Yilheim was vast—its continents innumerable, its countries beyond counting, and each country a patchwork of kingdoms. All that had transpired so far had unfolded within the borders of Clanlyor.
But the winds of fate were shifting.
Far away, in a different land—Donesria—two hours before dusk, the sky split.
A figure plummeted from the clouds, limbs flailing, trailing a mist of blood behind him. He fell into a quiet river, where young village girls were bathing beneath the forest's shade.
The splash was immense. Shrieking, they fled, their voices echoing through the trees.
All but one.
One girl remained, frozen not by fear but by curiosity. She had long brown hair, short pointed ears, and skin the colour of light beige clay. Eyes narrowed, she dove into the river without hesitation.
Beneath the surface, she saw him.
Small—much smaller than any man she'd known. Clad in some kind of gleaming, blood-slicked metal suit, the boy floated unconscious, a wound torn through his belly. Strange tubes, lights, and jagged fractures pulsed faintly across the armour.
Her heart pounded.
She swam closer, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled.
Breaking the surface, she dragged him to the muddy shore and laid him down, breathless. She knelt beside his body, entirely nude, staring in disbelief. He was so light. So broken. So… strange.
His armour shimmered faintly under the sun, and blood soaked through the cracks.
Without another thought, she rushed to her discarded clothes, threw them on, and scooped him into her arms. Then she ran—through tangled roots and forest paths, breath sharp and urgent—toward the only home she had ever known.
Her village lay in a valley of gentle hills, surrounded by low palisades and open fields. The houses were stone at the base, timber above, thatched roofs pitched steeply to cast off rain. Smoke curled from chimneys. Chickens scattered as she rushed past, clutching the bleeding boy.
She burst into a small wooden house, pushing open the heavy door.
"Mother! Father! Come quick!"
The house was modest—one main room with a stone hearth, a dining table made of pine, a narrow ladder to the loft, and two side chambers behind linen curtains. The air smelled of herbs and smoke.
Her parents emerged from the rear room, startled. Her mother's brown hair was braided, her ears short and pointed like Grace's. Her father was taller, with shoulder-length hair and a hardened face.
"What is it?" he barked, then froze as he saw her.
Blood stained her arms and chest. And in them, the boy.
"Grace," her mother said, stepping forward. "Who… who is that?"
"I don't know," Grace said breathlessly. "He fell from the sky."
Her father blinked. "He what?"
"He fell. From the sky. Into the river. He's dying."
Her father raised his hands. "Wait—wait. Grace, you can't just bring strangers into the house. We're not physicians. How do you expect us to help him?"
"Uncle Dominic," she said quickly. "He'll know what to do."
Her father's voice rose. "You don't know where he came from. What if someone—or something—is looking for him? What if he brings danger to this family?"
Grace stepped back, clutching Valerius tighter.
"He's just a boy!"
Her father pointed. "Look at what he's wearing! That isn't normal. That isn't from any kingdom I know. You have no idea what he is."
Her voice cracked. "So we should let him die?"
"To protect you? Yes! I would."
He stepped forward, firm.
"This world isn't kind, Grace. It's cruel. You don't know what you're inviting."
Then, quietly, her mother placed a hand on his arm.
"Calm down," she said. "This isn't like you. You've never left anyone to die before."
He looked at her, tense.
"My instincts say he's dangerous."
"And mine say he isn't," she replied. "And you know mine are never wrong."
He hesitated.
"If I had listened to doubt the day I pulled you from that ravine," she continued, "we wouldn't be standing here as a family."
Silence.
"Fine," he said at last. "Put him in the room. I'll go fetch your uncle."
He stepped out of the house and vanished down the road.
Grace's mother, her brow furrowed with concern, guided her daughter into the small side room of the house. The walls were timber and stone, the floor packed dirt softened by woollen rugs. A narrow bed of straw and linen sat beside a wooden shelf stacked with herbs, dried roots, and a bowl of water.
"Lay him here, gently," she said, her voice steady but urgent.
Grace did so, placing Valerius carefully onto the bedding. His tiny form seemed even smaller now, barely rising with breath. His arc armour was crusted with drying blood, and the glowing fracture in his abdomen still wept faint heat.
"Where exactly did you find him?"
Grace knelt beside the bed. "I was bathing with my friends. He just… fell. Out of the sky. Right into the river."
Her mother gave her a look. "People don't fall from the sky, Grace."
"Well," Grace whispered, looking at Valerius. "This one did."
Her mother took his small hand, then traced the glowing seams in his armour.
"By the heavens…" she whispered. "What is this? It's hard as iron but warm like leather."
She examined the hole in his belly, then leaned close and placed two fingers under his nose.
"He's still breathing," she murmured, astonished. "With a wound like that?"
She reached for a small iron rod resting in the hearth nearby and returned to Valerius's side.
"I'm going to try something," she said.
Grace watched, holding her breath.
The woman inserted the rod under the edge of the armour near his ribs and tried to pry it off—but it didn't budge. The metal hummed faintly, pulsing with a strange light. She narrowed her eyes.
"This isn't ordinary metal... It's bonded to him somehow."
She leaned back and thought for a moment. Then she grabbed a curved blade from the wall—a gutting knife—and examined the seams in the armour around the wound.
"I can't treat what I can't reach..."
She brought the blade close, attempting to slice along one seam—nothing. Not even a scratch.
"It resists everything. What madness is this?"
Grace stepped forward, her voice quiet. "Is he going to die?"
Her mother paused, staring down at Valerius's pale face.
"Not yet."
She turned, walking briskly to the shelf and pulling down a jar filled with crushed green paste.
"If I can't reach the wound, I'll treat around it."
She smeared the paste across the edge of the armour where the hole had burst open, letting it sink into the torn flesh.
"This'll slow the bleeding and dull the pain, if he's still in there," she said.
She pulled out a linen wrap and carefully packed it around the cracked part of the armour, securing it to his side.
Then she looked at Grace.
"Fetch me the fever root. It's in the hanging bundle over the hearth."
Grace ran to obey.
As she returned with the bundle, her mother began boiling water in a kettle.
"We'll keep him warm, keep the wound clean, and wait for your uncle. I just hope he can make sense of this... because this is no ordinary boy."
She reached out and took Valerius's hand again.
"He's burning up," she said, placing a hand to his forehead. "But he still breathes. That alone is a miracle."
Grace, kneeling beside the bed, whispered, "Do you think he'll wake up?"
Her mother sighed. "If the gods haven't taken him yet… maybe."
The fire crackled. Outside, a horse neighed faintly in the distance. Inside the small house, the warmth of the hearth contrasted the unknown that had just fallen from the sky.
And still, Valerius slept—armoured, broken, and breathing.
Grace sat beside the small, unconscious figure, her fingers hesitantly brushing along the strange suit that clung to his body like a second skin. It was smooth and cool to the touch, marked with lines of faintly pulsing light. Her brow furrowed.
"I can't even imagine how he put this on," she murmured.
She leaned in, examining the arc armour closely. Her gaze landed on a small, recessed shape near his hip—barely visible among the intricate grooves. Without thinking, she pressed it.
A soft click sounded. Then, with a hiss of shifting metal, compartments along the suit opened.
Grace gasped.
Several crystalline objects spilled out, catching the dim candlelight in dazzling bursts of colour. They scattered across the bed—some as small as marbles, others long and faceted like carved glass. Each one glowed faintly, pulsing like they were breathing.
She and her mother exchanged stunned looks.
Grace reached out slowly and picked one up. It was weightless—yet felt impossibly solid. She held it up to her face, eyes wide.
"How did they fit in there?" she whispered.
Her mother leaned closer, voice quiet but firm. "I think you should be asking what these things are."
Grace turned the crystal in her hand. Its glow shifted between blue and violet, casting soft light on her cheek.
"Have you ever seen anything like this, Mother?"
"Never," her mother said, still watching cautiously. "Not even in the markets of Dalenport. These aren't gemstones… they're something else."
Grace's voice dropped, awestruck. "They're glowing. Do you think it's… magical?"
"There's a good chance it might be," her mother admitted. "But magic like this… it isn't from here. Not from Donesria. Perhaps not even from Yilheim."
Grace looked down at Valerius.
"So… not only does he wear some kind of metal skin, he also carries glowing crystals inside it." She smiled faintly. "Now I'm really curious where he comes from. I may not know much about magic, but I know one thing—these things are probably worth more than half this village."
Her mother didn't answer. She was watching Valerius with the quiet unease of a woman who had lived long enough to fear the unknown.
Grace set the crystal aside and gently touched his cheek with her fingertip.
His skin looked faded—no longer rich and warm, but dulled and lifeless. Yet when she touched it, it was firmer than she expected.
"His skin feels different from ours," she whispered. "Thicker. Almost like… leather wrapped in flesh."
---
Grace's father returned with her uncle, Dominic—the village physician. Like her father, Dominic had light beige skin and short pointed ears, but his hair was a mess of ginger streaks pulled back with a leather cord. In his hands was a weathered wooden medical box, the latch already unfastened as he stepped through the door.
The hinges creaked shut behind him.
"Your father is here," Grace's mother called from the room.
The two men entered—and stopped cold.
Dominic's eyes widened at the sight of the boy on the bed, clad in arc armour unlike anything he had seen. His father, too, went still, then stepped forward with a gasp.
Glowing crystals were scattered across the floor.
"What is this?" they both whispered in unison.
Grace's father pointed at the shards. "How did these get here? What are they?"
Grace said, "They came from him. I must've touched something on his suit—it opened up and they just… fell out."
The physician turned, disbelief in his eyes. "What am I looking at?"
Her father explained, "Grace found him by the river. Said he fell from the sky. You're the only physician in the village. Help him—please."
Dominic hesitated, then approached the bed, kneeling beside Valerius. "What is this thing he's wearing?"
"We don't know," her father said.
"We tried to take it off," Grace's mother added. "It won't budge."
Dominic leaned closer. When he saw the gaping hole in Valerius's abdomen, his face drained of colour.
"By the gods…"
He turned to Grace, then her mother. "He's missing whole sections of his gut. He's lost so much blood… by all rights, he should be dead."
"You can't help him?" Grace whispered.
Dominic took her hand gently. "I'm sorry, Grace. This is far beyond me. Only magic could save him now."
Grace looked at the boy on the bed. "So what do we do?"
"We pray," the physician said quietly. He rose, collected his box, and stepped away.
Her father embraced her. "I know you meant well, sweetheart. That's a good thing. But… he's just beyond what we can do. Let him rest. You can sleep in our room tonight."
And so, they left him. The door was shut. The candles burned low. Silence settled over the home.
---
The Following Morning
Grace's father rose early. The storm from yesterday still weighed heavy in his mind. He pushed open the bedroom door quietly, expecting stillness.
But Valerius was breathing.
He stared. "He's still alive…?"
Then the boy groaned. His body twitched. Muscles tensed.
Grace's father took a step back. "What in the hells…"
Valerius began to scream.
Veins surged across his skin like roots beneath the flesh. His muscles writhed and bulged. The sound dragged Grace and her mother to the room.
"Father—what's happening?" Grace cried.
"I don't know!" her father shouted.
Valerius thrashed violently, turning his head left and right, his limbs convulsing. He struck the wall beside the bed—boom—a hole blasted open, letting daylight pour in.
They gasped.
Valerius roared again, slammed his head into the mattress. The wooden frame cracked beneath him. Then—he raised both arms and brought them down with earth-shattering force.
The bed exploded.
The ground cratered.
The shockwave blasted the family back against the walls. Plates shattered in the kitchen. The house groaned.
"Outside!" her father yelled. He grabbed Grace and her mother and bolted for the door.
Behind them, Valerius continued screaming. His voice was no longer fully human—it resonated like something ancient and enraged. The floor buckled. The walls split. Beams fell.
Then the house collapsed.
Villagers came running, drawn by the noise. They stood in a wide circle, frozen in horror and awe. Dust filled the air. Screams echoed within.
From the rubble came more thunder.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
With each strike, shockwaves blasted outward. Grace, her family, and the crowd shielded their faces.
"What is happening?!" someone yelled.
"Is that a demon?!"
"No—no, it's a boy!"
"He's still alive in there!"
They watched in helpless wonder.
Valerius's body was changing—his bones hardening, muscles expanding, cells dividing, organs regenerating. The very makeup of his flesh was rewriting itself.
This was Body Reconstruction—the innate ability of Pure Elvheins. A transformation only triggered when death was certain. The body rebuilt itself entirely, cell by cell, to survive.
It was agony.
And it was unstoppable.
His back arched, muscles seizing.
Something inside him pulsed—deep, buried along his spine.
A foreign object. Not bone. Not blood. Something else.
His body twisted, trying to force it out.
But it held.
The limiter resisted—firm, embedded, and humming with an energy not his own. Blood welled around it, but the device stayed lodged, unmoved.
Valerius screamed.
His flesh writhed. His bones strained. But still, the limiter held.
Placed by Lyriana. For reasons only she knew.
It wasn't ready to let him go.
And yet—something in him was pushing back harder than ever.
His screams lasted forty-five long minutes. By the time they stopped, the entire village had gathered. No one dared approach.
Then—silence.
Valerius lay amidst the ruin, body steaming, chest heaving. He turned onto his back, eyes fluttering open.
Above him, the sky was blue.
And for the first time since entering Yilheim… he felt free.
To Be Continued...