The dining hall of the Aulric mansion was a testament to opulence. Chandeliers of glowing Essence crystals cast a soft, golden light over the long mahogany table, adorned with silver cutlery and pristine porcelain dishes. Despite the grandeur, the atmosphere was suffocating, thick with unspoken hostility.
Viscount Aulric sat at the head of the table, his dark hair neatly combed back, his golden eyes piercing and unreadable. His Crest, a blazing sunburst etched faintly over the back of his left hand, pulsed subtly with restrained power. Opposite him sat Lady Evelyne, her cold gaze fixed on her plate as though the meal demanded all her attention. Arthur sat to her right, his expression smug, while Selene, seated to her mother's left, toyed idly with her silverware.
Vince sat near the opposite end, his posture relaxed but his golden eyes alert. He exuded calm, though the undercurrents of tension were impossible to ignore. The silence was finally broken when Arthur set down his fork with an exaggerated clink, his voice dripping with contempt.
"I heard an interesting rumor about your guest, brother," Arthur began, leaning back in his chair. "The boy is from the Wastelands, isn't he?"
The words hung in the air like a knife. Evelyne stiffened, her golden eyes narrowing, while Selene looked up with poorly disguised glee.
The Viscount's gaze snapped to Vince, sharp and unforgiving. "Is this true?" His voice was low but carried the weight of command.
Vince didn't flinch. He placed his fork down delicately, dabbing his mouth with a napkin before answering. "Yes. I found him there."
"You brought a Wastelander into this house?" Evelyne's voice was laced with venom, her golden eyes flashing with disdain.
Arthur smirked, leaning forward. "Of course, he did. It's fitting, isn't it? A stray collecting another stray."
Vince's gaze remained steady, but the subtle clench of his jaw betrayed his irritation. He met his father's gaze, ignoring the jabs. "He's under my care. That's all you need to know."
The Viscount's eyes flared with Essence, his Crest glowing faintly as he leaned forward. The sheer force of his presence made the air around the table feel heavier. "You dare bring the corruption of the Wastelands into my house without so much as a word?"
"He's not corrupted," Vince replied evenly, standing from his chair. "He's an orphan. Like I was once."
The words hung in the air, the implication cutting through the hostility like a blade. The Viscount's expression darkened, but Vince didn't wait for a response. He placed his napkin beside his plate and turned toward the door.
"I've finished my meal," he said, his tone calm but firm. "If you'll excuse me."
As Vince exited the dining hall, the oppressive tension followed him, like a storm waiting to break.
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Eris was seated on the floor of his small room, his hands outstretched as he focused on the faint, flickering glow of his Essence. The strands of crimson light danced between his fingers, shifting and twisting like threads of scarlet moonlight. His face was furrowed in concentration, sweat beading on his brow.
The knock at the door startled him, breaking his focus. The glow dissipated as Vince stepped inside, his presence commanding but not imposing.
"Still practicing?" Vince asked, his tone neutral but with a hint of approval.
Eris nodded, brushing his silver-streaked hair back into its usual ponytail. "I'm getting the hang of it, I think."
"You'll need to be up early tomorrow," Vince said, leaning against the doorframe. "We start your training then."
Eris nodded again, though his exhaustion was evident. "I'll be ready."
As Vince turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, his golden eyes softening as he glanced back at the boy. In Eris, he saw echoes of himself—small, fragile, yet fiercely determined to survive. The sight stirred something within him, an ache buried deep in his chest.
Alone in the dim corridor, Vince leaned against the wall, his hand brushing over his face. Memories flooded his mind—memories of a younger version of himself, unwanted and unloved, cast aside as a bastard. He remembered the cold glares, the cutting words, and the nights spent alone, staring at the stars and wondering if he would ever belong.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The Aulrics had made it clear that he would never be one of them, that his golden eyes were the only thing that tethered him to their name. Yet here he was, standing in their house again, a ghost from their past.
When he'd found Eris in the Wastelands, starving and alone, it had been like staring into a mirror. The boy's haunted eyes, his quiet resilience—it was a reflection Vince couldn't ignore. Taking him in had felt like a chance to rewrite the past, to be for someone what no one had been for him.
"I won't let him end up like me," Vince murmured to himself, his voice low and resolute.
Straightening, he pushed off the wall and headed to his own quarters, the echoes of his footsteps fading into the silence of the mansion.
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The training chambers of the Aulric mansion were a marvel of architectural power and design, blending function with intimidation. Sunlight filtered dimly through narrow, stained-glass windows high above, casting prismatic shards of light across the polished obsidian floor. Intricate runes were inlaid into the stone, glowing faintly with residual Essence, their soft hum resonating like a low heartbeat throughout the vast space. The air was thick with latent energy, the kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.
Eris followed Vince into the chamber, his footsteps tentative. Dressed in borrowed training clothes, his silver-streaked hair tied back in its usual ponytail, he tried not to look as awestruck as he felt. Vince, clad in a sleeveless dark tunic and fitted trousers, strode confidently to the chamber's center.
"This is where you'll learn what it means to wield power," Vince said, his golden eyes narrowing with purpose. His Crest, a circular design with radiating light-like cracks cutting across its surface, glimmered faintly on his forearm. The symbol appeared almost alive, its fragmented design pulsing in a rhythmic cadence.
"Sit," Vince commanded, gesturing to the center of an ornate rune circle. Eris obeyed, lowering himself into a cross-legged position. Vince knelt across from him, resting his forearms on his knees as he began.
The Nature of Essence
"Essence," Vince began, his tone deliberate, "is the core of everything we do. It's the energy of life, the force that flows through every living thing in Cainoria. Most people go their entire lives without being able to sense it, let alone wield it. But for us—those who awaken to a Crest—it becomes our greatest weapon... and our greatest burden."
Golden light flickered from Vince's fingertips, coalescing into wisps of energy that hovered in the air like fireflies. "When you awaken to your Crest, you don't just gain power. You become a conduit for Essence. But channeling it is a skill, not a gift. It requires focus, balance, and a deep understanding of yourself. Without that, Essence can turn on you. Burn you out."
Eris frowned. "Burnout?"
Vince nodded, his expression grave. "Overusing Essence, or using it recklessly, drains not just your strength but your very soul. At best, you'll be rendered unconscious. At worst, you'll permanently damage your Crest—or lose your life."
Vince extended his arm, showing Eris the glowing Crest on his forearm. The cracked, radiant sunburst design with intertwining rays shimmered faintly. "Crests are unique to each individual. They're not just symbols—they're extensions of who we are. Our fears, our desires, our potential. That's why no two Crests are the same."
Eris stared at the intricate design, captivated. "Why does yours look... broken?"
Vince's jaw tightened for a moment before he replied, "It reflects who I am. My past. My struggles. Crests can evolve as we grow, but they never lie. They're as much a mirror of our soul as they are a source of power."
Standing, Vince allowed his Crest to flare to life. Light burst from its cracks, forming into the radiant orb Eris had seen during the raid. The orb floated above Vince's palm, its surface shifting with golden energy. "When you reach the Evolved level, your Crest manifests a weapon or tool—a unique extension of your power and personality. For me, it's this orb. It amplifies my Essence and gives me fine control."
Eris tilted his head. "So everyone's manifestation is different?"
"Exactly," Vince said. "For some, it's a sword, a bow, or even something unconventional like a musical instrument or a book. It reflects who they are at their core. And just like our Crests, it can change as we do."
Vince dissipated the orb, his expression growing serious. "Understanding Essence and Crests is one thing, but knowing the levels of power in Cainoria is just as important. It'll give you perspective on where you stand—and how far you have to go."
He began to list them:
Awakened: "Where you are now. Your Crest is active, but your abilities are basic. This stage is about learning control and building your foundation."Evolved: "Where I am. At this level, your Crest evolves, granting you a manifestation like my orb. Your abilities grow stronger, but so do the risks of burnout if you overreach."Saints: "Saints aren't rare, but they're few—because reaching this level takes immense effort, skill, and strength. At this stage, your Crest unlocks a transformation. You take on the form of a mythical beast or entity aligned with your element. For someone like me, it would likely be a celestial creature of light."Sacred: Vince hesitated before continuing. "Sacred beings are even fewer. They possess powers that approach the divine. I've never met one, but I know they exist. Their Crests are said to manifest entire domains or landscapes in battle."Divine: "This is the peak, the level of kings. The rulers of the Four Kingdoms are all Divine, their power unmatched. At that level, a single individual can shape the fate of nations."
Eris absorbed the information, his expression a mix of awe and apprehension.
"Enough talk," Vince said, rising to his feet. "Let's see what you can do."
He motioned for Eris to stand and raised his own Crest. "Focus on your Crest. Feel the Essence within you. It's like a current—flowing, alive. Don't fight it. Guide it."
Eris closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he concentrated. Slowly, a faint cr glow began to radiate from his hands. It flickered and wavered, like a candle in the wind, but it was there.
"Good," Vince said, circling him. "Now, draw it out. Let it flow into the world around you. Essence isn't just inside you—it connects you to everything."
The glow steadied, forming faint patterns in the air. Eris opened his eyes, his face lighting up with wonder.
"You're doing well," Vince said. "But remember, this is just the beginning. Mastery takes time. Patience. Dedication."
Eris nodded, determination etched into his features.
Vince placed a hand on his shoulder, his golden eyes softening. "You have potential, Eris. More than you realize. But power isn't just about strength—it's about control. And that... takes time."
As Vince turned away, a flicker of emotion crossed his face. In Eris, he saw a reflection of his own younger self—lost, determined, and yearning for a place in a world that seemed intent on pushing him aside. For the first time in years, Vince felt something close to hope.
Eris stood in the center of the glowing rune circle, his crimson aura flickering erratically as he struggled to channel his Essence into coherent shapes. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples, and his silver-streaked hair clung damply to his forehead. His hands trembled with the effort of maintaining the flow, but no matter how hard he concentrated, the energy refused to obey his will.
Vince watched from a distance, arms crossed, his golden eyes focused but not unkind. The faint hum of the chamber's residual energy filled the silence as he finally spoke.
"You're struggling because you're trying to force the Essence to behave like mine," Vince said, stepping closer. "But you're not me. You're a Variant."
Eris glanced up, confused. "Variant?"
Vince nodded, pacing slowly around him. "Variants are individuals whose Crests don't align with traditional elemental or energy patterns. Your crimson aura is a dead giveaway. Most people have a straightforward connection to their Crest's resonance. Light, fire, water, earth, air—something grounded in the natural order. But Variants? Their Crests operate differently, often defying convention. You, Eris, are one of them."
Eris's frustration turned to curiosity. "What makes Variants so different?"
Vince stopped and turned to face him. "For one, your Essence doesn't flow like most. It's more volatile, more unpredictable. But it's also more powerful when harnessed correctly. Variants can achieve things others can't, but they often face a harder path because they can't rely on the usual methods of training. Your Crest—your Essence—requires you to forge your own way."
Eris resumed his training, focusing intently on the energy in his hands. He tried to guide it as Vince had shown, but the Essence twisted and flared, resisting his attempts to control it. The glowing rune circle beneath him pulsed erratically, mirroring his struggle.
"Stop forcing it," Vince said, his voice firm. "Essence isn't a beast to be tamed—it's a part of you. Listen to it. Understand it."
Eris closed his eyes, breathing deeply. But the more he tried to calm himself, the more the crimson energy seemed to lash out, defying his control.
Vince stepped back and began speaking again, his tone measured. "Variants like you often develop abilities that reflect their personality or experiences. Your Crest isn't just a tool—it's a mirror of who you are. To master it, you need to understand yourself. What drives you? What defines you? Your power will always resonate with your nature."
Eris frowned, his hands still trembling as he tried to focus. "So I just... figure out who I am, and everything falls into place?"
"Not quite," Vince replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "But self-awareness is key. Your Crest is unique, Eris. It'll respond to your nature if you stop trying to force it into something it's not."
Eris paused, lowering his hands as he gazed at the faint shimmer of his Crest on his chest. Its intricate crimson design, pulsing faintly with his aura, seemed almost alive. He closed his eyes again, but this time, he didn't focus on controlling the energy. Instead, he thought back to his life—the hunger, the pain, the relentless struggle to survive in the Wastelands.
He remembered the times he had to fight for scraps of food, the nights spent huddled against the cold, and the scars that marked his body as proof of his endurance. He thought of the defiance that had kept him alive, the refusal to break no matter how much the world tried to crush him.
I'm not like them, he thought. I never was. I'm a survivor. I don't need to control this power—I need to let it be what it is. Just like I've always done with myself.
As the thought solidified, something shifted. His Crest flared, its crimson light shining brighter than before. The energy in his hands steadied, flowing smoothly as if responding to his newfound clarity. The rune circle beneath him pulsed rhythmically, in harmony with his Essence.
Vince, who had been observing quietly, raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Interesting," he murmured.
Eris opened his eyes, and for the first time, the energy around him moved with purpose. He began to shape it, letting it flow naturally rather than forcing it. The crimson aura coiled and danced, forming tendrils of power that hovered around him like living extensions of his will.
"You've figured it out," Vince said, his tone impressed.
Eris nodded, his face calm but determined. "I stopped trying to control it. I just... let it be."
Vince folded his arms, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Maybe that's the key for Variants," he mused. "Traditional training focuses on control and structure. But for someone like you? Perhaps the answer lies in understanding your individuality and working with it instead of against it."
Eris glanced at him. "So what now?"
Vince smirked. "Now, we see just how far you've come."
He stepped to the chamber's entrance and called for a servant. "Bring me a resonance orb," he ordered.
Returning to Eris, he added, "The resonance orb will test how well your Essence aligns with your Crest's potential. It's not easy, but it'll give us a baseline for your progress. In the meantime, keep practicing."
Eris nodded and turned back to the glowing rune circle, his crimson aura flowing more confidently now. Vince watched him for a moment, a rare flicker of pride crossing his face. Maybe, just maybe, this boy has the potential to break every expectation.