Chapter 4: Awakening Beneath Nine Suns
The Magus World was a realm that defied mortal imagination—a land not bound by oceans, continents, or time, but an eternal continent adrift in the void. Its edges were lost in an endless sea of aether, a realm so vast that trillions of Earths could vanish within it and yet leave the smallest corner unfilled. To a mortal eye, it was incomprehensible, an infinite expanse that seemed to breathe and pulse with life of its own. Yet even the most brilliant mortal minds could not fathom its true scale. Only the eternal sovereigns—the Autarchs—possessed the perception and mastery to grasp the Magus World's actual boundaries, beings whose consciousness spanned continents and whose presence could bend the laws themselves.
Far above the majority of the world's inhabitants walked the Superior Races, beings that had become legends even among immortals. The Aetherion moved through dimensions as if stepping across empty rooms, leaving no trace of their passage, untouchable and unseen. The Voidborn lingered in the silent spaces where nothingness whispered, shadows bending to their will. The Excion left trails of annihilation in their wake, whole forests or mountains erased with a thought. The Revivans, eternal and ever-healing, could defy even the certainty of death, their bodies knitting themselves whole again from wounds that would kill ordinary beings. And then there were the Titans, colossal beings of unimaginable size, whose footsteps carved valleys and raised mountains, whose mere presence could stir storms and shake continents.
To the far east of this infinite land lay Elfheim, the legendary homeland of the elves. It was a place that made mortals' minds shatter at its beauty and scale. Forests towered higher than clouds, their leaves shimmering like spun silver. Rivers flowed like liquid starlight, reflecting the blazing glory of the Nine Suns, each a living orb of fire that circled the continent in eternal harmony. Together, they bathed the land in brilliance capable of melting stone, yet tempered enough to nurture life with exquisite care. Every sunrise was a spectacle of light and color, a display that humbled even the most haughty of travelers.
At the heart of Elfheim rose its pride and crowning jewel: Sunhaven, a city of impossible scale. Carved entirely from Sunstones, crystalline and golden, it seemed as though the city had been forged from sunlight itself. The spires pierced the heavens, streets sparkled with luminous fountains, and terraces stretched for miles, glittering in perpetual daylight. From the highest tower, one could see the endless forests, rivers, and mountain ranges rolling outward like a sea of green and gold. Sunhaven was more than a city—it was the very heart of elven civilization.
The hierarchy of Elfheim was clear and unyielding. The Sun Elves of House Aurelius held absolute authority, their dominance reinforced by five of the nine Autarchs among all elves. The Moon Elves of Moonveil Dukedom commanded two Autarchs, the High Elves of Starforest Duchy one, and the Dark Elves of Duskveil Dukedom one as well. While each house retained its own authority, all bowed to the light of the Aurelians. Laws, magic, and military strategy flowed outward from Sunhaven like rivers of gold, and all elvenkind revolved around the radiance of the Nine Suns.
And yet, even with this supremacy, elves were considered a middle-tier race in the greater Magus World. Countless other races—the Titans of Obsidian Reach, the skyborne Seraphim, the shadow-born of the Abyss, and others—each commanded multiple Autarchs, some numbering in the dozens. Their power far exceeded that of even the combined strength of Elfheim. For in this world, strength was measured by the number of Law Beings a race could command, and the Sun Elves, radiant though they were, were dwarfed by the empires of higher Autarch-count races.
Amid this grandeur, Ezra lay in his cradle, surrounded by the opulence of a room designed for royalty. The walls shimmered with panels of sunstone and gold, each etched with intricate motifs depicting legendary battles and celestial phenomena. Terraces of gold leaf stretched along the edges of the room, their surfaces dotted with magical art pieces that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. Crystal chandeliers refracted the light of the Nine Suns, casting dancing patterns across silk sheets dyed in golden and crimson hues. Every corner of the room held treasures: ancient scrolls, enchanted ornaments, and delicate sculptures carved from Sunstone, all infused with mana that hummed faintly in the air. The air itself seemed to pulse with potential.
Ezra's small hands traced the edges of the silk sheets as his eyes drifted over the art around him. Already, even in infancy, he understood the magnitude of what lay ahead. He knew he had to form his mana core before the deadly poison, Voidbane, took root in his body. He knew, from his life as a novelist, that only superior races were born with an innate mana core. No elf, not even a prodigy, awakened before the age of five, and even then, it was a rare miracle. Most elves only began forming cores at ten years old, the same as human children, yet their lifespans stretched ten thousand years, granting them a trajectory of power far beyond mortals. Once they entered the path of cultivation, their lives extended fivefold, and their potential seemed limitless.
Ezra's mind raced with calculations, memories of his previous life as an author mingling with instinct. He recalled the treasures, elixirs, and techniques he had written into his novel—tools that could awaken a mana core, amplify it, and guide a young elf toward greatness. Yet Voidbane was a problem unlike any he had anticipated. No mortal concoction or mythical elixir could guarantee immunity. He thought of Valen, the lucky bastard who had discovered the poison while adventuring, and a pang of envy and frustration struck him.
He exhaled, the crisp air scented faintly with the lingering warmth of sunstone and gold. "I have to try… I have to form it now, or I'll walk the same path as Ezra, the one in my novel," he thought grimly. His infant mind, sharpened by memories of a life lived elsewhere, began the process of meditation, focusing inward as he had read countless descriptions of cultivation in his own writing. He sought to calm his spirit, sense the threads of mana, and pull them toward the center of his chest where the mana core should form.
At first, nothing happened. A small twinge of disappointment rose in him. But then, slowly, faint threads of warmth began to curl along his consciousness like living ribbons. They shimmered in his mind, weaving and twisting, almost playful in their motion. His eyes snapped open—and what he saw stole his breath.
Mana flowed visibly around him, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing in the air, threads of energy connecting every object, every surface, and even the sunstone walls themselves. He could see the flow of the Nine Suns' radiance through the room, the magical hum of the crystalline spires, and the faint aura lingering around each treasure scattered in the room. The energy wasn't just visible—it was tangible, a living current that seemed to pulse in harmony with his heartbeat.
A small, astonished smile crept across Ezra's lips. "I never thought it would be this… easy. Was the original Ezra really this talented, or is this because of my reincarnation? Either way… it's a pleasant surprise." He could feel the threads of energy bending to his will, pulling toward the center of his chest, knitting together, and beginning to form the outline of a core. It was fragile, delicate, yet unmistakably alive.
The golden walls of his room seemed to respond to him, the sunstones glowing warmer as if encouraging him. The art on the walls—the battles, the celestial motifs, the intricate depictions of law and mana—appeared to shimmer, almost as though they were acknowledging his awakening. The silk sheets under his tiny body reflected a faint spectrum of mana, colors he could name and feel simultaneously. Even the chandelier's crystals seemed to pulse in tandem with the new core forming within him.
Ezra's mind drifted, touching on countless possibilities. He remembered the paths he had written into his novel—the treasures that could enhance a core, the elixirs that could stabilize it, and the techniques that could accelerate awakening. Each thought was a step, each memory a guide. But Voidbane remained a looming threat.
Still, despite the danger, a thrill ran through him. This was his world now, and every piece of knowledge he had from his previous life could be a weapon, a shield, or a bridge to power. He imagined the city outside—Sunhaven, its golden spires stretching toward the Nine Suns, the streets alive with the flow of magic and light. He imagined the forests beyond, where Moon Elves, High Elves, and Dark Elves moved with grace and power, all under the shadow of Sunhaven's brilliance. And within this sprawling, radiant empire, he would carve his own path, forging power that no ordinary elf had ever dreamed of.
And so, with tiny fists gripping the silk sheets and golden sunlight bathing his room in warmth, Ezra focused. Threads of mana intertwined, colors shifting, a core forming. Each pulse was a heartbeat, each shimmer a promise. He had taken the first step toward destiny, toward awakening, toward a life that stretched far beyond the limits of even the most ambitious elf in Elfheim. And in the quiet, golden sanctum of his room, surrounded by treasures and art, sunlight and magic, the first spark of something extraordinary ignited within him—the awakening of a prodigy, reborn and determined to defy fate itself.