Meanwhile, unaware of the thoughts of the sailors around him, Elarion was busy recollecting his thoughts. He sat back, motionless in the smoky haze, the raucous laughter of sailors fading into a distant hum as he wrestled with his racing thoughts. That fleeting spark of energy when he steadied the drunken sailor had jolted him, his heart pounding as if it might break free from his chest. Yet, to his relief, the outburst had been minor—unnoticed even by the man he'd helped, who now staggered back to his table, oblivious to the faint crackle that had danced between them. And honestly, while steadying the man, he felt a bit "light", as if what he was holding wasn't an adult man but rather a small sized bag of flour. This amazed and also unnerved him. Staring at his tattered robe, with the faint light it glimmed while been covered under the simple cloak and hood reflecting the runes on his robe, he could feel it pulse faintly like a beating heart. A reminder of how he still hadn't gotten an understanding of where he was, who he was and most importantly, what he was.
Lost in his introspection, Elarion barely registered the ambient noise until a sharp, alien sound pierced his reverie—a soft ding. His sharp eyes darted around, searching for the source, but the tavern's patrons continued their revelry, unaware. Then it came again: "Ding, system online… activating talent, ding talent has been activated. Registering talent, ding 'Ex Infinite Mana' talent has been registered. Small support system online."
The words echoed in his mind, clear as a bell despite the din, as if spoken directly into his consciousness. Elarion froze, his gloved hands tightening around the edge of the table. This was no tavern trick —this was something new, something foreign. The Stone at his robe's clasp thrummed with a resonance he hadn't felt before, its glow intensifying as if responding to the unseen "system." His breath caught as he processed the phrase: Ex Infinite Mana. A talent? A gift that reminded him of the one thing all worthy transmigrators possessed, a System.
Inside his mind, a faint interface flickered into existence—a translucent panel of light, hovering just beyond his vision. It displayed a simple status:
Talent: Ex Infinite Mana
Description: Grants an inexhaustible reservoir of Aetheric energy, unbound by natural limits.
Status: Active
Support System: Online – Provides guidance, and analysis.
A surge of adrenaline mixed with awe coursed through him. This could change everything. Elarion tensed in his seat, the system's chime still reverberating in his skull like an unwelcome intruder. And then, the words "Host please prepare to receive your predecessor's memories" chimed in his mind, a command that brooked no refusal. Before he could question it—before he could even brace himself—a torrent surged through his consciousness.
It began as a trickle: fragmented images, alien yet vivid, flooding his thoughts. He gripped the table's edge, his knuckles whitening beneath his gloves, as the memories played as if watching a movie on a 100inches Tv. This memories revealed truths about where he was and who he was. Turns out he was in a world known as Terra, a world bound by aetheric laws, where power stemmed from magic. He saw massive jagged mountains and countless ancient ruins, each bearing aura's that seemed boundless and yet terrifying. He saw countless corrupted monsters. This memories belonged to a man named Elarion Voss, who shared the same first name with him and was the original owner of the body he was in.
Born under the fractured skies of the Elderglow's fading light, he hailed from the remote village of Thornveil, nestled in the shadow of the Jagged Wastes on Skyend Continent. As a child, Elarion was marked by fate—or curse—when a rogue Aetheric storm ravaged his home, leaving him the sole survivor. The storm, a remnant of the Cataclysm, infused his veins with raw celestial energy, granting him glimpses of forgotten visions and a subtle command over minor enchantments. But it also scarred him, etching faint, glowing runes in the shape of a cross on his forehead and jagged lines into his skin that he concealed beneath his robe, symbols that mirrored those on the ancient ruins.