The faint glow of candlelight flickered across the room, tracing shadows along the walls. I closed the final book and leaned back against the headboard, the faint scent of ink and parchment still clinging to my hands. Four days. Four days buried in the Knight family library — reading, memorizing, understanding. And now, the pieces were finally beginning to fit.
This world… was called Eden. A realm vast and layered, divided not only by mountains and seas but by races — each proud, powerful, and fractured in their own ways. Humanity ruled the central continent, their empires built upon ambition and greed. Beyond them lay the Elarion Woods, home of the elves — beings attuned to the flow of mana itself.
To the north, beneath the roots of the stone mountains, the Dwarves of Rygden carved their cities in gold and granite. And far to the west… the skies belonged to dragons.
Once, these races were at each other's throats. Old wars, ancient betrayals — battles fought over resources, borders, pride. For centuries, Eden bled itself dry. Until the world itself began to crack.
It was written that a hundred years ago, something weakened the world core — the very heart of Eden, the force that maintained balance. No one knew how, or why, but that fracture tore open a passage to another realm. From it came the Demons. They weren't mindless beasts, as the early texts claimed. They were something worse — intelligent, driven, and endless. Their invasion nearly erased the known world. Cities fell. Mountains burned. The skies turned black for seven years.
And then… came the Heroes. Each race had one — chosen by the flow of mana itself, wielding power beyond mortal reach. They united the scattered armies, led the final stand, and sealed the rift that birthed the demons. But victory demanded sacrifice. The heroes of every race — human, elf, dwarf, dragon — gave their souls to restore the core of Eden, strengthening the barrier between worlds. The Demon King was banished, sealed beyond reach. The price was peace — fragile, uneasy, but real.
Now, a century later, that alliance still stood, though barely. The elves and dwarves worked together through gritted teeth, their cooperation more treaty than friendship. The dragons… remained distant, closing their skies and vanishing into isolation.
And yet, one bond from that era endured — the founding of the Imperial Academy of Aetherion. A place where the most gifted among all races gathered — to train, to study, and to ensure that no catastrophe like the Demon War would happen again. Humanity's pride. Eden's greatest hope.
I turned the candlewick lower, the shadows deepening across the room. My gaze drifted toward the ceiling as the weight of it all settled.
Mana, the breath of the world — the energy that flowed through everything living. Aura, born from will — the weapon of those who trained body and blade. And Divinity, the rarest of all — the touch of something beyond mortality, possessed only by saints or monsters.
Potential. Strength wasn't only learned or trained. It could be hereditary, passed from parent to child, though not always. Sometimes parents with low potential gave birth to children who suddenly carried extraordinary talent — rare, but possible.
Bloodline power was different. It was a gift of the gods, a divine spark — not inherited, not bound by family. A god could choose anyone as their avatar, granting immense power. It could appear in the first generation, or vanish for fifty generations before a new human was chosen. It might emerge in a noble family, or in an orphan with no name. The rarity of it was staggering. Only a handful of humans had ever carried a bloodline power in history, and even now, maybe three or four existed in the entire world — aside from a few central figures destined for key roles.
Some were born blessed. Others forged their strength through pain. Bloodline or not, power demanded trial and sacrifice.
I closed my eyes, letting the information settle. In my old world, intelligence was learned. Here, it seemed written in the soul. But even in this place… rules could be broken. I'd done it once before. I could do it again.
The candlelight flickered lower. My thoughts grew quieter. Eden — a world balanced on the edge of light and ruin. A fragile peace built on forgotten sacrifices.
And somewhere beyond that fragile peace… something old was stirring again. A whisper. A presence. The echo of demons that the world had forgotten.
I exhaled softly and turned toward the dark ceiling. For reasons I couldn't name, the shadows seemed to whisper back — almost as if they were waiting for me.