The crowd's roar still echoed in Jyn Argren's memory, but victory was brief. Though he had claimed the Champion's title in the Honor Tournament, the ceremonial sword was taken from him soon after, as tradition demanded. It was a relic of the kingdom, a symbol of Valmyr's pride—not his to keep. What remained was the quiet, the pressure, and the weight of expectation. His father, noticing his son's restless fire, gifted him a new blade—hand-forged by the kingdom's finest blacksmith, a weapon not meant for glory, but for growth.
And then… the years began to pass.
After four years…
The seasons turned, and the world slowly forgot the name of the young champion. But in the secluded mountains north of Valmyr, Jyn had not been idle.
His training was relentless.
He studied combat under silence and cold wind, testing the limits of his body, honing his instincts until every movement became second nature. Yet, his real focus was the mana within. Unlike most, Jyn wasn't content with mastering just the heart's center—he studied the entire spectrum: lower core, heart, and mind.
His mana aligned with two elements: Fire, and Metal.
Fire represented his raw passion, his will to defy fate, while Metal symbolized structure, discipline, and focus. It was a rare combination. Under the brutal intensity of self-imposed isolation, Jyn learned to channel these opposing energies, layering them into his strikes, movement, and breath.
The early technique he mastered was known as Metal Coating—a sheath of mana that hardened his blade and limbs in combat. But it was just the beginning.
At age 19, he began unlocking a new level of awareness—a deeper harmony between his breath, mana, and heartbeat. His senses sharpened. He could hear birds shift in the trees behind him, feel the change in wind before a storm, and anticipate attacks before they came. His sword no longer swung on instinct—it danced with purpose.
Every morning began before sunrise. Barefoot on frozen stones, Jyn would repeat hundreds of movements—one for every soul who had fallen in the battles of old Valmyr.
He expanded his training to the mental plane. Though the mana of the brain was rarely used by swordsmen, Jyn saw its potential. It gave him clarity in battle, precision in thought, and resistance against manipulation.
He pushed himself to synchronize all three mana cores. Most warriors mastered one. Few controlled two. Almost none controlled three. But Jyn wasn't seeking balance—he was building power for something greater. Something he couldn't yet name.
His fire grew hotter. His metal, stronger.
One day, after collapsing from pushing too far, he awoke to a subtle shift in his senses. Heat pulsed from his core—not wild, but rhythmic, like a heartbeat made of embers. It was then he discovered a rare ability: Solar Pulse.
Using both fire and metal, he could emit short bursts of heat and magnetic force through his sword arm, destabilizing enemy stances or disrupting the flow of incoming mana attacks.
It was still raw, and not fully controllable. But it was his.
Time continued to pass.
He no longer trained to prove himself. There was no one to impress, no eyes to judge. The only thing that mattered was the goal he carved into his soul: to become strong enough to protect what remained.
He had visions—dreams of war, falling towers, a throne in flames. But when he awoke, all was still. These dreams didn't scare him; they warned him. Prepared him.
He wrote them down. He trained harder.
Months passed.
With each one, his connection to mana deepened. The once-sharp pain of overuse faded. He learned to guide mana not just into attacks, but into defense, mobility, and even silence. Birds didn't fly away when he moved through forests. Blades didn't clash against his anymore—they sang with them.
His body, once lean, had grown denser. Not with bulk, but with control. Every muscle moved like a blade.
And in all of it, his father's sword remained by his side. A quiet legacy. His only companion.
Now twenty years old, Jyn stood atop a stone cliff, looking over the faint outline of Valmyr in the distance. Smoke no longer rose from its walls, and laughter no longer echoed in its streets. But something was coming. He could feel it.
Behind him, the wind stirred the trees.
In front of him, the road returned.
He took a breath.
The time of training had ended.
What came next would be real