The sun rose gently, not with a flare but with grace—its golden light cascading over the rooftops, washing the cobblestone streets in warmth. Morning breeze whispered through banners and awnings, rustling the leaves of blooming trees lining the roads.
Shopkeepers yawned and stretched as they lifted shutters, arranged fruits and spices, hung bread in warm baskets outside, and greeted one another with sleepy grins. A tranquil, glowing serenity filled the city. It was the calm before the storm.
Inside his room, Klaus sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, palms open.
Meditation.
His breath flowed steady, and currents of energy swirled subtly around him. Threads of elemental essence filtered through his core, and he directed them with quiet precision. Manipulating energy like this required silence. Stillness.
A half-hour passed before he stood. He stretched, freshened up, and stepped into a steaming bath.
Later, dressed and ready, he stepped out with his new outfit and disguised identity fully in place.
In the corridor, Kaen leaned on the wall, bags under his eyes.
Klaus raised an eyebrow. He almost laughed.
"Long night?" he teased.
Kaen groaned. "You have no idea."
Varnyx beside them. "Morning, humans."
Klaus gave a small smile. "Good morning, Varnyx."
The three stepped into the morning streets. The city had fully awoken, the buzz of life humming through alleyways and balconies. Yet, eyes turned. Whispers followed. Not at Kaen.
Only at Klaus.
And Varnyx.
Kaen rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, this happens. Come on, I know a good place for breakfast."
They followed the scent of roasted butter and herbs until a vibrant restaurant came into view. A signboard swung gently above it—a pig holding a frying pan, fire beneath it.
The name read The Firepan Feast.
Lavish. Beautiful. The exterior glowed beneath the sun with gold trim and polished wood. Tables outside were perfectly set with fresh flowers and crystal-clear glasses.
Inside, it was even better. Warm light filtered through tall windows, glinting off hanging copper pans and neatly aligned jars of spices. Wooden chairs and tables filled the space, all buzzing with customers and conversation. Hanging lamps gave the place a calm morning hue.
The three found an empty table and sat.
A waitress arrived, notepad in hand.
"Welcome! What can I get you three?"
Varnyx yawned. "Everything on the menu."
The waitress paused.
Looked at Kaen.
Then Klaus.
They both nodded.
She blinked. "Alright then... wait about thirty minutes."
While waiting, Klaus observed the room. His eyes landed on a table of teens around his age, all wearing sleek, distinct uniforms with different elemental insignias stitched into their lapels.
"Kaen," Klaus asked, "Who are they?"
Kaen leaned in, eyes following Klaus's gaze. "Ah. Elite institute kids. From different continents."
Klaus's brow lifted.
Kaen continued, "There are seven continents in total:Asvara, Afreya, Norameris, Meridia, Oropel, Narktis, and Oceaelis. Each ruled by a Monarch."
Klaus nodded, taking it in.
"Now," Kaen said, leaning on one elbow, "in those seven, you've got a dozen or more academies per region. But only a few... and I mean a few... are truly elite. Top of the top. The 0.1%."
Klaus narrowed his eyes. "That rare?"
Kaen laughed. "Yeah. Some continents only have one. Maybe two. Think of them like... institutions for the monstrous."
Varnyx chimed in, "Or spoiled royal brats with connections."
Kaen shrugged. "That too."
Klaus understood instantly.
Just then, food arrived—piping hot. Plates covered the table in a grand feast. Varnyx wasted no time. He dove in, alternating between bacon, croissants, eggs, dumplings, and spiced tea.
---
Kaen patted his belly when it was all done. "Now that... was a joyous breakfast."
Varnyx licked his finger tips. "Indeed it was."
Bellies full, they stepped into the street and made their way to the heart of the city.
There it stood.
The Colosseum.
Vast. Ancient. Majestic. Its outer walls stretched upward like a monument to gods, scarred by time but standing proud.
Blossoming trees and fluttering petals framed the background, a perfect blend of stone and nature. The crowd around it moved like waves.
Klaus's heart pounded.
Kaen chuckled. "Don't faint, kid. It's just the gate."
They reached the main entrance.
"This is where it gets hard," Kaen muttered.
Klaus took a breath.
The security checkpoint.
A giant man stood before it. Muscular. Towering. Long black hair tied back. Veins thick like rope. Arms crossed. Eyes like daggers.
Looking at the badge his name is Harold.
"ID," he grunted.
Klaus handed his forged identity card and proof.
Harold pulled a scanning device from his belt.
Beep.
Green light.
Kaen sighed. "One part done."
Harold pointed to a standing scanner. "Now walk through. Core alignment check."
Klaus's pulse quickened.
Kaen muttered prayers.
Varnyx glanced around for more food.
Klaus stepped through.
The scanner pulsed.
Then flashed green.
Harold nodded. "Welcome to the Ascendant Rising Tournament, young warrior."
Klaus exhaled.
A guide appeared. "Come, I'll take you to the holding room."
They walked through twisting corridors and towering halls until they reached a chamber.
"This will be your room. Tournament begins in 3 hours with the inauguration."
Klaus scanned the room. Clean. No hostile energy. He picked a quiet corner and resumed his meditation.
But soon… others entered.
Klaus didn't even open his eyes. One came too close. Instinctively, Klaus released his aura—a violent ripple of pressure. A silent warning.Back off.
Then came a voice. Familiar.
"–I told you, Kael! He shouldn't even be here!"
"Sofie, calm down!"
"Don't Sofie me!"
"She's right. He's barely qualified," Riena chimed in.
Klaus's heart skipped a beat.
Sofie.
She stepped into the room and paused. Her eyes locked onto the lone figure meditating in the corner.
But before she could approach, the guide re-entered.
"Warriors, form a line. Time to proceed to the arena."
Some grumbled.
"Why walk outside?" one muttered.
"For the audience to see the champions before they begin."
They marched through the gates.
Outside, the Colosseum roared like a beast. Screens flashed names,power levels.
Holograms of elemental dragons, flames, and thunder lit the sky.
Klaus scanned the arena—and saw Kaen and Varnyx in the crowd. Varnyx was already munching on something.
Klaus chuckled.
Then…
They descended.
The Monarchs arrived.
Descending from the sky in bursts of elemental grandeur:
Zephyra rode a gale of wind, her wings forming clouds.
Solene beamed light that cascaded across the sky.
Elari rode a wave of crystal-clear water.
Thalor emerged from the roots of the arena itself.
Zevarion streaked in with bolts of lightning dancing from his shoulders.
Varion arrived in a vortex of fire, his gaze sharp as ever.
Each floated above the arena, majestic, terrifying.
And then—
Malrik Vortan, the Emperor.
He appeared with gravitational dominance. The air knelt. Every object bowed toward him. Space bent in subtle ripples.
The crowd went wild, chanting names, shaking the arena.
But one seat was empty. Monarch Vorun.
Confused glances.
Then—
Darkness bled into the sky.
The shadows parted—and he emerged.
Kaleus.Former Monarch. A True God of War.
A god cloaked in stillness.
His left arm was obsidian black—etched with crimson cracks of restrained power. An eyepatch covered his hollowed eye. But his presence… divine.
He landed beside Malrik and the Monarchs.
Even they stiffened in respect.
Kaleus faced Emperor Malrik. "Vorun isn't well. Until his recovery, I,Kaleus Veyndar Ashenmarch, have stepped out of retirement."
The voice—though meant for the Emperor and the Monarchs—echoed through the entire arena.
Silence.Then eruption.
Kaleus had returned.
Malrik nodded. "Understood, Kaleus. Let's talk later. Now, please—have a seat."
Malrik stood.
The crowd silenced again.
His voice rose—not with force, but command. Each word laced with power.
"Welcome—citizens, warriors, spectators far and wide. Today begins a spectacle beyond imagination: the Ascendant Rising Tournament."
A storm of cheers erupted, shaking the arena walls.
Malrik raised a single hand, and silence fell once more.
"This is more than a clash of blades and wills. It is a forge—where weakness burns, and resolve is tempered. Where heroes are not chosen by blood or name, but by what they endure."
His gaze swept across the stands, across tens of thousands, until it landed firmly on the sea of participants lined in formation on the arena floor.
"This arena was not built for worship—it was built for rebellion. Today, you rise not to please the heavens… but to rival them."
Murmurs rippled.
"Prove yourselves—not to the world, not to the Monarchs… but to yourself. Win, lose, survive—become more than you were yesterday. Let pain be your teacher. Let fear be your forge."
Then—he turned.
Slow. Measured. Intentional.
His golden eyes landed directly on a single figure among the warrior ranks.
The one hiding in plain sight. The one with a new name, a new face.
Klaus Aetherion.
And Emperor Malrik… smiled.
Klaus blinked.
"What was that?"
He didn't move. Didn't even twitch.
"There's no way he found out... right,Right?"
His fingers tightened slightly. Or maybe that was the anxiety.
Klaus kept staring, watching the Emperor return to his podium like nothing happened.
A few lines down the formation, Sofie
couldn't stop looking at the same participant.
She didn't know why. Just that… something about him tugged at her chest.
There was a stillness to him. A familiarity in the way he stood—like he wasn't afraid of anything here.
She tilted her head slightly.
Why do you feel like him...?
Beside her, Kael leaned in with a crooked smirk.
"Soooo, who is she stalking this time? Must be a new record—you didn't even talk to this one yet."
Before he could blink—
THUMP.
Her fist buried itself into his gut.
"Shut it," she hissed.
Kael doubled over, wheezing. "Still got it… princess punch..."
Sofie froze.
People had seen.
A few competitors in the line behind them giggled. Someone near the stands shouted, "Damn, that girl doesn't mess around!" and laughter broke out through the crowd.
Even the audience in the upper tiers, watching through holo-feeds, chuckled at the small display.
---
On the edge of the royal observation tier, Varion Ignar sat with arms crossed,watching his children.
He sighed heavily.
Beside him, Elari,chuckled dryly.
"At least they're consistent. If mine punched each other half as much, maybe they'd finally stop crying over their spirit beasts every five minutes."
Varion rolled his eyes. "You're never letting that go, are you?"
Elari smirked. "Not until I die. And maybe not even then."
---
Malrik raised his hand again.
The signal.
A towering man in silver-and-blue stepped forward from a floating platform at the arena's center—draped in shimmering banners and engraved armor, a microphone hovering before his mouth.
He grinned wide, arms flung out like a conductor greeting his orchestra.
"LADIES! GENTLEMEN! SPECTATORS FROM ACROSS CONTINENTS—WELCOME!!"
The crowd went wild.
"I am your host—Renzion Vale, Voice of the Empire—and I'll be your flamekeeper, your scream dealer, and your only guide to madness as we descend into the fiercest tournament this world has ever seen!"
He gestured toward the arena stage, now shifting, rotating, revealing multiple terrains.
"You know the rules. You know the stakes. But what you don't know—is how WILD this year is going to get!"
He spun once, pointed at the crowd.
"So chant if you're ready!"
The crowd thundered.
"Scream if you're hungry for war!"
A roar.
"And shout with me—on this sacred day—"
His voice exploded through the sound systems and the hearts of everyone watching.
"LET THE FESTIVAL… BEGIN!!!"
Trumpets blasted. The ground shook. Fireworks burst in the skies above the capital.
The Ascendant Rising Tournament had officially begun.