Beneath the Veltheim Academy, hidden from every eye, I feel the air thicken with magic. The ruins of an ancient temple lie beneath my feet, just beyond the broken tile floor of the library's old wing. I've known of their existence as a whisper—a half-forgotten rumor among academy lore—but tonight curiosity spurred me beyond caution. The air hums with unseen energy. My right hand tingles as if it remembers something I do not, drawn by the pulsing glow of my Aetherius fragment secured against my chest.
My heartbeat is steady. Beneath the floor, I have discovered the edge of a hidden stairway, barely visible when the moonlight winks through a crack in the wall. Shuffling books on the dusty shelves must have displaced the ancient stone relief above it. I had been poring over a faded account of Veltheim's founding, tracing the history of the academy. It spoke of the Bastion of Whispers, the old temple where Circle apprentices once tested themselves. A chill runs up my spine at the thought. Now the stairs beckon me down. I should tell someone, but something stronger than fear pulls me forward.
I step onto the cold stone steps, descending into darkness. The lamplight from above dwindles and vanishes as I descend. The hidden chamber at the bottom opens to a vast, echoing hall lit only by the pale blue glow of my fragment. Massive pillars carved with elemental symbols stretch high above me, their capitals lost in shadow. Statues of long-forgotten guardians stand vigil: a winged figure encircled by a storm's spiral; a towering warrior wreathed in waves; a tranquil monk emanating darkness and wind. This place is older than the kingdom, older than even the Circle itself.
I whisper in astonishment, "A temple to the four masters of magic?" My voice shakes the air and through the hall. Each step forward triggers a faint ripple of energy. I am no stranger to the teachings of lightning, wind, water, or shadow, but to see them represented like this is almost reverential. A distant memory flickers at the edge of my mind: the stories Master Ryn told us of a forgotten age, the echoes of the Ancients. My pulse quickens.
The ground trembles softly and a deep stone door at the far end slides open with an ancient rumble. Beyond it, a golden light spills into the hall. I take a careful step forward. My breath catches. Something in the pit beyond awaits, a presence steeped in centuries of silence.
"Who stands before the Bastion of the Elements?" A voice booms without warning, shaking the very air. It rattles my bones. The floor at my feet pulses in response. The carvings on the walls flare in recognition: storms, zephyrs, rivers, shadows. The final piece of my destiny seems to quiver before me. I clutch my fragment tighter, the answer already spinning in my mind.
"It is I, Lioren of Veltheim!" I shout, my voice echoing tall and steady. "I come seeking the truth of the Aetherius and my own path!"
Thunder rolls in the hollow chamber without warning, as if affirming my words. The warlock's voice speaks again, softer now, curious. "A child of the forgotten storm, drawn to destiny. Answer, bearer of the aetherial flame: What do you know of sacrifice and power?"
Lightning crackles at my feet, and in my defense I raise my hands. Energy races along my arms, surging into the torches. They erupt in lightning-white brilliance, illuminating the chamber. In that flash, I see every glyph etched into the walls: storms, zephyrs, rivers, darkness. The final piece of the legend quivers before me.
I remember a whisper of instruction from a distant memory. I drop my hands and speak carefully, letting each word carry weight in the silence: "A sacrifice forged in purpose. A power to protect what is dear." My answer meets a deeper rumble. A section of wall cracks open, revealing a downward spiral ramp carved into the rock. It calls to me.
"I am ready," I tell the darkness below.
I step onto the ramp. With each step, images drift through my mind: swirling storms and roaring oceans, dancing shadows in moonlight, blades of grass bending in a gale. The Aetherius fragment at my chest pulses warmly, its heartbeat in sync with mine. A primordial voice is awakening within me, frightening and exhilarating.
After what feels like an eternity of silent descent, the stairway ends. I emerge into a massive underground chamber. At its center lies a deep mirrorlike pool, eerily still. Along its edges stand four elemental altars: a twisted stone spire crackling with latent lightning, an arch of undulating air frozen mid-gust, a swirling vortex of crystalline water, and a jagged obsidian throne of living shadow. On pedestals before each rests a single untouched Aetherius crystal, shimmering in silver, sapphire, emerald, and onyx. Runes glowing faintly ring each altar.
"This is the crucible," the unseen voice echoes, closer now. I whirl around, torch held high. A figure sits at the far end in meditation. Moonlight glints off his silver hair and the edges of a cloak as dark as the midnight sky.
He turns slowly. "Master Cyrian?" My mouth dries. The council mentioned him only in passing, as legend. He rises now. "I have waited long for a true heir to awaken here," he says gently. His voice is older than time but kind. "I am Master Cyrian, once an Awakened like you, sealed as this temple's guardian."
His eyes study me. "You have drawn the attention of the Bastion. It senses the fragments you carry and your thirst for knowledge," he says. A small smile creases his face. "Your mastery of the elements is promising, Lioren. But promise alone will not sustain you. You must learn balance first."
Suddenly a soft wind stirs from the altars. Water ripples and spills into the pool. A bolt of harmless lightning arcs along the spire, then fades. Shadows flicker and twist at the edges of the chamber. Cyrian stands and speaks with reverence. "This temple will test you. The altars awaken for the chosen. Only when the elements are in harmony can one awaken the Guardian's Will."
My heart pounds as I step toward the altars. Each calls to me, buzzing with energy. I grasp the silver crystal on the lightning altar. Immediately, electricity surges into my palm. Lightning arcs between my fingers like living flame.
"You know lightning," Cyrian's voice says softly in my ear. "Your scar has allowed you to feel the storm's pulse." A shiver runs up my arm. "Let it free—strike into the unknown."
With that in mind, I release the pent-up spark. It bursts across the hall, exploding against the far wall. When the flash fades, a stone panel slides open, revealing a narrow corridor lit by spectral blue flame. This chamber is satisfied.
One step forward, and I see the wind altar. I cup the sapphire crystal. A mighty gust bursts from it, tossing my hair and robes about. A powerful updraft forms around me, as though a trapped spirit is released. Instinct takes over: I twist my body, shaping the wind into a spiral barrier around me. It whistles in my ears but I focus calmly. Then the hurricane halo dissipates into a gentle breeze.
"Very good," Cyrian murmurs as the barrier dies. He walks to my side. "Balance the force; harness its direction. Bend without breaking."
Next, I kneel at the edge of the tranquil pool and pick up the emerald crystal. As soon as I touch it, the surface ripples, showing memories I had tried to bury: my parents' faces blurred in a dying twilight, our village consumed by storm and fire, and a hand placing this very fragment in my own before whispering "Save us."
My breath catches. Warm tears sting my eyes. The spirit of water in the pool wraps a gentle tendril of light around my arm. It sees my sorrow. I close my eyes and slowly let the crystal's soothing glow flow through me. A tendril of water coalesces and lifts up from the pool, clearing the dark images. The reflection shifts: now I see my parents standing, pride in their eyes. The warmth of their love fills me.
"Water cleanses what is broken," I whisper. The painful visions fade as clarity and warmth flood me. I open my eyes to smile at Cyrian. He nods approvingly.
Finally, darkness descends as the lights dim and torches flutter. The shadows here are thick. I clutch the onyx crystal. Wraith-like shadows emerge, whispering doubts: "You are unworthy… They always doubted you… Give up…" My chest tightens. All my instincts scream to flee.
Instead, I take a breath and focus on the glowing fragment at my chest. It pulses warmly, pushing back the cold. I open my eyes. In the darkness I hold my hands out and speak softly, "Your doubt is my strength."
Suddenly, shadowfire erupts along my fingers, igniting the gloom. Black flames swirl around me like ribbons of night, banishing the wraiths. In their place appear familiar silhouettes—faces of those I've loved and lost, flickering as protective guardians. Their silent presence steadies my soul.
A distant voice says, "You accept what you fear. Good. The elements favor one who masters himself."
The chamber brightens; the torches blaze alive. Cyrian turns to me with a proud smile. "You have passed the trial. The Will of the Ancients acknowledges you."
I step back from the altars, breath heavy. Already, a strange serenity settles over me. I glance at each altar; the crystals now lie empty, their energy absorbed. Each element inside me hums in harmony, not chaos.
The pool's water rises, coalescing into a figure of flowing silver and gold light—a spirit of water I once glimpsed as a gentle guide. Wind swirls into a translucent warrior; lightning crackles birthing a colossal stag; shadows form a graceful dancer. Together, these elemental spirits bow to me. The hairs on my arms stand on end. Perhaps these are living echoes of legendary Mana Beasts, ancient guardians bowed to the one who has awakened their will.
"You are more than a student or a survivor," Cyrian intones reverently. "You are chosen of the Aetherius. The Guardian's Will rests with you now. But with this gift comes responsibility. Drink from the pool."
I kneel at the water's edge. As promised, the spirit of water reaches out, touching my forehead. A cascade of visions floods my mind. I see a world long gone: great floating citadels, cities of marble and crystal, armies of sorcerers clashing in thunder. In these visions the Aetherius fragments rain from a shattered star above, fueling unimaginable power. I see my parents standing before a council of elders, pleading with them to save me from a coming cataclysm.
Tears wet my cheeks. No one should carry such wisdom alone.
"I have done this for you, Lioren," Cyrian whispers, kneeling beside me. "You must remember so you are not alone. War is coming."
I straighten, resolve hardening. "A war? A sealed force?"
Cyrian's eyes turn distant. "An army from across the Shattered Sea amasses. Our spies report banners of obsidian and fire on our borders. They seek the Aetherius for themselves."
For a fleeting moment, forbidden images cross my mind: towering citadels and titan battles, tales of ancient archons imprisoned for millennia. I shake it off.
"I will be ready," I say quietly.
He smiles with relief. "We begin at dawn. Outside, the sun barely peeks above the horizon when the hidden door seals behind us. The night air is cool. I feel different—stronger, and yet solemn. My forehead still throbs where the water spirit touched me. My amber eyes catch the first light; in them I see confidence and purpose. My reflection looks more certain than ever. Even with all this power, I know who I am."
At that moment a distant shout echoes from the quad above. "Hey, Lioren! You're back!" Kaelon's voice. I turn to see my rival, Kaelon, with a group of Awakened apprentices on the training grounds. He squints at me, unsure. I offer a respectful nod.
Kaelon crosses his arms. "You look refreshed," he says, curiosity lacing his tone. I grin gently to mask my fatigue. "Thanks," I reply softly. "Night training pays off."
He smirks. "Better be. It serves you well. If you wander off into the dark again, the Circle's going to send out a search party." He cocks an eyebrow. "Rumor is there's trouble on the horizon. Might want to stay on guard."
A chill runs through me, but I only nod. "Thanks for the warning."
He shrugs. "Just being honest. We're students of the Circle, yes—but the Circle needs warriors more than anything now." His tone is matter-of-fact.
I glance back at the eastern gate of the academy. Soldiers and rangers patrol even here; word spreads fast. "Maybe we should train together sometime," I suggest carefully. "We both have much to prepare for."
He studies me for a long moment, then allows a slow, genuine smile—the first in days. "Maybe," he says quietly.
We part ways as dawn breaks. The training yard lies before me. Master Cyrian stands by a tall dummy constructed of wood and steel, crackles of residual thunder arcing around it. He tips his staff at me. "Your trial has only begun, Lioren. Now you will master each element against the others."
He summons a tiny ball of lightning in his palm and tosses it across the courtyard. It arcs and explodes in my hands. I smile. "Your move."
Cyrian's eyes light up. "The storm and the tide together," he calls. He spreads his arms. Above us, a dome of wind and water forms—two swirling currents entwined.
Lightning still crackles in my veins. I conjure an orb of pure electricity and hurl it at the ground beneath the windstorm. The ground shatters in a burst of shock, sending tremors through the air. The wind vortex roars in response, lifting dust into the sky. But I stand firm, focusing calmly.
"Rest," I command. Immediately the gale and rain settle into a gentle breeze. The currents spiral upward to the sky.
Cyrian claps softly. "Very good. You will often face impossible combinations. Balance is key. Now…" He grins. Before I can blink, he summons darkness too. Tendrils of shadow slink from the earth, reaching for me.
I nearly stumble, but catch myself. Old fear grips me — failure, helplessness. My heart hammers. Then I remember Cyrian's words: Embrace each as a friend.
I step forward. "I choose light!" I shout. The Aetherius at my chest flares with power. I raise a hand and focus, and a bolt of pure lightning ignites in my palm. It cracks through the advancing darkness, turning it to smoke. Light floods the yard.
Cyrian's face is serious, but pride shines in his eyes. "That's enough," he calls. He waves his staff, dismissing the golems. Silence returns. Dust settles. I am breathing hard, but unbowed.
He steps forward, smile broad. "Victory tastes sweet, yet it lingers with a hint of warning." He pats my shoulder. "Not bad for a beginner." His praise is low but sincere. I feel a surge of pride and relief.
He then rises. "Go, get your strength back, Lioren. We'll need it soon." That small care steadies me.
Even though the official trial is over, my training has only just begun. We spend hours honing each element. I launch lightning into fierce winds and calm water to heal the cuts it made. I shape shadows into shields against fire and whip up a gale with a flick of my wrist. Each time I waver, Cyrian reminds me: Let your heart light the way.
The day wanes, and I recall everything: the trial of the Bastion, Master Cyrian's teachings, the duel of elements. All I learned churns within me. I have become something I hardly recognize—powerful yet grounded. My reflection looks more certain than ever. For all the fragments I carry, I am still myself at the core. My identity is stronger than fate.
Kaelon finds me later on the rooftop garden of Veltheim. The sky bleeds red in twilight. "I have. And I might not stop," I tell him. He doesn't press. He only says, "Good. We'll need every bit if those rumors are true."
I nod and smile faintly. Kaelon shrugs. "Just being honest," he says. "We're students of the Circle now — the Circle needs warriors."
We stand side by side in the deep blue night for a while, watching the first star appear. I feel we have a chance, no matter how small. In the silence, an unspoken understanding forms. The rivalries and friction between us melt away under that silent sky. I realize Kaelon is, in his own way, as uncertain as I am about what comes next.
Finally, Kaelon offers a warm, genuine smile — one I haven't seen before. "Maybe."
I allow myself a small grin. "Maybe we both will do our duty," I say softly.
"Tomorrow we begin as Lioren, but tonight I am still just a student," I think. Yet standing there with him, I know my path is clear. That trembling star above reminds me of all I've awakened. The world is shifting, and I will meet it head-on.
And as the peace of evening settles over Veltheim Academy, I steel myself. I will face the battles to come, unafraid, for I am Lioren — heir to storm and shadow, and protector of what I hold dear.