The world of Eryndor awoke with fire on the horizon.
From the snow-capped walls of the Ventra Kingdom, wind spiraled upward like a thousand silver ribbons. In the south, the Ignis Empire glowed beneath a sunrise so bright it looked forged rather than born. Eastward, the mirrored seas of the Aqua Dominion reflected the light in rippling shards, and far above them, enormous rings of crimson dust shimmered — remnants of an ancient battle between gods.
Ten nations.Ten colors.Ten different ways to touch magic.
Once, they had been one people, one continent under the banners of the Celestial Gate. But that gate had fallen — burned out of the heavens — leaving behind a cracked world that still carried the echo of divine power. The nations had learned to survive by channeling that echo into Nature Magic, the language of the elements themselves.
And today, across the land, millions of children were about to take their first step into that language.
The Village of Ardent Vale
Camera-like, the view descends: from cloud to mountain, mountain to forest, forest to a sun-warmed valley where crimson flowers sway against the wind. Wooden rooftops sparkle with dew. Bells ring softly.
This is Ardent Vale, a border village caught between the Ignis Empire and the Astralis Realm. Here the air is never still — it hums with heat from the western forges and the faint shimmer of space distortion from the east. The villagers have learned to live with both: smiths working beside scholars, warriors beside mages, steel beside starlight.
Today, though, the forges are cold.Because today is Awakening Day.
Children in ceremonial white stand in a long line beside the village's crystal obelisk. Parents crowd the square. A breeze carries the smell of incense, oil, and sun-baked stone. Somewhere in the back, a boy with golden hair leans against a tree, watching everything with quiet eyes.
His name is Ares Valen.
Golden hair that catches the light like molten glass. Eyes the color of burning rubies. Even at seven, he stands out — not just for the way he looks, but for the stillness around him. While the other children whisper and fidget, Ares barely moves. He watches the glowing obelisk, pupils narrowing as if it might answer him.
(So that's where it all begins…)His thoughts echo softly, as if the world itself is listening.
"Oi, Ares! You'll burn a hole through it if you keep staring."A voice jolts him — Lira Den, his childhood friend, bouncing on her toes. Her curly black hair is tied back with a red ribbon, and she's gripping her wooden staff like it's already enchanted.
Ares blinks, smiles faintly. "Maybe if I do, the ceremony will end faster."
"You're hopeless." Lira elbows him. "Aren't you even nervous?"
He shakes his head. "No point. The crystal already knows what it wants."
She squints. "You talk like an old sage."
Before Ares can answer, the deep clang of a bell silences the square. Villagers turn toward the podium where Master Rhen, the local awakener, steps forward — an elderly man with runes etched along his arms and a cloak stitched with glowing threads.
The Ceremony Begins
"Children of Ardent Vale," Rhen's voice rolls like thunder wrapped in kindness, "today you will awaken the path the gods left within you. Mage or warrior, flame or stone, wind or wave — it matters not which, for all are threads of the same great weave."
The obelisk hums, responding to his words. Lines of light crawl up its sides like living veins.
"Step forward one by one," Rhen continues. "Place your hand upon the crystal. Let your spirit speak."
The first child walks up. A pulse of light — blue. "Water Mage!" the crowd murmurs. Applause. The child bows and runs to his parents.
Then another: red — "Fire Mage!"Then brown — "Earth Warrior!"One by one, the obelisk glows, children cheer, parents weep.
Ares watches each color with quiet interest.(Fire, water, wind, earth… predictable. But what happens when it can't decide?)
He doesn't know why he's thinking that, but somewhere deep inside, something responds — a heartbeat that isn't entirely his own.
High above, unseen by anyone, the air ripples. For a moment, a thin black line cuts across the sky — a hair-width crack that hums with distant thunder. Then it vanishes. Only Ares's gaze flickers upward, eyes narrowing as if he felt it.
(Again… that sound. Like the sky splitting apart.)
He doesn't tell anyone. No one would believe him. The last time he mentioned hearing "the hum," his mother smiled sadly and said he had a vivid imagination.
As the ceremony continues, Master Rhen keeps glancing at Ares. The boy's aura… it's strange. Too still, too vast. Like a lake reflecting the whole sky. He remembers when Ares's parents brought him as a baby — lightning had struck the forge that night, and yet the child didn't cry. He had only stared at the storm, eyes glowing faintly red.
(The gods mark their vessels early,) Rhen thinks uneasily.
At last, Rhen calls, "Ares Valen."
Whispers ripple through the crowd. "That's the boy with the strange eyes." "His father was from Ignis, right? And his mother from Astralis?" "Mixed blood… risky."
Ares steps forward, unfazed. The stone floor feels warm beneath his feet. He reaches the obelisk, raises his right hand, and places his palm on the cool crystal.
Instant silence.
At first, nothing happens.Then, light explodes.
Red, blue, green, yellow, brown — every color at once, twisting around him in a cyclone of pure magic. The air crackles. The obelisk screams — a sound like shattering glass — and a beam of prismatic light shoots into the sky, piercing the clouds.
Children fall back. Parents gasp. Even Rhen staggers, eyes wide. "By the gods…!"
The colors whirl faster, merging into white. The ground trembles. For a moment, it feels as though the entire world is holding its breath.
Then — silence again.
The light fades. The obelisk, cracked but still standing, glows faintly around Ares's hand. The boy is unharmed, though the grass around him has turned to ash.
Rhen's voice trembles. "All… all elements…? That's impossible."
The crowd stares.Lira's mouth hangs open. "Ares… what did you do?"
Ares looks at his hand. It's glowing softly, runes of every color swirling under his skin before fading. He doesn't answer.
(I didn't do anything… It just woke up.)
Rhen hurries forward, gripping Ares's shoulders. "Listen carefully, boy. Do you feel pain? Dizzy? Anything strange?"
Ares shakes his head.
"Then listen closer." Rhen lowers his voice. "Never speak of what just happened outside this village. The Empire will send scholars, the Realm will send hunters, and the Theocracy might send priests. You understand?"
Ares nods slowly.
Rhen sighs. "Good. For now, you are simply a Mage — nothing more."
He turns to the crowd. "Ares Valen! Mage, Element — Undecided!"
The villagers exchange uneasy looks, but they clap politely. The ceremony continues, though the air feels thinner now, as if everyone's afraid to breathe too loudly.
When the sun sets, the village returns to quiet. Crickets sing. Lanterns glow.
Ares sits on the roof of his home, legs dangling, watching stars flicker above the mountains. Beside him, Lira climbs up, panting. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere."
"You always do," he says without looking down.
She frowns. "You scared everyone today."
"I didn't mean to."
"I know." She sits beside him. "Master Rhen says you have to go to the Capital Academy now. Special transfer. They'll test your magic."
Ares tilts his head. "Already?"
She nods. "Tomorrow morning. A Sky-Carriage's coming."
For a long time, he doesn't answer. The stars shimmer brighter — almost too bright. Finally he whispers, "Do you ever wonder why we have to awaken?"
Lira blinks. "Because it's the law. The world needs protectors."
He smiles faintly. "Maybe the world just needs to remember what it's protecting."
Lira groans. "There you go again, talking like a sage."
He laughs quietly — a soft, warm sound. But inside, something else stirs. A whisper. Not words, exactly, but a feeling.
(Soon… you will remember.)
Ares freezes. His eyes flash red for a heartbeat. Then it's gone.
Beyond the clouds, in the silence of the void, a shadow moves.
A massive crack opens — just for a second — spilling violet light. Within it, countless eyes blink open, watching the world below.
A deep, ancient voice rumbles through the stars."The Celestial Core stirs once more."
Then the crack seals.The night returns to calm.
Back in Ardent Vale, Ares finally lies down, staring at the ceiling beams of his small attic room. His mother's singing drifts up from below, soft and tired. His father's forge hums faintly — always working, even at night.
(Tomorrow, the Academy…)(A new beginning.)
He closes his eyes.
And for the first time, he dreams — not of his village, but of fire raining from the sky, oceans turning to glass, and a golden figure standing alone before a gate of stars.
When he wakes, dawn is already bleeding into the room, painting everything gold.
End of Part 1 — "Dawn Over Eryndor"