2025-08-06 07:30:16[Volume 1# Before Ice Age]
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"Hi, Vonn! Did your magic crawl under a rock again?"
The mocking call rang out over the courtyard like a lash, so loud that it caused a few wandering stares, but not loud enough to command more than fleeting attention. This was Arcvale Academy, after all — the fabled school of elemental mastery, where drama and magic were the norm. Around Zarek Vonn, the air vibrated with power. Runes glimmered across all the ancient stone walls, flowing like liquid light under the dawn sun. Ivory spires, inscribed with the sigils of the masters of old, reached toward the heavens as if calling forth the gods themselves.
The courtyard thrummed with energy. Students in bright robes of the elements danced through the air or blazed across marble tiles. A girl surrounded by flame flew through whirling circles of flame. A boy floated cross-legged, surrounded in a reverberating spiral of stones that circled his body. Another composed a melody of air that swayed the leaves in concord. Magic fresh and vibrant, sang in every breath of the campus — living, breathing proof of what humankind can accomplish and the power of the Star Realm of Lystara.
Except for Zarek.
He was a dead stick in a row of flowering trees. By himself, standing at the fringe of the central boulevard, clutching a worn copy of Basic Elemental Theory: Volume One, the spine worn from repeated use, the corners creased from repeated hopeful perusal. His robes were academy issue, but unadorned — free of any of the elemental crests that decorated his classmates. No flame flickered at his fingers. No water sprang in his hand. No sigh of air ruffled his hair, no rock moved under his feet. He was still. Empty. A walking reminder of defeat.
"Come on, show us something, dirt boy."
Kellan Dross stepped out of a nearby columned arch, his robes elemental, trimmed with the scarlet color of a fire adept. His every movement exuded confidence — the casual arrogance of someone born powerful and praised for it every day since. He flicked his fingers, and fire wrapped around his knuckles instantly, burning like a crouched serpent waiting to strike.
"Even a spark?" Kellan snarled, cradling the flame in his hand as if it were a trophy. "Or are you reserving that for your bedtime story?"
The laughter which followed wasn't cruel — it was careless, thoughtless. The sort that hurt more than open loathing because it bore no actual respect for its object. Zarek didn't flinch. He'd heard it all before. The names. The insults. The constant, banal jabs tossed by those whose magic just as readily as breathing. He merely shifted his hold on the book, bringing it under one arm like a shield, and continued walking.
But Kellan wasn’t done.
“Still pretending you’re part of us?” he called, stepping directly into Zarek’s path. The flame danced higher in his palm, casting flickering shadows across his smirking face. “This is Arcvale, not some farmers’ guild.”
Zarek stopped. Slowly, he raised his eyes. The sun caught in his dark irises, turning them into pools of reflected fire — not from within, but borrowed. Always borrowed.
“You done?”
The question was tentative, but relentless. It paused Kellan — for a moment— before another student spoke up behind, voice thick with sarcasm.
"Oh, the powerless speaks. Shall we clap?"
The fire in Kellan's hand flared forward with a soft whoosh, halting inches from Zarek's nose. The flames danced at his skin, tempting him to wince but he didn't.
“You’re a stain on the prestige of this academy,” Kellan said coldly. “Elementless. Skill-less. Worthless.”
At that moment, silence rippled outward. Not because of Zarek — but because of the woman who walked into view.
Mistress Elira.
One of Arcvale's strongest elemental mentors, every step she took sent a sheet of frost trickling along the stone floor. Her robes resembled flowing glaciers, with silver embroidery that glimmered like the morning dew on ice. She walked by the group with a silence, her eyes casting a fleeting glance at Zarek before moving on — cold, unreadable, and impenetrable.
Kellan smiled. "Even the mentors are disregarding you. That's how low you are."
Zarek did not respond. He had no need to. Words were a waste of breath. He elbowed past Kellan and the others, the crowd opening up before him as he approached the training arena — a large, open coliseum bordered by elemental totems and glyph-carved pillars. Beyond, the actual Arcvale came alive.
Wind adepts danced in soaring aerial combat, leaving wisps of cloud behind them like comets. Earthbinders constructed towering stone barriers in mere seconds, clashing with crackling lightning blades by thunder-mages. The air was heavy with the smell of burned air, churned earth, and ozone. It was madness. Gorgeous, deadly madness — and it was where real talent was honed.
And Zarek? Zarek had none.
No magic glow ever responded to his summons. How the elements lay still when he meditated. No arcane circle of light under his feet. He might read the papers on theory. Learn the sigils. Practice the breathing techniques until his ribs hurt — but still the silence. As if the elements gazed at him… and turned away.
"Hey, Vonn!"
Ren's voice called out across the dueling ring. A silver-streaked third-year sword-fighter with arms of coiled steel, Ren was one of the few at the academy who spoke to Zarek as if he were a person. He waved a smile, spinning twin practice swords in his hands.
"You planning on actually competing this time, or just watching like always?"
Zarek smirked weakly. "Watching. Wouldn't want to spoil anyone's winning streak.
Ren laughed. "Suit yourself!" And he turned, throwing himself into a duel, blades flashing as they clashed with an opponent's earth-forged battle-axe in a shower of sparks and stone.
Zarek hovered on the fringes, the sound of battle humming in his ears like a storm he could never reach. Before he could turn away, a voice slid up beside him — smooth, precise, and icy-cold.
"You don't belong here."
Aven.
A windbinder with sharp, predatory eyes and a voice that cut deeper than any blade. Her uniform bore the golden insignia of the academy crest — a mark of excellence. She regarded him like one might inspect a chipped relic in a pristine collection.
“You’re wasting space someone else could’ve earned.”
Zarek didn’t respond. He turned and strode, boots crunching on the gravel path as he left behind the arena, the thunder of duels receding from his ears. Beyond the statues of the Founding Adepts. Beyond the fountain where water and fire danced together. Beyond the eyes. The whispers. The hopes he could never fulfill.
At last, he found himself among the gardens.
Hidden away at the back of the academy grounds, the outer gardens were serene — nigh on sacred. The only thing here was silence. The wind dropped to a soft breath. The fragrance of lavender and starbloom perfumed the air. And at its center, the Tree of Whispers — a massive, ancient affair of twisted roots and silver-green leaves that never changed color with the seasons.
Zarek settled to the ground at its base, pushing his back against the rough bark of the tree. This one had witnessed the coming of Arcvale. It had seen generations of adepts rise and fall. If any place could understand the weight he carried, it was here.
He lay flat his fingers to the roots and felt the cool thrum of ancient magic beneath them and whispered:
"Why me? Why am I the only one… who's nothing?"
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Chapter 015 – Serpent's Path
The serpent’s tunnel narrowed into a throat of stone, the walls pressing close like clenched jaws. The air grew blistering hot, thick with the stench of sulfur and scorched minerals, each breath clawing at Zarek’s lungs. Smoke clung to the rock like damp cobwebs, curling in slow, choking tendrils. He pressed forward, each step a battle against the heat that wrapped around him like a living thing. The walls pulsed with a dull, ominous glow—veins of magma threading through the stone like arteries, casting flickering shadows that danced like phantoms.It was as if he were walking deeper into the belly of a beast. The mountain breathed—a slow, rumbling exhale that vibrated beneath his boots. It growled in its depths, a constant, guttural sound that echoed through the tunnel, broken only by the sharp hiss of escaping steam. Zarek wiped the sweat from his brow, though it did little good; his skin was already slick, his armor burning hot against his back.Then he heard it.Not the groan of s
Chapter 014 – Ulmfang Mountains
The Ulmfang Mountains rose out of the void like the jagged ribs of some ancient titan, their peaks black and sharp, lost in storm clouds that never parted. No sun ever touched this place. The world here was stone, storm, and silence. Lightning arced across the cliffs in eerie silence, and the growl of thunder rumbled low in the mist, like the beastly breath of the mountain itself. The air was heavy with heat, as though the bones of the world burned beneath the rock. Each gust of wind carried with it the scent of scorched earth and ozone, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of distant ash. The sky above was a churning, bruised canvas of slate and smoke, crackling with energy that never released its fury fully—only hints like whispers. The mountains did not merely loom—they loathed. There was something in the silence that smothered sound, a weight that pressed into the chest and curled cold fingers around the heart. Every stone seemed placed with purpose, like pieces of a vast monume
Chapter 013 – The Serpent Sigil
The wheels of the carriage groaned beneath Zarek as it pulled away from the spires of Arcvale Academy, grinding over weatherworn stones slick with dew and old magic. The sound was rhythmic, almost hypnotic, like a chant murmured by the bones of the road itself. Morning mist clung to the ground in gauzy layers, curling around the base of the trees like fingers reluctant to let go. Behind him, the sunrise painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, as though the world itself bled light across the horizon. But Zarek did not look back. He couldn't afford to. If he looked, he might see his mother still whispering his name under her breath, might see Ren’s half-hearted grin faltering, or Aven’s eyes burning with all the words she hadn't yet spoken.And if he saw them, he might not keep walking.He clenched his jaw and pressed his palm harder against the worn seat, willing the ache behind his ribs to stay silent. This was not the time for doubt, or for mourning, or for anything soft.The Ac
Chapter 012 – I’ll Be Your Damnation
The iron doors slammed shut behind him like a judge’s final decree, sealing Zarek inside a chamber of nightmares. The sudden darkness pressed against his skin like a second, colder flesh, an invasive presence that seeped into his bones. His boots dragged across the tiles, slick with old blood, blackened chemicals, and something far fouler, a viscous slime that spoke of unspeakable experiments. Each step left red trails that vanished into the oppressive gloom of the maze of horrors around him. The silence was not empty. It breathed with the low hum of dormant machinery. It watched with the palpable weight of a thousand unseen eyes. It judged him for the sin of being alive within its profane grasp.Malrik’s private lab was no place for mortals. It was a cathedral of twisted science and desecrated magic, a perverse sanctuary where the boundaries of life were not just crossed but obliterated. Towering vats filled with churning blue ichor lined the walls, each one a prison for atrocities i
Chapter 011 – Cryo Wing Three
The double doors hissed open with a burst of steam and a hollow clang, like the exhale of a dying machine. Two armored guards shoved Zarek forward, their grip iron and merciless. He stumbled into the chamber beyond, his boots hitting the frostbitten floor with a loud crunch that echoed through the silent, frozen air. The doors sealed shut behind him with a metallic slam that sounded far too final. He was alone.The cold struck him like a weapon. Not the kind of cold that numbed the skin — this cold reached inside him, stabbing into his bones, sinking its claws into his spine. The walls were wrapped in creeping frost, spidering across the steel in patterns that pulsed with dim blue light. It felt less like a room and more like a tomb—ancient, sterile, and merciless. In the middle stood a towering cryo-tank, massive and cylindrical, humming with a low, almost mournful energy. Tubes slithered out from its base, burrowing into the floor like roots from a mechanical tree.Inside the tank,
Chapter 010 – The Steel Door
The heavy steel door slammed shut behind Zarek. The loud, metal sound broke the silence like a scream trapped in iron, echoing down the dark, narrow halls underground. This wasn’t just a door closing—it felt like his fate was being sealed. The air smelled of rust and old wet stone, the kind of smell that clings to your skin and reminds you of death. Zarek didn’t move. He leaned against the freezing concrete wall, the cold sinking into his bones like something alive, slowly eating at him. He breathed through clenched teeth, each breath tasting of mold, metal, and something sharp and strange—a scent he feared without knowing why. Even in the darkness, small flames danced around his knuckles. They gave off no warmth and brought no comfort. They flickered silently, like they were feeding on old memories, refusing to disappear—just like the past he couldn’t forget.The visions came back, as they always did—unwanted and cruel. He saw the villagers again. Their faces were frozen, lifeless an
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