After training, I headed to my room, washed the grime off my arms, and changed into something dry. The burn on my shoulder had faded, but the heat still clung to my bones. I barely had time to exhale before I heard her voice echo down the corridor.
"Don't drag your feet like a dying mule," Grandmother Eshanira called out. "If you've got energy to punch logs, you've got energy to learn."
"Yes, Grandma," I muttered, tugging on my boots tighter and making my way to the Grand Library.
The third floor of the estate, hidden behind winding staircases and sealed doors, held more than books. It held memory. Magic. Secrets. And her.
Eshanira Rox
Fragment Rank: 1 Star
Fragment Type: Element (Ground)
My grandmother. Tactician of the Rox Family and a fragmenter—barely 1-star—but she wore her intelligence like armor. Calm. Sharp. Dangerous if underestimated. Her presence filled the library before she even spoke.
She sat beside the hearth, tea steaming at her side, as the stone floor subtly shifted beneath her feet—bookshelves adjusting, scrolls gliding across stone paths carved in real-time. The Grand Library wasn't built on rock. It was rock-shaped by her will.
"Sit, little spark," she said, patting the cushion next to her. "You've earned this story."
I obeyed without a word.
She drew a sigil in the air—like a dragon's fang, traced in molten fire.
"For this tale," she whispered, "is our bloodline's roar."
"Centuries ago, the world wasn't just at war—it was chaos incarnate. All regions clashed for power. Fragmenters tried to rewrite fate. The skies bled. Oceans boiled. And amidst it all stood the Rox Estate—unyielding. Proud. Defiant."
"At the time, it was led by two brothers."
Her eyes gleamed.
"The elder: Vaedron Rox. Disciplined. Stoic. The rightful head of the bloodline. Bearer of our most sacred relic—the Holy Crest of Rox."
"The younger: Azherion Rox. A flame too wild to control. Too pure to corrupt. Many whispered he should've been the head. But tradition bound the title to the firstborn."
Eshanira paused and sipped her tea.
"But Azherion didn't rebel. He made a vow. 'I will not lead the Rox,' he said beneath the Archon's statue, 'but I will protect it.' Not as a ruler—but as its sword.'"
"And protect it, he did."
"The Rox Crest wasn't ornamental. It was gifted by the Archon of Elements herself. Woven with elemental coding so precise, it could withstand any fragment's power. Not only absorb their force but return it tenfold. A living countermeasure to tyranny."
"But in those fractured days, a threat greater than armies emerged."
Her fingers shaped another puppet—crooked, splintered.
"A Time Fragmenter. He was one of the greatest and kindest nobles ever known. A man who didn't just bend time—he erased it. Cities vanished. But innocent people were not harmed, but those who defied his principles of nobility were deleted before their stories began. And he set his sights… on the Rox Crest."
"He didn't come with war. He came with a pact."
She lowered her voice.
"'You rely on divine relics,' he told the Rox. 'Real strength is born—not given.'
Give up on that crest, seal it down with security, and fight with your own strength."
"The Rox stood firm. 'We earned our blessing—same as any awakened Fragmenter. Blood buys power. Not words.'"
"So he attacked."
The air crackled around her as she whispered the next line.
"Vaedron fell."
"Not slain. Not wounded. Erased. Removed from time before his death could be recorded. And with him—the Crest vanished."
My chest tightened.
"But Azherion burned. He didn't weep. He didn't plead. He pledged as the new Rox head, but still he knew that he was far too behind to beat that time fragmenter. So with a hope. He climbed Mount Kailash—the place mortals feared. And waited."
"For what?" I asked.
"For her."
Eshanira's palm lit with golden-red fire, shaping into a multi-headed serpent.
"Vyraath. The personal beast of the Archon of Elements. Each head an element. Fire. Water. Earth. Wind. Light. Veil. The living balance of chaos."
She showed her picture drawn by hand by people who witnessed her. She was so beautiful and divine, and for a reason, it gave me a glimpse of that lady who sealed my power.
"She didn't wake for praise. Or sacrifice. But Azherion didn't come to worship—he came to offer everything."
"He meditated for days. Fought the mountain's spirits. Offered his flame—not to control—but to fuse."
"Vyraath answered."
Her voice trembled with respect.
"'You seek vengeance,' hissed the Fire Head. 'You seek memory,' said the Water. 'You seek justice,' growled the ground. "And for this… you offer yourself?"
"And Azherion said, 'I offer my flame to burn fate itself.'"
"They forged a pact."
"But the cost?"
"When the Crimson Moon next rises, your flame will vanish. And the power shall return only if your bloodline bears a child beneath the same cursed sky."
I inhaled sharply.
"My father…" I whispered.
Eshanira nodded. "Born under the reddest moon we've ever recorded. But not with Azherion flames but with the greatest friend of fire, wind."
"What happened next?" I asked.
She smiled.
"Azherion returned—not as a man. As a new being and a new name, Infernam Rox. The Flame That Consumes Time."
"He didn't just fight the Time Tyrant. He burned through the fabric of manipulated timelines. Scattered the twisted futures. Shattered the looped destinies."
"But this time Azherion wasn't alone," she continued, her voice dipping into reverence. "Beside him stood Lister Veyne, the last true Tri-Fragmented warrior. Spirit of Water. Soul of Wind. Heart of Fire."
He traced three trails in the air—water, wind, and fire—each bending into the shape of his summoned beast.
"He wasn't born strong. He earned it. Every strike. Every drop. When the Time Tyrant bent reality, it was Lister who anchored the world with elemental seals that held the skies in place."
"In the final battle, Lister summoned the Tri-Crested Serpent to hold off the Temporal Legion while Azherion merged with the dragon."
An illusion shimmered—serpent vs. time-warped beasts, chaos swirling like a typhoon of collapsed fate.
"When it ended… Lister was gone. Not dead. Erased. Lost to the warping of fate itself."
"Only Azherion remembered him. And now—so do you."
Silence held for a moment, heavy like sacred breath.
"And in the ashes—he recovered the Crest. Not whole. But living. Breathing. Changed."
But due to that incident, Rox and the royal family decided to keep the crest under security, not to be shown publicly, under the care of both Rox and Lister.
Eshanira pulled a pendant from beneath the scrolls—blackened at the edges, shaped like a broken flame.
"This," she said softly, "is that Crest broken piece." What remains of it. It remembers."
"And that, little flame… in your bloodline. Everyone who awakens their fragment receives one piece, which also makes sure that the wielder does not defy the Rox blood."
"But Granma, why is there no historic mention of him, or we don't even know his name?"
"It's because he removed himself from existence, but due to Archon's beast power, we still remember him, but not his face, appearance, or name, but just a noble or fierce character who ever fought Rox."
I was silent.
But my heart? Blazing.
Eshanira's tone shifted again—softer. Heavier.
"Fragments, Arvik… are not just gifts. They're anchors. Each one ties your soul to a law of reality. The stronger you become, the tighter the leash."
"Leash?"
She nodded.
"The Archons didn't give us power just to survive. They gave us power to ensure we never break the script. Every strong Fragmenter is a soldier of design. Obedient. Predictable. Controlled."
My mind spun.
"What if… the Fragment System is a cage?"
Eshanira looked into the fire.
"One day, you may find out. But be warned—curiosity reshapes destiny."
Her flame dimmed, as did her voice.
"And Arvik—a flame that hesitates… burns itself."
He stood. Bowed slightly. "Thanks, Grandma."
God, sure, this kid, these stories are generally shared with kids of 15 or more, but his intelligence, memory, and hunger for knowledge are so fierce it reminds me of her. Maybe I should make both of them meet; it would be interesting.
As he exited into the corridor, he nearly walked into them.
His father. Grandfather.
Arvan's presence hit first—cobalt robes lined in silver, the Rox crest gleaming across his chest but a mimic of the real one only known to few people. The air folded around his boots with every step, like wind itself obeyed him.
Arvan Rox
Fragment Rank: 3 Stars
Fragment Type: Element (Wind)
They say only Gravity Fragmenters can lift things like through telekinesis.
But Arvan? He cheated the rules.
He made blades float. Scrolls glide. Even people pause midair.
Just by sheer control over air. As expected from a crimson moon birth.
Vaeren Rox
Fragment Rank: 3 Stars
Fragment Type: Element (Water)
Vaeren Rox. Grandfather. Water in human form. Steady. Deep. Always watching.
"Arvik," Arvan said coolly. "Done training?"
"Yes, Father."
"Good. Then let's be clear."
He crossed his arms. "I've begun personally training Serena Lister."
The name hit like a flick.
"As a Wind Fragmenter, she needs refinement. And she shows… potential."
No pause. No smile. Just cold logic.
"She awakened at five. You're ten. Still unawakened. This isn't bias. It's a fact."
I nodded. Said nothing.
Vaeren stepped forward. Placed a hand on my shoulder.
"The tide comes when it must," he said softly.
They left.
I stood alone.
And inside me…
The sphere pulsed with a slight pain.
I closed my eyes and, with a motive, moved forward to a new path to catch up with her.