaris hesitated, dread pooling in his gut.
Standing, he approached the door with cautious steps. Every instinct in his body screamed to turn away, to pretend he hadn't heard.
But he opened it anyway.
There, standing in the dim light of the hallway, was a figure shrouded in a dark, flowing robe. No face. No name. Only an overwhelming presence, like standing at the edge of a cliff, peering into an endless void.
"Icaris Thanis," the figure said, voice smooth as silk and cold as the grave.
Icaris's throat tightened. He forced himself to speak.
"You're not from here," he said, the words tasting of copper and fear.
"No," the figure answered. "And neither are you."
The words meant nothing to him. Or maybe they meant everything.
Before Icaris could respond, the figure moved faster than humanly possible. A hand pressed against his chest, and then
Agony.
It was not the pain of flesh being torn, but something deeper, more essential. As though his very soul were being unraveled thread by thread.
His knees buckled. His vision blurred. His heart slowed.
As darkness swallowed him, the last thing he heard was a whisper laced with finality:
"Remember, Icaris Thanis. Remember what you were."
The world fell away.
When Icaris awoke, he was no longer in Vildor.
Above him stretched a sky so vast it seemed to pull at his very spirit, painted in colors he had no names for hues that danced between gold and amethyst. The air was rich and sweet, humming faintly with power. The ground beneath him was soft, not with grass, but with some bioluminescent moss that shimmered like a sea of fallen stars.
He sat up, disoriented.
Gone was the constant background noise of engines, electricity, and shouting. Here, the only sounds were the whisper of wind and the low thrum of something alive something more than nature.
A voice spoke, not aloud, but inside his mind.
You have crossed the threshold. Welcome home, Icaris Thanis.
He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding.
"Who's there?" he demanded, fists clenching instinctively.
No one answered.
Not aloud, anyway.
Instead, he felt it a current running through the very air, through the ground, through him. It wasn't just magic; it was existence itself. The fabric of the world was woven with an invisible thread that pulsed with potential.
The Aetherium.
The knowledge came not as a lesson but as memory alien, yet his own. Aetherium, the fundamental energy that bound and sustained all things. Some could hear it, bend it, even wield it. Others lived unaware, mere shadows cast against its brilliance.
Icaris breathed deeply. The energy answered, flooding his senses, welcoming him like an old friend long estranged.
In the distance, structures pierced the horizon massive towers built of stone and light, ancient and futuristic all at once. Strange beasts soared across the sky, their wings trailing sparkling vapors. And atop a distant hill stood a tree so colossal its roots shaped the land itself, its branches touching the clouds.
Aetheris.
Not a myth. Not a story.
A world reborn through the lifeblood of Aetherium.
And he was a part of it.
"You are late."
The voice was not the one from before this one came from a figure standing a few paces away.
Clad in black armor etched with symbols that seemed to shift when one wasn't looking, the warrior was an imposing sight. No face could be seen beneath the helmet's smooth surface. Only the glint of cold, calculating light where eyes should have been.
Icaris braced himself, instinctively stepping back.
The armored figure raised a hand, and the world seemed to respond.
A ripple of force tore through the ground between them, kicking up shards of glowing moss.
"You were chosen," the warrior said. "Yet you hesitate."
"I didn't choose this!" Icaris shot back, more bravely than he felt.
"No. You chose it long ago. You simply forgot."
The warrior extended his hand palm up and from the air itself, a blade materialized. Not forged of steel, but of something purer, more primal: a weapon of condensed Aetherium.
The Etherblade.
A word slipped into Icaris's mind, unbidden, yet perfectly understood.
The warrior tossed the blade at Icaris's feet. It landed upright, humming with silent menace.
"Claim it," the warrior commanded. "Or be consumed."
The ground trembled beneath them, as though the world itself awaited his answer.
Icaris stared at the blade.
To pick it up was to acknowledge this strange fate.
To refuse was to fade into nothingness to become a footnote in a story he would never understand.
You were reborn for a reason.
He knelt.
His hand reached out.
And when his fingers curled around the hilt, the blade flared with life, flooding his body with a searing, impossible power.
Visions assaulted his mind ancient battles, forgotten gods, cities rising and crumbling, stars dying and being born.
And somewhere, hidden among the chaos, a memory:
A boy standing beneath a burning sky, reaching for something he could never quite grasp.
Icaris Thanis gasped as the visions ended, his body collapsing to his knees, the Etherblade still clutched in his hand.
The warrior nodded once, satisfied.
"You are not ready," he said. "But you are willing."
With that, the armored figure dissolved into mist, leaving only the echo of his final words:
The world is dying. And you will decide its fate.
MVP Segment
Character MVP of the Chapter: Icaris Thanis
Quote:
"Courage isn't the absence of fear. It's choosing to move forward despite it, to step into a world unknown and claim it as your own."
Reflection:
In this first chapter, Icaris is ripped from his mundane existence and thrust into a reality far beyond anything he imagined. He experiences death, rebirth, and the first touch of true power. But most importantly, he chooses not to run. His greatest strength isn't in his immediate mastery of Aetherium it is in his decision to accept the unknown, to embrace destiny even when crippled by doubt. This sets the foundation for the hero he must become.