Kael woke to the smell of herbs and the soft flicker of lanternlight.
His body ached. His chest throbbed. Every breath stung like broken ribs.
"Tch…"
He tried to sit, but a firm hand gently pushed him back.
"Stay down, boy. You'll reopen the wound on your side."
Kael blinked, vision clearing. A figure sat beside his bed — tall, aged, and quiet like an old storm. His skin was deep blue, veined with silver-like scars that shimmered faintly in the light. His long white hair, streaked with dark blue at the ends, was tied back into a low knot. Eyes—sharp and pale, with pupils that seemed almost animal-like.
A demi-human. Not a healer. Not a soldier.A watcher.
Kael had seen him before, wandering the edges of the training fields. People whispered that he used to be one of the founding warriors of RagDon. Some said he once fought one of the Eight Families and survived.
He didn't speak much. But today… he'd come.
The old man looked at him for a moment, then spoke — voice slow, like carved stone.
"You're bleeding on the inside more than the outside.""A wound of pride is slow to heal."
Kael didn't respond.
The demi-human leaned back on the chair, folding his arms.
"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" he asked. "Training so hard. Getting broken. Again and again. You could do other things. The world isn't kind to boys with no magic, no ability. It never has been."
Kael's jaw clenched. He stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily, until the words finally broke out.
"Because I won't stay nothing."
"I don't care what I was born with. I'm going to be something the world remembers."
He slowly turned his head, locking eyes with the old man.
"I will become a key player in history. I'll stand among the families who rule this world. And one day… the ones who laughed will kneel."
A beat of silence. The lantern crackled softly.
The old demi-human stared at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly… he smiled.
"Good," he said quietly. "Then bleed well, boy. Because that road… is carved in blood."
The next morning, the sky was pale with cold light.Kael stood in front of the Great Hall of RagDon — the heart of the clan.
The hall's obsidian gates opened with a heavy grind.
Inside, seated at the top of the stone dais, was Master Renwald — head of RagDon, bearer of the Iron Crest, and once a warrior who shook empires.
His eyes were sharp as blades.
Kael knelt, despite the pain still searing in his ribs.
"You called for me, Master."
Renwald did not speak immediately. He looked at Kael with the same expression one gives a dull sword — not angry, not disappointed… just silent.
Then he spoke.
"You're leaving."
Kael's breath caught. "W-What?"
"As of today, you are suspended from all clan training grounds. You will no longer be part of the main squadron or ranked evaluations."
"Pack your things. You're dismissed."
Kael's knees buckled slightly, but he remained on the floor.
"Please, Master," he whispered. "Give me one more chance."
No response.
"I—I was weak. I let myself fall. But I swear, I'll fix this. I won't— I can't walk away now. This is all I have."
Renwald stood. His cloak rippled like a storm.
"That's exactly the problem, Kael," he growled. "You have nothing. No ability. No magic. No political bond. No place."
"And now? You've been disgraced in front of nobles, heirs, and the woman you claimed to love."
Kael gritted his teeth.
"You keep bleeding for a war you haven't even been allowed to join."
Then Renwald's voice dropped.
"You think this world will hand you a destiny because you're stubborn? You are a cracked stone pretending to be a sword."
Silence.
Then he turned.
"Someone's waiting outside. He asked for you."
Outside the Hall…
Kael stepped out, fists clenched.
The wind was colder than it should have been.
At the edge of the courtyard stood the old demi-human — arms folded, eyes watching. His name was Eorun, though few ever used it.
"I hear we've been exiled," he said calmly.
Kael blinked. "You?"
"Yes, boy. I asked for it."
Eorun stepped forward, tossing a small pack of supplies at Kael's feet.
"Six months. That's what I asked Master Renwald for. I'll take you across the continent. Train you in places where no noble dares step. Push you harder than that golden-haired bastard ever could."
"And when we return, if the Master sees no change in you—"
He paused.
"—he swore he would kill you personally."
Kael didn't flinch.
"Good," he whispered.
Eorun narrowed his eyes.
"Then say goodbye to who you were, Kael. You don't get to be him anymore."
The wind howled across the ridge as Kael followed Eorun through the frostwood trails that bordered the RagDon lands.
"Where are we going?" Kael asked, still sore, still aching.
Eorun didn't stop walking.
"Somewhere forgotten. Somewhere real."
Hours passed. The forest deepened. The skies grew quiet.
Finally, at a fire-lit camp beneath a skeletal tree, Kael stared into the flames and broke the silence.
"Why… why are you doing this?"
Eorun didn't answer right away. He sat cross-legged, stirring the fire with a broken spear haft. His silver-blue eyes glinted.
Then he said:
"Because you were supposed to be ordinary… but you're not.""And if I'm right… you may become something the other continents won't be ready for."
Kael blinked. "What do you mean, 'other continents'? You mean the trade empires?"
"No," Eorun replied. "I mean the true four.""The Four Continents born of the Pillars."
He looked up.
"You were born in Raghas — the strongest. But there are three others, not allowed to enter from the world stage by pact, war, or distance. They are not weak. "
Kael frowned. "Then why does no one speak of them?"
"Because no one dares."
Eorun stood, rolling back his sleeve. A faint tattoo shimmered beneath his skin — a circular sigil of four broken shards, spinning slowly with light.
Kael stared.
"That's…"
"The seal of the Great Continental Alliance," Eorun said.
"I was once its Ninth Chair — a silent watcher across all continents. I walked the Storm Cities of Eronel, drank flame-wine with the Ashborn of Vel'Thaal, and trained many in Frerya."
Kael's throat dried.
"Then… why are you here? With me?"
Eorun's eyes locked onto his.
"Because Raghas has grown arrogant. Complacent. Obsessed with heirs, bloodlines, and fire marks."
"But I saw you — a boy with no magic, no ability, no crest. Nothing but pain and defiance. That's exactly what the world once feared… and forgot."
Lore Reveal: The Four Continents
Raghas – the continent of war, empires, and raw power(The known world. Home of the 8 ruling families.)
Eronel – the continent of murim.(Once sealed by aether winds.)
Vel'Thaal – the cursed continent and has the current strongest person.(Said to be where magic was born and corrupted.)
Frerya – continent with most artificial weapon and most tech people.
"Six months, Kael," Eorun said softly."Six months to become atleast a decent warrior. And when we return… you won't just be a warrior. You'll be a message."