The village of Liora always smelled like burning pine and wet stone. Nestled between low hills and encroaching forest, it was the kind of place the world forgot where the wind carried tales of distant kingdoms, but never returned with proof they were real.Alan Smith stood alone at the edge of the Awakening Circle, his bare feet cold against the dew-slick grass. The other initiates were gathered in a tight semicircle behind him, their eyes burning with excitement or disdain.“Maybe this time you'll finally burst into flames and save us the trouble,” someone muttered.Laughter followed. Alan said nothing. He was used to this.Every year, when the children of Liora turned sixteen, they were brought to the circle to awaken their spirit root, a mystical connection to the elemental forces of Aetherion. Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, or, in the rarest of cases, Lightning. A few manifested dual affinities, or unlocked martial qi instead, becoming future warriors and sect candidates. Alan had step

The flames flickered low in the aftermath of the battle. Alan stood alone in the clearing, surrounded by scorched earth and broken trees. The silence was deafening,no wind, no birds, just the faint crackle of burning leaves.His hands still trembled. He had done that. He had conjured fire and lightning without a single incantation. With no scroll, no training, and no spirit root, at least not the kind others could see.“I’m not rootless,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m something else.” His eyes drifted toward the fallen enemies. The Order of Binding. Assassins in bone masks who knew his name… and feared what he could become. “That power was sealed for a reason,” one had said.But sealed by who? And why? Alan staggered toward one of the masked corpses, knees still weak. His palm stung with phantom energy. The body lay crumpled beneath a twisted oak, its blade embedded in the earth beside it.Alan knelt, searching the robes. A scroll tied with black twine slid from a hidden pouch. He

Lightning roared across the canyon as Alan unleashed the storm within.The Crimson Heirs charged, blades flashing with rune-fire, but they were too slow. Alan’s eyes glowed silver-blue as instinct took over. His body moved like a ghost, each step a blur, each strike laced with raw elemental force. The first attacker lunged.Alan twisted aside, his palm igniting with wind and flame. With a fierce shout, he slammed his hand into the man’s chest. The Heir was launched backward like a ragdoll, crashing into the glassy rocks with a sickening crunch.Two more came from the flanks. Kaela loosed arrow after arrow, her aim sharp and deadly. But these Heirs were elite, one deflected a shot mid-air with a crescent blade, while the other spun into a shadowy form and vanished.“Alan, behind you!” Kaela cried. Too late. The shadowy Heir reformed behind Alan, blade raised But Alan’s medallion flashed.The strike never landed. A shimmering wall of storm-light burst from Alan’s back, repelling the ass

Three days had passed since Alan and Kaela left the Shrine of the Sleeping Flame. The landscape changed with each sunrise, rocky crags gave way to rolling hills, and then, abruptly, the world became green.Unnaturally green.They had arrived at the Verdant Vale. Towering trees loomed overhead, their trunks glowing faintly with bioluminescent moss. The wind carried not the scent of flowers, but of ancient magic and something… primordial.Alan stepped cautiously into the lush foliage. “This place feels… alive.” Kaela nodded, bow drawn and eyes sharp. “That’s because it is. The Vale is cursed, or blessed, depending on who you ask. It was once a kingdom of druids before it was swallowed by its own magic.”“Swallowed?” Kaela’s expression darkened. “The forest grew so fast it devoured entire cities.”Alan looked around. “And this ruin we’re heading for?”“It’s called Elaron, though the map calls it The Garden of the Last Sky. Supposedly, it’s the only place the forest couldn’t reclaim.”.De

Silence. Then a sound, so faint it could have been imagination. A whisper, echoing from within the floating cage at the center of the Pillars of Origin.Alan lay on the ground, his breathing shallow. The residual flames of his Ash-Eyed Form sputtered and faded, leaving behind smoke and pain. Kaela crouched beside him, her hands pressed against his chest, trying to stabilize his breath.Across the chamber, Varu the Silent Blade stood motionless, eyes fixed on the cage. The void blade at his arm retracted. He did not approach. He simply… listened.And then, from within the cage, came a voice. Low. Broken. Timeless."He returns. The vessel... awakens."Lioren paled. “It speaks.”“No,” Kaela said, barely above a whisper. “It remembers.” Suddenly, Alan’s eyes snapped open, gold and silver spiraling in his irises. He wasn’t in the chamber anymore.He stood in a vast, starless void. A bridge of shattered memory drifted beneath his feet. All around him, fragments of the past shimmered and bur