Khan Ackerman sat in the silence of his study like a king in exile, his weathered hands resting on the surface of an ancient oak desk that had once been the command center of a mighty house. The room around him told the story of their fall in every detail - faded tapestries hung askew on cracked walls, leather-bound books lay scattered and gathering dust, and the air carried the lingering scent of ash and old memories.
Golden morning light streamed through windows spider-webbed with fractures, casting dancing patterns of shadow and illumination across the floor. Dust motes drifted lazily through the beams like tiny ghosts, and despite the crushing quiet, the weight of history pressed down on everything. This room had once echoed with the voices of generals planning campaigns, advisors debating policy, and family members arguing over the future of their bloodline.
Now it was just Khan, alone with his thoughts and the ghosts of better days.
He leaned back in his chair, the worn leather creaking under his weight like old bones settling. In this moment, stripped of all pretense and ceremony, Khan wasn't the feared warrior or strategic mastermind that people whispered about. He was just a man carrying the crushing burden of watching everything he'd ever loved crumble to dust.
The few servants who remained at the estate still called him "Lord Khan" out of habit and respect. The title felt hollow now, like wearing armor made of paper, but it provided a thin thread of continuity in a world that had torn away everything else they'd once held dear. The brutal truth was that the Ackerman family no longer possessed any real power or influence. They were ghosts haunting their own ancestral home, clinging to a bloodline that the world had already forgotten.
In this same study, not so long ago, his elder brother Zeke had stood tall and proud - the last true Lord of House Ackerman.
Zeke had been a giant among men in every sense that mattered. Not just in physical stature, though he had towered over most people, but in the sheer overwhelming presence he radiated. As a Grandmaster+ ranked warrior, his mere existence had been enough to make even Paragon-level fighters think twice before challenging him. It wasn't his title or his noble birth that commanded such respect - it was the devastating power he wielded.
Black Star.
The technique wasn't just a fighting style or a family tradition. It was the very soul of what it meant to be an Ackerman, passed down through generations like a sacred flame.
Every Tier One family possessed a signature technique so distinctive and powerful that it justified their position at the top of the world's hierarchy. For the Ackermans, Black Star had been their crown jewel - a cursed and revered ability that didn't simply manipulate energy like other techniques. Instead, it consumed and broke down the fundamental forces of Aura, Mana, and Spirit energy themselves, devouring them like a hungry void and transforming them into raw, concentrated destruction.
A true wielder of Black Star wasn't just another warrior on the battlefield. They were a walking catastrophe, a living reminder that some bloodlines carried power that bordered on the divine.
The fear and respect that technique had earned them among rival families had been their shield for centuries, keeping enemies at bay through reputation alone.
Until the day everything changed.
Until the world discovered that Zeke - despite all his strength, despite his incredible rank and skill - didn't actually possess the family's legendary technique.
The revelation spread like wildfire through the political underground. Whispers became shouts. Speculation turned into cold, hard strategy. The delicate balance of power that had kept the Ackermans safe began to crack and crumble.
And like carrion birds circling a dying animal, the lesser families began to gather.
Tier Two houses that had nursed grudges for generations. Tier Three families hungry for advancement. Even unranked opportunists looking to make names for themselves in the chaos.
All of them joined the feeding frenzy that followed.
They attacked under the righteous banner of "restoring balance," publicly accusing the Ackermans of fraud and deception. They claimed the family had been faking their heritage for years, that they lacked the true core abilities that made them worthy of Tier One status. What started as political maneuvering quickly escalated into open warfare, with House Ackerman caught in the center of a storm that threatened to tear the entire region apart.
Zeke, true to his nature as the family's protector, had stood firm against the tide. Defiant until the end, sword drawn and aura blazing like a beacon of defiance against the darkness.
And he had died for it.
Died protecting a name. Died defending people who could never repay the sacrifice. Died believing that honor mattered more than survival.
Now Khan was left to rule over nothing but ruins and bitter memories.
He exhaled slowly, his dark eyes fixed on the cracked spine of an ancient strategy manual that lay open before him. For months now, he had been pushing himself to the absolute limit, training with desperate intensity to reach the Grandmaster+ rank that might allow him to reclaim even a fraction of what they had lost. Every night he bled and sweated and tore at his own limitations, trying to force his aura core to evolve through sheer willpower.
But his progress had stalled completely. No matter how much pain he endured or how hard he pushed himself, his power refused to grow beyond its current boundaries.
It was maddening. It was humiliating. It was the kind of weakness that got people killed in this brutal world.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked like breaking twigs, his thoughts spiraling down into familiar patterns of bitterness and self-recrimination. The same endless cycle of regret and desperate planning that had consumed his nights for months.
But then, cutting through his brooding like a lightning bolt, he felt something impossible.
An explosion of presence that struck his awareness like a physical blow.
It wasn't sound - nothing so simple as that. It was pure pressure, a shockwave of raw, untamed energy that made every nerve in his body sing with recognition. The sensation was distant and still relatively weak, like sensing a candle flame from across a vast room, but there was something unmistakably familiar about its particular flavor.
It burned with hunger. It seethed with barely controlled violence. Most importantly, it carried that distinctive collapsing pressure that he hadn't felt in years.
Khan rose from his chair in one fluid motion, his brows drawing together in concentration as his own aura automatically sharpened in response to the perceived threat. He moved to the window and squinted toward the distant horizon, trying to pinpoint the source of what he was sensing.
The energy signature was weak - barely stronger than what a novice might produce during their first successful manifestation. But beneath that fragile surface lay something deeper, something that sang to him on a level beyond conscious thought.
It felt like Zeke. Like an echo of his brother's power calling out from beyond the grave.
But that was impossible. Zeke was dead and buried, and techniques didn't transfer to new hosts without the proper bloodline inheritance.
Unless...
His mind began racing as the implications hit him like a series of hammer blows. The energy wasn't refined or stable - it clearly belonged to someone who had only just awakened their abilities.
There was only one person it could be.
"Fenix," he whispered aloud, and despite himself, a slow grin began to spread across his weathered features.
Could this really be happening? Could their family's resurrection be starting with a boy who everyone had written off as weak and worthless? His thoughts churned with possibilities as strategies began forming in the back of his mind.
For now, though, he would wait and watch. No interference, no premature guidance that might disrupt whatever natural awakening was taking place.
But if his suspicions were correct, then perhaps their long exile in the wilderness was finally coming to an end.
---
The morning sun had climbed fully into the sky, painting the cracked buildings of Ackerman Estate in shades of gold and amber that almost made the ruins look beautiful.
On a rickety bed, a young man sat cross-legged. His distinctive snow-white hair seemed to glow with its own inner light, creating a stark contrast against the shadows that surrounded him.
Fenix Ackerman was lost in thought, completely focused on the sensations still coursing through his nearly awakened body.
His hands moved slowly as he studied them, fingers curling and straightening as he marveled at the lingering traces of power that danced just beneath his skin. His entire being still tingled from yesterday's breakthrough - that incredible moment when something deep inside him had finally cracked open and released a flood of energy he'd never imagined possible.
It had been the first time since arriving in this strange world that he'd felt truly, completely alive.
Since becoming "Fenix" in more than just name.
The truth was, he still wasn't entirely sure who he really was underneath it all. The memories that belonged to this body's original owner drifted through his consciousness like half-remembered dreams, mixing with his own experiences until it was impossible to tell where one identity ended and the other began. But whatever confusion existed about his past, his purpose moving forward was crystal clear.
He would become stronger than anyone in this world had ever imagined possible.
And he would protect the people who mattered to him, starting with his sister.
That resolve settled in his chest like a warm coal, steady and unshakeable.
He reached out with his consciousness and spoke a single word: "Status."
The familiar translucent screen materialized in the air before him, its pale blue glow casting strange shadows on the broken walls. Clean, precise text appeared line by line, displaying information that felt both alien and deeply personal.
---
Character Profile
Name: Fenix Ackerman
Age: 14
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Aura Core: Dormant
Rank: N/A
Attributes:
- Strength: 5
- Agility: 6 → 7
- Endurance: 6 → 7
- Intelligence: 10
Abilities:
Innate Skills:
Black Star - locked: A unique Ackerman family trait that manifests as a collapsing black aura. It passively devours aura, mana, and spirit energy on contact, feeding the user's power. The trait activates instinctively in combat, enhancing speed, strength, and survival drive.
---
His eyes scanned the information carefully, noting the changes that had occurred since his awakening. His physical attributes had improved across the board - clearly a result of yesterday's grueling training session combined with the fundamental changes that came with activating his aura core. Most importantly, his core was still listed as "Dormant."
He sighed, but not in defeat.
That'll change. Soon.
He dismissed the screen with a thought and straightened his posture, drawing in a deep breath as he prepared to test his newfound abilities.
The crimson aura burst forth from his chest like liquid fire, wrapping around his body in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Unlike yesterday's wild, uncontrolled explosion, this manifestation felt more stable - still raw and unrefined, but responsive to his will in a way that filled him with confidence.
He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation, trying to compress and shape the energy according to his intentions. There was no formal technique yet, no master's guidance to show him the proper forms. But the fundamental connection was there, that bridge between will and reality that separated true warriors from ordinary people.
As he sat in meditation, the room around him took on a faint red glow that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. In his mind's eye, he could see the flames of his determination not as tools of destruction, but as instruments of protection - weapons that would burn away anything that dared threaten the people he loved.
He would forge that inner fire into something magnificent and terrible.
And someday, when he had grown strong enough, even the stars themselves would acknowledge his power.