Aiden Valtor stood at the edge of the stone bridge that led into Argent Academy, the crown jewel of the United Allied Races. The sun was high, casting long shadows that danced across the ancient stone walls covered in ivy and flowering mana vines. The place was a paradox—old as legend, yet still pulsing with vibrant life.
Students from every corner of the world gathered here: tall elves draped in flowing robes inscribed with runes of light; dwarves clanking in refined, rune-carved steel; beastkin with cat-like reflexes and ears that twitched at every unfamiliar sound; and humans, the original children of Earth, changed now after eighty years of magic and war.
And then there was Aiden, wrapped in a plain gray tunic, his hands sweaty as he tightened his grip on the leather strap of his travel pack.
His family crest—a silver wolf coiled around a blade—hung from his shoulder, but few noticed. Fewer cared.
House Valtor. One of the Four Pillars of Humanity. Known for warriors whose names had been sung in wartime ballads and etched into memorial stones after the First Demon War.
Aiden was the second son. The forgotten one.
He'd been seventeen when he was run over by a speeding truck in his previous life—a college dropout and avid fantasy reader. He'd been reading "Echoes of the Rift" just moments before his death. When he awoke, he found himself inside the very world he'd admired. He knew the fate of every major character, every coming war, every betrayal.
And he vowed not to interfere.
But fate didn't care for vows.
"Next! Aiden Valtor," came the voice of a silver-haired steward at the archway, holding a crystal tablet in his hand.
Aiden swallowed and walked forward. Elves watched him with curiosity; dwarves with disinterest; a few humans, with pity.
He placed his palm on the Awakening Stone.
Light flashed.
Then—nothing.
The stone pulsed weakly with a pale blue glow. The steward frowned.
"Core Level: Nil," he declared. "Affinity: Sound."
A beat of silence followed.
Then, as if on cue, laughter echoed across the courtyard.
"Sound? That's barely combat magic."
"Even Beastkin cubs show more potential."
Aiden kept his head down. He expected it. In the novel, this moment passed with a single line. The "talentless second son of House Valtor was never seen again after his first year."
He would vanish from the story.
But that wouldn't happen anymore.
"Well, that was underwhelming," a voice to his left said. A girl with sharp crimson eyes and hair the color of snow approached. Her uniform bore the sigil of House Lysandre: a silver flame wrapped around a sword.
Selene Lysandre.
The female lead of the novel. Heiress to the most powerful elemental bloodline in the Human Domains. A prodigy of fire and sword.
Aiden stiffened. He knew how this played out. Selene never acknowledged weaklings. Her path was filled with glory, trial, and heartbreak. She ended up a general in the final war.
She studied him curiously. "Sound magic is rare. Not many train it. Why bother with something so neglected?"
Aiden shrugged. "I don't get to choose my affinity."
Selene tilted her head. "You might surprise us. Sound is everywhere."
Then she was gone, trailing a faint scent of ash and roses.
The orientation hall was grand, filled with floating crystal chandeliers and banners from each of the domains: Verdant Wilds of the Beastkin, Stoneforge of the Dwarves, Silvergrove of the Elves, and the Human Domains.
Dean Malrik—an old elf with glowing tattoos running across his face—took the stage.
"Welcome, future protectors of this fractured world," he began. "Eighty years ago, the sky split open. The Rift brought demons, corruption, death. But it also brought mana. Power. And the chance to evolve. The Four Pillars of Humanity rose to meet that chaos. Now it is your turn."
A cheer erupted.
Aiden barely heard it. He was still reeling from his assessment.
Nil. Sound affinity.
He was alone in a dorm with three bunk beds. None had wanted to room with the "talentless Valtor."
That night, he sat cross-legged in the corner of the room. In his hand was a small dagger—a relic passed down from his mother. Its blade was dull. Worthless in a real fight.
But as he dragged the edge across a metal tuning fork he'd borrowed from the academy's music hall, something changed.
Ping.
The sound echoed longer than it should have.
Aiden focused.
Mana trickled from his fingers into the fork. The note intensified, vibrating through the floor, then the walls.
He placed the dagger on the tuning fork.
The weapon began to hum.
When he lifted it, the blade vibrated faintly, almost alive.
He slashed it through the air.
A visible ripple followed the swing, slicing the curtain on the window.
Aiden blinked.
That shouldn't have happened.
The sound wasn't just noise. It was force. Pressure. Motion.
He grinned.
"Sound is everywhere, huh? Let's see how far I can take it."
The next week passed in a blur of lectures and mock battles.
Aiden stayed quiet. He kept to the back of the class, absorbing everything. When others partied or showed off, he trained in the academy's abandoned orchestra hall, tuning weapons and experimenting with resonances.
He forged a style of his own—a fusion of rhythm, movement, and vibration. His weapon became an instrument. His steps followed the tempo of battle.
On the sixth day, a notice appeared.
"Public Ranking Duel: Open Challenge."
Every student could challenge another to climb the combat ladder.
Selene challenged the top-ranked elven swordsman. The duel was the talk of the academy.
Aiden signed up to challenge the 50th-ranked human—a boy named Caldor Vale, a lightning mage.
When the match was announced, the academy roared with laughter.
"The talentless Valtor is going to duel?"
"He'll be fried in seconds."
Even Caldor looked insulted. "Don't waste my time," he spat.
The training arena was packed. A thousand students gathered in the marble coliseum, murmuring, mocking.
Aiden stood in the center, his only weapon a short sword wrapped in a cloth.
Across from him, Caldor summoned sparks to his fingertips. His mana core pulsed with visible arcs.
The referee's hand came down. "Begin!"
Caldor launched a bolt of lightning.
Aiden dodged and struck the floor with his sword's tip.
Ping.
A wave of pressure burst from the blade.
Caldor staggered.
Aiden spun, slashing through the air. Each move followed a beat, a rhythm. The air pulsed with unseen force.
Caldor roared, summoning a pillar of lightning.
Aiden threw his blade upward.
PING.
The weapon vibrated with a frequency that split the lightning in two.
Gasps echoed.
Even the professors sat up.
Aiden charged. His movements were fluid, almost like a dance.
He feinted left, struck right.
Each blow sent shockwaves.
Caldor tried to counter, but Aiden moved with the rhythm of his breath and the harmony of sound.
One final strike.
A pulse erupted from Aiden's blade, slamming into Caldor and knocking him off his feet.
Silence.
Then—
"Winner: Aiden Valtor."
The arena erupted.
"What the hell was that?!"
"He used sound like a weapon!"
Selene stood, arms crossed, a smile playing at her lips.
"Told you," she murmured. "He might surprise us."
Aiden didn't smile.
But inside, something had shifted.
He was no longer just a forgotten name.
He was a threat.
That night, Aiden returned to the orchestra hall.
He picked up his blade and tuning fork. The sound magic manuals labeled it an auxiliary type. Meant for healing, sonar, communication.
But he knew better now.
He placed the blade to the fork.
PING.
The resonance filled the room.
Not just a sound.
A call to arms.
To be continued...