The silence of ten thousand years shattered with the sound of cracking glass.
Zenith's eyes opened slowly, stinging as they met an unknown sky. He breathed in, but the air felt thin, somewhat starved of the rich, golden aether magic that used to hum against his skin. The mana flow here was pathetic, a mere trickle compared to the roaring ocean of power he remembered.
This wasn't home.
'Mother!' He scrambled upright, his small hands scraping against cold, unfamiliar stone.
'Mother, where are you?!'
He looked frantically for the woman who had stood before him only seconds ago, her face pale as she forced him into the stasis array. But the hallway was gone. The palace was gone. There wasn't even a lingering spark of her magical signature only the scent of dust and the whistling of a wind that had forgotten his name.
The memories hit him like a physical blow. Just moments ago—or was it centuries?—he had been her arms.
"Let us in, or else!" The wood of the door groaned under the impact of a heavy boot.
"Zenith, my boy..." His mother's voice was a trembling whisper. "I am sorry I have to do this. Someday, you will understand."
A blinding radiance began emanating from her skin, but as she began the forbidden chant, the light turned oily and dark. The air in the room grew heavy, turning to lead in Zenith's lungs. He coughed, his small chest heaving as the aura of the Stasis Spell coiled around him like a protective serpent.
"Protect my baby boy," she whispered, her eyes fixed on something Zenith couldn't see. "Keep him safe. Do not let him wake until the world is ready."
Then, the door exploded. A blast of raw power swept through the room, and the last thing Zenith saw was his mother dissolving into a golden mist that surged toward him and into him.
Confused and without a clue where he was, Zenith knew he had to move. He scrambled to his feet, his small legs shaking as he scanned the horizon for anything familiar.
All he saw was a graveyard.
He began navigating through what looked like a city buried under centuries of silt and rot. Then, something caught his eye: strange, jagged markings on four shattered slabs of stone. He dragged the heavy rubble together, his fingers stained with ancient dust as he fit them together like a puzzle.
"What... what are these?" he whispered.
As the last piece slid into place, Zenith's body went limp. The blood drained from his face, leaving him paler than the stone itself.
"It can't be..." His breath hitched. "It is! That's our Imperial Mark!"
He screamed the words so loud that a murder of crows erupted from the skeletal trees, their black wings a dark omen against the sky he no longer recognized.
Dazed by the discovery, Zenith sprinted through the debris, his small heart hammering against his ribs. "It was here," he choked out, his eyes darting frantically. "The spires... the Great Hall... the castle was here!"
But there was only dust. The streets, the guards, the laughter of his friends, and ten thousand years of life had been ground into silt.
"It's all gone?" Zenith collapsed, the shock hitting him harder than any physical blow. "EVERYTHING IS GONE!"
A wail tore from his throat a sound of such raw, unadulterated agony that the ground began to tremble. His Level 99 mana, fueled by his despair, surged out of control. The grass beneath his knees withered to ash in seconds. The air grew thick and oily as a dark miasma erupted from his small frame, crackling like black fire under the pale moon.
"I want it back!" he screamed at the empty sky. "I want it all back!"
But as the mana peaked, his vision blurred. A bone-deep exhaustion washed over him, turning his limbs to lead. His tiny body couldn't sustain the output.
As his vision faded, a faint voice echoed somewhere deep within his mind.
[Warning: Aetherian Vessel Overload Detected. Initiating Emergency Hibernation.]
"What... why am I so tired?" Zenith's head lolled to the side. "Vessel... overload?"
THUD.
Zenith hit the dirt, passed out cold. His eyes remained half-open, staring blankly at the ruins of his world, while his uncontrolled mana continued to pulse into the night a beacon for anything hunting in the dark.
Out of the swirling dust and sand, a tall figure emerged. She moved toward Zenith's motionless body, her expression a mix of concern and deep curiosity. As the debris began to dissipate, her features became clear: a high elf with cherry-blossom hair, pale-pinkish skin, and a face as stern as a marble statue.
"How fascinating," she whispered, her eyes glowing as she sensed the lingering Aetherian mana.
Before the local monsters or scavengers could arrive, she scooped the boy into her arms. She knew she couldn't leave such a phenomenon in the dirt.
"Spatial Magic: Activate."
"[System: Spatial Magic 'Teleportation' Detected. Destination: Sylvaerion Kingdom.]"
In a blur of light, the ruins vanished. They reappeared in a room that screamed of ancient nobility. The walls were as white as clouds, draped in red and ironclad banners bearing crests Zenith wouldn't recognize. In the center sat a bed so massive it could have fit five Zeniths with room to spare.
The commotion didn't go unnoticed.
"Your Holy Excellency, is everything alright?" a rugged voice shouted from behind the golden doors.
"Everything is fine," the elf replied, her voice as sharp and clear as clashing steel. "Fetch His Majesty, King Aerendyl, at once!"