Ezra Echelon Liberation System

The Council was enormous, and every time Ezra entered its vast halls, he felt a wave of awe wash over him. The Council Hall, hewn from the ancient white cliffs, was like the heart of the continent, where all power, authority, and tradition came together. The ceilings soared high above, adorned with detailed murals that told the stories of the Four Sects.

Sunlight streamed through narrow, stained-glass windows, creating colorful patterns on the marble floors. As Ezra strolled down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps mingled with those of the guards, his tutors, and the quiet maids trailing behind him.

Ezra found himself at the center of this little group, his eyes wandering to take in every detail of the hall. Tall banners lined the walls, each one representing one of the Four. The striking emerald green emblem of the Echelon sect stood out the most—a tree with branches that seemed to reach endlessly. It was displayed at every entrance, a constant reminder of the values the sect cherished: freedom, peace, and kindness.

The Echelon sect was in charge of the Council, with Ezra's father at the helm, leading the most influential sect on the continent. As for Ezra, he was expected to follow in his father's footsteps, but he didn’t feel ready for that kind of pressure, nor did he want it.

"Ezra, are you paying attention?"

It was his teacher, Master Lorrin. Ezra could picture the wiry little man with his head of grey-white hair tied back in a tight knot. His long robes swayed as he walked, and his thick wooden staff tapped the floor with every word.

"Yes, Master Lorrin," Ezra mumbled, though his mind was elsewhere.

"Then tell me," Lorrin said sharply, "at what age does a member of the Echelon sect usually start martial training?"

Ezra sighed and shifted his gaze back to his tutor. "At sixteen."

"And how old are you?"

"Sixteen," Ezra answered.

"Exactly." Lorrin's voice was crisp. "So why are we still having this conversation?"

Ezra frowned. They had been discussing this for days, and the argument felt never-ending. Becoming a martial arts master was expected—almost required. Martial skill ruled the world. Even the Echelon, known for their non-violent styles, had produced some of the most respected and feared masters in history. Still, Ezra hesitated.

“I’m not ready,” he murmured, staring at the double doors of the Council Chamber. Guards stood on either side, clad in sharp green-and-gold armor. Their spears shone as they crossed them in front of the entrance, waiting for orders to let Ezra pass.

Master Lorrin's staff tapped more loudly on the floor as he hurried to keep pace with Ezra. "Not ready? You’re sixteen, Ezra. Most Echelon trainees your age have already started mastering their techniques. You can’t keep relying on your family name forever."

Ezra clenched his fists, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "I don’t rely on my family!"

"Then show it."

The words hit hard. Lorrin was always strict, and Ezra knew his mentor's patience was running out. He glanced at the guards, standing silently and alert. The maids following them kept their heads down, moving like shadows. Ezra wished they weren’t there to witness this.

"I don’t have the basics down yet," Ezra insisted. "I can’t even hold a stance for long. If I start now—"

"You will learn as you go," Lorrin interrupted sharply. "It’s fear that holds you back, not a lack of skill."

Ezra opened his mouth to argue but stayed silent. Was it really fear? Or maybe it was. He wasn’t sure anymore.

At the doors, the guards uncrossed their spears and pushed the heavy wooden doors open; the hinges creaked loudly as the Council Chamber revealed itself.

The room was round, with seats rising high into the shadows. In the middle stood the Council Table: a large ring made of smooth, carved obsidian, marked with the symbols of the Four Sect leaders. Ezra had visited this room many times, filled with robed figures as the leaders gathered to decide the continent's future. Today, it was vacant.

Yet, even in its emptiness, it held a certain grandeur. The air felt charged with the weight of history.

Ezra entered and stopped at the doorway, sensing a strange energy in the space, as if it were alive. The banners of all four Sects hung evenly spaced on the circular wall. The Echelon banner displayed a sprawling tree, while the Archival banner featured a silver eye set in a book—knowledge is power. The Horrendous banner was as dark as night, with faint red runes flickering along its edge—an unsettling omen. The Argent banner showed a golden crown surrounded by rays of light, symbolizing political power.

The Four. Together, they were the continent's leaders. United, they formed the Council.

Ezra stepped further in, flanked by his guards and tutor. Their footsteps echoed in the vast chamber. Master Lorrin moved ahead, leading the way.

"Training starts in two days," Lorrin announced, his voice reverberating off the stone walls. "You'll meet your first master that morning."

Ezra's stomach sank. "But we haven't even—"

"There's nothing more to discuss," Lorrin replied firmly.

Ezra glared at his tutor's back, knowing arguing was pointless. Lorrin had made his decision. His father likely had too. Ezra had no say in the matter.

As they approached the center of the room, Ezra stopped. Something felt wrong. The air, once cool, now felt heavy and thick.

"Do you feel that?" Ezra asked suddenly.

Master Lorrin paused and looked back at him. "Feel what?"

The guards exchanged worried glances. The maids stood close together, frozen in place.

Ezra tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. A faint green mist curled around his feet. He blinked, unsure if he was seeing things. The mist grew thicker, spreading across the marble floor.

"What is this?" Lorrin shouted, turning quickly. His staff hit the ground, but the sound was muted by the strange fog.

The guards unsheathed their swords, the metallic sound echoing in the chamber. Ezra felt a peculiar warmth on his skin as the mist brushed against him. It was neither hot nor cold—it simply existed.

"Ezra, move back!" Master Lorrin yelled.

But Ezra was frozen. His body felt heavy, as if unseen forces were holding him down. He slowly turned to look at the guards. One of them stumbled, his spear falling to the ground before he collapsed.

"No," Ezra breathed.

The maids followed suit, sinking to the floor, their heads drooping as if they had just fallen asleep. The mist rose higher, swirling and spreading its toxic tendrils through the air.

Ezra could hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest as he glanced at Master Lorrin. The tutor's face was ashen, his mouth open as if to speak, but then he too fell forward, his staff rolling away across the stone.

Ezra's legs gave way. He fought against the force pulling him down, but his strength was fading fast. Then, he fell.