ELOWEN FREYCHILD

"She's so talented, I can't help but be envious."

"I heard she's already awakened."

"She can perceive attributes and levels at her age? Truly a prodigy—worthy of the Freychild name."

The whispers followed me everywhere, no matter where I went. They weren't wrong. I had awakened early, well before the usual age of sixteen. Being born into an esteemed family only added to the weight of my name, and it wasn't long before I was enrolled in the Magic Tower. There, I was placed under the tutelage of Darius—a senior struggling to climb the ranks.

She was cold, and dismissive, never sparing me a glance of admiration. To her, I was just another student, and she made sure I knew it. "You've barely scratched the surface of this world, Elowen," she'd often mock, her words cutting through my pride.

"There are geniuses out there, Elowen. Being an Ascendant doesn't make you special; it only means you're among the special. One day, you'll find yourself in a situation where all the knowledge and power you've amassed will feel insignificant. And on that day… you'll see a world far beyond anything you've ever imagined."

Her words crashed down on me, forcing me to swallow hard as I struggled to comprehend the scene unfolding before my eyes. The others remained calm as if what I was witnessing was nothing out of the ordinary. But in all the countless books I had devoured in my vast library at home, in all the tomes lining the shelves of the Magic Tower's archives—nothing, absolutely nothing, had ever mentioned anything like this.

A boy, barely sixteen, had just undergone a transformation. He had become a version of himself that looked ten years older, his body now well-built and muscular. He stood shirtless, the star on his chest glowing brighter than ever, with crystalline blue veins pulsing across his skin, intertwined with dark markings that snaked down his arms. His very presence was overwhelming, as though he existed beyond the realm of ordinary comprehension. Everything I knew—everything I thought I understood about Aether, about cultivation, about mage craft—seemed insignificant in the face of this phenomenon.

My breath grew heavy as I turned my gaze to the newly revealed senior, Joel Greythol. He was a two-star silver-ranked long-range mage in the Magic Academy, someone I had only glimpsed a handful of times in the library, as he was often away from the tower.

"Senior, is that…?" Darius's voice trembled, heavy with the weight of the revelation.

"Yes," the man confirmed, his tone grim. "He is what we call a Bylron, still teetering on the edge of full awakening."

I was completely in the dark about what they were discussing. The dreadlocked man drifted towards the transformed boy, his casual levitation making him seem aloof and indifferent to our presence. He stopped a few paces away, his head tilted back in a smirk that radiated arrogance.

"Are you ready to—" His words were cut short by a lightning-fast punch. The impact was so overwhelming that it shattered the armor he wore, sending him crashing to the ground beside us. He struggled to his feet, wiping a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Damn, that really hurt," he spat out, a twisted grin on his face that suggested he relished the blow. He discarded the remnants of his broken armor, and as he rose, his dark eyes locked onto us. He took a single step forward, but the aftershock of his movement was so powerful that it forced me to my knees. I struggled to push myself back, while Darius's wind shield was obliterated by the force, a sharp wave slicing through the air and grazing her.

It was just one step, but the pressure it exerted was visible and palpable. Another step followed, and this time, the air itself seemed to pulse with a visible pressure.

"Listen!" Joel's voice cut through the tension. "Let's put aside our differences for now. We need to settle this quickly and decide who will take him."

"But senior…"

"No buts," Joel snapped. "If I'm right, we need to act fast." He raised his hand, casting a blinding spell that conjured a massive, searing flame above him.

"I'm not missing this for anything," the dreadlocked man said with grim determination.

With a thunderous impact, he slammed his hands together, discarding his sword. The shockwave from the collision echoed through the forest, reverberating with such intensity that it shook the trees. From the explosion of dark flames, ten ominous skeletal figures emerged, each wreathed in sinister, dark fire. His smirk grew more ferocious, a reflection of the rising danger.

He unleashed the spell with a roar. In response, the other figure summoned two aura blades, launching himself into the fray. His movements were a blur as he slashed through the air, each sword strike targeting his opponent with precise, deadly intent. Darius, not to be outdone, summoned a windstorm of destruction, the turbulent force swirling around her, creating a barrier of fierce winds.

The spells clashed—each one rank B or higher, their destructive power crackling with raw energy. The Aether in the air surged violently, creating a spectacle of chaos and fury that painted the battlefield with explosive light and shadow. The clash of magic and might transform the forest into a maelstrom of elemental devastation, with every spell and strike echoing the ferocity of the battle.

I drew a ragged breath, my eyes wide as I beheld the multitude of spells arcing towards him. The air crackled with raw magic, and the weight of their collective power made my heart thump heavily, my body tense and rigid under the overwhelming pressure. Each spell, above the two silver star ranks, carved through the air with unrelenting precision, all directed at him.

In an almost defiant display of ease, he hovered there, legs suspended, observing the approaching onslaught with a detached gaze. As if time itself had slowed, he began a slow, deliberate clap. The sound resonated with an otherworldly echo, and in a breathless instant, every spell hung motionless in the air, suspended as though by an invisible force. His hand rose, and the spells began their transformation.

What had been chaotic, destructive bursts of energy now coalesced into shards of dark blue flame, each fragment swirling with an ominous, crystalline sheen. The heat radiating from them was intense, a tangible force that seared through the air. The flames grew hotter by the second, their brightness escalating into a blinding inferno that erupted with a volcanic roar. The molten fury cascaded toward us, moving with an almost deliberate slowness—an arrogant challenge to our attempts at defense.

With a fluid, almost languid motion, he let his hands fall, and the transformed flames surged downward with devastating intent. Darius, quick to react, conjured a barrier of wind, the air around us rippling with the strain of containing the inferno. The barrier groaned under the pressure, and despite its best efforts, the relentless flames battered it, pushing us backward with a force that seemed to stretch the very fabric of reality. The heat was a searing, unrelenting force that sought to consume everything in its path.

My gaze was drawn upward, where a massive sphere of dark blue flame now hung, its brilliance rivaling the sun at its zenith. It descended toward us with a gravity that seemed to warp the air, each moment increasing the sensation of impending doom. The sheer intensity of the spell defied categorization, its sophistication, and potency far beyond anything I had ever encountered.

 With a sudden surge of energy, Joel unleashed a lightning dragon bolt that cleaved through the enormous flame. The impact caused an explosion that shattered the sphere into two, each half crashing violently to the ground and creating an even larger crater. Joel floated above, his uniform a charred remnant, barely hanging on. His trousers, though singed, clung precariously to his form.

Before we could even process the magnitude of the battle, he finally drops his foot striking the earth with immense force. The ground quaked violently, fissures splitting open as thorn-like roots, imbued with a dark, pulsating aura, erupted from the cracks. These roots twisted and writhed with malevolent life, their darkened energy surging toward us with a relentless, predatory drive. The very earth seemed to rebel, each root a harbinger of further calamity, pursuing us with a relentless, inescapable fury.

"It's pointless!" Joel cried out in frustration, his voice echoing through the chaos. "I hate to admit it, but I can't handle him. We have to retreat and inform the Grand Mages!" His hands wove intricate patterns through the air as he cast a grand teleportation spell, a shimmering veil of light spreading across the sky. He managed a strained smile. "Oh, right, I almost forgot—I can directly send you to the restricted chamber of—"

His words were abruptly silenced by the sudden appearance of the peasant boy. The boy's eyes flashed with an unsettling, unnatural light as he seized Joel by the neck with an iron grip. A bolt of dark lightning crashed down, engulfing both figures in an explosive burst of energy. Joel's own lightning aura flared in response, struggling to counter the assault before he finally broke free, collapsing onto the crater's edge.

The earth trembled ominously, the ground splitting open to our left as a torrent of dark energy surged forth. Emerging from the abyss was the dreadlocked man, now transformed into a monstrous figure. His red eyes glowed with a feral intensity, his bulging muscles rippling with barely contained rage. The smirk that had once been his signature remained, twisted into something more menacing.

Before any of us could react, a new presence made itself known. An old man, his hair a mane of white-grey, descended from above. He wore blue martial arts robes, and a white sword was strapped to his waist. He glided towards the peasant boy with an unsettling calm. 

There was something profoundly strange about him. I could sense nothing—no spirit energy, no life force, not even a trace of soul energy. He seemed more like an apparition than a living being. What could he be?

With measured steps, the old man approached the boy. Suddenly, he seemed to dissolve into nothingness, only to materialize right in front of the peasant. He tapped the boy's temple lightly with his index finger, and in that instant, all the energy the boy had gathered dissipated. The peasant collapsed, his form reverting to its original, unremarkable state.

As the old man turned to leave, a portal forming before him, the dreadlocked man lunged forward with a speed that defied belief. His sword, wreathed in black flames, was poised to strike. But the old man remained still, sidestepping with an effortless grace. He caught the dreadlocked man mid-air with an unseen force.

"What an arrogant child," the old man's voice was a calm, almost disdainful murmur. He lifted the dreadlocked man with a flick of his wrist, "How dare you challenge a being you cannot even fathom."

The old man's left hand rose, his thumb and middle finger poised as if preparing to snap. With a casual, almost indifferent motion, he snapped his fingers. The force unleashed was unlike anything I had ever felt—a crushing wave of power that obliterated the dreadlocked man's body and essence, reducing him to nothingness. The old man then walked through the portal, leaving behind a single, chilling command.

"All that has transpired tonight shall never be uttered from your mouths."

As the portal vanished, the ground began to reform itself, erasing all traces of the battle. The earth healed, covering the signs of conflict with an unsettling finality.

Joel sank to the ground, his exhaustion palpable. "I was wondering why even though the battle was so overwhelming, the old man wasn't able to feel it," he mused, glancing down at his attire which had mysteriously returned to its pristine state. "I never imagined I'd encounter someone from that clan."

Darius, her eyes wide with realization, spoke with a note of awe. "He's a Transcendent, isn't he?"

He only sighs, then nods in confirmation, his gaze steady. Behind us, a white portal flickered into existence as five knights in holy armor stepped through. 

"But master…" I began, only for Joel to cut me off with a piercing, authoritative stare.

"You have never met that boy in your entire life," Joel said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "Do I make myself clear?"

From the portal, a tall man strides out, his presence commanding immediate attention. He's clad in a red military uniform, five gold stars prominently displayed on his right breast. His red boots echo with authority as he moves, and in his left hand, he grips a long sword. With arms crossed, he walks casually towards us. That uniform is unmistakable—he's one of the Roylains, the elite gold-ranked mages of the Astral Institute of Magic. I've heard tales of them, the revered Lords of the academy, some said to rival the grand mages of the Magic Tower. The Astral Institute itself is led by the current strongest knight, a member of the Holy Knights, under the royal family's rule.

"Joel!" he calls out, his voice calm but filled with a commanding resonance. "You attempted to open a portal to the Forbidden Ground. Why? And why couldn't I sense anything? I was close, yet I felt nothing—your presence was completely gone. Just as I was about to withdraw, you reappeared. It's peculiar—care to explain?"

Though Joel is undoubtedly older, the man speaks down to him with ease, demanding with absolute confidence, like he had the right and power to ask of him.

"Sorry, but I—" Joel's apology is abruptly silenced as the man delivers a swift, powerful blow with his sword, driving Joel to his knees. Darius attempts to intervene, but a mere glance from the man freezes her in place with telekinetic force.

"Take him," the man orders, his voice final. They drag Joel back through the portal, disappearing as swiftly as they arrived. Only once they're gone does Darius regain control of her body.