POV: Selene Virellia
The wind carried voices—whispers woven through the boughs of the high elven groves like invisible threads.
Selene Virellia stood alone at the edge of a crystalline overlook, her cloak fluttering around her ankles. Below, the capital city of Celestia gleamed beneath the rising sun, its towers kissed with gold. But her eyes weren't on the sunrise.
They were on the stories.
"They say he ended a divine-class dungeon boss alone."
"He tore the sky with a single swing."
"He restored a collapsing dungeon just by willing it."
Selene's silver-blue eyes narrowed, her sharp ears twitching as another whisper passed on the breeze.
"...they call him Alter. Leader of Mythral Dawn. No one knows what class he is. But some say—he bent reality. With his bare hands."
Selene didn't scoff.
She smiled.
A rare one.
The kind that promised trouble.
Turning away from the overlook, she brushed her white-gold braid behind her shoulder and stepped down the moss-lined steps of the grove temple. Armor light, blade silent, mind sharp.
She had seen strength.
She had trained with nobles, served in the High Vanguard, and felled beasts thrice her size in the northern ranges.
But this was different.
This wasn't just power—it was authority.
Selene's boots barely made a sound as she descended into the city, heart steady, resolve ignited.
When Selene reached the outer grounds of Mythral Dawn's estate four days later, the gates had already swelled with new hopefuls—recruits from foreign cities, wandering blades, beastkin warriors, even other elves from distant conclaves.
Alter's legend had grown like wildfire.
The estate itself was massive, but even so—it was strained. Barracks overflowed. Courtyards filled. Command training rings spun day and night.
But Selene wasn't here for crowd drills.
She watched from a distance as a woman with blazing red hair—Kaela, the Storm Huntress—commanded a team into synchronized maneuvers. Arrows bent in impossible arcs through the air.
Elsewhere, a golden-haired mage carved starlight sigils into the air with her staff—Lira. Her magic was fluid, celestial, terrifying in grace.
And then there was him.
Selene's breath slowed as she laid eyes on Alter for the first time.
Not for the figure he cut—tall, composed, presence layered in calm command—but for the feeling he emitted. An aura that bent the world slightly around him, as though he didn't stand within reality, but simply allowed it to exist nearby.
He wasn't shouting. He wasn't casting.
He simply turned his head—and dozens of recruits straightened their backs.
"I'll join this trial," she whispered to herself, stepping forward.
"I'll show him I belong."
And deep in her chest, her blade hummed in silent agreement.
The training field of Mythral Dawn buzzed with tension—low murmurs, scuffed boots, nerves concealed beneath bravado.
Selene stepped into the vanguard trial circle, her every motion calm. Not hesitant—measured. Her boots touched the warded stone perimeter, and the faint shimmer of containment magic flickered around the boundary. It was not unlike a dueling ring, but this felt… deeper. Alter's magic was in the walls here. She could feel it humming through the earth.
From the corner of her vision, she saw the shift.
Dozens of eyes.
Not gawking. Not cheering.
Judging.
And somewhere in the center of that gathered pressure, she felt him—Alter. Watching. Weighing.
But Selene wasn't here for spectacle.
She was here to prove herself.
"Focus," she murmured inwardly, touching her fingers briefly to the hilt of her sword. The blade whispered back—an echo of intent and steel.
Kaela's voice cut across the circle's edge.
"You can step out if this is too much, elf."
Selene's emerald gaze lifted. No anger. No reaction. Just a cool, level stare.
"I do not step back."
Lira tilted her head from the judges' bench beside Alter, golden hair catching the light. "That presence… she's not just a swordswoman."
Selene lowered her stance—one foot behind the other, both hands on the hilt. Her breath was silent, but her heartbeat was sharp and controlled. Every instinct focused.
The trial construct activated—a summoned training golem wrapped in enhanced armor and imbued with elemental buffs. Its blade hissed with fire, lightning crackled down its arm.
A lesser recruit might hesitate.
Selene moved.
Her blade unsheathed in silence. Not a flourish. Not a roar. Just—clarity.
The first blow met the golem's sword with a sound like splitting glass. Sparks danced, but Selene didn't stop. She twisted, stepped inward, redirected its weight—her feet pivoting with elven precision—and struck again.
Kaela leaned forward slightly. "Fast."
"No," Alter murmured. "Perfect."
The second clash came and went. Selene moved like a wind through reeds. She didn't overpower the construct. She dismantled it.
Cut its joints. Severed magical channels. Redirected force instead of clashing against it. Like a river flowing around the rock—until the rock cracked.
Within sixty seconds, the golem was on its knees.
Selene exhaled.
Not even sweating.
She stood straight, sheathed her blade, and bowed respectfully to the shattered construct. Then turned and stepped from the ring.
Silence fell.
Even the rowdy recruits were quiet.
Then Kaela's voice broke the stillness. "Well, damn."
Lira's expression softened with surprise. "She didn't just fight it. She read its rhythm."
Alter stood slowly, his eyes never having left Selene. His tone was measured, but low enough for the other two to hear.
"She doesn't wield her blade for pride," he said. "She wields it with purpose."
Kaela smirked. "So?"
Alter's gaze lingered on Selene as she returned to the gathered ranks, quiet as before. But when her eyes met his, just for a moment—there was no question.
Only a spark. A resonance.
"…She's the first."