Klaus Sev stood in the heart of the Eldwick woods, the morning mist curling around the gnarled trees like a living thing.
The air was damp, heavy with the scent of moss and pine, but Klaus barely noticed. His focus was on the black stone in his hand, its faint runes pulsing with a warmth that sank into his bones.
Elder Marin sat across the clearing, his white beard catching the weak sunlight, his hawk-like eyes watching Klaus with a mix of approval and warning.
Three days had passed since Klaus began cultivation, since the Mark of Ascendancy had sparked something inside him with its cold, commanding voice: [The First Spark grows: The Unbowed's will is forged.] That spark was still small, a flicker in his chest, but it was real. Klaus wasn't the lazy noble he'd been a week ago, lounging in the Sev manor and snapping at maids. He was on a path now—a path to power that would make the world kneel.
His torn blue cloak lay discarded on a log, his fine tunic soaked with sweat. His hands, still scarred from the cosmic battle, gripped the stone tighter as he focused.
Marin had called this the First Flame, the foundation of the Iron Body stage. It was about waking his body's potential, forging muscle and mind into something stronger than steel. But it wasn't easy. Every moment of focus felt like wrestling a storm, his thoughts pulling toward his father's scorn, his brother's perfection, or Cedric Varn's smug face.
Klaus gritted his teeth, forcing his mind to stay on the stone. The hum grew louder, the warmth sharper, and his chest burned with a faint, familiar heat.
"Deeper," Marin said, his voice rough but firm.
"The stone's just a tool. The power's in you. Find it."
Klaus nodded, his jaw tight. He closed his eyes, blocking out the rustle of leaves and the distant cry of a hawk. The stone's hum became a rhythm, like a heartbeat. His muscles ached, his lungs burned, but he pushed harder.
The heat in his chest flared, and his vision blurred. Golden runes glowed in his mind, sharp and commanding. The Mark's voice echoed, cold and clear: [The First Flame strengthens: The Unbowed's body hardens.]
Klaus gasped, the stone slipping from his hand. His knees buckled, but he caught himself, his breath ragged. His body felt… different. Not just stronger, but heavier, like his bones were denser, his muscles tighter. The cuts on his hands, once raw, were now faint scars. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the change. It wasn't much—not yet—but it was proof. Cultivation was real, and the Mark was guiding him.
Marin's eyes gleamed. "Good," he said, leaning on his gnarled staff.
"You're past the spark now. The First Flame's taking root. Keep going, and you'll forge the Iron Body. But don't get cocky, boy. This is nothing compared to what's out there."
Klaus stood, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Out there?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "You mean Lionheart?"
Marin snorted. "Lionheart's a speck, boy. Aetherion's vast—kingdoms, empires, wastelands. The Ashen Plains breed warlords who'd snap your neck for sport. The Crystal Dominion's cultivators wield magic that can split rivers. And the Starlit Empire? They say their masters forge souls in starfire, half-god already. You want power? You'll need to face that world."
Klaus's heart raced. Aetherion. The name felt heavy, like a challenge. He'd heard whispers of other lands—Lila's story of the Ashen Plains, Marin's talk of the Crystal Dominion—but they'd been distant, like myths.
Now, they were real. The Kingdom of Lionheart, with its knights and nobles, was just the start. He'd conquer it all, from Eldwick's ruins to the Starlit Empire's thrones.
"Enough talk," Marin said, tossing Klaus a waterskin.
"Drink. Then we move. The woods hold old magic—ruins from before Lionheart was born. You'll train there today."
Klaus caught the waterskin, drinking deeply. The cold water soothed his throat, but his mind was on the ruins. Old magic sounded dangerous, but also powerful. He handed the waterskin back and grabbed his cloak, tying it around his shoulders.
"Let's go," he said, his green eyes sharp.
Marin led the way, his staff tapping the ground. The woods grew thicker, the trees older, their roots twisting like snakes. Klaus followed, his boots sinking into moss.
The air felt heavier here, charged with something he couldn't name. After an hour, they reached a crumbling stone arch, half-covered in vines. Beyond it, broken pillars and shattered walls lay scattered, their surfaces etched with faded runes. The ruins stretched into the shadows, vast and silent.
"What is this place?" Klaus asked, his voice low.
Marin's eyes darkened. "A temple, maybe. Or a fortress. Built by the Old Ones, before Aetherion had kings. Their magic lingers, strong enough to test you. Step carefully, boy."
Klaus nodded, his hand resting on his dagger. The ruins felt alive, like they were watching him. He stepped through the arch, following Marin to a wide courtyard. A cracked stone slab stood at the center, its surface glowing faintly with blue light.
Marin stopped, pointing at it. "Touch it," he said.
"It's a training stone, older than the one you've got. It'll push your First Flame harder—but it'll hurt."
Klaus approached the slab, his chest tightening. The blue light pulsed, and the air around it hummed, like a storm trapped in glass. He reached out, his fingers brushing the stone. Pain shot through him, sharp and cold, like lightning in his veins.
He staggered, his vision blurring, but he didn't pull away. The heat in his chest flared, fighting the pain. Runes glowed in his mind, and the Mark's voice spoke: [The Unbowed endures: The First Flame burns brighter.]
He gritted his teeth, forcing his hand to stay on the stone. The pain was brutal, but so was the power. His muscles tensed, his bones ached, but he felt stronger, like the stone was forging him anew. When he finally pulled back, his hand was trembling, but his body hummed with energy. He felt… alive.
Marin nodded, a rare smile on his lips. "You've got will, boy. Most would've quit. Keep that up, and the Iron Body's yours."
Klaus panted, his green eyes blazing. "How long? Till I'm strong enough to fight?"
Marin's smile faded. "Months, maybe years. Depends on you. But strength isn't just muscle. It's cunning, allies, will. You'll need all of it to face what's coming."
Klaus didn't ask what he meant. He knew. Cedric Varn, his father, the duke, the king—and beyond Lionheart, warlords and cultivators who'd crush him without a thought. He'd be ready.
Before Marin could say more, a shout echoed through the ruins. Klaus spun, his dagger drawn. Figures emerged from the shadows—six men, their armor gleaming, their spears lowered.
At their head was Cedric Varn, his red cloak bright against the gray stone, his ruby-hilted sword already drawn. His blond hair was perfect, his smirk infuriating.
"Well, Sev," Cedric said, his voice dripping with mockery.
"Hiding in ruins now? I thought you'd at least crawl back to your manor."
Klaus's grip tightened on his dagger.
"You followed me," he said, his voice low.
"What do you want, Varn?"
Cedric stepped closer, his guards fanning out.
"My father's taking Eldwick, but I want to make sure you know your place. You're nothing, Sev. A lazy brat playing at power."
Klaus felt the heat in his chest flare, sharp and fierce. His vision blurred, and runes glowed. The Mark spoke: [The Unbowed faces a foe: Blood forges respect.] He blinked, the words sinking in. Cedric wasn't just a nuisance—he was a test. If Klaus could beat him, here and now, it would prove he was more than a joke.
"Draw your sword," Klaus said, stepping forward. "No running this time."
Cedric laughed, but his eyes were cold.
"You're serious? Fine. Let's see how long you last." He raised his sword, its blade catching the light. His guards stepped back, forming a loose circle around the courtyard.
Marin's voice cut through the tension.
"No killing," he said, his staff thumping the ground.
"Fight if you must, but spill no blood here. The ruins don't like it."
Cedric smirked.
"Stay out of this, old man." He lunged, his sword flashing toward Klaus's chest.
Klaus dodged, barely, his new strength making him faster than he'd expected. Cedric's blade grazed his tunic, tearing the fabric. Klaus swung his dagger, aiming for Cedric's arm, but Cedric parried, his sword clanging against the smaller blade. The impact jarred Klaus's hand, but he held on, circling his rival.
"You're slow," Cedric taunted, striking again.
Klaus ducked, rolling across the stone, and sprang up behind Cedric. He slashed, catching Cedric's cloak and tearing a strip free. Cedric cursed, spinning to face him.
Klaus's heart pounded, but the First Flame burned in him, steadying his hands. He wasn't trained like Cedric, but he was stubborn. He dodged another strike, then tackled Cedric, slamming him into the ground.
They grappled, fists flying. Klaus landed a punch to Cedric's jaw, and Cedric answered with a knee to Klaus's stomach. Pain flared, but Klaus didn't stop. He grabbed Cedric's wrist, twisting until the sword fell.
"Enough!" Marin shouted, his staff slamming the ground. A gust of wind—unnatural, sharp—pushed Klaus and Cedric apart. Klaus staggered, panting, his knuckles bloody. Cedric stood, his lip bleeding, his perfect hair a mess.
"You're dead, Sev," Cedric spat, grabbing his sword. "This isn't over."
Klaus smirked, his chest heaving. "Run home, Varn. Tell your father you lost."
Cedric's guards closed ranks, and he retreated, his glare promising revenge. As they vanished into the ruins, Klaus felt the Mark stir again. Runes glowed, and the voice spoke: [The Unbowed draws first blood: Respect is earned.]
His body ached, but he felt stronger, not just from the fight but from proving himself. Cedric wasn't invincible. No one was.
Marin shook his head. "Foolish, but bold. You're learning, boy. Now, back to the stone."
Klaus nodded, picking up the training stone. His hands were steady now, his resolve harder. But as he sat, his thoughts drifted to Eldwick. Cedric's father was moving on the town, and Klaus couldn't ignore it.
He needed to return, to face his father and the duke. And Lila—she'd be there, working, watching. He'd told her to stay close, but he felt something else now, a pull he couldn't name.
The sun was high when Marin called a break. Klaus drank from the waterskin, his body sore but alive.
"What's next?" he asked.
Marin's eyes darkened. "The ruins' deeper chambers. Stronger magic, stronger pain. But first, you go back to Eldwick. Your town's in trouble, and you can't hide here forever."
Klaus nodded, tying his cloak. He'd face Cedric, his father, and whatever came next. The world was vast, but he'd start here. As he left the ruins, the Mark's words echoed: [Respect is earned.] He'd earn more than that.
He'd earn fear.