The fire burned low, its embers flickering like dying stars. The night was silent, the forest holding its breath, as if even the trees knew this would be the last night they would share.


    Lucan sat beside his master—the man who had raised him, the man who had saved him.


    But tonight, that man looked small, no longer the powerful sorcerer who had once burned a city to ash. His body, almost entirely metallic, barely resembled the man he had been. Only his face remained, the last remnant of flesh, of humanity.


    His master exhaled, a sound more mechanical than human.


    "Lucan… There is something you must know."


    Lucan turned, his chest tight.


    "I have never told you who I really am. Before I fade… you deserve the truth."


    The old mage stared into the fire, watching the flames dance. Then, in a voice heavy with the weight of centuries, he began his story.


    "I was born almost a thousand years ago," the mage murmured.


    "A prince. Heir to a kingdom that no longer exists."


    Lucan’s breath hitched, but he remained silent.


    "My father was an anomaly—just like you. He was born without an Aethergem. And yet, fate was not cruel to him. The gods did not leave him empty-handed."


    The mage’s eyes flickered with something unreadable.


    "For though he was born without an Aethergem… I was not."


    Lucan frowned.


    "The day I was born, my father held me in his arms and saw what no man had seen before."


    The old mage slowly raised his withered, metallic hand.


    "A Prismatic Gem. The rarest Aethergem in existence. A gem that holds all affinities—fire, water, earth, lightning, shadow, light. My kingdom called me a miracle."


    Lucan had read of Prismatic Gems. Legends. Myths. A single one could reshape the world.


    "The day of my birth, my people celebrated. They believed our kingdom would rise to unmatched glory."


    The old mage let out a dry, bitter chuckle.


    "Two years later, on that same day, my father unveiled his greatest discovery."


    The fire crackled between them, the flames casting shadows across his metallic skin.


    "He created the world’s first Artificial Aethergem."


    A cold shiver ran through Lucan’s spine.


    "The world was terrified."


    "Magic rules this world, Lucan. Aethergems are not just power—they are hierarchy. The weak stay weak. The strong are born strong. That is the law."


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    The mage clenched his fist.


    "And my father broke that law."


    The air between them grew heavy.


    "The world did not call him a genius. They did not celebrate his discovery. They called him a threat."


    Lucan could already see where this was going.


    "And so… Arcanis, the Eternal Tower, came for us."


    Lucan’s breath caught in his throat.


    Arcanis—the kingdom of immortal Archmages, where magic was hoarded, where knowledge was locked away, where those who sought to change the world were erased.


    "They could not allow it. They would not allow a world where magic was given to those who had none. To them, power was only for the chosen, the gifted."


    The mage’s golden eyes dimmed.


    "And so, they declared war on my father."


    Lucan clenched his fists.


    "It was a battle unlike any before it. The greatest sorcerers of Arcanis, wielding the strongest magic ever known, against one man."


    The old mage stared into the flames.


    "My father fought alone."


    The flames flickered as if mourning.


    "He stood before the gates of our kingdom, against a legion of Archmages. They threw fire, lightning, curses—everything—at him. But he did not fall."


    Lucan’s breath hitched.


    "A hundred sword slashes. Countless curses. Nearly every drop of blood drawn from his body. But even after all of it—he still stood."


    The mage’s metallic hand trembled.


    "He held me in one arm, my tiny body pressed against his chest. He refused to let me go."


    Lucan could see it—the image burned into his mind. A bloodied king, broken yet unbowed, cradling his son as the world collapsed around him.


    "And then, at last… they brought him down."


    The words were barely above a whisper.


    "My father died standing. And when he fell, so did our kingdom."


    Lucan couldn’t breathe.


    "The people of my kingdom were enslaved. And I—his son, the heir of a fallen nation—was taken by Arcanis."


    Lucan’s throat tightened.


    "They did not kill me. They saw something else in me."


    The mage’s fingers tightened against the ground.


    "They made me a source."


    Lucan stiffened.


    "For almost 900 years, I was nothing more than an Aether battery. They drained my Prismatic Gem, stealing every drop of my magic, using it to fuel their spells, their towers, their conquests."


    The fire cracked violently, as if enraged by the very words.


    "Every day, I grew weaker. Every day, I watched my captors grow stronger."


    Lucan gritted his teeth.


    "And in the darkest depths of that prison, I met the other captives—powerful mages, warriors, scholars, all imprisoned like me. And from them… I learned."


    The flames cast shadows over his face.


    "I learned everything. Every rune. Every forbidden spell. Every secret of magic that Arcanis never wanted the world to know."


    Lucan swallowed hard.


    "And then, 100 years ago… Arcanis gave me away."


    "I was no longer of use to them. I was weak, drained, empty. So they gifted me to Solvaris, the Holy Dominion."


    Lucan flinched.


    Solvaris. The kingdom of divine rule, where faith was law, where an Aethergem the size of a mountain was worshiped as a fallen god.


    "They took me in chains. I was to be their next offering, another sacrifice to their so-called divinity."


    Lucan clenched his jaw.


    "But I escaped."


    Lucan’s eyes widened.


    "I escaped on the day I found you."


    The old mage exhaled. His breath was slow, mechanical, his body already crumbling.


    Lucan could not find his voice.


    For centuries, this man had endured. He had lost everything. His kingdom, his father, his freedom—and yet he lived.


    But now…


    Now he would fade.


    The old mage smiled—weak, tired.


    "I was never supposed to live this long."


    Lucan’s vision blurred.


    "But I lived long enough to find you."


    The fire burned lower. The embers glowed softly.


    Lucan wanted to scream, to beg, to demand that he stay.


    But he could do nothing.


    And then—


    The mage closed his eyes.


    His body broke apart.


    Aether, pure and radiant, scattered into the air like dust in the wind.


    Lucan reached forward, but his fingers grasped nothing.


    All that remained was his memory.


    And at the center of the fading light—


    His Aethergem.


    Still shining like a diamond.