The world Kaelion knew was fracturing before his very eyes. Reports from the frontlines grew more dire with each passing day. The Alliance of nations had seized vast tracts of the Empire's outer territories, displacing countless citizens and leaving behind a swath of destruction. Though the Empire still controlled over 80% of its once-immense lands, the speed and ferocity of the invasion shook even the most seasoned generals. One can only move so fast when the world is the size of Jupiter.
The palace was no longer a bastion of calm. Soldiers marched in tight formations under grim skies, their expressions heavy with the knowledge of what awaited them. War was no longer a distant story from history books—it was here, devouring lives and breaking families.
Kaelion felt the weight of this reality more than ever. He trained relentlessly, each swing of his sword or step in a martial form driven by the growing fear that he might not be strong enough when the war inevitably reached his doorstep. His victories against sparring partners and even seasoned soldiers felt hollow. Compared to the legends of old, whose exploits he had read about, Kaelion was painfully aware of his inadequacy.
One evening, the Magistra summoned Kaelion to her chambers. Her face, usually stern and unreadable, bore a hint of weariness as she handed him a thick, weathered tome bound in cracked leather.
"This is my grimoire," she said. "It contains my life's work—spells I've created, techniques I've refined, and knowledge I've gathered from the great wizards and witches of history."
Kaelion took the book with reverence, his hands trembling slightly. The weight of the tome was comforting, a promise of strength waiting to be unlocked.
"I'll master it quickly," he said, his voice steady with determination. "And I'll use it with pride, as your student."
The Magistra allowed a rare smile to touch her lips. "Do not rush. Magic is not merely a weapon—it is a reflection of the self. Learn patience, or you may find the power within this book turning against you."
Late that night, Kaelion sat alone in his chambers, pouring over the pages of the grimoire. His candle flickered, casting shadows across the text as he read.
The spells within felt underwhelming compared to the ancient magics he had dreamed of mastering. Thought Acceleration? Reinforcement? Gradation Air? These seemed like tools for survival, not the legendary abilities that could topple armies or reshape the world. Even the elemental manipulations, curses, and illusions felt rudimentary compared to the tales he'd devoured of wizards wielding lightning storms and summoning volcanic eruptions.
Then there were the Primordial Magics, tucked away in the final chapters. Their descriptions read like fables, impossibly grand in their scope:
Soul Feel, the materialization of the soul.Reality Travel, the power to traverse parallel worlds.Creation, the ability to forge anything from nothing.Resurrection, the return of the dead to life.Infinity, the mastery of limitless magical energy.
Kaelion's chest tightened as he read their prerequisites. Mastery of the soul. Limitless energy. Profound understanding of existence itself. These were impossibilities for someone like him, whose grasp of magic felt laughably rudimentary.
Despite his doubts, Kaelion pressed on. He devoted himself to the simplest spells in the grimoire, starting with Reinforcement. Channeling magic through his body was no longer a challenge, but the precision required to strengthen specific muscles or enhance his senses pushed his limits. He would collapse from exhaustion each night, only to rise the next morning and push himself harder.
He applied his growing mastery to the battlefield of the training grounds. Sparring against older soldiers, he began using Gradation Air, creating gusts of wind to unbalance opponents before striking with his sword. When facing stronger foes, he layered Reinforcement onto his limbs, his strikes gaining a speed and force that surprised even the most experienced fighters.
But war was not forgiving. Reports from the frontlines seeped into his training sessions like a poison. Villages burned. Soldiers fell. Refugees crowded the roads leading to the capital, their faces hollow with grief.
Kaelion walked through the palace gardens one evening, seeking solace among the flowers and trees. His thoughts were heavy with the burdens of his Empire. The grimoire rested against his chest, and he could still hear the Magistra's voice warning him not to rush.
The scent of blood snapped him out of his thoughts. He followed the trail to find a wounded soldier slumped against a tree, his armor stained crimson. A healer knelt beside him, their magic glowing faintly as they tried to mend the man's shattered body.
Kaelion watched, frozen. The soldier's pain was palpable, his breaths labored as he gripped the healer's hand. "Save me," the man whispered. "Please… I want to see my family again."
The healer's magic flickered and failed, the exhaustion in their eyes mirroring the despair in the soldier's. Kaelion stepped forward, his heart racing. He tried to summon his magic, but doubt clouded his thoughts. What could he do that a trained healer could not?
The soldier's final breath left him, and the healer bowed their head in defeat. Kaelion clenched his fists, the grimoire feeling heavy in his hands.
"I have to be stronger," he whispered, the words barely audible over the soldier's death rattle.
Fueled by the encounter, Kaelion redoubled his efforts. He forced himself to master spells that once felt out of reach. With Thought Acceleration, he analyzed his training sessions in real-time, adapting and improving at an astonishing pace. He used Reinforcement to run himself to the brink of collapse, only to heal himself with his Crown of Balance.
By the end of the week, Kaelion could spar with soldiers twice his age and hold his own. His body bore the scars of his relentless training, but his mind was sharper, his resolve unbreakable.
Still, he couldn't shake the memory of the soldier in the garden. For every step forward he took, the war seemed to claim another innocent life.
"This isn't enough," he muttered, staring at the grimoire's pages. His eyes settled on the Primordial Magics, their impossible promises taunting him.
He closed the book with trembling hands. "I'll master you," he said, his voice resolute. "Not for glory. Not for power. But to stop this madness before it consumes everything."
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across his room as Kaelion prepared for another sleepless night. The tides of war would not wait, and neither could he.