Fifteen days.
Fifteen days of grueling, relentless training beneath the merciless gaze of Flame Emperor Viron. Those who
thought Viron was cruel had never seen him gentle—because that was when he was most dangerous.
His silence cut deeper than fire.
Auren endured it all. His flame grew sharper. His body harder. His senses clearer.
But on the morning of the fifteenth day, as dust drifted through the still training hall, Viron's expression
held a weight Auren had never seen before.
It wasn't anger. Or pride. Or irritation.
It was grief.
A Mentor's Burden
Auren opened his eyes in his quarters, still weak from the final stages of training. His body ached with the
aftereffects of the Bloodburn Technique, but his spirit felt steady. Alive.
Viron sat beside him. Silent. Unmoving. Eyes fixed on the floor.
Auren forced himself up. "Master…?"
Viron didn't look at him.
"Disciple," he said quietly, "congratulations. You passed my test. You are now worthy of learning the Mark of
Flame… and the true Bloodburn Technique."
Auren's heart lifted—then sank.
Because Viron's voice trembled. Ever so slightly.
"But," Viron continued, "I had hoped you would fail."
Auren stiffened. "Why?"
Viron exhaled deeply and turned to the rain-speckled window. Beyond the glass, the world blurred with
faint mist.
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"The Mist Forest Trials begin soon," he said. "Every cadet from every city will be there. From the lowest-tier
districts… to the elite sky citadels."
He clenched his fist slowly.
"These trials aren't exams. They're battlegrounds. A place where politics run deeper than roots, and
ambition runs thicker than blood."
Auren felt the shift in Viron's aura—old pain, simmering anger.
"Once," Viron murmured, "I had a disciple. More talented than you. More gifted than anyone. A genius born
once in a century."
His breath hitched.
"He died in the Mist Forest Trials. Sabotaged. Betrayed. And no one… no one saved him. Not even me."
The air dimmed with the weight of the confession.
Auren's fists tightened.
"Master… I'm not him. And I won't die."
Viron looked at him—searching.
Auren held his gaze. Unbroken. Determined.
And hiding something.
He had not revealed his second ability. His Spirit Reading.
Dual attributes. Flame and Spirit.
His trump card—kept secret.
Viron sighed. A weary, knowing sound. "Rest. We begin your final preparation soon."
Departure
Fifteen days later.
The sky above Skyliner City roared as a black metallic VX-7 Skyhauler descended from the clouds. Engines
vibrated through the city's towers.
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Cadets gathered beneath the loading ramp. Some pale. Some trembling. Some eager.
Auren stood among them—calm.
Lura paced anxiously, biting her nails to the quick. Mark leaned against a crate, arms crossed. Both were
prodigies under powerful mentors.
Lura suddenly grabbed Auren's arm.
"Auren—promise you'll stay close during the trials! Please! You and Mark are monsters compared to me—if
you're near, I might survive this!"
Auren blinked. Mark sighed.
Before he could answer, a cold voice cut through the commotion.
"Enjoy your comfort while you can. It won't last."
Alys.
She strode past, sword humming softly at her hip. Her eyes lingered on Auren. Not with hatred. But
curiosity. And something sharper.
Before Auren could question it, a sharp beep rang out. A holographic map flickered to life.
Twenty-five miles of forest. Dripping with mist. And at the center—
A pit. Three miles wide. Oozing black energy like a living wound.
The Skyhauler's doors opened.
Thunder split the sky. Lightning crashed toward Lura.
Auren moved on instinct—lunging for her.
But something else hit first.
A spear. Pure lightning.
It shattered the incoming bolt.
Cadets stumbled back as a man stepped through the mist.
Silver armor. Blond hair. A presence like a blade.
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"Are you here for a picnic?" he said, voice dripping arrogance. "This is one of humanity's top ten forbidden
zones. Try not to die before you even enter."
Next to him, Grey smirked. "Lower-tier cities. Figures."
Lura snapped. "Hey! We appreciate the save—but don't insult us!"
A girl in silver armor descended behind them, wand shimmering.
"Grey," she said coldly. "Never fraternize with trash."
Wind exploded around her—forming a tornado.
Auren braced. Mark braced. Lura screamed.
Alys stepped forward.
Her sword sang.
One swing.
The tornado shattered into glittering fragments.
Clera recoiled, eyes wide.
Alys ignored her. Her attention remained solely on Auren. Showing him something. A preview of power. A
warning.
Clera seethed. But a commanding voice cut through the chaos.
"Enough."
A man in green armor descended. Mark gasped.
"Owen… the youngest War God… master of the Spear Domain…"
Owen surveyed the cadets. Authority radiated from him.
"Your objective is simple. Retrieve the Silver Nectar Flower from the core. Survive. Adapt. Overcome. Now
move."
Dozens of cadets dashed into the mist.
The forest swallowed them.
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Auren tightened his grip. His flame pulsed.
"The storm begins now," he whispered.
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