While Ashen collected his thoughts, reclining on a cushioned couch near the window of his giant room, Zeyra sat nearby in a trance-like state. The quiet hum of her stabilising energy drifted through the air like heat from sun-warmed stone.
After a time, curiosity nudged him toward the neatly organised bookshelf tucked into the corner. The tomes were so dust-laden he doubted anyone had touched them in years.
What surprised him most, however, was the language on their pages - English. Or at least, something close enough.
'Convenient,' he thought.
Some passages were confusing - references to aura tiers, cultivation anchors, and mana conduits tangled with strange historical metaphors - but the core ideas came through. The world ran on a dual-track system: Aura, a force of will shaped by body and spirit, and Mana, refined energy moulded into spells through precise structure and innate affinity.
But as he skimmed the pages, piecing things together, he had no idea just how quickly word about him was spreading or how large a wave his small actions would cause...
-
Scene I – The Silver Tongue's Den
A lavish parlour bathed in sunlight. Crimson drapes spilt like wine from gilded hooks, and pale candles flickered inside crystalline holders, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The air smelled faintly of saffron, ink, and blood.
At the centre of the room sat a woman - legs crossed, posture relaxed, and eyes like twin daggers sheathed behind a pleasant smile.
Cassandra Thorn.
She was draped in soft blue velvet, fingers adorned with subtle rings, and a single silver chain circled her neck - its charm shaped like a whispering serpent.
A soft knock.
She didn't speak. The door opened on its own.
Three figures stepped in, their forms cloaked in long, shadowed robes. Hoods drawn, voices masked with subtle enchantment.
One knelt. "Lady Cassandra. Reports from the manor."
"Good." She tilted her head, voice rich with silk and smoke. "I trust the walls had ears, as always?"
"Of course, my lady. The second youngest. He's… changed."
Cassandra arched a brow. "Ah. The frail one. How quaint."
"He subdued three guards. They were merely feeble Initiate Aurists who couldn't even manifest their aura. But he didn't even need to lay a hand on them, and did so purely with what the people are calling the presence of a royal."
A faint, amused breath left her nose. "Now that's unexpected."
The second hooded figure stepped forward. "There's more. His attendant, who is rarely seen publicly beside him, was present."
"Was she?" Cassandra swirled the wine in her glass, thoughtful. "So he's changed, huh? Interesting..."
"Shall we intervene?"
"No." Her answer was immediate. "Not yet."
She stood, heels clicking gently against marble. The flickering candlelight caught on her eyes, reflecting something sharp and knowing.
"Let the boys clash. Auren has remained too passive, and this change might finally drive him to act. As for Ashen…" she smiled faintly, "...he might just be worth keeping an eye on after all."
None of the robed figures moved.
She dismissed them with a flick of her fingers.
The door closed behind them, the room falling into silence once more.
Cassandra stared into her glass, lips curving just slightly.
"All the world's a board," she murmured. "And the cleverest players don't dirty their hands fighting for position. They simply wager on the winning side and reap the rewards without risk."
"Which side that is - I haven't quite figured that out just yet..."
-
Scene II – The Wall of Thorns
Wind howled along the ridged battlements of the Drakenthorn border.
A black-stone wall, towering and ancient, encircled a fortress-city nestled on the edge of wild territory - where trees grew like towers and beasts stalked between shadows.
Atop the highest parapet stood a single man.
Tall. Broad. Unmoving.
His long, black-red hair whipped behind him in the wind, streaked with ash-gray like battle scars frozen in time. His presence alone made the air feel heavier, as if the world itself bowed beneath the weight of his command.
Before him, stretching beyond the treeline, surged a wave of beasts - horned, clawed, snarling things emerging from the underbrush like an unrelenting torrent. There were hundreds of them - ravenous and berserk beasts seeking to topple the city walls and feast on its people.
Yet the man remained calm, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.
He made no move.
Behind him, silent until now, a figure materialised.
Draped in black, gloved from head to toe, and face hidden behind a simple silver mask, the man stood with quiet reverence.
"Lord Alric," the masked aide said. "There is news from the capital estate."
Alric Thorn didn't look away from the incoming horde.
"Is it the Empress's daughter? Has she arrived?"
"Not yet, my lord. It concerns the young master, Ashen."
Alric's expression didn't shift, but something in the air did - like the quiet crack before a storm.
"Speak."
"He defeated three estate guards," the aide said. "With nothing but his presence."
A beat.
Then, a dry chuckle. Low. Rough like gravel and smoke.
"Hohoho… Has the runt grown fangs?"
"They say he still showed no signs of having awakened Aura or Mana. The cursed weakness in his body likely remains. But… he is your son."
Alric's grip on the sword tightened.
"Or perhaps Auren's presence has finally lit a fire under him."
He stepped forward, boots grinding against stone.
"Either way, I have no room for weakness in my line. Power without resolve is dangerous. If he cannot prove himself..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to, or maybe he didn't want to.
The next moment, Alric Thorn leapt from the wall.
The wind roared as he descended, sword drawn - glinting with barely-restrained flame.
He landed like a meteor amid the beasts.
And then... chaos!
A furnace of fire erupted outward. Beasts shrieked. Limbs flew. Flames howled. His blade moved with terrifying grace - each swing a death knell, each step a declaration of dominion.
One man. A storm of steel and fire.
A war god made flesh.
A true king who needed no throne to be feared.
The Drakenthorn himself.