The sun had barely risen over the mountains of Aurelia, but the wooden floors of the Styl residence were already creaking under the weight of constant movement.
Mael Styl lay sprawled on the floor, tangled in blankets, breathing hard. Sweat clung to his brow, and the remnants of a dream—vivid, blazing, terrifying—still lingered.
A shadow fell across him.
> "Still dreaming of the stars, boy?"
Mael scrambled upright, blinking. His grandfather, Gaius Styl, stood by the window, silver hair catching the first rays of sunlight, a polished blade in hand that seemed to hum with a quiet power.
> "Grandfather… I—" Mael began, but words failed him.
Gaius's lips curled into a faint smirk.
> "You woke in a sweat. Again. I saw the nightmares, Mael. Dreams of fire, shadows, and… gods."
Mael swallowed. He had no memory of why such dreams haunted him, only that his pulse raced, his hands tingled, and an unexplainable warmth pooled deep inside his chest.
> "It's nothing," he muttered.
> "Nothing?" Gaius's voice carried the weight of mountains. "You're sweating like a novice in their first sparring session, and yet you hide behind calm words. That's not 'nothing,' boy."
Mael's gaze fell to the floor. He had trained with his grandfather for years, but something had changed. The dreams… the power in his veins… it was growing, evolving, almost calling out to him.
> "Fine," he admitted. "I can feel it. Something… inside me. Stronger than anything I've known. But I don't know what it is."
Gaius nodded slowly, almost knowingly.
> "You feel it because you are meant to. Your essence… it's unique, Mael. Stronger than most. But raw power alone is useless without control. Come. Training waits."
---
By the time breakfast was finished—a simple meal of bread, cheese, and roasted herbs—Mael was already in the training yard. The sun had fully risen, casting long shadows over the cobblestone courtyard.
Gaius stood across from him, a steel practice blade in hand. His movements were precise, deliberate, and every step seemed to carve the air itself.
> "Space-Time essence," Gaius said casually, watching Mael fumble with a wooden sword. "It's not just a sword or a shield. It's control over reality itself. And you… you're awakening faster than I expected."
Mael swallowed. He had never told anyone—not even Kael or Serenya, who didn't exist in his life yet—that when he swung a blade in dreams or moved during nightmares, objects would bend around him. Blades would stop midair. Time would lag. Shadows would twist unnaturally.
> "Faster than expected?" he asked cautiously.
> "Yes," Gaius said, finally lowering his practice blade. "You're already surpassing Tier 6 control. Most students barely reach Tier 9 in the Academy entrance exam."
Mael froze. His heart thudded. Tier 6? Already? That was a level the Academy considered dangerous for even minor noble students, and the minimum requirement to enter Zenith Academy was Tier 9.
> "Then… I can go?" he whispered.
> "Not yet," Gaius replied, a shadow of a frown crossing his face. "Control, patience, and understanding of your essence come first. One misstep, and the Space-Time essence can tear the world apart—or yourself with it."
Mael nodded, determination flaring in his chest. He didn't know why, but he had to master this power. For the dreams. For the strange pull in his chest. For a promise he couldn't remember yet.
---
The day passed in a blur of training. Mael dodged projectiles that bent unnaturally around him, swung his blade, and practiced spatial jumps that lifted him over walls. Gaius watched every move, correcting form, and occasionally shaking his head with a sigh.
By evening, Mael was exhausted. Muscles burned, sweat dripped, and his mind raced with questions. He gazed at the horizon, where the mountains caught fire with the setting sun.
> "Grandfather…" Mael began, hesitating. "Why do I feel like… I've done this before? The training… the dreams… like I'm remembering something I never lived."
Gaius's eyes darkened, heavy with unspoken truths.
> "Some powers… some legacies… are not born from this life. They return because they must. One day, Mael, you'll understand. And the world will need you."
The words hung in the air, weighty and profound. Mael didn't understand yet, but a spark had ignited—a sense that his life was about to change. That he was no ordinary boy.
And somewhere, deep within the recesses of his soul, a memory stirred… a blade of light. A battle. A scream. A world on fire.
Mael Styl was about to step into Zenith Academy, and nothing would ever be the same.
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