What if what was meant to be was not they, what will you do ? The System Hubs stood tall over Eryndor's capital. Tall spires of clear crystal cut the sky. Thin lines of Aether ran through the building. The light changed from light blue to dark red as the sun went down. Small tents filled the open square below. Each tent had a sign for a family. Marston had flames in metal. Harrison had waves in silver. Bramwell had shields on frames. Brighton had eyes in gold. People packed the areas between. Some wore fine cloth. Others wore rough cloth. All came for the event that decided futures. Zhilak Marston stood by his family's tent. He kept his hand on the old handle of his training sword. His arms and legs hurt from morning practice. The ache stayed, but he ignored it. He kept his eyes on the main stage. Black stone bases held the orbs there. The balls, small as a fist, took in Aether power. Their skins felt smooth and hard until a hand touched them. Lord Harlan Marston walked by. His

The plaza stretched wide under Eryndor's clear sky. Flags hung from tall poles. Colors looked bright in the full sun. Marston red led the line. Harrison blue followed close. Bramwell green sat third. Brighton yellow finished the group. Stalls lined the edges. Smell of cooked birds mixed with new bread. Beer poured into mugs. Musicians picked strings. People moved in groups. Feet hit the ground hard.Zhilak stepped down from the cart. Strong hands pushed his arms. Chest hurt from the motion. He looked over the crowd. Faces turned. Low talks started. Fingers pointed. He raised his chin. Walked to the Marston spot.Harlan waited there. Staff held tight. Eyes hard. "Stand in the center," he ordered. Voice carried across the space. People heard. Zhilak obeyed. Feet planted firm. Heart beat fast.Harlan climbed the raised area. Crowd went quiet. Arm went up. "Today we remember wins. Monsters pushed back. Enemies held off. But one fails." Finger pointed at Zhilak. "My child. No system. Stain

The low town's yard baked under the midday sun. Dirt packed hard from foot traffic. Crates lined one side, stacked uneven. Sticks leaned against a hut wall, cut straight for practice. Fire pit sat cold, ashes gray and scattered. Huts framed the space, doors ajar, voices drifting from inside. Smoke lingered from morning cook, faint scent of charred roots hanging in the air.Zhilak stood in the center, grip tight on his stick. Kaelin circled slow, her own stick held loose. Her eyes traced his stance, the way his weight shifted left. She tapped her stick against his, wood clacking sharp. He parried, arm extending full. The block held, but his shoulder pulled, old wound from the raid tugging the skin.She nodded once. "Again." Thrust came low, aiming knee. Zhilak stepped aside, counter with a sweep to her midsection. She blocked, sticks crossing. Force pushed back through his arms. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping into eyes. He blinked it away, feet planting firm.The group watched

Sand crunched under Zhilak’s boots as he stumbled into the Forbidden Ruins. Dunes stretched behind him, swallowing the low town’s gate in a haze of dust. Cracked stone arches rose from the ground, their surfaces rough and etched with figures clutching orbs. Vines coiled around pillars, leaves thick with grit, some hanging loose and swaying with the wind. The air hissed through gaps in the walls, flinging fine sand into his eyes and stinging his cheeks. Every surface was covered in carvings, showing men and women with hands raised, some crowned with jagged lines of Aether, others kneeling, their faces worn smooth by centuries. No birds called, no insects buzzed. Silence pressed heavily, broken only by the scrape of his steps on gravel. The ruins felt alive, watching, their stones cold under his touch as shadows stretched long while the sun dipped, painting the arches in hues of orange and gray.Zhilak leaned against a pillar, hand clutching his side. Blood stuck to his fingers, warm an