The wind stirred gently over the stone-paved plaza of Navil, where age-old trees arched like guardians, their leaves shimmering with traces of aura from the countless awakenings witnessed through centuries. The air buzzed with quiet anticipation, an undercurrent of reverence weaving through the gathered crowd.
Xarl stood at the center, flanked by his family and dozens of spectators—all eyes on him, the youngest of House Ryvere. His father, Lord Cyrien, adjusted his cloak solemnly while his mother held her breath, trying not to betray her worry.
He had spent days studying what this moment meant.
Aura—the life force of this world—was not just power, but identity, fate, and truth. It manifested at age ten, revealing itself through color and intensity. Every hue carried a story.
Fire, with its fierce reds, oranges, and yellows, revered Solvaar, the Flame Deity, god of passion and war.
Water, from tranquil sky blue to deep violet, followed Naiyra, the Deity of Tides—serene yet unstoppable.
Earth, its tones of green and brown whispered loyalty to Rhundor, guardian of life and endurance.
Air, swathed in whites, silvers, and grays, honored Zephyrix, the unseen watcher of freedom and mind.
But then, there were the rarities—the echoes of cosmic chaos. Void, a black so dense it swallowed light, and Space, ethereal colors that bent reality—lavender, opal, or shifting hues unnamable by mortal tongues. These were said to descend from no deity, but rather the raw forces that predated even gods.
Auras were further ranked:
Normal Auras, common and widespread.
Rare Auras, appearing in one of a thousand.
Legendary Auras, the domain of heroes remembered in song.
Ancient Auras, found only in tales—wielded by the lost Protectors who saved humanity in times of great despair.
Xarl's favorite tale was of Sir Aethros, bearer of the Crimson Shadow, a rare blend of fire and void that burned enemies and devoured their essence. Another, Lady Yelien of the Glimmering Depths, channeled water and space, able to breathe underwater and speak to the stars.
Those were legends ,but Xarl ? He was youngest child of Ryvere ...One of the nobel family known as protector of their nation in ancient era . Until now Ryvere has always been playing a main role for the Nation.
He stepped forward, now then, with all eyes fixed on him.
A priest in silver robes raised the Orb of Ascension—a flawless crystal ball resting atop a pedestal engraved with divine runes.
"Child of Ryvere," he intoned, "place your hands upon the sacred orb and offer your spirit to the skies and earth. Let the world speak your truth."
Xarl nodded silently. As his small hands touched the orb, a chill surged into his fingertips. He closed his eyes.
I don't know what I am, he thought, but I won't be weak. Not again. This life… I won't waste it.
The world quieted. Even the wind stilled.
Then—light.
The orb pulsed once, dimly. Then again—brighter.
People leaned forward.
Colors began to swirl inside the orb. At first a pale hue—barely distinguishable—then a sudden surge.
Red? No… not quite.
Purple? Deep… but something else shimmered beneath.
Then the orb began to vibrate, its glow darkening.
The colors started to twist unnaturally.
A collective murmur spread through the crowd.
"What is that?"
"Is it… mixing?"
"No, it's… it's changing!"
The light inside the orb darkened further, then warped, forming a swirling storm of hues no one could name—shades that didn't exist in the natural spectrum. The pedestal shook violently.
The priest stumbled back. "This… this shouldn't be possible."
The orb's glow abruptly ceased.
Silence.
Xarl opened his eyes slowly, confused. The glass had turned opaque. Not black. Not clear. Just… empty.
"Wh-what does it mean?" someone asked.
Lord Cyrien stepped forward. "Explain. What aura did he awaken?"
The priest hesitated. "My lord… I— I do not know. I have never… This has never occurred in the temple's history."
Xarl looked down at his hands.
What… am I?
He felt a pulse inside his chest. Like something… watching. Waiting.