The night sky above the training peaks had gone still, but Allen's body pulsed with energy.
He stood across from Barron, who tapped a crystal shard against his palm like a pointer stick. His eyes were sharper than usual.
"Transmutation," Barron began, "is the most unstable of all basic SERRA techniques. It's the art of turning pure energy into real, tangible matter. Ice, fire, lightning, metal… even light and gravity, if you're blessed."
Allen raised an eyebrow. "Sounds fun."
"Fun?" Barron sneered. "It's not fun. It's dangerous. Elements aren't just power they're an extension of you. Most people are born with one. If you're lucky, two. They're influenced by your genes, your mind, your instincts. Sometimes even your worst nightmares."
He stepped forward.
"And if the world really hates you, it gives you something no one wants."
Allen narrowed his eyes. "Like what?"
"You'll find out."
Barron led Allen through a narrow tunnel carved into a mountain wall, one Allen hadn't seen before. They passed thousands of faded glyphs, warnings written in old languages. Allen could feel the weight of age pressing down from the stone.
They reached a gate made of obsidian and humming steel threads. Barron pressed his hand to it. The SERRA in the air shifted.
Chains uncoiled. The gate opened.
What lay beyond took Allen's breath away.
A dome-shaped chamber, wide as a coliseum, filled with thousands of floating crystals each one pulsing faintly in the dark like stars trapped in glass.
"This is the Vault of Truth," Barron said. "Every crystal represents an elemental affinity. If it lights up when you push out your SERRA, it means you carry that element in your blood. Your soul."
Allen stepped in, eyes wide. "And how many do people normally have?"
"One. Two if they're gifted. Three and they call you a miracle."
Barron crossed his arms. "Now shut up and focus."
Allen took a breath.
Closed his eyes.
He entered the soul state, and extended his emission SERRA.
The first crystal ignited.
Red Fire.
Then blue Water.
Green — Wind.
Brown — Earth.
Yellow — Lightning.
White — Ice.
Silver — Metal.
Seven flaring lights. The Vault came alive. The very air cracked with heat, static, cold, and force.
Allen opened one eye and grinned. "Did I just break something?"
Barron's jaw tightened. "You just broke history. Again."
But then something changed.
The Vault shook slightly.
From the far back wall, one crystal pulsed. A jagged shard, darker than space, long sealed behind old glyphs and cracked chains.
It flickered once. Then again.
And then it lit.
Darkness.
The entire Vault dimmed. Light drained into the black shard, as if the other elements themselves were afraid.
Barron took a step back, his face pale.
"No. No, no, no this can't be."
Allen turned. "What is that?"
"That… is the Abyssal Flame. The symbol of Darkness."
Barron stared at the obsidian crystal like it was a ghost.
"That element… hasn't been awakened since the Fall of Veyrion. Ten thousand years ago."
Allen raised an eyebrow. "So what's the big deal?"
"It was erased from the world. Not sealed. Erased. People who used it didn't destroy cities they unwrote them. Left nothing. No memory. No remains. Not even ash."
The shadows around Allen pulsed softly, reacting to his heartbeat.
"Only one king in recorded history awakened that element," Barron continued. "And he was executed by the Twelve other kings. It's not a gift. It's a curse."
Allen lowered his hand. "Then… what does that make me?"
Barron swallowed. "It makes you a mistake. Or something worse."
They ran the test five times.
Every time nine crystals and the Darkness.
On the fifth try, Barron just shook his head.
"Boy… who the hell are you?"
Allen smirked. "No idea. But I feel kinda awesome."
Barron stepped forward. "You don't speak of this. Not to Ikki. Not to a single soul. You understand? You're not special you're a target. If the wrong people learn what you have… you won't get assassinated. You'll get erased."
Allen nodded slowly. "Alright. I promise. It's just between us."
He paused.
"…But still, with this much power, I doubt it'll take me long to surpass Goro, the Iron Monarch."
Barron blinked.
Then laughed. A deep, wheezing, real laugh.
"You idiot! You think raw elements are enough to surpass Goro?! You don't even know what it takes to be an Iron Monarch."
Allen crossed his arms. "Okay, genius. Then tell me."
"To become Iron Monarch," Barron said, "you first need to conquer one of the Eleven Sub-Worlds. Each floats around the Original World the center of creation."
A glowing projection flared between them.
Eleven massive realms, orbiting a golden world like moons.
"In the heart of that world lies the Iron Tower. Indestructible. Infinite in space. Built by the first Monarch to stop the kings from destroying the dimensions when they fought."
He pointed at the top of the Tower. "Each floor is ruled by a King from weakest to strongest. If you want the title, you must climb. Floor by floor. Beat the kings."
Allen blinked. "Wait Ikki's one of them, right? But he's also ruling Xarion. How?"
Barron grinned.
"Now we come to the Fallen Kings. Also called the Ashen Vows."
Allen's eyes widened.
"If a reigning king is challenged and defeated but spared they're bound by the Ancient Law to serve as the victor's right hand for eternity."
Allen whispered, "So that means…"
Barron nodded. "That's right. Before Ikki... I was King of the Iron Flame Floor."
Allen stepped back in disbelief.
"You were a king…? And now you serve him?"
Barron laughed. "Crazy, right? One day I was a god. Next day I was doing paperwork for a moody teenager."
Allen looked down. "My brother… he must've mastered everything to beat you."
Barron gave him a look. "Mastered? Ikki only controls two types of serra: Fire and Enhancement. That's it."
Allen's eyes widened. "You're telling me… he did all that… with just two elements?"
Barron nodded. "Not all kings are made of power. Some… are made of will."
Allen stared into the flickering Darkness crystal.
A storm was brewing.
And he was at its center.