The city was alive with anticipation. Streets once filled with the quiet bustle of daily life had transformed into an arena of excitement. Banners bearing the insignia of noble houses and powerful factions lined the towering walls of Erindale. The air buzzed with the murmurs of warriors, merchants, and spectators alike—all drawn by the promise of the tournament.
Aetheron kept his hood low as he moved through the crowds, the weight of the invitation in his satchel a constant reminder of what was to come. He wasn't here for the thrill of combat. He was here for something greater.
"Name?" The tournament registrar, an aging man with a mechanical quill that wrote as he spoke, barely glanced up as Aetheron approached the booth.
"Aetheron."
The registrar's pen stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing its scribbled work. "Bloodline?"
Aetheron hesitated. If he gave his true bloodline, questions would follow. His family should not exist.
"No lineage." He kept his voice neutral.
The registrar finally looked up, his gaze lingering for a moment. "A commoner with no bloodline, yet you enter a tournament where most competitors descend from the strongest houses?" A smirk tugged at his lips. "Interesting."
Aetheron said nothing.
"Very well. You'll be in the preliminaries. Prove yourself there, and you might survive long enough to face the real contenders."
The quill finished writing, and a sealed emblem was placed in Aetheron's hand. "The Crimson Arena. First match tomorrow."
He turned without another word, disappearing into the crowd.
—
Aetheron met Aria at the training grounds just beyond the city walls, where the faint sounds of metal clashing echoed from warriors testing their skills.
"You're in?" she asked.
He held up the emblem. "Preliminaries."
She nodded. "Good. But it won't be easy. You saw the people entering this tournament. Some of them aren't just strong—they're monsters."
Aetheron's expression didn't change. "Then I'll have to become one too."
Aria exhaled slowly. "You need a strategy. Your Devourer ability—"
"—is hidden," Aetheron interrupted. "No one can know. Not yet."
She folded her arms. "And when will you reveal it?"
Aetheron stared at the distant arena. "When there's no other choice."
Aria shook her head. "Just be careful. There are abilities here that no normal human should be able to steal. And if the wrong people see what you can do…" She trailed off.
Aetheron knew what she meant. They would come for him.
But that was a problem for another time. Right now, he had a tournament to win.
The storm was coming. And Aetheron would be at its center.
The First Battle
The arena was a coliseum of blood and ambition. Towering crimson walls encased the battlefield, their stone stained from centuries of battle. The crowd roared with anticipation, eager to witness warriors rise—and fall.
Aetheron stood within the competitor's chamber, his hood casting a shadow over his face. Around him, other fighters prepared for the tournament's opening battle. Some bore the insignias of noble houses, their armor enchanted with runes of power. Others exuded raw magic, their abilities pulsating in the air like barely contained storms.
And then, there was him.
No visible power. No grand lineage. Just a lone figure among titans.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena.
"Warriors of Erindale, the Crimson Tournament begins now!"
A massive iron gate groaned open, revealing the first battleground: a vast stone platform, wide enough for twenty combatants to clash at once. The rules were brutal.
The last five standing would advance. The rest? Eliminated.
Aetheron stepped onto the battlefield, his senses sharpening. Around him, competitors eyed one another, their muscles tense. Some whispered incantations, readying their magic. Others gripped their weapons with white-knuckled hands.
The announcer raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Chaos erupted.
Aetheron moved like a shadow, dodging a spear thrust before driving his fist into an opponent's ribs. The impact sent the man staggering back, gasping for breath. Another warrior, a fire wielder, hurled a blazing arc of flame in his direction. Aetheron twisted to the side, the heat searing past his shoulder as he closed the distance.
He needed to be calculated. Every move mattered. Every opponent was a chance to grow stronger.
And then, he saw him.
A single combatant stood apart from the rest.
A man wrapped in a swirling aura of void energy. The air around him bent and twisted, as if reality itself recoiled from his presence. Xeran, heir to the House of Void. His ability? Void Dominion—a power that erased anything it touched.
Aetheron's eyes darkened.
This is it.
He wove through the battlefield, avoiding lesser opponents. Every step brought him closer to Xeran, closer to the power he sought.
Xeran smirked as Aetheron approached. "A no-name challenger?" His voice was laced with amusement. "I'll make this quick."
The void-user raised his hand, black energy coiling around his fingers. The power to erase matter itself.
Aetheron didn't hesitate.
He reached out— and Devoured.
A surge of energy ripped through his veins. The abyss that should have consumed him… collapsed inward instead.
Xeran staggered, his power faltering. His eyes widened in horror as he felt something no void wielder should ever experience.
His power was being stolen.
Aetheron exhaled, his own fingers now wreathed in shadows. The same void energy that once threatened him now pulsed beneath his skin.
He clenched his fist. Void Dominion was his.
Xeran stumbled back, eyes wild. "What… what did you do?"
Aetheron lifted his gaze, his voice a whisper beneath the arena's roar.
"I took what was mine."
The crowd gasped. The fight was not over. But the balance of power had already shifted.
And this… was only the beginning.