Some time in the near future.
The skies above Grimholt City roared with life.
A colossal coliseum stood at its heart, the walls carved from white stone and ancient runes, large enough to swallow tens of thousands of spectators.
This was the stage chosen for the selection tournament tied to the opening of the Legacy World, an event so important that elders, professors, and powerful figures from multiple factions had gathered in person.
At the very center of the arena, surrounded by floating figures radiating overwhelming pressure, stood a single young man.
Elion was hunched low on one knee, one hand pressed against the shattered stone beneath him as he struggled to breathe. Each breath came out heavy and uneven as he forced mana through his body, trying to accelerate the healing of his injuries.
