The sound of iron locks echoed through the damp, dark corridors of the prison. The cell door slid open with a rusty creak, and the light from outside cut through the dimness like a blade.

A young man in his early thirties lay on a stone bed, his body still as if he hadn't moved in hours. His hair, once a different shade, had turned stark white over the years, falling in untamed strands down to his shoulders. A rough, unkempt beard of the same color covered his jawline, making him look older than he truly was. His face bore faint scars and fresh scrapes, remnants of past brawls and the harsh reality of life behind bars.

His muscular frame was evident even under the ragged prisoner's garb, a set of threadbare, loose-fitting clothes, dull and stained from years of wear. His arms, exposed by the torn sleeves, bore scratches and bruises, but beneath the injuries, his physique remained defined, by necessity—by the unrelenting struggle for survival in a place where weakness was a death sentence.

Despite his disheveled state, there was an air of quiet strength about him, a presence that had not been broken by confinement. His eyes, barely visible under strands of white hair, slowly opened, revealing a sharp, unreadable gaze. His name was Aiden. Fifteen years ago, he had been accused of killing a fellow student from the Eilhart Academy. The accusation alone had been enough to seal his fate, for his clan was already frowned upon.

Aiden's prison was not one of those deep underground dungeons found in the noble cities, nor was it a fortress surrounded by bustling streets. It was something far more desolate.

The Hollow Bastion, as it was called, sat on the outskirts of Xhandor's dominion, an unforgiving wasteland that stretched across the central region of The Wasteland of Kings.

The prison stood alone, built from massive slabs of obsidian rock. There were no villages nearby, no roads leading to trade cities, only the barren land stretching for miles.

Those sent to Hollow Bastion were meant to be forgotten—outlaws, traitors, prisoners of war, and men like Aiden, whose very existence was considered a mistake.

The air was dry, the wind howled endlessly, and at night, the stars pierced the vast emptiness.

But now, for the first time in fifteen years, Aiden was stepping out of this grave of stone and shadows.

A guard in simple armor, his face hardened by routine, crossed his arms at the entrance to the cell.

"Get up." His voice was cold as he looked down at Aiden.

But Aiden didn't move immediately. His fingers traced the deep marks left on his wrist by the chains. Only one question circled his mind: Now what?

The guard shoved him roughly when he didn't move fast enough.

"I'm not repeting myself again."

Aiden exhaled heavily and rose to his feet, his muscles tightening from the sudden movement after hours of stillness.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" he asked.

"Your release has been ordered," the guard stated bluntly. "Now, walk."

Aiden froze. No one ever got out early. Why was he an exception?

Ignoring his doubts, he followed the guard, his footsteps echoing through the narrow corridors. Prisoners watched in silence from their cells. Some with envy, others with suspicion. Most with nothing but rage.

At the fortress gates, another guard awaited him with a bundle wrapped in dark cloth. He handed it over without making eye contact.

"Your belongings."

Aiden took the package and unwrapped it. Inside was a worn black jacket he had once owned, an empty leather pouch, and a silver pendant that had once belonged to his family. He turned it between his fingers, recalling the last time he had held it.

"Keep moving," the guard growled.

The main gate creaked open, letting in the crisp evening breeze. The Wasteland of Kings welcomed him with the whisper of the wind and the scent of damp earth. The largest and most important territory in the entire continent of Terrazir.

"Hope I never see you again," the guard muttered before shutting the door behind him.

The fresh air caressed his face, carrying the scent of rain-soaked soil. The sky was painted in hues of gold and violet as the sun dipped below the horizon, spilling its fading light over the rolling hills.

Aiden closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself to savor the sensation that had been denied to him for years—the wind on his skin, the vastness of the world beyond stone walls, the promise of a new beginning.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves against wet ground pulled him back to reality. A wagon rolled slowly down the road, its wheels leaving deep tracks in the mud as a pair of merchants murmured to each other. In the distance, the towers of Zephandor's Palace rose imposingly, their marble spires adorned with obsidian and gold domes, banners waving in the wind. Alongside them, the kingdom's walls reflected the last rays of the sun.

For the first time in a long while, no one was watching him. No one was controlling him. Everything seemed calm. He was free... but not for long.

When he oppened his eyes, a woman was standing in front of him. She was about five foot seven, slender yet well-toned, with subtle curves that accentuated her form. Her attire was meticulously tailored—a fitted suit of thick, dark obsidian fabric, clinging to her torso with precision.

The garment started high at the collar, forming sharp triangular edges at her shoulders before tapering down to her waist, secured by a crimson belt with a golden medallion at its center. Her sleeves, deep garnet in color, hugged her arms snugly.

Her pants matched the obsidian shade of her top, blending seamlessly with the rest of the ensemble. Finally, knee-high leather boots in dark garnet climbed just below her knees, each piece adorned with fine golden lines that screamed royalty.

Her hair cascaded in dark waves with hints of violet, flowing until it settled at the top of her back.

But what stood out the most were her eyes. A deep, radiant purple, dark and luminous, as if something stirred within them.

Aiden tensed as the woman scanned him from head to toe, as if dissecting him. After a pause, she finally spoke.

"You're Aiden, right?" Her voice was low but firm.

Aiden clenched his jaw.

Her attire and emblem indicated she was part of the army of Lyskaar, the commander of the most ruthless forces in the region. On top of that, the fact that she knew his name was a bad sign.

Aiden held her gaze, distrust heavy in his eyes.

"Who are you?" His tone was dry.

The woman didn't answer immediately. Instead, she let the silence stretch, her expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, she smiled—but there was no warmth in it.

"I was sent for someone. A young man, energetic and athletic, well-groomed, with a noble bearing."

She arched an eyebrow, as if comparing the description.

Aiden let out a low chuckle.

"You're going to be disappointed."

"Don't tell me," she replied without hesitation. The smile faded, replaced by quiet contemplation. Finally, she saw her eyes and narrowed hers. "You have an unusual gaze."

Aiden was already growing impatient.

"Let's cut to the point. What do you want?"

The woman clenched her jaw but held her ground.

In her mind, she reviewed the report Veilon had given her. Aiden had been relocated to Xhandor's dominion, one of the seven among the Wasteland of Kings along with his people after the fall of the Ice Fortress, by order of Thareon Zephandor, the ancient king. He had trained at Eilhart Academy, demonstrating exceptional talent. The records described a young man brilliant as a genius, disciplined, and well-mannered.

But the man before her was a different story.

That version of Aiden was long gone.

The Aiden standing before her was a man hardened by years of captivity, his long, unkempt white hair falling past his shoulders, his beard just as unruly, and his expression cynical—the look of someone who had learned to survive at any cost. His stance was defiant, his tone laced with challenge.

"You speak with too much insolence for someone just released from prison," the woman said, her words tinged with irritation. "Let's not play stupid. By now, you already know where I come from."

Aiden crossed his arms. Of course, he knew. But he had already had bad experiences with the forces of Xhandor. The last thing he wanted was to be involved with them again.

"Does it matter? We both know my release wasn't an act of kindness. If I'm out, it's because I'm required for something. What is it?"

The woman exhaled impatiently, reached into her uniform, and pulled out a sealed parchment.

Aiden's mind sharpened. The royal seal.

"So King Veilon Thalmyr sent you," he said, taking the parchment.

"The king gave me two orders: to secure your release… and to ensure you join the army."

Aiden's blood boiled. They had imprisoned him unjustly, and now they expected him to serve them?

This had to be a damn joke.

He unrolled the parchment and scrutinized its contents carefully, not only to confirm the truth of her words but also to understand exactly who he was dealing with. At the top of the parchment it read—A mission for Angellon Norvel.

Angellon Norvel?

The surname caught him off guard. Norvel was a name from across the Dark Sea, belonging to the ruling family of the Asnar region. Her lineage granted her privilege, but it also suggested something else.

The Norvels were known for their ability to wield the energy of Terum, an invisible force that only a few warriors had the capability to control. Yet, Aiden felt nothing from her.

She was most likely concealing it.

Even so, something didn't add up. He had never heard of her, not even during his years of study at the academy. And in prison, rumors traveled faster than the plague—if she had entered the ranks through external means, Aiden would have known.

But… what did it matter?

None of this mattered.

Aiden felt a rising irritation with himself for even trying to make sense of the situation when all he truly wanted was to stay far away from it. He had no interest in the Wasteland, Asnar, or Angellon Norvel.

He held the parchment a moment longer before lifting his gaze and uttering a simple phrase:

"And if I refuse?"

Angellon didn't even flinch.

"This is not negotiable."

Aiden calmly rolled up the parchment, his jaw tightening. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly. His decision had already been made.

When he opened them again, his posture hardened.

"Then you'll have to force me."

Without waiting for a response, he took his first step in the opposite direction.

But the moment he did, an overwhelming force stopped him.

A fierce grip tightened around his arm, like an iron shackle snapping shut with brutal precision.

Aiden turned his head, his gaze locking onto Angellon, who held him with an unnatural strength.

"Think carefully about what you're doing." Her voice was lower now, but thick with unmistakable threat.

And then, Aiden felt it.

From the point of contact, a suffocating pressure spread outward. An unseen force, like an invisible claw crushing his flesh. Terum energy.

Angellon did wield it.

But that wasn't going to stop Aiden. The king needed him for some reason—he had nothing to fear.

"Do you really think I'll cooperate if you drag me by force?"

With a sharp movement, he released a flicker of his own energy, strengthening his arm just enough to break free. The sudden resistance caught Angellon off guard, if only for a moment.

"If the king wants something from me, he can tell me himself. I won't answer to a mere soldier, let alone some unknown figure from Asnar."

Without waiting for a reply, Aiden resumed his march. Angellon's anger flared, her aura tightening, but she quickly reined it in. Threatening him was not a good option, and she knew it.

She lowered her hand without further insistence and let him go.

Aiden clenched his jaw. Even though he had used some of his energy to break free, his wrist still throbbed—a sign that she wasn't ordinary.

No surprise there. The Norvel bloodline was legendary. Their mastery over Terum energy made them feared on the battlefield, even more so than their combat skills.

The air grew heavier as Aiden put distance between them. He could still feel Angellon's piercing gaze burning into his back, surely calculating her options.

It was only a matter of time before Veilon Thalmyr got what he wanted.

Aiden had to act fast. He needed to find a way out of the kingdom.