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Time skip.
The sun had barely risen above the edge of the mountains, its first golden rays spilling across the forest canopy like a slow breath. The light filtered through the mist-covered trees, casting long streaks across the forest floor and warming the boy beneath them.
Cael Solvane sat with his back pressed to the trunk of a broad elm, legs folded beneath him. A well-worn book rested open in his lap.
History and Its Mystery.
Its cover was faded, its pages yellowed, but to Cael, it was priceless. It was one of many books the old man had given him over the past few months—part of his preparation for the trials ahead.
For the past few months, reading the books the old man gave him became a part of his daily routine along with his training.
Cael had come a long way since arriving here. He trained daily, both body and mind, for the Novellis High Directive Trials. But it was the reading—silent, slow, and filled with wonder—that was beginning to reshape him.
In the stillness of the morning, with the world wrapped in silence and birdsong, he read.
His thoughts drifted beyond the pages and out toward the world he had never seen. The mountain range surrounding his current shelter felt like a world apart, but through books, he had begun to see beyond its natural walls. He now knew that the land he stood on was Elaris—one of six continents across Giaon.
And compared to the forgotten corner of the world he came from, this was a revelation.
Cael had grown up in Eastmark. A district carved into the side of Novellis City like an afterthought. While Novellis itself was a capital of gleaming towers, education halls, floating railways, and pristine commerce sectors, Eastmark was the part they never showed on the tourism panels. It was a place of rusted pipework, cracked stone pavements, and homes stacked like boxes—shoved against one another like they were afraid of being erased.
There were no gardens there, only concrete patches and the stubborn weeds that grew between them.
And tucked away in a crumbling alley behind the old broken building was where Cael had spent most of his life.
The alley was his whole world for years. Narrow, cold in the winters, sweltering in the summers. The walls flaked with peeled paint, the puddles never seemed to dry, and everything had a smell—old grease, steel dust, and forgotten things.
It was in that alley that he learned to be quiet. To wait. To disappear when others came too close.
No parents ever came looking. No relatives appeared with teary eyes or warm arms. If anyone in Eastmark remembered the boy in the alley, they never said so. And eventually, Cael stopped expecting them to.
But now, here in the wilderness, he had found something he never had back then—perspective.
All his life there was no chance for him to truly see the world—the world beyond what the forgotten alley could provide.
But his desire and conviction for strength and answers gave him the power to overcome the hand he was dealt with.
For in this world everyone had the same chance—Imprints.
How unforgiving the world maybe sometimes, it also gave every single person the power to change their destiny.
Cael turned another page, and his eyes lit up as a new chapter unfolded.
"Concord," he whispered under his breath.
It was an unfamiliar term, one the old man had never mentioned. The title read: 'Concord: The Forgotten Vanguard.'
He read carefully.
An organization that once united some of the strongest known Imprinters. The Concord was not tied to a single continent or political order. It was a coalition—part peacekeeping force, part research circle, and part mystery. They operated across borders and philosophies, answering to no one but their own central council.
"A council of Imprinters…" Cael muttered, leaning forward.
The chapter was brief. Too brief. No names. No recorded fates. Only passing mentions in the footnotes of global conflicts and energy studies. It was clear someone had wiped most of the details clean—or buried them so deep they could only be uncovered by the right minds, in the right time.
Cael stared at the page in silence.
A strange feeling took hold of him—like a thread pulling gently at something dormant inside. He didn't know why, but the word Concord made his heart beat just a little faster.
He flipped back to the book's world map and ran his fingers across the names of the six continents:
Elaris—his home, known for its fertile plains, rolling hills and its central governance along with its cities of elegant architecture and history.
Pyrrha—a land scorched by volcanic terrain and deserts, home to fierce survivors and war-scarred borders.
Sylvara—lush and wild, wrapped in glowing forests and ancient flora.
Lumina—elevated skies, floating cities, and sanctums of science and observation.
Garundal—the highlands of stone and snow, rumored to contain relics from the first Imprinters.
Virelia—a technological marvel, its coastal cities brimming with innovation, industry, and artificial intelligence.
Each land held different cultures, values—and most fascinating to Cael—different tendencies of Imprints. Though not a certainty, the book claimed that environment and geography sometimes shaped the way Imprints manifested.
He closed the book slowly, letting the silence settle again around him. His fingers rested on the cover, but his mind drifted elsewhere.
He would leave this place soon.
The trials were coming. And with them, the chance to step out of obscurity. The chance to walk a different path than the one laid out for him in that alley.
Cael stood and stretched. His joints cracked softly, and a yawn escaped his lips.
"That's enough reading for now," he murmured.
From a flat rock nearby, he picked up a training staff—worn smooth from weeks of practice. He stepped into the clearing he had claimed as his own and took his stance.
He moved.
Each swing was fluid, honed through repetition. Each step, sharp and deliberate. The morning light danced across his silhouette as he trained with quiet focus, beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow.
To others, it might've looked like an ordinary morning routine.
But to Cael, this was survival. Preparation. A vow made in silence.
He would not be overlooked again.
He would leave Eastmark behind—but never forget it. He would carry its shadows and its silence into the light, and shape the future with his own hands.
And perhaps, someday, he would uncover the truth behind Concord.
And the truth behind himself.
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