The carriage rattled to a stop outside the Bellet estate just as the morning sun had climbed high enough to wash the sky in gold. Ashura stepped down, chest straight, cloak brushing lightly against the grass, amethyst sparks curling faintly around his hands. Behind him, the manor stood quiet and serene, with Arlena Bellet and Gina Bellet watching from the balcony.
Ashura gave them both a sharp, confident nod. "I'll return before you've even had the chance to nag me too much," he said with a smirk. "Stay safe, and leave nothing undone while I'm gone."
"Don't push yourself too far," Arlena called, voice soft but carrying the weight of a mother's concern.
He didn't respond, only smiled, letting the statement linger. There was nothing left to say. The time for farewells had passed.
Ashura's journey began by foot, though not the casual stroll of a traveler. The ground beneath him hummed faintly with energy as he channeled his Storm Veins, legs propelling him forward at speeds no ordinary human could follow. Trees blurred past, mountains flattened, rivers were crossed in heartbeats, and even the wind seemed to bend around him as he surged north. When the terrain grew too dense or the distances too vast, he let his lightning-charged flight carry him, body glowing faintly with purple electricity as the world rushed beneath him.
Hours bled into days. The forests of the central continent faded, replaced by barren tundras and jagged cliffs. Cold winds whipped against his face, but he welcomed it — the air carried the scent of untamed lands, of beasts unbroken and gods unforgotten.
Finally, after three days of relentless pace, the northern continent appeared on the horizon.
The continent was known as Thryndal, a land shrouded in legend and whispers, feared and revered in equal measure. Few dared to tread there, for Thryndal was home to the remnants of old gods' power, beasts that had survived the fall of empires, and landscapes carved by storms that could erase entire villages in a heartbeat.
Rivers of silver ice cut through jagged mountains, forests of crystalline trees glimmered faintly in the light, and the ground itself pulsed with an underlying, unnatural rhythm — as if the land were alive and watching.
It was a place where ordinary mortals died in days, where the bravest hunters found themselves reduced to scraps, and where only the strongest, or the most cunning, survived.
And Ashura Bellet was neither ordinary nor mortal.
As he entered Thryndal's outer wilderness, Ashura slowed, letting his senses sweep the area. Every gust of wind, every flicker of shadow, every faint sound of life was cataloged in his mind like a map.
"The north," he muttered under his breath, smirk curling his lips. "Cold, dangerous… but boring isn't part of your vocabulary, is it?"
Lightning traced along his arms as he flexed, taking in the alien landscape. Mountains loomed in the distance, jagged peaks scraping the skies, while forests of crystalline trees reflected the sunlight like a thousand mirrors. Every step forward seemed to resonate with the land itself, the energy beneath the surface humbling even someone like him.
Despite the vast emptiness, the air was heavy with potential. Ancient beasts slept beneath the ice, remnants of old godlike powers lingered in the stone, and storms whispered of trials yet to come.
Ashura's grin widened. He could feel it — the continent was alive with challenge, with life that demanded skill, speed, and ruthlessness. Perfect.
He paused atop a ridge, looking down at the frozen valleys stretching for miles. "Let's see who's first," he murmured. Amethyst sparks crackled across his body, the familiar surge of Storm Veins igniting. With a single leap, he descended into the valley, moving faster than the eye could track, a shadow of lightning and intent.
This was no ordinary adventure. Every step forward, every breath drawn, was the prelude to the battles waiting in Thryndal. And Ashura would face them all