The elf's name was Lythrien, a name whispered with reverence among the beings of the wilderness. Her beauty was ethereal, her face like a statue carved from alabaster, and her eyes carried the weight of centuries. She had brought Jargien to her dwelling deep within the untouched forest, where towering trees stretched endlessly into the heavens and creatures of legend roamed freely.
The house atop the ancient tree, with its enormous trunk spanning fifty meters in diameter, was a sanctuary of knowledge. It was said to be older than the empire itself, woven from living wood and sustained by magic. It hummed faintly with power, its walls glowing softly in the moonlight. Here, under Lythrien's watchful gaze, Jargien began his transformation.
*
"Your aura is fierce, yet untamed," Lythrien said on the first day of their training. Her voice was soft, melodic, yet it held an undeniable authority. She stood barefoot in the training glade beneath her home, her silver hair flowing like liquid moonlight. In her hand was a slender, curved blade that gleamed in the morning sun.
Jargien, still small at ten years old, stood before her with determination burning in his eyes. The grief of losing his mother still lingered in his heart, but it had hardened into resolve. He was no longer the crying child clutching at her lifeless body; he was a boy determined to grow strong.
"Magic and aura," she continued, circling him like a predator stalking its prey, "are the pillars of power in this world. One is born of the soul, the other of the body. Few master both. Even fewer attempt to merge them." She paused, her piercing gaze locking onto his. "And yet, I see within you the potential to do the impossible."
She extended her blade, pointing it at him. "Show me what you're made of, boy."
The sparring began.
Lythrien moved with the grace of a dancer, her strikes precise and unrelenting. Jargien, armed with a wooden sword, struggled to keep up. Each swing he attempted was met with a swift parry, each defensive stance broken with ease. By the time they stopped, his arms ached, his chest heaved, and sweat dripped from his brow.
"Good," she said, though her expression remained impassive. "You have spirit. But spirit alone is not enough. We begin again tomorrow."
*Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Each morning began with rigorous physical training—running through the forest, climbing trees, lifting stones. Lythrien taught him how to wield a blade, focusing on precision over brute strength. She showed him how to move like the wind, how to strike without hesitation.
In the afternoons, they delved into magic. Sitting cross-legged in the glade, Lythrien guided him through the intricate flows of mana within his body. "Feel it," she urged. "It is a river, coursing through you. Learn to control its current, to direct it where it is needed."
Jargien learned to summon fire with a snap of his fingers, to freeze water with a single breath. He practiced until his body was exhausted, his mind drained. And yet, he never stopped.
*
By the time five years had passed, Jargien was unrecognizable. He had grown tall and lean, his once-boyish frame now sculpted by years of discipline. His hair was longer, tied back in a warrior's knot, and his eyes carried a fierce intensity.
His aura, once wild and chaotic, now radiated a controlled ferocity. His mastery of mana had reached heights that even Lythrien hadn't anticipated. But it was his unique discovery that set him apart.
It had begun as an experiment, a merging of the two forces he wielded. Aura, the essence of the physical body, and mana, the ethereal energy of the soul—he sought to combine them.
For months, he toiled, meditating in the glade, his body glowing faintly with the clash of energies within him. And then, one fateful evening, he succeeded.
The energy he created was unlike anything he or Lythrien had ever seen. It pulsed with a primordial power, a chaotic yet harmonious blend of aura and mana.
"Primal Chaos," Lythrien whispered, her usually composed face betraying a flicker of awe. "You've tapped into something ancient, something that predates even the gods."
Jargien could feel its power surging through him, a boundless wellspring that made him feel invincible. Yet he knew it was a double-edged sword. Without control, it could consume him.
Under Lythrien's guidance, he spent the next several months refining this new source of power. He learned to wield it with precision, to channel it into his blade, his spells, even his very presence.
*
It was on a crisp autumn morning that Lythrien deemed him ready for his first real challenge.
"A wild boar has been spotted near the western edge of the forest," she said, her tone serious. "It stands five meters tall and has been terrorizing the woodland creatures. It will be your prey."
Jargien's heart raced with excitement and nerves. This was no ordinary hunt. A creature of that size and ferocity was a test of everything he had learned.
The two set out together, moving silently through the dense underbrush. Lythrien led the way, her every step purposeful and silent. Jargien followed, his senses heightened. He could hear the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of birds, the faint hum of magic in the air.
When they reached the boar's territory, the atmosphere changed. The forest was eerily quiet, the usual chorus of wildlife replaced by an oppressive silence.
"There," Lythrien said, pointing ahead.
Jargien's breath caught as he saw the beast. It was monstrous, its massive frame covered in coarse, bristly fur. Its tusks were as long as a man's arm, curving upward in deadly arcs. Its eyes glowed with a feral intensity, and the ground seemed to shake with each step it took.
"This is your fight," Lythrien said, stepping back. "Prove to me that you're ready."
Jargien nodded, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. He stepped into the clearing, his aura flaring to life around him. The boar turned, its gaze locking onto him.
For a moment, the world seemed to stand still.
Then the beast charged.
Jargien waited until the last possible moment, then sidestepped with the agility of a dancer. He swung his blade, aiming for the boar's flank, but its hide was tougher than he anticipated. Sparks flew as his blade glanced off, leaving only a shallow cut.
The boar roared in anger, its tusks swinging dangerously close. Jargien jumped back, his mind racing. He could feel the primal chaos within him, pulsing like a heartbeat. He let it flow into his sword, the blade glowing with a strange, otherworldly energy.
This time, when he struck, the blade cut deep.
The boar howled in pain, its movements becoming more erratic. But it was far from defeated. It charged again, faster this time, and Jargien barely managed to dodge.
He knew he couldn't let this drag on. Summoning all his strength, he focused the primal chaos into a single, devastating attack. His blade burned with energy as he leaped into the air, bringing it down with all his might.
The clearing erupted in light and sound as the attack landed. When the dust settled, the boar lay motionless, its massive frame slumped to the ground.
Jargien stood over it, his chest heaving, his body trembling from the exertion.
"Well done," Lythrien said, stepping into the clearing. Her voice was calm, but there was pride in her eyes. "You've proven yourself today, Jargien. But remember, this is only the beginning."
Jargien nodded, his gaze fixed on the fallen beast. He knew she was right. This was just one step on the long road ahead.
But for the first time, he felt ready.