The skies above Aetherion, capital of the strongest empire on the world of Elysira, trembled with energy. Streams of wild mana painted the heavens in violet arcs and silver swirls, as if the sky itself bore witness to the storm building at the center of the continent.
High atop the Dimensional Spire, the tallest tower in the empire, stood Emperor Argon—the only known Tier 10 BattleMage in existence. His silver hair glistened under the arclight, and his eyes, cold as moonsteel, reflected the swirling rift suspended in the air before him.
Clad in robes of deep navy laced with spell-stitched runes, Argon emanated an aura that bent the room's temperature with his mere presence. Many feared him. More respected him. All obeyed him.
But beneath the cold exterior was a ruler defined not just by might—but by discipline, vision, and relentless pragmatism. Argon had once ruled a starving, forgotten kingdom. Through sheer force of will, brilliance, and empathy veiled behind sharp logic, he had raised it into a towering empire that now rivaled the greatest forces of the world.
Elysira was a world of magic and multiversal conquest. Multiple empires, federations, and noble kingdoms had developed technology to breach other dimensions. These expeditions were not diplomatic by default—most dimensions were hostile, filled with corrupted creatures, warped demons, and chaotic mana. They were conquered for survival. Harvested for rare resources. Their mana crystals and materials kept the empires of Elysira alive.
And none conquered more effectively than Argon's Aetherion.
But today, a broadcast shook the balance of power.
ALERT: Unknown Dimension Detected — Codename X-199High mana saturation. Unstable temporal field. Potential Class Omega Hostility. Extreme caution advised.
Every dimensional power received the warning.
Within Aetherion's Hall of Convergence, murmurs filled the air as generals, arcanists, and ministers debated the implications.
"This world," said High Arcanist Kaelis, eyes glowing faintly with scanning glyphs, "is like nothing we've seen. Mana density is six times standard levels. Creatures distort magical resonance. Something's… intelligent there."
"Send an elite squad," a general suggested.
"With current rift instability, that's not possible," Kaelis replied. "The portal can only support one person. The rest would be torn apart."
The room fell into a tense silence.
Then Argon stepped forward.
"I'll go."
Cries of protest echoed from every side.
"You, Your Majesty? That's suicide!"
"The empire cannot afford to lose its cornerstone!"
"I will not command another to die in a realm I would not face myself," Argon declared, tone like forged steel. "Prepare the gate."
All eyes turned to Prime Minister Edwin, a hardened war veteran saved by Argon during the Third Terran War. Loyal, pragmatic, and wise beyond most, Edwin paled.
"My Emperor… please reconsider. You are Aetherion's soul."
Argon placed a hand on Edwin's shoulder. "You have the Seal of Dominion. If I fail to return in three moons, rule in my stead. You understand my will."
With heavy heart, Edwin bowed. "Then I swear, Aetherion shall stand until your return."
The dimensional rift flared open. Mana cracked through the air like chained lightning. The gate snarled at its bindings.
Without hesitation, Argon stepped into the storm.
Then the world broke.
Light became heat. Heat became noise. Noise became oblivion. The dimensional tether shattered.
Pain unlike any battlefield gripped him. Reality screamed.
And then… silence.
Argon awoke to a soft ceiling and the smell of incense.
He blinked slowly, groaning as unfamiliar limbs responded sluggishly. A dull ache sat deep in his chest—not pain of injury, but of transformation.
He tried to sit up. His arms trembled. The body was small. Weak. Untrained.
He breathed in deeply, reaching inward.
"Mana…? It's there. Barely."
A small, flickering presence. Untamed. Dormant. But real.
Slowly, with the discipline of a war-hardened king, he pushed himself to the edge of the bed. His bare feet touched warm rugs as he glanced around.
Velvet curtains. Polished oak furniture. Gold-trimmed wardrobes. A chamber fit for a noble.
But not a king.
Not the floating, rune-enchanted chambers of his Blue Crystal Palace.
Not home.
He dragged himself to a large, polished mirror near the dresser—and froze.
A boy stared back at him.
Twelve years old, at most. Black hair, ruffled and soft. Blue eyes, wide but delicate. A fragile frame, too thin, too pale. And yet… the structure of the face, the set of the brow—
"He looks like… me," Argon whispered.
It was no illusion. The resemblance was uncanny—this child could be a version of Argon from a distant past. But not born of his empire. Not of his lineage. His eyes and hair were wrong. And the soul inside him had just barely left the edge of death.
Images flickered in his mind—not his memories, but echoes. A dying breath. Servants crying. Physicians giving up. Cold. Darkness.
"This boy was dying… and I replaced him."
He looked down at his trembling hands.
He was no longer the Emperor of Aetherion. At least, not in form.
But he was still Argon. Still the mind that had tamed ten dimensions.
And he would rise again.
As he turned back to the room, his eyes fell upon a sigil etched into a hanging tapestry above the fireplace.
A dark phoenix—wreathed in black and crimson flame—resting atop a white shield.
"A noble house," he mused, "and a symbol of rebirth."
How fitting.
Though his body was weak and his magic fractured, his mind remained unbroken.
He would uncover this world's secrets. He would regain his strength. And if needed… he would build an empire once more.