Far in the Abyss.
A scout team of four advanced carefully through the blackened wastes, their lights slicing thin beams through endless fog. The ground beneath their boots cracked like old bones, the air heavy with the taste of iron and ash. They had been sent by the Council to monitor strange fluctuations in mana—but now, their communications were faltering.
"Static again?" one muttered, tapping at the wrist-crystal strapped to his gauntlet.
"No, worse," another whispered, his voice tight. "Something is jamming us. It's—"
The words ended in a scream.
From the mist, something vast moved—no shape, no form the mind could hold onto. Only fragments could be seen: jagged limbs too long for any natural body, a mouth that split sideways, rows upon rows of teeth gnashing in silence before sound arrived.
The lead scout fumbled with his transmitter. His fingers bled as he forced mana into the crystal, desperate to send anything. His face twisted in panic as the creature loomed behind him, its shadow blotting out the faint light.
"FoR… tHe… GoDs—"
The voice came not from him, but from the creature. A twisted mockery, in a tone like grinding metal, half-formed words echoing as though borrowed from a thousand stolen throats.
Then blood sprayed the crystal. The last thing recorded was a brief, broken transmission:
"shhshsh—they're preparing… something… big… we need to—"
The feed cut into black.
High above the Abyss, in the gleaming council chamber, the video ended. Silence hung heavy, the air thick with unease.
The High Councilors, men and women draped in sigil-etched robes, shifted in their seats.
"This is not just another mutant surge," one said sharply, pounding the table. "Something speaks from within the Abyss now. Something learns."
"If the people learn of this, panic will erupt," another snapped. "We must contain it."
The chamber erupted into a storm of overlapping voices, each more desperate than the last.
Then the door opened.
"Calm yourselves," said a voice that needed no raising.
A tall figure entered, his steps unhurried, his presence commanding. His aura pressed over the chamber like a tide—neither oppressive nor violent, but vast, unignorable. He raised one hand, and the councilors stilled.
"There is no need for this to spiral into chaos," he said evenly. "We will approach this strategically."
The room bowed to his words, even those who moments before had been on the verge of shouting.
Elsewhere, in a shadowed alley, another exchange took place.
A cloaked figure pressed a scroll into another's hands. The parchment was bound in dark wax, sigils flickering faintly across its surface.
"Make sure no one sees you," the giver whispered. "And get this to the boss safely."
"Understood."
The recipient melted into the darkness, leaving no trace behind.
Back at Arcanis Academy, life carried on as though none of the world's shadows existed. Students bustled through corridors, preparing for the next round of training. But Kael Ardyn had been summoned.
The principal's office loomed larger than he expected—shelves lined with old tomes, the faint hum of enchantments resonating through the polished walls.
The principal sat behind a sleek desk, his sharp eyes studying Kael with the weight of one who saw more than surface potential.
"You fought well," the man began, his voice calm but edged with authority. "But victory is only the first lesson. Power without control, talent without direction—it burns out as quickly as it flares."
Kael listened intently. The words struck deeper than mere advice.
The principal leaned forward, his expression shifting. "I did not summon you here for praise alone. There is something you must know."
Kael straightened, sensing the change in tone.
"You have drawn interest," the principal said. "Not from peers, but from masters. Multiple instructors—veterans, legends in their fields—have each requested to take you on as their disciple."
Kael froze.
"…What?"
The principal's eyes glinted with measured satisfaction.
"Yes. You will have to make a choice."