The night breeze carried the scent of dry earth and burnt wood, mingling with the unmistakable smell of rusted iron that permeated the camp. The flickering flames of the bonfires cast irregular shadows over the worn canvas tents and the rudimentary palisades marking the refuge's perimeter. Aiden, his clothes still sticky with dried blood, walked heavily behind Angellon, his eyes cautiously scanning the area.
The tents, scattered without any apparent order, were made of thick, tattered fabric, some reinforced with animal hide to withstand the biting wind that blew from the mountains. The lighting was scarce, with only a few torches mounted on wooden poles and a couple of scattered braziers. Aiden couldn't ignore the stark difference between this refuge and Zhailon's military fortifications. It was an improvised settlement, hidden in the shadows of the domain, far from the direct authority of the king.
Angellon never stopped. Her silhouette moved with confidence between the bonfires, the orange glow illuminating the edges of her bloodstained hood. Aiden could feel unseen eyes watching him, but in the darkness, his weakened vision failed to make out their owners.
They arrived at one of the larger tents near the center of the refuge, where a higher bonfire blazed fiercely. Angellon pulled off her bloodstained hood and let it fall to the ground. She then lifted the tent's flap and turned toward Aiden with a severe look.
"Get in," she ordered, her eyes having lost the red glow from earlier, returning to their original violet hue.
Without hesitation, Aiden stepped inside. His body was on the verge of collapse. As he crossed the tent's threshold, the thick interior air enveloped him immediately. Angellon followed without announcing herself and lit a candle. The light illuminated the figure of a woman sleeping on a thick blanket. Her dark hair was sprawled over a cushion, and her face held a peaceful expression—until she sensed their presence and opened her eyes.
"Angellon...?"
"Get up," Angellon commanded bluntly.
The woman, still half-asleep, blinked in confusion before rubbing her eyes. "What's going on?"
Aiden kept his gaze fixed on the woman, struggling to remain standing. But in that moment, his legs finally gave out, and he fell to his knees. It seemed he had finally reached his limit. Angellon shot him a sidelong glance but wasted no time on formalities, nodding toward him. "Zen, this man needs your help. You're going to heal him."
Zen's eyes widened in disbelief. The man before her was covered in blood from head to toe. It was a miracle he was still alive.
Aiden observed the woman more closely. Zen had a youthful and expressive face, with large eyes brimming with an energy that felt vibrant. Her gaze carried a mix of curiosity and intelligence, as if her mind was constantly processing multiple things at once. Her skin was smooth and even-toned, accentuating her delicate features, with slightly rounded cheeks.
Her hair was long and dark, black as night, absorbing light and giving off a subtle sheen under the candle's glow. She wore it tied in a high ponytail, with loose strands framing her face. The way her hair moved with every slight motion or tilt of her head gave her an almost carefree presence.
She wore a simple but well-crafted white tunic, adorned with subtle floral embroidery along the sleeves and hem.
Her expression turned serious as she approached to examine Aiden's wounds, her pearl-colored eyes scanning each cut and bruise with precision. Furrowing her brows, she let out a quiet sigh as she assessed the severity of his injuries.
"What the hell happened?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the wounds.
Aiden opened his mouth to respond, but Angellon cut him off before he could say a word.
"Just do your job," she ordered in her unwavering, dry tone. "And make sure he's in perfect condition. Tomorrow we will stand before King Veilon."
Zen gave Angellon a resigned look. It was no surprise to her that Angellon gave orders without bothering to explain anything. She had long since learned that arguing with her was a waste of time.
"As you wish," she muttered with a hint of exasperation.
Angellon said nothing more. She turned on her heels and exited the tent without looking back, leaving Aiden and Zen in a tense silence.
Still bleeding, Aiden raised an eyebrow at Zen's indifference. Maybe he could lighten the mood.
"So... 'rough boss,' huh?" he murmured with a lopsided grin.
Zen clicked her tongue and grabbed a clean cloth from a nearby table.
Aiden let out a small chuckle but immediately regretted it when Zen pressed one of his wounds with more force than necessary.
"Damn it! Was that really necessary?"
"For you? Yes." She responded calmly while inspecting his torso. "If you don't shut up and stop moving it will hurt more."
Aiden scoffed but didn't complain further. Instead, he averted his gaze and took in the interior of the tent. It was a simple space, with a few candles burning in iron holders, fabrics stacked in a corner, and clay containers neatly lined on a wooden table. His eyes wandered over the objects until something in Zen caught his attention.
The embroidered patterns on Zen's clothing.
He had seen those flowers before. It wasn't a random design.
"Are you from the Ysara clan?" he asked, narrowing his eyes as he analyzed the intricate embroidery on her tunic.
Zen didn't answer immediately. She continued tending to his wounds, ensuring she properly assessed their depth. Not until she slightly leaned back did she finally respond, her voice as calm as ever:
"Yes. Do you know it?"
Aiden nodded. That floral pattern was everywhere in the academy where he studied. It was a famous emblem, used in tapestries, books, and even in some halls. He remembered seeing it decorating ancient manuscripts, its presence always linked to the history of the Ysara clan.
"During my school years, I saw these patterns in many places. Decorations, books... they seemed to be everywhere."
Zen maintained her serene expression, showing neither surprise nor pride. She simply nodded, as if the information was not new to her.
"What else have you heard?" she asked while slowly rubbing her hands together, preparing to channel her Terum.
Suddenly, Zen extended her hands forward, and a faint, barely perceptible pale blue dome began to form around Aiden. At first, he felt nothing more than a slight tingling on his skin.
Aiden observed Zen closely. Her breathing was slow, and her expression showed absolute concentration. She was channeling her Terum.
Terum… that was the key to everything. The essence of existence. It was neither a gift nor a whim of nature but rather the fundamental energy that flowed through every living being in the world. Every human possessed Terum within them. Animals, trees, even the wind that battered the snowy peaks. But not everyone knew how to use it.
A human body could hold up to one hundred percent Terum, but only a handful of people in history had managed to reach that point. The amount of Terum an individual could use was determined by their level of mastery over this energy. A mere common fighter could not access the Terum in their body, even though their organism contained it. In contrast, a trained warrior could release their power and use it in combat, defense, or even to alter the environment around them.
Since childhood, Aiden had been taught that warriors were classified into different levels according to their control over Terum. Each level determined how much energy an individual could use.
At the lowest level, level one, were the common fighters. Those who could not use Terum in any way. However, this did not make them weak; through years of extreme physical training, some fighters had elevated their abilities to the maximum, becoming elite warriors within their category. But without access to Terum, they could never surpass their human limits.
Common fighters had their own internal hierarchy. There were the novices, those without real training. The veterans, experienced warriors who mastered weapons or hand-to-hand combat. And above them, the weapon masters, individuals who had perfected their technique to the point that their mere presence on the battlefield could decide a conflict.
Above them were the awakened, at level two. These people could use up to thirty percent of their Terum. They were not skilled enough to manifest it outside their bodies, but they could feel it, guide it, and rudimentarily use it to enhance their strength, speed, and endurance.
Level three was where most soldiers were found. Fundamental users, capable of handling between forty and fifty percent of their Terum. These warriors could not only enhance their bodies with energy but also manipulate it, conceal it, or release it in controlled bursts. In battle, they could harden their skin, improve their reflexes, or even detect the presence of other Terum users nearby.
Aiden was at this level. He could sense others' energy, hide his own, and improve his body by channeling his power internally. But he still could not do more than that. He could not manifest any special ability or alter his surroundings with his energy. He had no unique gift.
The real change occurred at level four. The Clan Masters.
These warriors could use between sixty and seventy-five percent of their Terum, allowing them to awaken a unique ability. Some developed their lineage's capabilities, inherited through generations, while others acquired completely new affinities. A warrior at this level could shape the energy around them, project it into attacks or defenses, or even fuse it with their weapon.
Zen belonged to this level. Her healing power, passed down through generations in her clan, allowed her to restore others' wounds at the cost of her own energy.
But the true titans of combat were at level five, the Lords of Terum. These individuals could use up to ninety percent of their Terum, and their control over energy was such that they could affect the environment effortlessly. Their abilities were not merely personal; they could influence the space around them, alter climates, shape the ground, or even manipulate others' perceptions. Their efficiency with Terum was absolute, allowing them to use less energy to achieve far greater results.
And above them all were the Duality Bearers, the level six warriors.
Those who reached this point could use between ninety-five and ninety-nine percent of their Terum and, most importantly, possessed more than one affinity. They were extremely rare. Most warriors were born with a single affinity, but a select few could inherit two distinct abilities if their lineage allowed it.
Others, the rarest, managed to awaken a second power by themselves, either due to extreme trauma or through training so rigorous that it defied the rules of nature.
Aiden had heard stories about level six warriors, but he had never met one in person. It was said that their abilities could merge, creating devastating combinations that were nearly impossible to counter.
Within each level there were three different ranks from levels two to six, because it was not enough to simply be a Terum user. It was not sufficient. There were those who were just learning, those who already mastered their abilities, and those who had reached their full potential.
At the lower rank were those who had just awakened their ability, still inexperienced in handling it. At the middle rank were those who had refined their control and could use it effortlessly. And at the upper rank were those who had pushed their power to its maximum potential within their level, capable of challenging even enemies of higher ranks and whose Terum regeneration process was much faster.
Aiden felt that each level was an insurmountable wall. He had spent years at level three upper rank without progressing. It was frustrating. His father had been a level five upper rank warrior, a Lord of Terum. Why couldn't he even awaken a single gift?