The sky above Vel Aetheris was soaked in fire.
A city built on bloodlines and conquest burned with a sickly red hue, as if the heavens themselves were ashamed of what they witnessed below.
In the center of the capital, atop the imperial execution stage, a boy knelt.
Chains bound his limbs. A crown of cursed thorns weighed upon his head — not as a symbol of royalty, but as punishment for ambition. Soldiers surrounded him. Nobles cheered. His name had already been erased from the records.
But his eyes were open. Clear. Unyielding.
"Do you understand what you've done, Caesar?" the masked High Inquisitor hissed. "You stole magic meant only for the blooded. You defied the Council of Bloodlines. You are nothing."
Caesar did not answer.
Not because he had no words. Because the truth was too vast to fit inside a dying man's final breath.
They had stolen his name, his legacy, his family, his future.
They branded him a villain, a heretic, a monster for wanting to protect a kingdom that feared his strength.
And yet… he smiled.
"You're afraid," Caesar whispered, voice calm as the storm gathered behind his broken frame.
"That's why you chained me. You fear what I might become."
The blade came down.
And Caesar died.
Or so the world believed.
17 Years Earlier...
Pain returned first. Then heat. Then breathe.
Caesar shot up from his cot, gasping as if pulled from drowning. The air smelled of oil, parchment, and stale magic. Stone walls surrounded him, cracked windows, and
He blinked.
He recognized this room.
The dormitory of Class E. The lowest tier of Eutherian Imperial Academy.
The year on the wall calendar sent a chill down his bones.
204 A.A.
Three years before his fall.
One year before he earned his first exile.
Seven years before he would challenge the crown.
Caesar clenched his fists. They were smaller. Unscarred. His body was young — his magic nearly dormant.
But in his mind surged the rage, memories, and knowledge of a man who had once climbed the highest peaks…
…and been pushed off by those who feared he might never fall.
"This time," he muttered, voice razor-sharp with promise,
"I won't stop until I stand at the peak. Even if I have to burn the heavens to get there."