The room of that peripheral inn had disappeared from the magical map of Eldria. A thick and silent dome of static mana enveloped Aslam's body. He lay unconscious and still in the center of the room.
The boy's body operated in an absolute vacuum, isolated from the flow of time. He was hidden from the perception of any tracking spell in the city. This isolation ensured his safety during the critical process of his awakening.
Miles away, the main hall of the Sorcerers' Guild seethed with chaotic energy. It was the final day of registrations and preliminaries for the championship. Elara organized piles of scrolls while her eyes darted across the panel.
Token 3724 remained dark and inactive in the guild's complex magical system. Elara had expected to see the young man arrive early that morning. His continued absence generated an uncomfortable and heavy tightening in her chest.
The attendant sighed heavily, hoping the young noble would appear before the end. The buzz of novice mages and adventurers around her was nearly deafening. They pushed against the oak counters, demanding attention and pleading for chances.
The air in the hall was heavy with the metallic smell of residual ozone. Beside Elara, senior attendant Maelis stamped registration refusals with mechanical apathy. The veteran noticed her colleague's distraction and clicked her tongue in disapproval.
— Focus on the line in front of us, Elara. The runic clock marks only the beginning of the afternoon. We have hours of torment ahead of us until the gates close.
— I know, Mrs. Maelis. I am just checking the pending brackets.
Maelis snorted, handing a rejected scroll to a tearful young man in front of her. She believed the mysterious competitor had finally realized the reality of the trials. Pressure crushes the weak, and she was certain the boy had simply given up.
Elara pursed her lips and arranged the recording stones in perfectly aligned rows. She did this to disguise her growing nervousness from her sharp-eyed superior. "Mrs. Maelis is completely mistaken," the girl thought while recalling his Golden resonance.
The counter supervisor, Valerius, was sweating profusely while trying to contain a group. These exalted young nobles were causing a scene at the main counter. The chaos seemed impossible to manage as the tension reached a breaking point.
— I demand an immediate review! — yelled a young man in scorched silk robes. — My spell hit the target perfectly! The board evaluated my conjuration incorrectly!
— My ice barrier lasted ten whole seconds! — shouted a girl beside him. — You are stealing our spots to favor the Grand Masters' favorites!
Valerius raised his hands, trying to appease the spirits of the crowd in vain. He explained that the rules of the Arcane Championship were absolute. Their lack of mana control had caused dangerous collateral damage to the arena structure.
— Collateral damage? — The young man huffed, his eyes flashing with pure arrogance. He pulled a silver badge from his belt and tapped the wood. — I belong to House Vane! My flames melted the test golem in seconds.
The girl beside him joined the chorus, gesturing aggressively for more support. She claimed the Guild manipulated the crystals to limit independent competitors. She accused the evaluators of taking bribes to favor the families of the crown.
The mob behind them exploded in agreement, filling the hall with shrill insults. A hooded man threw a paperweight against the glass barrier of a counter. The sudden crash shattered the remaining patience of the weary guild employees.
Maelis sighed, stamping another rejection scroll with unnecessary and sharp force. She warned Elara to prepare a personal protection shield against the crowd. She knew these wild mages would soon start firing spells in their frustration.
The veteran's prediction came true as the heir of House Vane raised his staff. He channeled an incandescent magic circle that dried the oxygen in the room. The Guild guards advanced with spears leveled, making a confrontation inevitable.
Suddenly, the hall temperature plummeted to negative degrees in a single heartbeat. An overwhelming gravitational pressure dropped from the ceiling, silencing the entire room. The fire on the aristocrat's staff flickered and disintegrated into nothingness.
Heavy and rhythmic footsteps echoed as Lysandra passed through the translucent curtains. The Grand Master wore her dark official uniform adorned with shining insignias. Her presence alone brought the chaotic hall to a complete and terrified standstill.
The young man from House Vane fell to his knees as his bones cracked. He was unable to support the colossal weight collapsing onto his shoulders. The girl beside him gasped for air, her spine curving under the invisible force.
Lysandra stopped in the center of the confusion with predatory silver eyes. She spoke of the interesting accusations regarding bribes and crystal manipulation. Her voice cut through the silence of the hall like a freshly sharpened blade.
— I served as the head judge in your evaluation stage. I analyzed the data and personally failed the pathetic demonstration of every mage here. Her authority was untouchable as she stood before the trembling and disqualified group.
The Grand Master took a step forward, her boots clicking loudly on the marble. The crowd recoiled in unison, driven by a sense of pure primitive terror. She challenged anyone dissatisfied to file a formal complaint directly to her.
Silence reigned absolute as no adventurer dared to make the slightest sound. Lysandra observed the paralyzed crowd for a few seconds with deep disdain. She curved her lips in contempt and finally clicked her tongue.
— That's what I thought. Tsc.
The Grand Master turned her back and walked toward the grand marble stairs. The gravitational pressure dissipated instantly, leaving the failed mages gasping on the floor. They gathered their belongings in panic and fled through the double doors.
Valerius wiped his sweaty forehead and signaled for the registrations to resume. A few minutes later, two imposing figures crossed the Guild's main entrance. Their presence demanded the absolute attention of every person remaining in the hall.
The Sylvaris twins walked directly to Elara's counter through the empty space. Marcus rested his heavy, calloused hands on the oak wood with quiet strength. His tall, athletic build and ebony skin commanded immediate respect from everyone.
Thick white and silver dreadlocks hung over the warrior's broad and steady shoulders. Multiple battle scars marked his rigid jaw, adding to his formidable military appearance. His deep blue eyes radiated an intensity that could silence entire enemy rows.
Beside him, Cordelia shared the same majestic lineage and impressive height. Her long white hair flowed down her back like a waterfall of light silk. Her rare violet eyes shone with a sharp and highly intelligent urgency.
— I need information about a participant. — Marcus used a firm and polite tone. — His name is Kaelus. Kaelus Rhys Sylvaris. He was participating yesterday.
Elara blinked, intimidated by the duo's appearance and the noble name mentioned. She typed the initials into the search panel, but the system only beeped. No record of a Kaelus Sylvaris existed in the official guild registration files.
Cordelia frowned and rested her slender fingers on the wooden counter. She forced her mind to retrieve the image of the arena's holographic panel. The memory of her brother's strike and the short name finally cleared.
— Aslam. — Cordelia raised her face, staring at the attendant with sudden urgency. — It said Aslam on yesterday's approval panel. Look for that name, please.
Elara's eyes widened as she connected the dots in a fraction of a second. The noble origin explained the polished posture and the boy's irreproachable control. She asked if they were referring to the young man with white hair.
— Exactly that young man. What is his status? — Marcus asked firmly. Cordelia pulled her brother aside, speaking in a low voice away from the attendant. She questioned why their brother would ever choose to change his identity.
— Safety and extreme survival. — Marcus reasoned quickly with a locked, serious jaw. — He spent months missing and hiding our crest to throw off his enemies. He got used to acting in the shadows and built a utilitarian disguise.
Cordelia insisted that his period of flight was over now that they were here. The entire capital had witnessed his absurd power in the arena the night before. Their house needed this triumph to be exposed to the light of day.
Marcus nodded slowly, his protective instincts matching his sister's irrefutable logic. To the twins, the youngest would always be Kaelus, regardless of any strategy. The warrior returned to the counter and produced a heavy silver medallion.
— Attendant, a serious security error occurred at the time of his registration. This young man belongs to our direct lineage and requires an immediate update. He placed the official insignia on the table with a definitive, hollow sound.
Elara swallowed hard before the overwhelming authority of the warrior's deep voice. She mentioned that altering records required specific forms and coordination approval. However, Marcus leaned forward, his gaze making any bureaucratic barrier vanish instantly.
— Make the change right now, please. The correct name of yesterday's hero is Kaelus Rhys Sylvaris. This is the name that must shine on the panels.
Elara nodded silently and slid her fingers over the main recording stone. The runic system complied with the noble-level override command in an instant. The name "Aslam Radianthe" dissolved and was replaced by "Kaelus Rhys Sylvaris."
Marcus and Cordelia watched the update with a sense of unwavering pride. The warrior retrieved his medallion as they turned to leave the guild hall. They were convinced they had restored their family's honor before the crown.
The information propagated immediately through the capital's vast runic network. In the lower levels, sunlight failed to reach Malakor's dark and humid lair. The leader of the mercenary organization settled his colossal figure on a divan.
The faction operated globally, executing high-level assassinations for massive payments. Malakor possessed an absurd corpulence and a suffocating, sickly magical presence. His grayish skin reflected the dark nature of his hidden, subterranean world.
Dozens of naked servants crawled on the floor around the seated giant. Malakor consumed their vitality in frequent orgies to feed his own black core. These slaves were living vessels, totally devoid of will and trapped in a trance.
The double iron doors creaked as a hooded lackey entered with a crystal. He knelt with trembling hands and presented the updated list from the arena. The name "Kaelus Rhys Sylvaris" flickered at the top of the translucent screen.
Malakor narrowed his dark eyes as a wine glass shattered in his grip. The ruby liquid mixed with the greenish glow of his monstrous, heavy veins. He realized the target of their failed mission was walking freely in the capital.
The presence of the boy exposed the failure of his men to the client. This error stained the organization's reputation and was considered absolutely unforgivable. He ordered the responsible trackers to be brought before him at once.
Two minutes later, three veteran assassins were thrown to their knees in the hall. Cold sweat ran down their scarred faces as they prepared to beg for mercy. Malakor suppressed their voices with a single, violent gesture of his hand.
Spectral and putrid claws manifested from the leader's dark and heavy aura. They tore through space and plunged into the chests of the three operatives. Not a single word was uttered as the extraction process began ruthlessly.
The skin of the trackers dried up and wrinkled like old, forgotten scrolls. Their hair detached in clumps as their muscles atrophied against their skeletons. They emitted an agonizing hiss, unable to draw air into their destroyed lungs.
Malakor closed his fist, and the bodies collapsed as hollow, mummified husks. The stolen vital essence flowed into him, invigorating his muscles with dark power. He savored the energy of the reaped souls as it settled within.
Magic in Eldria followed rigid dogmas focused on the Rings of Connection. The Kingdom and the Guild ruthlessly hunted any practitioners of forbidden arts. Malakor operated on the margins, using the heresy of profane and dark necromancy.
He ignored pure mana, choosing instead to rip vigor from the living soul. This visceral power was both lethal and a direct affront to the modern world. The monster leaned back, wiping a trickle of dark blood from his thumb.
— Prepare our best night scouts. — Malakor smiled predatorily at the corpses. — The arrogant heir of the Sylvaris has a scheduled appointment with death.