《World’s Greatest Inventor [A Grand & Epic Fantasy Saga]》 chapter 1 :- The Death of Genius Poverty? He structured economic models that lifted entire nations from ruin, educating the destitute and arming them with knowledge. Disease? He uncovered treatments that had once been the domain of myth, extending human life beyond the limits of the past. ¡° Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡° chapter 2 :- The Council of Gods Darkness. A void without form, without sound, without time. It was neither warm nor cold, neither empty nor full. Lucan Voss floated within it, his consciousness barely tethered to existence. He did not breathe. He did not see. He simply¡­ was. Then, from the abyss, light emerged. It did not flicker or flare¡ªit simply became, stretching outward until the darkness receded like a tide. Lucan felt it pull him, not with force, but with inevitability, drawing him toward something far greater than himself. And suddenly, he stood. The place before him was not of any world he had known. He stood upon an endless floor of polished marble, so perfect it reflected the cosmos above. And the sky¡ªif it could be called that¡ªwas an expanse of swirling stars, nebulae, and celestial fire, a tapestry of creation itself. And before him sat the Council of Gods. Their thrones towered like mountains, vast and adorned with golden etchings of worlds long past and those yet to be. Some of them bore forms akin to men and women, robed in divine cloth, their gazes ancient and knowing. Others had no form at all, existing as shifting constellations, drifting mist, or figures woven from pure radiance. Their presence was suffocating, not in malice, but in sheer magnitude. They were not simply watching him¡ªthey knew him. Every thought, every triumph, every doubt, and failure. One of them, a goddess draped in flowing silver, rose from her seat. "Lucan Voss." His name was not spoken¡ªit was declared, carried through the space as if it had always been meant to be heard. "You have completed your purpose," another voice intoned, deep and resonant, like the weight of eternity itself. "You have fulfilled the task for which you were created." This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Lucan¡¯s brow furrowed. "Task?" The silver-clad goddess stepped forward, her eyes shimmering with untold ages. "You are a Fragment of Knowledge¡ªa sliver of divine wisdom, planted into the womb of a mortal woman millions of years ago." Lucan¡¯s breath caught in his throat. "You have walked countless worlds," another god continued, his form shifting like a nebula in motion. "Born, lived, and died¡ªeach time bringing enlightenment, each time solving what was unsolvable, each time lifting civilizations from darkness." A sense of vertigo overtook him. Had he truly done this? Had his entire existence been preordained¡ªa mere piece of something far greater? "And now," the goddess said, her voice carrying a finality that rang through his soul, "Earth was your final task. The cycle is complete. There is no world left for you to save." Lucan swallowed. A great emptiness settled in his chest, heavier than any burden he had carried before. "Then¡­ what now? What becomes of me?" The gods were silent for a moment, as if weighing his soul upon unseen scales. Then, the goddess spoke again, softer this time. "You may return to your original world¡ªthe world from which all things began for you." A stir of something deep within his being. An old memory, distant and blurred, yet familiar. He had no words for it, only a feeling¡ªhome. And yet¡­ he hesitated. He had seen too much. Learned too much. He did not want to forget. Lucan lifted his head. "Then I ask only one thing¡ªI wish to keep my memories. Let me carry the wisdom of my past lives forward." A murmur passed through the council, low and uncertain. The silver-clad goddess studied him, her eyes holding both sorrow and understanding. "It is not possible," she said gently. "The full weight of your past lives'' knowledge is beyond what any mortal mind can endure. To remember all that you have been would be to unravel yourself." Lucan clenched his fists. Even here, among gods, he was limited. "But," she continued, "you may retain the memories of your last life¡ªyour time on Earth. That knowledge alone is enough to shape the world you return to." It was not everything. But it was enough. Lucan exhaled, his resolve settling like stone. "Then I accept." The goddess raised her hand. The marble beneath him fractured, golden light pouring from the cracks. The very fabric of reality shifted, the stars above rushing downward, consuming him in celestial brilliance. The voices of the gods faded into the void, but their final words echoed through his soul. "Go forth, Fragment of Knowledge. Shape your world once more." And then¡ª Lucan Voss was gone. chapter 3 :- The Child and the Falling Fire Darkness gave way to light. Lucan Voss awoke to the gentle rocking of wood beneath him, the creaking of wet planks, and the rhythmic lapping of water against the hull. His body felt weak, unfamiliar¡ªsmall. The vast expanse of a tranquil river surrounded him, stretching endlessly in both directions, its shimmering surface reflecting the twilight sky above. He lay in the center of a small wooden boat, barely large enough to hold him. And he was alone. A child of mere days, swaddled in thin cloth, unable to move, unable to speak. The realization struck like a hammer. This was his reincarnation. Gone was his body, his voice, his strength. In its place, the frail form of an infant, cast adrift upon an unknown river in an unknown world. He tried to move his arms¡ªweak. He tried to speak¡ªnothing but breathless gasps. Lucan Voss drifted on the river, his tiny body weak, his limbs fragile. The boat rocked gently beneath him, carried forward by the slow, unfeeling current. He was alone¡ªno warmth of another, no voice to comfort him. He could not speak, could not move. Then¡ªlight. A deep, fiery glow illuminated the night sky, casting its terrible radiance over the dark waters. The infant Lucan struggled to lift his head, his body untrained, his neck unable to bear the weight. But his eyes¡ªhis mind¡ªremained sharp, unwavering. Above him, a colossal sphere of fire carved through the heavens like a fallen star. The flames churned in unnatural patterns, not merely fire, but something more¡ªsomething controlled, something guided. It surged forward, moving with terrible precision. His tiny head trembled as he followed its path. A city stood upon the distant shore¡ªa bastion of marble and gold, grand towers rising into the heavens, great domes adorned with celestial runes. The streets were lined with sacred statues, carved in devotion to gods long worshiped. Bridges of gleaming stone arched over tranquil canals, and a grand palace rested at its heart, its spires reaching toward the stars. A holy city, untouched by war, revered by its people. And then, the fireball struck. A blinding explosion engulfed the outer wall, a shockwave tearing through the foundation. The pristine stonework, once a testament to the divine, shattered in an instant. Towers crumbled, bridges collapsed, and the streets¡ªso carefully crafted over centuries¡ªbecame ruin. A tremor shook the very air. Screams erupted from within the city, voices of thousands crying out as the fire spread like a living thing, consuming everything in its wake. And then¡ªanother fireball. It roared through the sky, faster than the first, carving an arc of death. The second explosion was greater, consuming an entire district in a storm of flame. The holy city, untouched for centuries, was being erased in mere moments. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Lucan¡¯s breath¡ªwhat little he had¡ªhitched. Who? His gaze, small and weak, tried to follow the source. And then, he saw him. Standing atop a distant cliff, overlooking the devastation, was a man. A mage. His robes were black and crimson, frayed at the edges, lined with symbols of ancient power. His long silver hair moved with the wind, but his expression was still¡ªcold, sorrowful, absolute. His staff, forged from an unknown metal, pulsed with runes of immeasurable complexity, burning with an eerie crimson glow. And then, he raised it. The air split as an inferno coalesced above him, gathering into a sphere of pure destruction. It was massive, greater than the last, a swirling mass of molten energy so vast that the very sky trembled beneath its weight. Lucan¡¯s boat shuddered as the heat rippled across the river. Though the fire did not touch the water, the air itself boiled. The river¡¯s surface wavered, distorting the reflection of the burning city. The mage¡¯s eyes, filled with grief and fury, locked onto his target. He thrust the staff forward. The fireball surged toward the city, its descent slow, almost methodical. It struck the palace. The explosion that followed was beyond devastation¡ªit was an undoing. The palace, grand and sacred, ceased to exist in a single instant. The golden spires, the celestial halls, the divine relics held within¡ªall vanished into a storm of fire and ruin. The city¡¯s heart, the very symbol of its people¡¯s faith, was gone. The earth shook. Fire rose higher, consuming temple after temple, home after home. The streets, once paved in white stone, became rivers of molten rock. Statues of gods crumbled into dust. The screams of the people¡ªtheir cries for salvation¡ªwere drowned beneath the roaring inferno. Yet the mage did not stop. He raised his staff once more, his shoulders trembling¡ªnot with weakness, but with something deeper. Regret. Sorrow. A man who had no other choice. Lucan, despite his frail form, could see it. This was no tyrant. No conqueror. This was a man who had lost everything. The final fireball formed above him, larger than all the others. The size of a sun, burning with an intensity that defied logic. It was a spell meant to end all things. Lucan could not turn away. He could only watch. Then, the mage hesitated. His grip on his staff faltered. His breathing slowed. He looked upon the burning city¡ªupon what he had done. And in that moment, the last embers of his fury died. With a whisper, he traced a rune into the air. His body shimmered, and he was gone. Vanished into the ether, leaving behind only ruin and silence. Lucan¡¯s boat drifted onward. He passed the burning city, the embers still rising to the heavens like the final prayers of a dying people. He passed the blackened mountains, their jagged peaks illuminated by the distant glow of destruction. And then, he passed into emptiness. The river stretched endlessly, and no one came for him. The hours dragged on, his tiny stomach twisting with hunger, pain, weakness. He whimpered at first, soft and pitiful, then louder¡ªlouder¡ªhis cries swallowed by the vast wilderness around him. No one answered. Then¡ªthe shift. The river¡¯s gentle embrace turned wild. The currents surged, his boat rocking violently as it was pulled forward. Faster. Faster. Lucan¡¯s body was thrown back, his tiny hands grasping at nothing. The wind howled in his ears. The boat twisted and turned, caught in the grip of something unseen. Ahead, the river vanished. Lucan¡¯s breath hitched. A waterfall. The water rushed toward oblivion, a sheer drop into mist and crashing depths below. The boat lurched forward, its wooden frame creaking as it was pulled toward the edge. Lucan screamed. But no words came. The abyss yawned before him. The boat tilted. And then¡ª He fell. chapter 4 :- The Mage and the Child The wind roared, carrying the deafening crash of water as Lucan¡¯s tiny body plummeted toward the abyss. The mist below was thick, an endless white veil concealing the jagged rocks and violent currents that awaited him. His cries were lost to the storm of noise. Then¡ªspace twisted. A rune ignited in the air, a single sigil burning with blinding brilliance. And before Lucan could fall into the depths, a hand grasped him. The force of the sudden stop nearly tore his frail body apart, the sheer momentum causing his tiny limbs to flail helplessly. But the grip that held him was firm¡ªunshakable, unyielding. Lucan was pulled from the brink of death, cradled in strong, steady arms. He gazed upward, his newborn mind still incapable of forming words, yet his soul¡ªthe ancient soul that had lived and died across countless worlds¡ªrecognized power when it saw it. The mage had returned. The same man who had reduced a city to embers, who had carved fire into the heavens, who had vanished in a whisper of magic. Now, that same man held him close, his cloak billowing in the wind, his piercing gaze scanning Lucan¡¯s tiny frame with something akin to disbelief. The mage¡¯s eyes¡ªhaunted, ancient, burdened by grief¡ªsoftened. He placed a hand against Lucan¡¯s chest, his fingers glowing faintly as they searched for something. His brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. His grip tightened. ¡°No¡­ this isn¡¯t possible.¡± Lucan did not understand. He was an infant. Helpless. But the mage¡ªthe greatest sorcerer Lucan had ever seen¡ªwas afraid. ¡°How¡­?¡± the mage whispered. His voice was strained, like a man trying to grasp something that should not exist. He placed his palm against Lucan¡¯s chest once more, and this time, his magic reached deeper. He searched, not just for warmth, not just for life¡ªbut for the core of all living beings. For an Aethergem. And yet, he found nothing. A terrible silence fell over him. Lucan felt it even through his infant mind¡ªthe hesitation, the sheer impossibility of what the mage had just discovered. Every living thing possessed an Aethergem. Every man, every beast, every blade of grass, every whispering stream. It was the soul, the heart, the source of all magic and existence. For something to be alive without an Aethergem was to defy the very laws of creation. The mage trembled. He was not a man who feared battle. He was not a man who feared death. But this child¡ªthis impossible child¡ªwas something he could not comprehend. And yet¡­ he did not abandon him. His hands, calloused from magic beyond mortal reach, tightened their hold. He looked down at Lucan¡ªthis fragile, helpless child¡ªand sighed. A long, exhausted sigh. And then, the greatest mage in the world made his decision. He would keep the boy. The world had forgotten them. Beyond the ruined city, beyond the blackened mountains, beyond the rivers that whispered with the ghosts of the past, lay an ancient forest untouched by time. Here, the air shimmered with golden motes of Aether, drifting lazily like fireflies. The trees were unlike any Lucan had seen before¡ªmassive, their roots stretching deep, their trunks carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly under the moonlight. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. A sanctuary of magic, hidden from the world. The mage had brought Lucan here, to this untouched realm where no kingdom ruled, where no human dared tread. It was a place of silence, of secrecy. A place for the forgotten. And here, among the whispering trees, they lived. Days became months. Months became years. Lucan, though still a child, grew in mind, if not in magic. He could not wield Aether, could not carve runes into the air as his master did. And yet, he learned everything else. For the mage¡ªhis guardian, his savior¡ªwas more than just a wielder of power. He was a teacher, and Lucan was his only student. "Magic," the mage had once said, his voice deep and steady, "is not a gift. It is not a curse. It is the law of this world." Lucan had listened, wide-eyed, as the mage traced symbols in the dirt, his fingers crackling with raw Aether. "Aether is life. It is energy, it is existence itself. All living things¡ªbeasts, plants, even the earth beneath us¡ªpossess an Aethergem. It is our core, our heart, our soul. It is what separates life from death." Lucan had stared down at his own small chest, pressing his palm against his heart. But he had no gem. And so, the mage continued. "Aethergems are not identical. They are unique to each person, each creature. Their color, shape, and resonance determine how magic flows through them. Some glow like fire, others like ice, some pulse with energy unknown to man." Lucan watched as the mage closed his fist. A small, floating ember flickered into existence, hovering above his palm like a tiny sun. "Every Aethergem has an affinity. Some wield fire, others water, some light, some shadow. The greatest mages can command even the storms and the earth itself." Lucan had leaned closer, mesmerized. "And you? What is your affinity?" The mage had hesitated. His golden eyes, once so steady, had flickered with something unreadable. "...Mine was once fire." "Was?" A pause. Then, the flame in his palm died. "My Aethergem is fading, Lucan. And when it fades completely, so too will I." Lucan had swallowed hard, his small hands clenching into fists. He did not like this lesson. But magic was not all the mage had taught him. Lucan learned of the world beyond the forest. "There are five great kingdoms," the mage had explained one evening, as the fire crackled between them. "Each built upon the power of Aether, each ruled by those who control it best." Lucan had listened, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "The Mageocracy of Arcanis," his master began, "where the strongest mages reign as kings, their knowledge shaping the land itself. A land where the weak have no power, and the powerful hoard magic for themselves." "The Holy Dominion of Solvaris," he continued, his voice tinged with something bitter. "A theocracy where divine Aether is law, where the priests carve runes upon their flesh and call it faith. To break their law is to be erased." "The Empire of Drakaroth," he said next, his fingers tracing unseen patterns in the air. "A land of warriors, of battle and conquest. Their Aether fuels war, and their kings are chosen not by blood¡ªbut by the blade." Lucan shivered. "The Republic of Aurion," the mage continued, "where magic is wealth, where those who trade in Aethergems control the world¡¯s fate." And finally¡ª "The Nomadic Clans of the Vale. The forgotten ones. The outcasts. They live outside the laws of kingdoms, guided by spirits and the call of the wild." Lucan had memorized every word. For though the forest was their world now, he knew¡ªone day, he would see these places for himself. But the mage had not only taught him knowledge. He had taught him strength. Lucan was no mage, but he was not weak. He learned to move like the wind, to climb the towering trees, to vanish among the leaves. His master showed him how to track the beasts of the forest, how to wield a dagger, how to strike without hesitation. "Magic is powerful," the mage had said, "but power is not only found in spells." Lucan had learned to fight without magic. And in doing so, he became something else¡ªsomething his master could not name. Something without an Aethergem, yet alive all the same. But more than knowledge, more than strength, Lucan had given something back. The mage¡ªhis guardian, his teacher, his only family¡ªhad never smiled. Not truly. But Lucan had made it his mission. With each day, he tried¡ªthrough small jokes, through stubborn persistence, through childish antics that no great sorcerer should have to deal with. And over the years, something changed. His master¡¯s silence became softer. His cold demeanor became warmer. The nights spent in quiet contemplation became nights spent in conversation. It was slow. It was subtle. But Lucan knew¡ªhe was saving this man, just as this man had once saved him. But time was cruel. And though Lucan had grown stronger¡ªthe mage had grown weaker. His hands stiffened first. Then his legs. His movements became sluggish, his steps slower, his breath heavier. One evening, as the fire crackled in their quiet home, the mage sat before Lucan and lifted his sleeve. And beneath it¡ª A metallic limb. Lucan¡¯s breath caught in his throat. "What¡­?" The mage exhaled. "My Aethergem is failing," he said simply. Lucan understood. Aethergems were eternal¡ªunless they burned themselves out. The fireballs. The destruction. The power that had shattered an entire city. Lucan clenched his fists. "You used too much that day." The mage nodded. "And now, I am breaking. My body turns to metal because it has no Aether left to sustain it." Lucan¡¯s voice shook. "But we can fix it¡ª" "No." The mage placed a cold, metallic hand on Lucan¡¯s shoulder. His eyes softened. "My time is ending." Lucan refused to believe it. But the years passed. His master¡¯s body became entirely metal, save for his face¡ªthe last remnant of the man he once was. And soon, even that would fade. chapter 5 - The Final Days of a Mage 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¡ªthe 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¡ªjust 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¡ªfire, 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¡ªthey are hierarchy. The weak stay weak. The strong are born strong. That is the law." Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. 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¡ªthe 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¡ªeverything¡ªat 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¡ªhe 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¡ªthe 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¡ªhis son, the heir of a fallen nation¡ªwas 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¡ªpowerful 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¡ªand yet he lived. But now¡­ Now he would fade. The old mage smiled¡ªweak, 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¡ª 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¡ª His Aethergem. Still shining like a diamond. chapter 6 - The Journey Begins Lucan stood in the center of the clearing, staring at the spot where his master had once been. Only ashes remained. The wind swept softly through the trees, carrying away the last traces of the man who had shaped his life. It was too quiet now¡ªtoo empty. For years, this forest had been their home, filled with the warmth of a steady voice, the scent of burning wood, the weight of lessons learned through patience and hardship. Now, it was just him. His fingers curled around the Aethergem left behind. It pulsed faintly, still warm, as if the last remnants of his master¡¯s life still clung to it. For a long time, he simply stood there, the weight of it pressing against his palm. Then, slowly, he lifted it over his head and tied it around his neck with a strip of leather. The gem felt heavy. Not from its weight, but from its meaning. Lucan exhaled. "There¡¯s nothing left for me here." He turned toward the forest, slinging a small bag over his shoulder. His old journal¡ªfilled with pages of notes, half-finished sketches, and observations about the world¡ªrested safely inside. With one last look at the only home he had ever known, he left. The jungle was alive with sound. Insects hummed, hidden beneath the foliage. Birds with feathers of Aether-infused light darted between branches, their wings leaving faint trails of luminescence in the air. Every plant, every vine, every stone seemed to pulse with some form of hidden magic. Lucan moved carefully, stepping over twisted roots that slithered like living things. Some of them actually were. He had seen too many creatures in this jungle that did not behave as they should¡ªpredatory flowers, vines that strangled anything warm-blooded, and trees that whispered in a language no man should understand. He took out his journal and began to write. "Observations: The vegetation here is infused with Aether at a level far beyond normal environments. The trees seem to store energy and release it in cycles¡ªpossibly linked to the moon phases? Need more study." Lucan had no magic. No Aethergem of his own. But he had something just as powerful¡ªknowledge. If he couldn¡¯t wield Aether, he would understand it. That was how he would survive. His eyes scanned the treetops, noting the slight rustling above. Something was moving up there. He kept walking, but his grip tightened on the dagger at his belt. Then¡ªa blur of silver shot past him. Lucan froze. A small creature soared overhead, leaping through the air with impossible ease. It barely touched the ground before launching itself into the sky again¡ªa streak of silver and white against the dark canopy. Stolen novel; please report. He had never seen anything move like that before. Slowly, he crouched behind a thick root, eyes narrowing as he tracked the creature¡¯s movement. It landed on a high tree branch, ears twitching as it scanned the area. A rabbit-like beast¡ªbut larger than a normal hare, its fur gleaming with soft traces of Aetheric light. Lucan opened his journal and flipped to a blank page. Entry: "Unidentified species. Appearance resembles a hare, but body structure suggests enhanced muscular density. Aethergem visible just above the chest. Hypothesis: Aether-enhanced leaping ability?" He kept watching. The creature tensed. Then¡ªit jumped. It didn¡¯t just jump. It disappeared into the sky. Lucan blinked. "That thing just leapt at least fifty meters straight up¡­" His fingers moved quickly, jotting down everything he had seen. He had heard rumors of creatures like this before¡ªbeasts whose Aethergems did not grant them spells, but instead enhanced their natural abilities. "Aethergem ability: Extreme leaping power. Possible use¡ªhigh mobility combat? Evasion? Need further observation." He waited, hoping to see it land again. Instead, he saw something else. In the distance, past the final edge of the jungle, something caught his eye. Between the dense trees, he could make out structures¡ªhouses, rooftops, smoke rising from chimneys. A village. His heart beat faster. "Civilization." For the first time in his life, he would see the world outside the forest. Lucan stepped out of the jungle and into the outskirts of the village. A small wooden sign, half-covered in moss, marked the entrance. He brushed the dirt away and read the words carved into its surface. Eldermere. The first human settlement he had ever laid eyes on. Lucan slowed his steps, taking everything in. The village was not grand like the floating cities of Arcanis he had read about. There were no towering spires, no enchanted streets lined with glowing crystals. Instead, it was simple. But alive. The houses were made of thick wood, their rooftops woven with dried leaves. The fields were golden with crops, yet no hands worked the soil¡ªsmall enchantments did it for them, ensuring the perfect balance of water and nutrients. Magic was everywhere, but subtle. Not overwhelming like in the great mage cities. Lucan wandered further, studying the way runes were etched into doorways, the way small orbs of floating light guided people down the paths at night. "Even here, magic rules everything." And then¡ªsomething happened. A sudden gasp from the crowd ahead. Lucan turned, his eyes locking onto the scene unfolding before him. A young woman had collapsed in the middle of the street. The girl lay motionless, her golden hair sprawled across the dirt road. Her dress, embroidered with faint runes, was slightly dusted from the fall. Lucan¡¯s eyes narrowed. Her lips were pale blue. Her chest barely moved. The villagers rushed toward her, panic in their voices. "Seraphina!" "Someone get the healer!" Lucan¡¯s mind was already racing. He stepped forward, pushing past the crowd before anyone could react. "Move," he ordered. Some hesitated, staring at him. He shoved one man aside, dropping to his knees beside the girl. "She¡¯s not breathing," he muttered. His hands moved on their own. Tilt the head back. Open the airway. Listen. He pressed his ear to her lips. No breath. His chest tightened. "Heart failure." The villagers were still talking, still yelling. They didn¡¯t understand. "Step back!" he snapped. "She needs air!" He placed his hands over her sternum and began chest compressions. One. Two. Three. The villagers stared in confusion. "What is he doing?" "Is it some kind of spell?" Thirty compressions. Then, he pinched her nose, parted her lips, and breathed air into her lungs. The girl¡¯s chest rose slightly. Lucan repeated the cycle. Again. Again. Then¡ª A cough. Her body jerked, her chest heaving as she sucked in a breath. Lucan exhaled, his arms shaking from the effort. The villagers around them gasped in shock. "She¡¯s¡ªshe¡¯s breathing!" The girl¡¯s eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused. Lucan sat back, watching. He had saved her. Not with magic. Not with Aether. But with knowledge. And as the villagers whispered among themselves, their eyes shifting toward him in awe and uncertainty, chapter 7 - The Shackles of Fear Darkness. Cold, damp, and suffocating. Lucan drifted between consciousness and oblivion, his mind sluggish, his body broken. The last thing he remembered was hands gripping him, fists striking him, voices shouting in fear and anger. And then¡ªpain. Now, only silence remained. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through his ribs. His wrists were heavy, bound by something rough and unyielding. The air smelled of rot and damp stone, the kind of place where men were forgotten, where light had long abandoned its duty. Lucan¡¯s eyes fluttered open. Stone walls surrounded him, carved with dimly glowing runes, their light flickering like dying embers. A containment chamber. A prison meant not just to hold but to suppress. He was trapped. Slowly, the weight of reality settled upon him. The village had betrayed him. Not for a crime, not for a sin¡ªbut for knowing too much. For saving a life in a way they did not understand. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. Knowledge is the greatest curse of all. But he was not alone. A voice¡ªlow and hoarse with age¡ªechoed from the darkness. "Ah¡­ another one." Lucan tensed, his head snapping toward the sound. A figure sat slumped against the far wall, half-shrouded in shadows. His hair was long and white, his face lined with the weight of years spent in suffering. His clothes, little more than rags, hung loose over a frame once strong, now wasted. But his eyes¡ªthey burned with something fierce, something defiant. A man who had lost everything¡ªexcept his mind. Lucan exhaled. "Who are you?" The man tilted his head, a slow smile curling over his lips. "A ghost of a forgotten age," he murmured. "A prisoner of the present. And perhaps¡­ your only chance of seeing the sun again." Lucan¡¯s fingers tightened against his bindings. He could feel it¡ªthe weight of something deeper, something hidden beneath those words. This man was not just a prisoner. He was a secret waiting to be uncovered. The old man¡¯s voice was quiet but firm, each word measured, each syllable carrying the weight of truth long buried. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "This village," he said, "is not what it seems." Lucan listened, unmoving. "Eldermere is a parasite," the old man continued. "It lures travelers with kindness, with safety. A sanctuary, untouched by war, a place where no kingdom rules." His lips curled into a grim smile. "But that is a lie." Lucan¡¯s chest tightened. "They do not let outsiders leave," the old man whispered. "They consume them." Lucan stilled. "They do not kill outright," the old man continued. "Not at first. No, they are far more patient, far more¡­ insidious. They strip men of their freedom, of their will. They drain their strength, force them into bondage." Lucan¡¯s stomach churned. "Slavery." The old man nodded. "But for those who have no use as laborers¡­" He gestured toward the runes carved into the walls. "They are bled for their Aether. Drained, piece by piece, their life force sustaining the fields, the wells, the people of this cursed village." Lucan¡¯s heart pounded against his ribs. "They take Aether from prisoners¡­ to power the village itself?" "Yes." A slow dread crept over him. Lucan clenched his fists. This village¡ªthis wretched place¡ªhad cast itself in the image of peace, yet beneath its surface lay a horror no less cruel than the Mageocracy itself. And he had walked straight into it. But he was not the only one. The old man studied him carefully. "You are different," he murmured. "I saw it the moment they threw you down here. The way you carry yourself. The way your eyes see things others do not." Lucan stayed silent. "Tell me," the old man continued, voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know of the Industrial Empire?" Lucan¡¯s breath hitched. He had heard the name before. In whispers. In ancient texts his master once let him read. The lost kingdom, the one that had dared to rival Arcanis, not with Aethergems or magic¡ªbut with machines. Lucan nodded. "I know of it." A flicker of something¡ªhope? Regret?¡ªpassed through the old man¡¯s gaze. "Then you must also know," he said softly, "that they were destroyed." Lucan swallowed hard. "Centuries ago, yes." "Not all of them." Lucan¡¯s pulse quickened. The old man leaned forward, the light of the runes casting harsh shadows over his worn face. "My name is Veylan, and I am one of the last remnants of that fallen empire. My family has spent centuries trying to free our prince¡ªthe man your master once was." Lucan¡¯s breath caught. "Your master," Veylan continued, "was never just a prisoner of Arcanis. He was our lost heir." Lucan¡¯s mind raced. His master¡ªa prince? The son of the last great inventor, the one who had created the first artificial Aethergem? It all made sense now. The fear of the Mageocracy. The war waged against a kingdom that threatened to make magic obsolete. The reason why his master had been hunted, enslaved, bled for his power. And now, centuries later, that same fear was being used to justify Lucan¡¯s imprisonment. Lucan exhaled slowly. This world had done everything it could to erase the Industrial Empire. But they had failed. Because here, in this forgotten prison, sat one of its last survivors. And here, in these chains, sat a man who would finish what they started. Lucan lifted his gaze. "Then help me escape," he said. Veylan smirked. "You¡¯re more like him than you realize." He leaned back against the stone wall, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Listen carefully, boy," he murmured. "If you want to survive this place, you¡¯ll need more than strength. More than knowledge. You¡¯ll need power." Lucan¡¯s brow furrowed. "I don¡¯t have an Aethergem." Veylan¡¯s smile widened. "Who said anything about magic?" A glint of something metallic flashed in his hands. A tiny device, barely functional, but radiating the remnants of something long forgotten. "The world thinks magic is the only path to power," Veylan said. "But my people knew better." Lucan stared, realization dawning. "You mean¡­" Veylan nodded. "I¡¯m going to teach you how to infuse Aethergems into machines. And when we¡¯re done¡ª" His grin turned razor-sharp. "¡ªEldermere will regret ever laying hands on you." Lucan¡¯s eyes burned with new fire. This was not where he would die. This was where he would begin. chapter 8 - The invention Lucan stood in the center of the village, waiting. He expected gratitude. Instead, he saw fear. The people of Eldermere did not look at him with relief. They looked at him like he was a monster. The village elder stood before him, his ceremonial robe weighed down with beads of Aether, his expression grim. Beside him, Madam Yelna, the village healer, held Seraphina¡¯s weak and trembling form, her eyes full of suspicion. ¡°You should not be here,¡± the elder said at last, his voice heavy with judgment. Lucan frowned. ¡°I saved her life.¡± ¡°You did something unnatural.¡± A murmur spread through the gathered villagers. ¡°He touched death and pulled her back.¡± ¡°That is not the way of Aether.¡± Lucan¡¯s patience thinned. ¡°I used science, not magic. I restored her breathing. You people¡ª¡± ¡°You mock our ways?¡± Yelna snapped, eyes burning with anger. ¡°You speak of ¡®science¡¯ as if it is above the gods?¡± Lucan gritted his teeth. They don¡¯t understand. ¡°Tell me,¡± the elder said, his gaze sharp. ¡°Where did you learn such things?¡± Lucan hesitated. And that was all they needed. ¡°Seize him,¡± the elder ordered. Lucan turned to run¡ªbut rough hands grabbed him. Pain exploded in his ribs as a wooden club struck him. He gasped, knees buckling. Another blow¡ªhis vision blurred, the shouts of the villagers turning into a distant roar. His master¡¯s Aethergem necklace was torn from his neck. Then came darkness. Lucan awoke to cold stone beneath his back. Pain flared through his body. His wrists were shackled, his head pounding from the blows. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to assess his surroundings. A dungeon. A containment chamber¡ªrunes carved into the walls, designed to drain Aetheric energy. But he had no Aether to drain. Which meant they had placed him here out of fear, not necessity. ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± Lucan turned his head. An old man sat in the corner, his eyes gleaming in the dim glow of the runes. His frame was frail, his hair long and white, but there was a sharpness to his gaze¡ªa mind that had not yet rotted. ¡°Who are you?¡± Lucan asked, his voice hoarse. The man chuckled. ¡°A prisoner, like you. And the last man who tried to escape Eldermere.¡± Lucan¡¯s breath stilled. The old man¡¯s voice lowered, turning cold. ¡°This village¡­ it is a trap. A parasite. Every traveler who comes here¡ªthey never leave.¡± Lucan frowned. ¡°They kill outsiders?¡± The man smiled darkly. ¡°Not at first.¡± He gestured to the runes carved into the stone walls. ¡°They don¡¯t just kill.¡± His voice was a whisper now. ¡°They harvest.¡± Lucan¡¯s heart pounded. ¡°They strip people of their Aethergems. They drain the energy slowly, over weeks, months. The weak are used as laborers, but those with strong Aether?¡± The man exhaled. ¡°They are bled dry. Their essence fed into the village¡¯s wells, its fields, its people.¡± Lucan¡¯s stomach tightened. He had spent his whole life studying the balance of magic and power. But this¡ªthis was not power. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. This was cannibalism. The air in the cell was thick with dampness, the faint blue glow of Aether runes casting shifting shadows along the stone walls. Lucan sat still, his mind racing, pulse pounding in his ears. Escape. He needed to escape. He glanced at the iron door, at the flickering sigils meant to contain those with Aethergems. Except he had no Aethergem. No power. No way out. Before he could speak, the old man across from him leaned forward. ¡°There is something else,¡± he murmured, his voice barely louder than the drip of water from the ceiling. ¡°Something far more important than your escape.¡± Lucan narrowed his eyes. The old man studied him, as if measuring the weight of his existence, as if seeing something Lucan himself did not yet understand. ¡°I have been waiting for someone like you.¡± Lucan frowned. ¡°Waiting? For what?¡± The man¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°For the one who will finish what we started.¡± Lucan stiffened. The old man shifted, moving closer so that the dim glow illuminated more of his face. The scars. The hollowed cheeks. The sharpness in his gaze that had not dulled, even after years of captivity. ¡°My name is Veylan,¡± he said, voice steady. ¡°And long ago, I was a citizen of the Industrial Empire.¡± Lucan froze. That name. A kingdom that no longer existed. A civilization buried by history, its ruins spoken of only in whispers¡ªa fallen nation that had dared to challenge the rule of mages. Lucan had read the stories. Aether-powered machines. Great mechanical cities. Towers built not with spells, but with ingenuity. And then¡ªwar. A war that ended in fire. Veylan¡¯s eyes gleamed in the darkness. ¡°I was part of the last resistance,¡± he continued. ¡°My family spent centuries trying to free our prince¡ªyour master¡ªfrom the clutches of the Mageocracy.¡± Lucan¡¯s breath caught. His master. The man who raised him. A man of impossible wisdom, of knowledge that defied the laws of the world. A man who had never spoken of his origins, never shared the truth of where he had come from. Lucan had always wondered. Always questioned. Now, he had his answer. His master was not just a prisoner. He was a lost heir. A silence stretched between them, heavy with meaning. Veylan¡¯s voice was sharp, filled with conviction. ¡°We created a power the Mageocracy feared,¡± he said. ¡°Aether, not as a spell¡ªbut as a force that could be controlled.¡± Lucan¡¯s mind raced. This was more than just history. More than just the past. This was his inheritance. Veylan exhaled, his gaze unwavering. ¡°The world believes only mages can wield Aether.¡± Lucan¡¯s hands tightened into fists. ¡°They are wrong,¡± Veylan said softly. Lucan¡¯s heart pounded. He had spent his entire life watching from the outside¡ªa man with no magic, surrounded by those who shaped the world with theirs. He had always been the observer, the one who wrote and learned but could never touch. But now¡ª Now, he saw it. A different path. A new power. Something beyond magic. Lucan lifted his chin, fire in his gaze. ¡°Teach me.¡± Veylan¡¯s lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. "With pleasure, boy." The darkness of the prison cell seemed heavier now, pressing down on them like a suffocating shroud. But in the center of that suffocating void, a spark of something ancient was being reignited. Lucan and Veylan sat on the cold stone floor, surrounded by scraps of rusted iron, shattered wood, and frayed wiring pulled from the broken remains of their prison. They had no forge, no anvil, no precise tools¡ªbut they had knowledge. Lucan¡¯s hands worked tirelessly, twisting metal into shape, weaving conduits along the frame of what would soon become his first invention. Veylan watched with quiet reverence. "You work fast," the old man murmured. Lucan didn¡¯t respond, his focus absolute. For years, he had written about magic¡ªstudied its laws, analyzed its forms. He had spent a lifetime watching mages bend the world to their will, while he stood powerless. But here, in the depths of this prison, he was about to do something even greater. He was about to break the rules. The foundation of the gauntlet was crude¡ªa simple frame of salvaged metal, bent and reshaped into something that resembled a bracer, covering the length of Lucan¡¯s forearm and extending over his knuckles like a mechanical claw. The interior was lined with a network of wires and filaments, stolen from the remnants of the prison¡¯s containment devices. But it was missing something. The core. Lucan glanced at the stolen Aethergem, cradled in his palm. It was small¡ªfractured¡ªbut still alive. Its faint glow pulsed like a dying ember, struggling to sustain itself. This was the heart of magic, the power that had dictated the fate of kings and empires. Lucan set the gem into the gauntlet¡¯s core, locking it in place. For a moment, nothing happened. Then¡ª The air shifted. A pulse of energy rippled outward, causing the walls to tremble. The gauntlet hummed, the engravings along its metal surface glowing with stolen power. Lucan¡¯s breath hitched. For the first time in his life, he felt it¡ªthe raw pulse of Aether, not as something foreign, but as something he could touch. Veylan let out a slow, measured breath. ¡°Beautiful.¡± Lucan flexed his fingers. The gauntlet moved with him, seamlessly responding to his motion, as if it were an extension of his own body. The strength behind it was unnatural¡ªhis arm no longer felt like his own, but something more. A new kind of power. His fingers curled into a fist. Aether surged through the metal¡ªnot wild, not chaotic, but controlled. Contained. Harnessed. This was not magic. This was engineering. The world had always believed that only those born with Aethergems could wield power. Lucan had just proven them wrong. Lucan exhaled slowly. The glow of the gauntlet cast long shadows against the walls, the runes along its plating shimmering with untapped potential. This was no ordinary machine. This was something that should not exist. ¡°This is what the world fears,¡± Lucan murmured, staring at his creation. Veylan chuckled. ¡°Then make them fear it more.¡± Lucan turned toward the iron prison door. The Aethergem in his gauntlet pulsed, sensing his intent. Heat coiled at his palm. Lucan lifted his arm. And fired. Aether surged through the gauntlet, the gathered energy releasing in an explosive burst. A stream of fire and force erupted from his palm, colliding with the door in a flash of molten metal and roaring heat. The iron shattered. A shockwave ripped through the cell, sending dust and debris spiraling into the air. The containment runes flickered and died, their energy severed by the sheer force of the blast. Silence. Then¡ªa slow, metallic groan as the ruined door fell forward, collapsing into the hallway beyond. Lucan¡¯s breath was steady. His hand still burned with lingering heat, the glow from his gauntlet fading, but not extinguished. It had worked. His first machine. His first weapon. And he was just getting started. Chapter 9 - The Fields of Blood The air in the underground dungeon was thick with the scent of ash and molten iron. The shattered remains of the prison door still smoldered, its edges glowing red-hot where Lucan¡¯s blast had ripped through the iron. He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the charred stone, his breath slow and steady. He was heading to the surface. Lucan had barely taken three steps when he heard it¡ª Heavy footsteps. Fast. Closing in. Two guards, armored in dark leather, rushed into the corridor. Their weapons already drawn, glowing with Aether-infused runes etched into the metal. Lucan recognized the markings instantly¡ª Piercing runes. Weapons meant to cut through anything. One of the guards, a burly man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, snarled at the sight of Lucan. ¡°You should¡¯ve stayed in your cell, freak.¡± Lucan smiled, tilting his head slightly. ¡°And miss the view outside? No thanks.¡± The second guard¡ªa younger man with sharp eyes¡ªlunged forward first, his sword gleaming as he slashed downward. Lucan moved faster. Before the blade could reach him, his gauntlet roared to life. A blast of condensed Aether energy erupted from his palm, the impact ripping through the air like a cannon shot. The first guard was gone instantly¡ªdisintegrated in a violent shockwave of pure destruction. The second guard barely had time to react before Lucan pivoted, unleashing another pulse of energy. His body vanished into dust. Only their swords and severed legs remained, still standing where their owners had been. The glowing runes on their weapons flickered before fading into silence. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Lucan exhaled, stepping forward and picking up one of the fallen blades. The rune carvings pulsed faintly, their power still intact. Not bad. He turned and tossed the weapon to Veylan, who caught it easily. "Back me up," Lucan said. Veylan tested the weight of the sword in his grip, giving it a few quick swings before smirking. "Don¡¯t get yourself killed, boy." Lucan grinned. "No promises." Together, they stepped out of the dungeon and into the open night. The village fields stretched before them, vast and golden beneath the moonlight. Rows of grain and rice swayed gently in the cool night breeze, illuminated by the faint glow of Aether lanterns. Lucan took a step forward¡ª And then he saw them. Ten men. No¡ªten warriors disguised as farmers. Each one held a long, curved scythe, its edge etched with runes of speed. The moment Lucan stepped into the open, the runes flared to life. The eldest among them, a man with weathered skin and piercing eyes, stepped forward. "You¡¯re brave, boy," he said, his voice like grinding stone. "But now is your end." And then¡ªthey vanished. Lucan¡¯s eyes widened. They¡¯re fast¡ª! A flash of steel¡ªpain exploded across his chest. A deep cut, clean and precise. Then¡ªanother. Another. Every second, another wound carved itself into his flesh, his blood dripping into the dirt. Lucan spun sharply, trying to track them¡ªbut they were too fast. They moved like shadows, their forms flickering in and out of sight, their runes propelling them forward at inhuman speeds. To them, Lucan was a corpse still standing. Veylan swung his stolen sword, slashing at the air, but he hit nothing. ¡°They¡¯re ghosts,¡± Veylan growled. ¡°I can¡¯t even touch them¡ª¡± Lucan¡¯s anger burned. He clenched his gauntlet tight, feeling the heat rise, the energy within it screaming to be released. Enough. Lucan slammed his fist into the ground. Aether detonated outward in a pulse of fire and force. A shockwave rippled through the entire field, the ground splitting beneath his feet as a dome of pure destruction erupted outward. The farmers never stood a chance. The ones closest to him were reduced to ash instantly, their scythes falling to the dirt, the runes fading as their wielders ceased to exist. The ones further away tried to outrun it¡ªbut their speed runes failed them. They burned, screaming, as the shockwave consumed them. Veylan had barely managed to leap back in time, his body landing in the dirt just outside the blast radius. He coughed, looking up at the scorched remains of the battlefield. His hands tightened around his sword. "You¡¯re a damn monster," he muttered. Lucan didn¡¯t answer. His eyes were still glowing, the energy in his gauntlet slowly dying down, smoke rising from his fingertips. He had barely used a fraction of its power. Then¡ª A shadow loomed over him. Lucan¡¯s instincts screamed. A second too late. The hammer found his face. chapter 10 - The Battlefield of Fire and Blood Lucan¡¯s body ached, his muscles still throbbing from the earlier blow. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to stay upright, his gauntlet humming with barely restrained power. The device pulsed in his grip, absorbing Aether at a dangerous rate¡ªtoo soon, and it would overload. Then he saw him. The village blacksmith¡ªa monster of muscle and raw strength, his scarred body covered in black Aether runes. He stood at the edge of the battlefield, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. His seven-foot war hammer gleamed under the firelight, the runes carved into its head pulsing with ancient power. Veylan stood before him, sword drawn. Lucan''s heart pounded. "Veylan!" he called out. "Hold him off! Give me two minutes!" Veylan shot him a look. "Two minutes? Are you insane?!" Lucan didn¡¯t answer. His gauntlet was still charging, its energy volatile, on the brink of becoming unstable. If he attacked now, the blacksmith would crush him in an instant. Veylan clicked his tongue, turning back toward his opponent. "Guess I¡¯ll just have to stall then." The blacksmith took a step forward, his massive hammer dragging against the dirt. The weight alone sent small tremors through the ground. He raised his gaze, locking eyes with Veylan. And then¡ªhe moved. The hammer came crashing down. Veylan rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding instant death as the weapon slammed into the earth. The impact alone tore a crater into the battlefield, dirt and debris exploding outward like a shockwave. The sheer force sent a gust of scorching wind into his face, stinging his skin. Veylan barely had time to catch his breath before the blacksmith lunged again. A second strike¡ªfaster than before. Veylan twisted his body, dodging just as the hammer whistled past his ear, the air around it distorting with the force of the swing. "Too fast¡ªtoo strong." The blacksmith wasn¡¯t just some brute with a heavy weapon. He was trained. Precise. Calculated. I can¡¯t block. If I block, I die. Veylan grit his teeth, keeping his movements erratic. Dodge. Dodge. Keep moving. But the blacksmith wasn¡¯t letting up. Another swing¡ªthis time horizontal, aimed at Veylan¡¯s ribs. Veylan barely had time to react. He jumped back, the sheer force of the swing parting the air with a shrill whistle. His breath came in ragged gasps. His body burned, his limbs already beginning to slow. "Damn it¡ªI can¡¯t keep dodging forever." Lucan was still kneeling yards away, his gauntlet glowing brighter as it absorbed more and more Aether energy, the hum now an electric roar. "Hurry up, kid!" Veylan had no choice. He had to strike first. The blacksmith lifted his hammer again, but this time¡ªVeylan moved first. He lunged, his piercing rune sword flashing in the firelight as he went for the legs. A direct stab to the thigh. The blade pierced through flesh, sinking deep into the blacksmith¡¯s left leg. For the first time, the giant staggered. A growl escaped his lips¡ªnot pain, but anger. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Veylan yanked his sword free, blood spraying across the dirt. He took a step back, adjusting his grip. "One more good hit and he¡¯s down¡ª" The blacksmith gritted his teeth and swung his hammer at full force. Veylan¡¯s eyes widened. If this hit him¡ªhis skull would explode. Before the hammer could reach its target¡ª Lucan moved. One second, he was kneeling in the dirt, gasping for air as raw Aether crackled around his gauntlet. The next¡ªhe was between them. His gauntlet ignited, releasing arcs of violet energy that crackled through the air like wild lightning. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hammer''s shaft, the world seemed to slow. The collision sent out a shockwave so powerful it blasted away dirt, shattered nearby stone, and sent burning embers spiraling into the sky. The battlefield trembled. Veylan was thrown backward by the force, landing hard on his back, his sword slipping from his grasp. "What the¡ª?" he breathed, eyes wide in disbelief. Lucan grinned through gritted teeth. His body screamed in protest, his muscles threatening to tear apart under the strain of stopping an attack that could have obliterated a castle wall. His gauntlet groaned, energy surging wildly as it absorbed the kinetic force of the blacksmith''s hammer. The blacksmith, still gripping the handle of his weapon, did not flinch. His expression remained eerily calm, his eyes scanning Lucan with the cold detachment of a predator evaluating prey. Lucan smirked. "You look surprised." For the first time, a flicker of acknowledgment crossed the blacksmith''s face¡ªnot fear, but recognition. Then, he reacted. With a guttural growl, the blacksmith twisted his massive body, shifting his weight to wrench the hammer free. The sudden movement sent a tremor through the ground, nearly toppling Lucan. But he did not let go. Instead, he retaliated. Lucan''s free hand reeled back, energy coiling around his fist like a storm given form. He struck. A direct punch to the blacksmith''s chest¡ªbut this was no ordinary attack. The moment Lucan''s fist connected, the stored energy within his gauntlet detonated like a controlled explosion. The resulting shockwave rippled outward, sending fractures racing across the ground in jagged patterns, splitting the earth beneath their feet. The blacksmith¡ªa man who had stood unshaken against every attack before¡ªwas launched through the air. His massive frame hurtled backward, smashing through wooden carts, splintering fence posts, and finally colliding against a stone wall with such force that it cracked and crumbled beneath his weight. For the first time¡ªhe did not immediately rise. Lucan exhaled, shaking excess energy from his gauntlet. His fingers tingled with lingering power, his body thrumming with residual Aether. Slowly, he turned toward Veylan, who was still sprawled in the dirt, staring at him like he had just witnessed the impossible. Lucan tilted his head, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "Still think two minutes was too long?" By the time Veylan had gathered the weapons, the village was already in ruins. The flames had spread, devouring homes, fields¡ªevery trace of life that once existed here. The acrid scent of charred wood and burning flesh thickened the air, clinging to their clothes, their skin. Smoke curled skyward in thick plumes, turning the night into a suffocating haze of red and black. Lucan sat atop a pile of corpses, his armored gauntlet resting on his knee, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage with quiet calculation. The bodies beneath him¡ªsoldiers, farmers, elders¡ªwere still warm, their lifeless eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. He barely noticed the blood soaking into his boots. Before him, the remaining villagers knelt in the scorched dirt, their faces streaked with ash and tears. They did not resist. They did not beg for mercy. They had already surrendered to something greater than fear¡ªhopelessness. A child clung to his mother¡¯s tattered cloak, his hollow eyes locked onto Lucan. Silent. Motionless. The boy¡¯s small hands trembled, but he did not cry. There were no tears left to shed. The only sounds were the crackling fire, the distant wails of the dying, and the occasional collapse of a burning structure giving in to the inevitable. Veylan stood beside him, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He had seen battles, had shed blood, but this¡ªthis was something else. He kicked at a charred wooden beam, watching the embers scatter into the night. ¡°So¡­ what now?¡± Lucan stared at the burning remains of Eldermere. A thousand thoughts clashed in his mind, but no answer came. Not yet. And for the first time, he said nothing. The flames had begun to wane, their ravenous hunger sated. The once-thriving village had been reduced to smoldering ruins, skeletal remnants of homes standing like charred tombstones. The heat pressed against Lucan¡¯s skin, yet he felt cold inside. His gauntlet, still warm from battle, pulsed faintly as if echoing the lives it had just extinguished. The weight of his actions settled upon him¡ªnot in regret, but in realization. He had crossed a threshold. There was no turning back. The villagers remained kneeling, their silence deafening. Some trembled, others stared blankly, resigned to whatever fate awaited them. Their expressions were not of hatred, nor of defiance¡ªonly submission. Lucan exhaled slowly. ¡°Take them,¡± he finally spoke, his voice low, devoid of emotion. Veylan turned to him, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. ¡°Take them?¡± Lucan¡¯s gaze remained fixed on the ruins. ¡°Survivors. Fighters. Those who can serve.¡± His fingers flexed against the metal of his gauntlet. ¡°The rest¡­¡± He trailed off, but the meaning was clear. Veylan sighed, rolling his shoulders. ¡°So that¡¯s how it is.¡± Lucan finally turned to him, his expression unreadable. ¡°This is how it has to be.¡± Veylan didn¡¯t argue. He had followed Lucan for years, seen him rise through blood and conquest. He knew better than to challenge him now. The men moved swiftly, rounding up those who remained. Chains rattled in the firelight as the strongest were pulled to their feet, the weak left where they knelt. The boy who had clung to his mother was taken, his tiny fingers pried away from her as she was cast aside. She didn¡¯t fight. She didn¡¯t scream. She only stared at Lucan, her eyes hollow, before she was swallowed by the darkness of the ruins. Lucan felt her gaze long after she had disappeared. He rose from the corpses, stepping down with the deliberate grace of a ruler ascending his throne. The Throne of Fire.