The forest twisted around the tomb, as if nature itself tried to hide what slept there. Ancestral herbs trembled in the wind's touch, and hollow trees whispered forgotten names.At the heart of that living jungle, Sofia Kalter fought.
At fifteen, she was a latent manifestation mage, attuned to the Primordial Force of Root. Her reddish-brown hair floated like leaves in a storm, and her emerald eyes burned with fury and focus. Her body danced between vines, living stones, and a grotesque monster—a creature made of twisted bark and pulsating thorns, with root-like limbs and hollow eyes that dripped black sap.
"My master better have a damn good reason for sending me on a suicide mission!" Sofia grunted, dodging a blow that shattered a petrified tree. "But after almost three months... I got what she asked for. Huff!"
She was wounded. Blood ran down her eyebrow and shoulder. But her feet never stopped. Every step activated buried runes beneath the earth. Vines burst forth at her command, snapping like whips against the creature.
The monster roared, shaking the ground. Parts of its body broke off and crawled along the sides, trying to encircle her.
Sofia yanked the gleaming gold necklace she had just pulled from the tomb — a relic.
Relics, in that world, were ancient fragments of crystallized magic. Pieces of Primordial Forces in raw or encapsulated form. When a mage synchronized with one, its power could fuse with their core or transform their manifestation.
She clenched the necklace with sweat-soaked fingers. The relic's runes lit up—and the forest answered.
Roots erupted from the earth like starving snakes, piercing the creature from all directions. Its eyes widened with a silent scream before its body collapsed like a pile of hollow branches.
Sofia dropped to her knees, gasping. The roots retreated, and the relic dimmed.
"That... was too close."
She looked up at the canopy-covered sky and whispered:
"Mission complete."
But it wasn't.
The relic flared—brighter than before.
Then the ground shook.
An explosion of smoke and shouting. On the other side of the clearing, four hooded figures emerged from the trees. Mages. Tomb raiders. Recognizable by their tattered red cloaks and black tattoos beneath their eyes.
"Little girl did the work for us," one said with a crooked smile. "Drop the necklace, and maybe we let you live."
Sofia stood slowly, wiping blood from her face.
"You can try."
The first mage raised a hand. From the ground, black stalagmites erupted like spears. She doesn't look that strong, he thought, confident. Just need to distract her.
Sofia leapt, spinning mid-air. The roots moved with her. Vines burst from her arms and snared two enemies before they could react. One, shocked, thought: How is she this fast? It doesn't make sense...
The third fired a blast of flame, but Sofia ducked and charged like lightning. She should be exhausted! he thought, moments before her rune-covered fist slammed into his chest, sending him crashing into a tree with a sickening crack.
The fourth mage backed up, activating a seal beneath her. The earth opened under Sofia's feet. She fell for a moment—only to be caught by a spiral of living roots forming a stairway.
"You don't know who you're messing with!" she shouted, activating the relic once more.
The necklace blazed. The entire clearing trembled. Trees split. Black flowers bloomed instantly. From the ground, a creature of pure latent manifestation emerged — a giant of bark and thorns, with emerald eyes and an ancestral aura.
"Tomb Guardian..." one of the raiders whispered, now trembling.
Sofia pointed.
"Erase them."
The Guardian charged. One strike crushed two mages. The others tried to flee, but roots coiled around their legs. They screamed. Begged.
Sofia didn't blink.
"Plundering sacred tombs has a price."
A roar. Silence. And blood.
The relic flared one last time—then dimmed, satisfied.
Sofia breathed deeply. Wiped her knees and face. Took the necklace and clasped it around her neck.
"Now it's done. Mission... complete."
The sun blazed above the eternal rocks of the Endless Vale. Beneath them, Diaz trained with Asla.
He wielded a half-length blade of darkened metal — a gift from Asla, forged from living iron mined in the deep. Asla, by contrast, was pure channeled manifestation. Her body blazed like molten flesh, her eyes twin slits of fire, every move leaving heat trailing in the air.
Diaz attacked with fury. Horizontal strikes, thrusts, full spins—desperate to land even one hit. He felt the tension in every muscle, rage bottled from all he had lost, from all he still didn't understand. I need to win… just once. I need to prove I'm not a failure.
Asla used no weapons. Only fists and legs. But her flaming body was more lethal than any blade. One punch shattered the floor. One kick sent Diaz crashing into stone pillars.
Still, he rose. Always.
"Come on, boy. Faster!" she roared, dodging a stab and slamming her flaming fist into his shoulder.
Diaz screamed—but turned with the blow, swinging low. She jumped, spinning in the air, and landed with both feet, blasting the ground in a wave of heat.
Then… something snapped.
Time folded. Flames froze. Dust hung still in the air. Asla paused mid-strike.
Diaz panted. His body trembled. His eyes, without warning, gleamed with silver light. And at the center of his chest—right where she had struck—something pulsed beneath his skin.
A crystal."Keep your mind open. Don't lose focus," Asla warned, the voice of someone guarding the birth of a god.
Before him floated the Core.
Irregular in shape, translucent like ethereal glass, its inner fractures spun in living spirals. Its color was impossible: a mutant silver tinged with deep blue and abyssal black, dancing with light like condensed time itself.
"Now we can talk," Asla whispered.
The battlefield around them dissolved in the roar of an ancestral gale, as if the world itself bowed.
She stepped forward.
Diaz, gasping, knees weak, still felt his blood pulse with the newly awakened force. Asla pointed to a ceremonial stone.
"Sit. You've earned answers."
He obeyed. Sweating. Scarred. Triumphant.
"Magic in Elyndros… isn't cast. It's revealed," Asla began, her tone reverent. "Each being is born with a Hidden Essence. When that essence resonates with a Primordial Force, it forms what few ever reach: the Primordial Core."
She raised her hand—eight symbols appeared in the air, each pulsing with unique energy.
"There are seven known Primordial Forces… and one forgotten by most mages:
AshBloodStormShadowSandRootVoidAnd… Space-Time. The last was erased from records. Feared. Hidden. Only one bloodline could carry it."
Diaz frowned.
"My mother…?"
Asla nodded, eyes holding millennia.
"Angeline was an Enker. One of the last, it seems. She carried the legacy of time and space in her bones."
Diaz saw her tired face, always sewing silence instead of words.
"But… no one ever told me this…"
"Because the Enker were hunted like abominations," Asla said, pointing to the silver-black ring on his finger. "That simple artifact… is the Matrix Core of the Space-Time Force. A legendary relic passed only to direct heirs."
He stared at the ring like seeing it for the first time.
"You survived the fall in the Endless Vale because of it. And because of me. One of your ancestors saved my life centuries ago. In return, I swore eternal loyalty to the Enker bloodline."
"Loyalty…?" Diaz murmured.
"I am a Phoenix, Diaz. A mythical beast, legend to the world. But to the Enker... I am Guardian of the Eternal Flame. The First Ancestor. I reincarnate in cycles... awaiting the next heir of the Eighth Force."
He looked at her not as a mentor now, but as a link to a past no one dared remember.
"There's more," Asla said darkly. "Your lineage's secret is fragmented. But traces remain. Seals. Echoes. One of them... lies in the Forgotten Temple, north of the continent."
Diaz clenched his fists.
"What else lies beyond Veledorn?"
"A world not ruled by kings or councils," she said. "But held by secret clans, hidden orders, sects that sacrifice children for forbidden knowledge…There are magical pirates who raid with transmutation spells. Monks who guard ruins and kill without warning. And lands where magic feeds on those who step into them."
She stared straight into him.
"All of them fear the Eighth Force. And when they learn it's awakened… they will hunt you. Just like they hunted yours."
"The Enker faced all that?" he asked, stunned.
"One of your ancestors made three kingdoms kneel in a single night.Not with an army—With the structure of the world.He tore the sky. Moved cities. Teleported palaces into volcanoes.
Then… vanished. His records were burned. Called myth.
But he lived.
Just as you do."
Silence.
The magic stream whispered in another tongue.
"I…" Diaz began, voice tight, "will restore the name of the Enker. I'll bring our glory back."
Asla smiled, a wild pride in her eyes.
"Your wrath is the right fuel for that.And I'm here… to follow my Lord."
She offered her hand. Diaz took it.For the first time, the Phoenix's fire didn't burn.It simply warmed.
"Then teach me how not to regret. Because this world will only know peace… after my wrath."
Asla nodded.
"That, the world must teach you.But I…I'll prepare you to crush it."
They stood together in silence.
And Diaz knew:His journey would be far more than vengeance.
He stood.
The runes on his body pulsed like thunder under his skin. The Primordial Core in his chest burned like a cosmic heart.
"Then guide me. I want to be the strongest of the Enker line."
Asla crossed her arms, eyes glowing.
"It won't be easy. But you're ready.There are still remnants of the Enker…waiting.For the Promised Leader.The one who would come with the Eighth Force."
Diaz took a deep breath.
"Then let's begin. From this moment on… I am Diaz Enker."
Asla smiled, eyes closed.
"Then tell me, Diaz Enker… what will you do with this power?"
He looked up at the cavernous ceiling, where flames danced like visions of the future.
"I'll show the world the true power of an Enker.I'll avenge my mother.And not just that…"
His eyes shone like cracks in space.
"I will unite Elyndros under a single banner.An empire forged by wrath...But sustained by peace."
Asla gave a full, quiet smile.
One without warning—only recognition.
"Then let the world prepare."
Because Diaz wasn't seeking justice.
He was the sentence.