"I'd prefer you stay out of this, Arthur this has nothing to do with—."
But Kain didn't even finish his sentence before Arthur interrupted, asking.
"Or what...?"
The look in his eyes said it all. His aura began to seep out little by little, his mantra energy far surpassing Kain's, who was still an early ranker at the Silver star stage.
Seeing this, Kain backed away as one of the punks stammered.
"W-We were just..."
"Leave."
Arthur cut him off, his gaze fierce, eyes flashing.
"Now."
Kain and the bullies exchanged glances before lowering their heads. As they dispersed, Kain turned to look back at Abaddon with a smile, saying they'd meet again the next day.
Just like that, Kain and his group disappeared into the crowd.
The circle quickly broke, students moving aside to let Arthur approach Abaddon, who was still kneeling on one leg—battered but unbowed.
Arthur gave him a small smile, seeing his friend never bowing down to those ungrateful classmates. His smile was one of approval.
"By the gods, I see they didn't break you."
Abaddon managed a strained grin before replying.
"my hero saved the day again but It'll take more than that to knock me down."
Seeing how badly beaten his best friend looked, Arthur's expression softened, though a gleam of warning remained in his eyes.
"You've got to be smarter than this. Your pride's strong, but this academy isn't kind to those who stand out for the wrong reasons. They'll be looking for any chance to challenge and bully you."
Abaddon knew, without a doubt, that even if he stayed in class, avoiding breaks and interactions, they would still find a way to torment him.
With a darkened face, he nodded slightly.
"I know... but I'll prove myself. Even though I'm a non-ranker, I won't give up. I'm sure of it."
A murmur rose from the students still lingering, their voices laced with doubt and disappointment.
One boy scoffed.
"He's still weak. Just because Arthur saved him doesn't make him a real warrior."
Hearing this, Abaddon's jaw tightened. Arthur's gaze flickered to him, sensing the sting those words had caused his best friend.
"Let them say what they want," Arthur said in a low, firm tone meant only for Abaddon.
"Their words mean nothing if you know your worth."
Abaddon nodded, those words exactly what he needed at that moment—encouragement to ease the raw ache in his pride.
For a moment, he scanned the faces that had so easily turned against him—some sneering, others indifferent. But standing beside Arthur, a glimmer of hope stirred within him.
"You're really awesome, Arthur. No one's like you—the best prodigy of our era. But..."
Abaddon said quietly.
"I won't be left behind. I'll do my best to get stronger, and then we'll show them what I'm really made of."
Arthur gave a slight nod of approval, then extended his hand to Abaddon, helping him up from the cold marble floor.
Abaddon dusted himself off, looking around. It was getting late. He turned to Arthur with an obvious expression.
"Anyways, it's getting late. We better head home before the sun sets."
Arthur smiled and nodded, then asked, with a hint of anticipation, if Abaddon would be walking to the royal Castle again today. Abaddon responded with an awkward tone.
"Well... my Imperial aunt warned the guards not to allow me to use any chariot from the palace. She said I'd only disgrace the royal family."
Arthur, hearing this, was slightly annoyed by the behavior of Abaddon's Imperial family.
He asked if Abaddon wouldn't mind riding with him in his chariot, but Abaddon shyly declined, not wanting to cause any inconveniences for his friend.
Arthur knew pressing further would be pointless. Once Abaddon decided on something, he never changed his mind. With a wave of his hand, Arthur left Abaddon at the entrance of the Academy.
As the sun dipped beneath the marble towers of Elysian Warriors Academy, casting long shadows across the stone pathways, Abaddon began his journey home.
Meanwhile, Kain and his lackies were seen lingering in the upper tower of the Academy's hallways, staring intensely at the two friends from above.
After some time walking, the streets of the Avalon Empire gleamed with the last golden light of the day.
Abaddon's steps were slow, his muscles heavy, as pain coursed through his body, the bruises and wounds hidden beneath his robes burning with every movement.
Each breath he took seemed to ignite a fresh ache, yet his expression remained stoic, betraying no sign of weakness.
Finally, he arrived at the Avalon Imperial Castle. In front stood four Lion Guards, their expressions shifting to visible disappointment as they recognized the approaching figure—the sixth prince of the empire.
Abaddon approached the castle, its grand silhouette towering over the city, opulent and majestic. The guards opened the gates for him, and he entered halls lined with tapestries depicting great battles and warriors from his own bloodline. Yet, as Abaddon walked those hallowed corridors, he felt no kinship with those who had come before him. Even within these walls, he was an outsider.
"Look who finally returns," a mocking voice echoed across the hall.
Abaddon's heart sank as he saw his elder cousin, Rhesus, the younger generation prodigy of their Imperial family; son of his uncle, Leo Zebulon.
Rhesus stepped out of the shadows, escorted by two other siblings, each carrying themselves with the confidence of royalty and the strength of seasoned warriors.
Rhesus was tall and light-skinned, with the signature piercing golden eyes of Avalonian royalty. His muscular frame was far more imposing than Abaddon's, and his smirk sent a chill through him.
"Training at the Academy go well today, little brother?" Rhesus's voice dripped with contempt. "Or did you manage to disgrace our family's name again?"
Abaddon clenched his fists, knowing his cousins only sought to belittle him. He kept his gaze steady, though their words cut him deeply, as they always did.
"Look at him," another sibling sneered.
"Still trying to act like he belongs here
with that pathetic mantra level. It's exhausting."
Rhesus stepped closer, his golden eyes narrowing as he appraised Abaddon's battered form. A smirk spread across his face, confirming that his friend Kain had delivered as expected.
"You should understand by now, Abaddon. You don't belong here. You're not a Ranker, and you never will be. And don't think Uncle Asher scares me. My father has my back."
Without warning, Rhesus struck him. The blow landed hard, sending Abaddon stumbling back. Weakened from his earlier ordeal, he struggled to stay upright.
Another hit followed, then another—each one more brutal than the last. Abaddon's vision blurred as the pain of the day overwhelmed him. His cousins' mocking laughter echoed in his ears.
"You should've stayed down when you had the chance," Rhesus hissed, delivering a vicious kick to Abaddon's ribs.
Abaddon's body finally gave out. He collapsed, his consciousness fading as blood trickled from his mouth. He didn't even feel the final blow that plunged him into darkness.
When he next opened his eyes, it was to the dim glow of a candle. His entire body throbbed with pain.
A familiar figure stood nearby, solemn and quiet. Even through the haze, Abaddon recognized him—it was his father, Asher, the hero of humanity.
A man of immense strength and unwavering virtue, Asher's gaze softened as he took in the sight of his son, bruised and bloodied.
Asher knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Abaddon… what happened to you?"
Abaddon tried to speak, but his voice faltered, a lump forming in his throat. He had dreamed of this moment, proving himself worthy of his father, yet here he was—broken, beaten, and weak.
Asher's expression remained calm, though sorrow flickered in his eyes. He had known of the noble children's cruelty but had hoped it would pass, that his son would rise above it.
"Listen to me, my son," Asher said softly, his voice steady and full of strength.
"You carry something far greater than any rank or title. I see it in you. Strength isn't just power in battle—it's endurance, resilience. What they see as weakness, I see as the strength to rise again."
Abaddon's eyes filled with tears—frustration mingled with gratitude. "But they… they don't see it that way. To them, I'm… nothing. Just a failure."
Asher squeezed his shoulder firmly.
"Their words are hollow, Abaddon. They mistake cruelty for strength and arrogance for valor. That isn't our way." He leaned closer, his voice soft but resolute.
"Your worth isn't defined by their standards. You have the heart of a warrior, and someday, they will see it too."
Asher gently helped him sit up, his fatherly care evident. Despite being a hero to the world, he realized now how much he had overlooked in his own family.
"For now, rest," Asher said. "Strength comes in many forms. You will find yours, just as I found mine. One day, the world will see you for who you truly are."
Looking up at the grand ceiling, Asher added, "Come back with me, son. I'll take you back to Wolven Fortress—home. Where no one dares treat you like this."
Abaddon looked up in surprise, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Home?"
Asher nodded. "Yes. Your mother and sister have been longing to see you."
Despite his injuries, Abaddon rose quickly, eager to leave the Imperial Castle. Every day here had been suffering; he wouldn't think twice about leaving.
Father and son left without a word to anyone, boarding a magnificent chariot led by four Mantra-Powered mechanical horses. The intricate blend of ancient craftsmanship and advanced machinery gleamed under the moonlight.
From a tower window, Rhesus and his father, Leo Zebulon, glared with hatred as they watched the chariot ascend.
As the castle disappeared into the horizon, Abaddon marveled at the rolling landscapes of the empire—mist-shrouded mountains, winding rivers, and sprawling farmlands.
Finally, he turned to his father, a question long buried in his heart.
"Father, why did you send me to live with Grandfather the Emperor? Was it because I'm not a Ranker?"
Asher's expression turned solemn. "Yes, Abaddon. I thought living with your grandfather might shield you. His palace seemed safe—a place of protection. But I see now I was wrong."
He sighed, regret lacing his words. "I only wanted to protect you from our family's enemies, who see vulnerability as an opportunity to strike. But you…" He smiled faintly. "You are no vulnerability, Abaddon. You are my son. Perhaps I made a mistake by sending you away."
Abaddon smiled, the doubt lifting. "Who could harm me? I'm the son of the strongest human."
Asher chuckled. "That you are."
As the fortress loomed on the horizon, its towers glowing faintly in the lantern light, Abaddon felt a warmth he hadn't known in years. Finally, he was going home.
The mechanical chariot descended as they approached the fortress, a massive structure that loomed like a colossus over the rugged hills. Its walls were adorned with banners bearing the Wolven family crest, and its towers stretched high into the sky, framed by the wild eastern landscape, which flickered faintly with lantern light.
The fortress was renowned not only as a branch military stronghold of S.T.E.E.L but also as a sanctuary where tradition, honor, and loyalty were deeply valued.
As they disembarked from the chariot, a crowd gathered—soldiers, servants, and noble retainers—all bowing in greeting as they welcomed the young master home.
Abaddon's gaze swept over the sea of faces, his heart lifting as he spotted two familiar figures approaching.
"Abaddon!" His mother, Helle Valor, called out, her voice warm and full of relief.
Helle moved swiftly toward him, her hands outstretched, and embraced her son in a tight, comforting hug. She was a woman of quiet strength and grace, with a dark complexion that reflected her eastern indigenous heritage. Her eyes sparkled with pride and love as she held him close.
"Oh, my son," she murmured, pulling back to gaze at his face. "You've grown… but you look weary." She glanced toward Asher, her eyes filled with gratitude and a hint of questioning.
"Thank you for bringing him home."
Next came his sister, Belladon. Her embrace was quick and formal, but her eyes showed a flicker of concern as she studied him.
Belladon, about twenty years old, had already earned a two-star Common rank in the Mage class, with the rare dual-element specialty. A prodigy who took after their father, she was everything Abaddon wasn't.
She had always been fiercely protective of him, as though her rank and talents could make up for what Abaddon lacked. She offered him a soft smile, nodding her approval before stepping back.
As the family reunion unfolded, a familiar voice broke through the crowd. "Abaddon!"
Abaddon turned and grinned as he spotted Arthur, his closest friend, making his way through the gathering to greet him. Arthur had traveled a long distance upon hearing of his friend's return to the military post.
"Look at you," Arthur said with a smirk, clapping him on the shoulder. "A little bird told me you'd be leaving the royal castle, so I came to give you a proper welcome. I must say, you sure know how to make an entrance."
Abaddon laughed, the weariness fading from his face. "I missed this place. It feels good to be home."
Arthur shot him a playful glare. "About time you escaped the evil clutches of your royal aunt and her goons. I brought a present from the Lyseum Temple of Camelot. It's not much, but accept it!"
They laughed, and for the first time in months, Abaddon felt a sense of belonging, surrounded by the warmth of family and friends.
Asher watched his son with calm pride, his heart swelling. Seeing Abaddon smile like that, free from the weight of the Imperial family's cruelty, gave him hope. Now, his son would be surrounded by people who truly cared for him, and that was all he had ever wanted.
"Well, Abaddon," his father said, breaking into his thoughts, "you're home now. Feel free to command the Wolven Warriors as you see fit."
Asher paused, remembering something else.
"I also heard from Arthur that you always walk to the Academy. Fear not—starting today, you'll be traveling to school in the latest-designed chariots. But for now, let's go inside and get you settled. The banquet is waiting."
As the evening progressed, Abaddon and Arthur wandered the fortress grounds, making their way back toward the great hall where the banquet awaited.
The air was thick with the scent of spiced meats, roasted vegetables, and sweet wine. The hearty laughter and clinking of goblets echoed into the night.
Abaddon's heart felt light as he swapped stories and shared jests with Arthur, their bond one of brotherhood forged since childhood.
Inside, the hall was illuminated by electrical torches and braziers, with banners bearing the sigil of the Wolven family hanging from the walls. Nobles, Rankers, and guests from far and wide filled the tables, all celebrating Abaddon's return.
Helle sat beside Asher, her smile radiating joy as she watched her children enjoy the festivities.
Belladon, already halfway through her third goblet of wine, had taken center stage. Her voice rose in song as she danced, her laughter a melody that filled the air.
The entire banquet turned its attention to her, a beautiful princess, undeniably the daughter of a hero. While many watched in admiration, a few gazes lingered with less innocent intentions, though no one dared show their true motives.
Abaddon, sensing the shift in the atmosphere toward his sister, laughed and raised his goblet in her direction.
Arthur leaned over and nudged him playfully. "Look at her, stealing the spotlight already."
Abaddon chuckled and shook his head. "She's always known how to make an entrance. You know, I think she's missed me more than she'll ever admit."
Arthur smirked and took a sip from his own goblet. "You're the quiet hero tonight, Abaddon. Savor it. You've earned it."
They continued to drink, the hours slipping away in a blur of laughter, songs, and shared memories.
Eventually, the festivities began to wind down. Guests filtered out, and the hall grew quiet. The warm glow of the braziers cast soft shadows on the stone walls.
Later, Abaddon returned to his quarters, the familiar space bringing a sense of calm he hadn't realized he'd missed.
He took a deep breath, inhaling slowly, his exhaustion apparent. Abaddon collapsed onto his bed, sinking into the comfort. But as the silence deepened, memories began to resurface—thoughts he had buried for years.
In the stillness, his mind turned to his father, Wolven Asher, humanity's hero.
Abaddon's gaze fixed on the ceiling as he reflected.
𝐶𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦, 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜, he thought.
𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑟, 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑. 𝐹𝑒𝑤 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑚𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑐𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑚.
Abaddon's mind drifted back to the stories he had heard growing up—tales of his father's rise.
𝐴𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑇𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑍𝑢𝑟𝑦𝑥𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑔𝑒, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑦, 𝑎 𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑇𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒'𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑘.
𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟, ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑.
Abaddon thought, almost in disbelief.
𝑌𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛.
𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛. 𝐵𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑙 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔.
𝐻𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡, 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑤𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑠.
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑅𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑎 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝑅𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑦 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑙𝑑.
Abaddon's thoughts drifted to the stories of Asher's legendary exploits.
𝐵𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦-𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑑𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒 — 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆.𝑇.𝐸.𝐸.𝐿 𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑅𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒.
𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡, ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑦𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑙 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑑'𝑠 𝑍𝑢𝑟𝑦𝑥𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐴𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛 𝐸𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒, Abaddon reflected, his chest swelling with pride.
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑦𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑦, ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒...𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒...
Abaddon's thoughts shifted to his mother, Helle Valor, the youngest princess of the Ballal Empire, whom his father had married to secure an alliance between the Avalon and Ballal Empires.
His father's origins were just as noble. He was the son of Emperor Leo of the Avalon Empire and his concubine, a connection that made their union not just one of love, but of political significance.
The thought stirred something deep within him—an ache, a desire to prove himself worthy of the legacy he had inherited.
𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑦 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒'𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜, he mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑤𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑡.
Abaddon closed his eyes, a quiet resolve filling him. He knew his path would not be easy, that his challenges seemed insurmountable compared to the feats his father had accomplished.
But as he drifted off to sleep, he held onto the hope that one day, he might find his place in that legacy, carrying forward the spirit of humanity's hero.