''The world's balance of power was not determined only by strength or cunning, but by the Crest each person bore. A Crest was not a mere symbol or decoration It was the living mark of one's magic circuit, etched deep within the soul and projected outward onto the skin like an ancient emblem.
Each individual was born with a unique Crest, though its form remained dormant until the first surge of mana awakened it. Once revealed, the Crest became the visible map of one's magical pathways: the lines that dictated how fast mana could flow, how stable it would remain, and how much strain the body could endure.
No two Crests were the same. Some resembled intricate spirals, others like shattered constellations, and a rare few carried shapes that legends claimed were fragments of the primordial language of creation itself. The complexity of the Crest often indicated the potential of its bearer, but raw design alone did not define mastery, discipline, control, and willpower were equally decisive.
Scholars classified Crests into tiers.
Faint Crests, the most common, often little more than dim lines etched faintly upon the skin. Their circuits are simple, prone to exhaustion, and allowed only minor spells. Yet, many who bore them lived long, quiet lives, their small sparks of magic enough for survival and daily craft.
Iron Crests, sturdy and coarse, these Crests glowed faintly with a metallic hue. They offered stable channels of mana, though limited in flow, making their bearers reliable but predictable. Soldiers and guardians with Iron Crests became the backbone of cities, wielding magic not with brilliance, but with perseverance, generally used to enhance the body of the bearer.
Fractured Crests, jagged and unstable, as though cracked by an unseen hand. Their magic surged violently, granting bursts of overwhelming strength at the cost of the bearer's body. Those who bore Fractured Crests were feared on battlefields, but often perished young, consumed by their own power.
Veiled Crests, shrouded and mysterious, these Crests manifested with patterns that shifted like smoke or shadow. Their circuits were adaptive, allowing bearers to twist their mana into illusions, curses, or subtle arts unseen by ordinary eyes. Veiled Crests were the mark of assassins, tricksters, and seers.
Celestial Crests, rare and radiant, these appeared as constellations, stars drawn into the skin itself. Their circuits aligned with cosmic patterns, giving their wielders insight into vast reserves of mana, though often at the cost of their sanity. Those with Celestial Crests were revered as prophets or condemned as madmen.
And… the Luminous Crests… the rarest of the Crests, symbols that gleamed with silver or golden light, never fading. To bear such a mark was to carry the potential to change the course of history itself. Their circuits pulsed with perfect balance, channeling mana with both infinite depth and flawless control. Kings, saints, and also… Destroyers. Those with Luminous Crests became the architects of ages and—''
"A-Ah!" shouted several students at once as the entire classroom shook violently. Desks rattled, books tumbled to the floor, and chalk cracked against the blackboard.
Rykiel jolted awake, nearly falling from his chair. His classmates' startled cries mixed with the low rumble echoing through the room. The tremor was so strong that a few ceiling tiles loosened, and the fluorescent lights swayed above their heads.
The teacher froze, gripping the edge of her desk.
"E-Everyone, stay calm!" she tried to say, though her own voice wavered.
Students were already murmuring anxiously:
"Is it an earthquake?" "No, it's too sudden!" "My phone says nothing—what's going on?!"
Rykiel, still groggy from his interrupted nap, blinked toward the television mounted high in the corner of the classroom. The radio of school, which had been left on as background noise, suddenly cut to an emergency broadcast. The reporter's voice trembled almost as much as the building itself:
"Possible tremors may be felt in certain parts of the city. Our honorable hero Aissil is currently battling deviants that move underground. His strikes… may be causing—"
Before she could finish, the entire classroom lurched again. Chairs screeched across the tiles, and the teacher stumbled forward. Gasps filled the air.
On the radio, the reporter herself lost her balance mid-broadcast, falling from her chair as another powerful shock hit. Then the feed cut to shaky live footage: the towering figure of Aissil hammering his fists into the ground, each blow sending shockwaves through the streets.
Rykiel and his classmates pressed toward the windows, trying to glimpse what little they could from the school's view. Even from afar, it was clear, the city trembled with every strike.
"Are we… feeling that? From here?" one student whispered in disbelief.
The ground continued to rumble on and off, the classroom quivering with each tremor, until at last the disturbances stopped. Silence slowly returned, broken only by nervous laughter and the sound of students picking their books and pens back up from the floor.
"It seems…" the reporter's voice returned faintly from the television, "…that our hero has managed to contain the Deviants threatening local safety."
Rykiel exhaled, slumping back into his chair. Around him, his classmates were still buzzing with shock, whispering about how close they had all come to disaster.
***
The silence after the last tremor lingered like a heavy fog. Nobody in the classroom dared to move at first, half-expecting the floor to start shaking again.
Then, faint cheers could be heard outside the school building. Students nearest to the windows leaned out and saw groups of people down the street pointing toward the distant skyline. Smoke rose faintly in the distance, but the tremors had stopped.
On the radio, the reporter had returned, sweaty, shaken, but determined to continue.
"It appears," she said with relief in her voice, "That hero Aissil has finally subdued the deviants. After a fierce struggle underground, he delivered a decisive strike that collapsed their tunnel system. The threat has been neutralized. The tremors should now cease."
The teacher, who had been gripping the desk with white knuckles, finally released her hold and exhaled audibly.
"Alright, class… everyone stay seated. The worst seems to be over."
Laughter, nervous, shaky, spread through the students as they bent down to gather their scattered supplies. One boy found his pen snapped in half from being crushed under a desk leg, another girl cradled her phone with a cracked screen.
Rykiel rubbed his head, still half-dazed. He looked up at the window once more, where he now saw Aissil flying above the ruined street, surrounded by emergency crews. Though the ground was calm again, the sight of the mighty hero wiping dust from his fists made Rykiel's stomach knot with unease.
"Heroes with Iron Crest…" he muttered under his breath, unheard by anyone.
"If just fighting with single punches makes the earth shake like this… what happens when they lose control?"
The classroom gradually settled back into a fragile normalcy. But for Rykiel, the rumble hadn't just shaken the floor, it had stirred a question that refused to quiet inside him.
As the time passed, the sun started to set, and the school started the last classes of the schedule. Every student in that time was already thinking about the first thing to do when they arrive in their houses, and Rykiel was not different, he was thinking about which game would he play.
After the teacher end her class, the students started to pack their things in that simple backpacks that were developed by the own school, with some straps on inside parts.
When Rykiel was about to go to the gate of the school, heared a scream right behind him.
"Hey Rykiel! Going home alone?"
When the boy turned back, he saw his friend from another class, Otto.
"Oh, hey Otto! Yeah, I'm just going to pass through the store to get food that will support me in this week. But sure, I am." Said Rykiel.
''Aw C'mon man, you know we're neighboors, I can go with you! Said Otto with a smile in his face.
''Okay then…''
The boys started to walk through the streets, it was night, sometime around 8 p.m. When they arrived the store, Rykiel bought the instant noodles he used to eat, and also some soda while talking with Otto.
''Wait… So you're saying that a Deviant was chasing you… And then a mysterious girl appeared and sliced him… IN HALF?! How was she like?!'' Asked Otto, with a great glow at his eyes, and a scream that could easily rip the throat of anyone, it seems he didn't notice they're in a store.
''Yeah, and I couldn't even see her, she just appeared and then… Boom! Disappeared. The only thing I remember is that she had a Crest in her chest… And It was shining brightly, so much that I couldn't see nothing, besides her silhouette.'' Said Rykiel while drinking a bottle of soda.
Then, they arrived at a street that connected both houses.
''So, I guess that we separate here. Bye Rykiel!'' Said the boy while walking to his house, shaking his hand on the air.
Rykiel then turned around to his street and started walking. While walking, that moment went to his head again… The strenght that bearers of a Crest had, and how dangerous It was if bad people used it.
''Wow… This is really a thing to think…'' Whispered Rykiel while opened the door of his small house and went into.