In the world of Xenos, year 1592 of the Golden Era, the entire world seemed to be in a state of frenzy. Mighty figures from across the lands all sensed the approaching end of their era—a time of unprecedented glory. Many of their comrades, both friends and foes, had already fallen, and the future seemed uncertain.
On the southern continent, within the M'Clora Clan, a land ruled by those who wielded powerful bloodline abilities passed down through their ancestors, a young boy named Raman was about to come of age. His father, the brother of the clan's patriarch, had raised him with the best resources the clan could offer. Today was the day Raman would discover his rank within the clan, a ranking that would define his future.
The M'Clora Clan, located in the Western Hemisphere of the Southern Continent, was one of the most influential factions on the continent. The Southern Continent itself was a land of fierce traditions, where bloodline powers were revered above all else, and the very soil seemed steeped in ancient power. The air was thick with the history of battles fought and deeds of great renown, all of which had been passed down through the blood of powerful families. Rugged, mountainous regions and expansive plains stretched across the horizon, with massive fortresses dotting the landscape like silent sentinels. The Southern Continent was a land steeped in tradition, where power was measured not just by strength, but by the legacy of one's ancestors.
Today, Raman was about to make his mark on that legacy.
Raman sat in a carriage, making his way to the central hall. His father sat beside him, a powerful figure with untamed hair and savage looks that had grown familiar to Raman over the years. Despite the rugged appearance, Raman knew that this man, his father, had poured his heart and soul into nurturing him.
"Raman," his father said, his voice a deep growl. "I have poured all my resources into you. I have gifted you the Source Blood of a Fallen. You must not disappoint me."
Raman nodded, his determination clear in his eyes. "Don't worry, Dad. I won't let you down. I've got complete confidence in what you've done for me... and in myself."
His father, though still tense, gave a slight nod. "Good. Make sure you secure a spot in the Centrino Meeting. That's the only way we can realize our plans."
Raman knew that securing a spot in the meeting was crucial. The Southern Continent had only 20 spots, with the five great houses taking three spots each among themselves, leaving the remaining for other factions. This meeting could decide the future of their clan. His father's bitterness over losing out on the patriarch seat by just a fraction of a percentage in the last ranking still lingered, but Raman's talent gave him hope. He believed his son would right all the wrongs by securing first place in the rankings.
Raman glanced out of the window as they left his father's elder residence. Today was a big day. It was the first time he would step out into the grand hall, and while he felt excitement, a tinge of anxiety gripped him as well. He couldn't afford to let his father down. He had to place first.
As the carriage rolled up to the Central Hall, Raman's eyes widened at the sight before him. The Central Hall, located in the heart of the capital, was a massive structure that took his breath away. It was akin to a Roman Colosseum, its towering stone walls reaching toward the sky with a grandeur that defied imagination. The hall was circular, with tiered seating that surrounded the center like a great arena. The ancient stone pillars rose majestically from the ground, intricately carved with symbols of the clan's proud history. The hall was not just a place of gathering but a symbol of power, its architecture designed to inspire awe in those who entered.
Massive banners hung from the walls, adorned with the M'Clora Clan's insignia, and the echoes of thousands of voices filled the air. People from all corners of the Southern Continent—clan members, powerful warriors, and noble families—gathered inside, awaiting the beginning of the ranking ceremony. The air was thick with anticipation, and the sheer magnitude of the crowd was overwhelming. A vast number of people filled the seats, the buzz of whispered conversations reverberating in every corner. Even the most seasoned veterans of the clan were not immune to the pressure that built within the hall.
"Baffled, are we, boy?" his father chuckled.
Raman didn't answer, too distracted by the sea of people entering the hall. His father's voice brought him back to the present.
"Remember, Raman," his father continued, "the Southern Continent has 20 spots for the meeting. The five great houses will keep three of them each, and the rest will be divided among the other factions."
Raman nodded. It was clear that his father expected him to secure one of those spots the M'Clora Clan had, but the pressure weighed heavily on him.
They entered the hall, and his father went ahead to join the patriarch and other clan heads. Raman was left to walk alone toward the stage, where the most talented individuals of the clan were gathering. As he made his way toward the center, he overheard whispers from the people around him.
"Is that Elder Topang's son? He looks so huge."
"Wow, I heard he's a shoo-in for a spot. His father gifted him a Fallen's blood when he was young."
"A Fallen's blood? That's impossible. How did Elder Topang get that?"
"Idiot. Elder Topang is a Saint-level fighter. He has the qualifications to obtain a Fallen's Source Blood."
The whispers continued as Raman walked, but he couldn't focus on them for long. He was used to being the center of attention due to his father's reputation, but the pressure of the moment made it harder to ignore.
His eyes were drawn to two figures approaching him. They were identical in appearance, looking strikingly similar to him. The Uslan twins, sons of his father's brother.
One of the twins moved toward him, but before they could make contact, a strange sensation filled the air. It wasn't the pressure of the twins—it was something far more intense. An immense pressure suddenly descended on the entire room.
Raman's body tensed as the pressure filled the air, radiating from an unknown source. It was so overwhelming that a few people around him collapsed under its weight. Raman himself remained standing; his expression impassive. He had felt pressure before, but this was on another level. The entire hall seemed to be suffocating under it.
His mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. He scanned the room, but there was no one visibly exerting the pressure. It wasn't coming from the Uslan twins—this was something far greater, something that defied explanation. The air felt heavy, charged with a mysterious force that made even the most powerful in the hall struggle to remain upright.
Raman, however, did not falter. He had trained his entire life to face adversity, to rise above challenges. He wasn't going to let this unknown force shake his resolve. His father's words echoed in his mind: You must not disappoint me.
With clenched fists, Raman stood his ground, feeling the pressure of the room pushing against him. Despite the heavy atmosphere, he refused to be cowed. This was his moment, and nothing would stand in his way.
The room continued to tremble as the pressure intensified. Raman's chest tightened, but he took a deep breath, channeling the strength his father had imparted to him. He wouldn't let this be his downfall. He couldn't afford to fail now.
As the pressure escalated, the whispers around him grew louder, but Raman kept his focus. His eyes narrowed, and he stood tall, awaiting whatever was about to happen next. The moment of reckoning was fast approaching.