The skies above Aethon had long forgotten how to shine.
A dull orange haze hovered across the horizon as twilight seeped into the city—what remained of it. Burned rooftops, jagged stone, and blackened timber made the skyline a jagged tooth against the coming dark. Once, Aethon had been a place of invention and peace. A city of glass domes, mechanical gardens, and humming Arcana lines that lit the streets like stars.
But that was before the Empire's war.
Yes, the Empire had won. But to the people of Aethon, victory tasted no different from defeat.
The city fell during the fifth raid—rebel troops seeking to fracture the Empire from within. Houses torched. Citizens dragged from their homes. Screams that never quite left the air.
And then she came.
Eve.
Second-Ranked Arcane Knight. Known across the eastern provinces as the "Iron Flame." She led a unit that carved through rebels with practiced precision. Cold. Unyielding. Efficient. Until the battle ended—and she found her.
A girl no older than four, barefoot in the ruins, ash smeared across her cheeks. Huddled near a broken archway, eyes wide with defiance and fear.
Eve had slain a dozen men that day. She remembered that clearly.
But the memory that clung to her heart wasn't the war. It was that child, clinging to the hem of her cloak and saying nothing. Just… staying close. Not letting go.
She never did.
---
Eve's house wasn't like the city she protected. Nestled in the western outskirts of Aethon, her home resembled more a large wooden cabin than the sharp, stone-walled quarters of her rank. Surrounded by tall, dark-pine trees and patches of untouched earth, it sat as though untouched by war—a relic of peace.
The structure was wide and warm, with wooden beams scorched slightly at the edges, and ivy climbing up one side like a protective embrace. Inside, the hearth flickered with Arcana-touched flame. A wooden table stood at the center, aged and scarred from both meals and sword-cleaning rituals. Shelves lined with scrolls, preserved flowers, training talismans, and hand-carved keepsakes filled the space.
At that moment, Eve stood by the counter, untying the leather guards on her wrist. Her armor sat neatly against the wall. She wore a loose brown tunic now, simple, her long black hair tied back in a rough braid. Her face, once hard from battle, was softer here.
She'd just prepared a bowl of stewed vegetables and grain when a soft knock echoed through the room.
Eve frowned slightly.
Then the door creaked open, uninvited.
And there she stood.
---
Lisa.
The girl she'd raised. The girl who once clung to her leg in silence and now stood tall and proud in the doorway. Her short hair was tousled from travel, her uniform still faintly dusty from the trial grounds. Her eyes—bright brown, the color of warm clay—gleamed with something rare:
Pride.
"...Lisa," Eve breathed.
Lisa stepped inside, smiling slightly as she shut the door behind her. "I passed," she said, voice shaking just a little. "I actually passed."
For a moment, Eve said nothing. Her hands hung limp at her sides, the half-filled spoon forgotten on the counter. Her usually unreadable face cracked like old stone.
And then she moved.
She crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Lisa without a word. Lisa stiffened, just for a moment, before burying her head into Eve's shoulder.
"You idiot," Eve whispered into her hair. "You didn't write. I thought something happened."
"I wanted to tell you in person," Lisa muttered, her voice thick. "Didn't want to jinx it."
Eve pulled back, holding Lisa by the shoulders now, searching her face like it would disappear. "You're not hurt? They didn't push you too hard?"
Lisa snorted, wiping her eyes quickly. "It was brutal. But I made it. I even reached the final in the duel."
Eve let out a long breath—half laughter, half disbelief. "Of course you did. You're my daughter."
Lisa's mouth twitched upward at that. The word still caught her off-guard sometimes. Daughter. But Eve always said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She turned and looked around the familiar cabin. "Nothing's changed," Lisa said quietly.
"I added a second shelf for your books," Eve said, nodding toward the corner. "You're always leaving them everywhere."
Lisa chuckled. "You love it."
"I tolerate it," Eve teased. "Barely."
They sat down at the wooden table together. Eve slid her bowl across to Lisa without hesitation. "Eat. You need strength for what's coming."
Lisa looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"
Eve leaned forward, eyes serious now. "Passing the entrance exam is one thing. But entering the military training program under the Empire's eye… that's where the real war begins."
Lisa swallowed hard, but she nodded.
"I'm ready."
Eve smiled faintly. "No. You're not. But you will be. Because you're stubborn, reckless, and too brave for your own good."
Lisa blinked. "Are… those compliments?"
"They're survival traits."
They sat in silence for a moment longer, the fire crackling beside them.
And then Lisa looked down at the table. "Hey… Eve?"
"Hm?"
"Back then... that day. When you found me." Her voice dropped. "Why didn't you leave me there?"
Eve's hands curled slightly on the table, knuckles pale.
"You were sitting in the ruins," she said softly. "Ash in your hair. Blood on your cheek. You didn't cry. You just… stared at me like you were done with the world. Like it had failed you. And I'd seen too much of that. Too many people thrown away."
Lisa listened, unmoving.
Eve continued, "But you were still holding something. A broken wooden doll—burned, half of it gone. And you refused to let go. You had something worth fighting for. Even then. And I realized… so did I."
A heavy silence passed between them, thick with unspoken years.
"I didn't save you," Eve said finally. "You saved me."
Lisa blinked, eyes stinging.
"I'm glad I came home," she whispered.
Eve smiled—small, but real. "You always had one."
---
Back in the Empire capital, life fell into rhythm.
Kael's days were a cycle of sweat, bruises, stances, and silent meditation. Two full weeks passed in that tireless loop—his limbs aching under the pressure of weighted training gear, his mind sharpened through morning runs and evening sword drills. Lyra, unwavering and ruthless as ever, watched his every move.
But on the fifteenth day, something changed.
That morning, as Kael entered the training room, expecting the usual sparring session or weight test, he found his mother standing barefoot at the center of the room. She wore a sleeveless dark tunic, her long hair tied back, her expression unreadable. There was a different energy in the air—lighter, charged.
"Today," she said plainly, "you'll be learning how to use the elements."
Kael's eyes widened. "Wait—really? Like wind? Fire?"
Lyra gestured to the floor. "Sit."
He obeyed immediately, settling cross-legged on the smooth stone.
Lyra stood before him, hands behind her back like a soldier giving a lecture. "Channeling is the most important part. You must feel your surroundings. And when I say surroundings, I don't just mean the air or the trees—I mean the earth itself. The currents that run through it, like veins under skin."
Kael nodded slowly.
"There are two primary approaches to channeling," she continued. "The first is Attunement—feeling and connecting with the natural world. The second is Rune Application—a more complex and structured method that uses written sigils to bind or command energy. Most students start with attunement."
She raised a hand. "We're not restricted to using one element. Your affinity will grow based on training, not just talent. Most people lean into what they're compatible with, but nothing is set in stone."
Kael raised his hand halfway. "So… can you use more than one?"
In response, Lyra raised her right hand—lightning crackled along her fingertips. Her left hand flared with gentle fire, dancing between her fingers like it had a mind of its own. Then, with a flick, she extinguished both.
Kael stared, eyes wide.
"What about earth?" he asked.
Lyra gave a small, knowing smirk.
"Wait."
For a moment, Kael felt something shift—like the energy in the room had turned inward, coiling tight around his mother's body. Then she moved—stomping her foot gently but deliberately into the ground.
CRACK!
The stone split from beneath her
Foot, a jagged rupture racing across the room toward Kael. He stumbled back with a startled yell as the ground opened up beneath him—only a few inches wide, but deep and sudden. The force of it reached the wall and cracked straight through it.
Kael gaped. "Dad's going to kill you."
Lyra sighed. "Probably."
She walked toward the crack, fingers glowing faintly blue. "Hold on."
Closing her eyes, she pressed her palms together, focused—and the crack began to close. The earth groaned as it shifted back into place, though a faint line still scarred the floor.
"Subtle," Kael muttered.
"That," she said, dusting off her hands, "is why we need a safer place. You've outgrown this room."
---
The next morning, they left.
Their destination: Emberwatch Mountain, the closest highland range to the Empire capital. A jagged ridge where air cut like blades and clouds touched the stone. According to Lyra, its intense elemental field made it a perfect training ground for wind and earth attributes.
As they climbed the narrow path to the peak, Kael hauled two large satchels behind him, groaning. Meanwhile, Lyra glided ahead, her own supplies floating effortlessly beside her in a controlled spiral of wind.
"Show off," Kael grunted.
She didn't even look back. "Train harder."
After an exhausting ascent, they found a wide, flat clearing—no caves, but shielded on one side by rock and open on the other to the sheer drop below. The air was colder here, thinner, but brimming with unseen power. The wind howled across the cliffside, and Kael's clothes rippled with it.
"This is where we begin," Lyra said, kneeling on the stone. "Sit."
He sat, frowning as wind tugged at his hair.
Lyra closed her eyes. "Breathe. Don't resist the wind—feel it. Let it push against you. Not just your skin. Let it push into your thoughts. Then… push back. Not with force. With presence."
Kael did as told. He sat quietly, his body slowly settling into stillness. The world around him stopped being just noise. He started listening—to the whisper of the breeze, the tremble of the stone beneath him. The wind wasn't random. It had rhythm.
And then… it began to respond.
A swirl formed around him, soft at first, like a curious animal. Then faster. Tighter. Kael's heart raced.
"I can feel it," he whispered. "It's everywhere."
Lyra watched, surprised. The boy had always been talented. But this—this was more than mere potential.
"He's already syncing?" she murmured to herself. "It's barely been an hour…"
And then, the sky changed.
Lyra looked up—and saw the clouds begin to churn.
Kael's mind had wandered for just a moment. He thought: We're so high… I wonder if I can touch lightning.
He reached out mentally—just a spark, just to see.
That was all it took.
A sharp crack split the air—and from the sky, a bolt of lightning tore down toward him.
Lyra's eyes widened. "KAEL!"
She jumped forward, summoning a protective glyph in the air mid-sprint. A glowing circle formed—sigils etched in golden light. The lightning came down like a divine spear, shrieking through the air.
She deflected it. The bolt struck her barrier and splintered into the rocks around them with a deafening boom, but before she could exhale—
CRACK.
A second bolt tore from the sky, then a third, and a fourth.
"No—!" she screamed, raising her hands again. The runes spun, but she was outpaced.
The next lightning bolt never reached Kael.
Instead, it was pulled—drawn into him, like iron to a lodestone. The air imploded inward, a swirling vacuum. Kael, still sitting, now hovered several inches off the ground, his body suspended in a vortex of wind and lightning.
Lyra was flung back by a burst of raw energy that tore through the clearing like a stormfront. She hit the ground and rolled, coughing against the dust and sparks.
"KAAEL!"
She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide with panic. But when she looked again—what she saw rooted her to the spot.
He was floating, limbs relaxed, eyes closed. Wind coiled tightly around his form like a barrier, arcs of electricity dancing across his arms, legs, and chest. His hair stood on end, his clothes fluttering wildly in the storm he had become.
For a terrifying second, she thought she'd lost him. That the Arcana Core had taken over, that he'd lost control again.
Then his eyes opened.
They were glowing—not with rage or confusion, but wonder. And fear.
"M-Mom?" he said, his voice trembling. "What's happening to me?"
"COME DOWN!" Lyra shouted, pushing against the howling wind. "Kael, listen to me! the energy in you you need to suppress it! NOW!"
"I don't know how! It's not stopping!"
The swirling storm pulsed with raw power, now stretching high into the clouds. Lightning began to gather overhead—attracting more and more attention with every passing second. Lyra's heart raced.
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a talisman—etched with intricate lines of ink that shimmered in the stormlight.
No more time.
She activated the rune by applying her energy to the talisman.
In a flash of silver light, the storm collapsed inward, pulling everything into a pinpoint—
—and then they were gone.
---
They landed in the middle of their home's basement chamber.Kael collapsed to the floor, panting, steam rising from his skin. Sparks flickered along his fingertips, fading slowly.
Lyra stood above him, hand trembling slightly. She didn't speak. For a full ten seconds, neither of them did.
Then Kael looked up.
"Was that… me?"
Lyra exhaled, her voice quieter now. "Yes. That was you."
"Did I… draw that lightning?"
"You did more than that, Kael. You called it. You channeled it."
He looked down at his hands, fingers twitching.
"I didn't mean to. I just… wondered if I could."
Lyra kneeled, gripping his shoulders. "Listen carefully. You're not normal—not even by Deviant standards. You're something else. The Arcana Core—it's evolving you, faster than I expected."
Kael's voice was small. "Am I dangerous?"
She hesitated.
Then: "Yes. But so is every Arcane Knight. The difference is how you control it."
They sat there for a moment, the faint scent of ozone still in the air. Lyra looked up at the roof.
"There's a chance the Empire felt that burst," she muttered. "A surge of that size… it won't go unnoticed."
Kael swallowed. "What now?"
She rose to her feet. "Now, we stay quiet. No more outdoor elemental training. Not until I can mask you properly."
Kael, still lying on the floor, gave a tired smile. "So... no more hiking?"
Lyra stared down at him. Then she smirked, barely. "No more mountain peaks. You'll train here. Quietly. And from now on—no experimenting without me present."
He raised a hand weakly. "Deal."
She turned, retrieving a fresh talisman from a hidden box on the wall. Her expression had hardened again. Calculating.
She had known Kael's power would grow. But this fast? This wildly?
If the Empire caught wind of this—of a child who could call lightning of that caliber from the sky after one session...
There will be trouble...