Chapter 1
In the ancient realm of Elarion, magic is not a tool — it is the air, the language, the soul of existence. From the moment one is born, their worth is measured in Mana Veins — invisible rivers of energy that determine one's rank, one's destiny, and even one's right to live. In Elarion, even the grass hums with arcane life, and ants use flickers of magic to carry ten times their weight. Magic here is not learned — it is inherited, it is awakened, it is worshipped.
Elarion is divided into vast territories ruled by the Mage Lords, each bearing a sigil of their lineage — a family crest imbued with ancestral power. At the heart of this world floats Zephyrium, the Sky Capital, where the strongest mages convene, govern, and prepare for the whispered return of the Old Ones — gods who once forged Elarion from ash and stardust. Their myths are etched into the Celestial Walls, and every decade a High Ritual is held to keep the slumbering stars from falling.
Magic Ranking System in Elarion:
Each citizen's magical capability is ranked using the ancient Celestial Sigil Order:
Ashless (No magic – scorned, weakest)
Emberborn (weakest visible mana)
Flamecaller (basic elemental control)
Infernam (intermediate tier – can shape fire, wind, water with ease)
Aetherweaver (can tap into ambient mana and form constructs or sigils)
Stellaris (gifted – rare, often noble bloodlines)
Voidtouched (dangerous tier – magic often comes with madness or sacrifice)
Celestarch (mythical – rumored to be able to bend reality, time, or death)
Those who reach Celestarch are said to be able to reshape reality, call stars down, or silence time itself. Only seven beings are recorded in the Great Hall of Eternity to have reached such a rank.
In a small dirt village hidden beyond the Obsidian Peaks, where even light fears to stay too long, a boy named Nezutsu was born — an Ashless.
No mana.
No spark.
Not even a flicker.
He was the only child in Elarion to be born completely disconnected from the Mana Web — the mystical energy field that binds everything together. While other children lit torches with thought or played catch with fireflies of flame, Nezutsu could only watch.
When Nezutsu was five, he was brought before the village Seer, a hunched woman with glowing red tattoos who could see a child's future in a bowl of still water. When she looked into the bowl — the water shattered. Not spilled. Shattered, like glass.
She never spoke again.
The villagers whispered. Some feared him, others pitied him. They said, "Even the gods forgot to breathe life into him." Some parents forbade their children from playing near him. Others threw salt as he passed, muttering anti-curse chants under their breath.
But Nezutsu didn't cry. He didn't scream.
He simply stared at the stars every night like he knew something even the gods didn't.
What no one knew… was that the absence of magic in Nezutsu wasn't a curse.
It was the result of a seal — an ancient lock tied to something forbidden, older than Elarion itself. A seal so precise, so masterfully carved, that even the gods of Zephyrium could not detect it.
On the night of his twelfth birthday, as the stars shifted strangely in the sky for the first time in a thousand years, Nezutsu stood atop the cliff behind his village. A chill wind curled around him, yet he felt no cold. He held out his hand, as though reaching for something unseen — and whispered a name… a name he had never learned, yet somehow always known.
It did not sound like a word of Elarion. It sounded like the moment before thunder. Like silence made heavy.
The rocks beneath his feet cracked.
The air trembled.
The wind screamed — then stopped.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
And in that moment—
Something… awakened.
Nezutsu's eyes widened as a faint pulse rippled from his chest. Not visible. Not audible. But present — like a heartbeat from a second soul.
Far beneath him, deep within the world's crust, a symbol glowed faintly. The same symbol he had seen in his dreams — three arcs intersecting over a spiral. A symbol he would later learn had been erased from history.
But that night, he fell to his knees, clutching his chest, and gasped.
It was not pain.
It was pressure.
Something had noticed him.
Something ancient.
Something watching from the Void Between Stars.
[TO BE CONTINUED…]