The boy was late.
Boots slapping stone, cloak whipping behind him, Kyle Veilworth sprinted through the maze-like alleyways of Lower Iserra. His breath came ragged. Not because he was weak, but because the whole city had seemed to turn against him that morning—carriages blocking alleys, nobles parading on horses, and merchants dragging out their stalls longer than usual.
Everyone was heading toward the Awakening Tower.
But Kyle wasn't going to watch.
He was going to awaken.
"Good luck, kid!" a shopkeeper called, tossing an apple in his direction.
Kyle caught it mid-stride. "Thanks!" he shouted, biting in. Juice burst across his tongue as his lungs burned.
He tore through the crowd, crossing the final plaza, and there it was:
The Tower.
It was more ruin than structure.
A massive spire of obsidian and crystal, rising 127 meters into the sky, cracked with ancient veins of lightning. Its body coiled upward like a twisted sword, wrapped in living symbols that shimmered faintly even in daylight.
A spiral staircase wound around it, open to the sky. At its heart stood the Bloodstone Altar—a semi-organic construct made of stone, root, and a strange glass-like organ that pulsed like a beating heart.
It was beautiful. And terrifying.
Kyle skidded to a halt, sweat pouring down his face. His gaze swept the lines—dozens of aspirants, most commoners like him, each hoping to awaken a single element.
His heart sank. There were five lines, and his—the one for non-affiliated, unranked citizens—was the longest. The peasant line.
He wiped his face, stepped into place, and tried to calm his racing pulse.
Then, someone bumped into him.
"Ah, sorry!" said a boy around his age, slightly taller, chestnut hair tied back, emerald eyes bright with nervous energy. He offered Kyle a hand. "Didn't see you there."
Kyle grinned. "No harm done."
"I'm Lein. You?"
"Kyle."
They shook hands, then stood side by side.
"I just want the strongest element possible," Kyle muttered. "Fire, lightning… maybe wind. Something powerful."
Lein chuckled. "You really believe that stuff?"
"What do you mean?"
"Element strength doesn't come from the element itself—it comes from you. Most people don't get to choose what they awaken unless they're backed by powerful families with elemental stones or contracts. Even then, it's not guaranteed."
Kyle blinked. "So… I'm stuck with whatever picks me?"
"Pretty much. At the Novice Rank, which we all start at, you usually awaken one element. Two if you're lucky or blessed."
"And the Kreis?" Kyle asked.
"That's different. Kreis is your cultivation ring—it determines your potential, your cultivation speed, and how you'll grow. Keras are the rings of power you unlock as you climb. But the Kreis… that's what shapes your path."
"Sounds complicated."
Lein laughed. "You'll get it. Just remember this—no Kreis, no cultivation. No Keras, no evolution. No element, no technique. All three matter."
Kyle looked back toward the tower.
He had nothing. No bloodline. No family. Just hope.
Gasps rippled through the plaza. People stepped aside as three figures approached from a golden carriage inlaid with sunsteel and serpentine crests.
One of the guards shouted, "Step back! Nobels of Tier One House approaching!"
Kyle stared, slack-jawed.
House Lizak. The sword-born, flame-bound legacy clan said to worship the Sword God himself. Their heir, Raizen Enzai Lizak, descended in black fire robes and a silver pendant carved into a dual-blade sigil.
"Why is he in the common line?" someone whispered.
Raizen smirked. "Because power doesn't fear proximity to weakness."
And with that, he stepped into line. Right behind Kyle.
One by one, aspirants stepped forward, pressed their hands to the Bloodstone Altar, and awaited their fate.
Most walked away with a glow of one orb. Some two. A rare few, three.
But then came Raizen.
He calmly placed his hand on the altar. The runes flashed.
One orb lit. Then another. Then five.
Sword
Fire
Earth
Sealing Magic
Metal
Gasps exploded.
Then… his Kreis appeared.
Golden. Engraved. Perfect.
The crowd roared.
"Five elements?!"
"A golden Kreis?!"
"He's already surpassed half the academy's graduates!"
Raizen nodded once to the audience and walked off, regal and composed.
Kyle swallowed, hard.
Then, his name was called.
Kyle stepped forward.
The hall fell silent.
No one expected anything.
He placed his hand on the Bloodstone Altar.
The world changed.
Lightning cracked.
Blood spilled into the circuit lines on the floor, and the entire tower shook.
One orb lit.Then two.Then ten.Then thirty.
Cries of disbelief erupted.
"Impossible—he's lighting all of them?!"
Seventy-two orbs gleamed—every known element, from Fire to Void, from Blood to Time, from Bone to Sound.
Then, higher… three orbs no one had ever seen light.
Anglic – platinum-gold, radiant with holy brilliance.
Demoniz – crimson-black, dripping dark fire.
Unknown – shifting, formless, chaotic.
All three lit.
And then… his Kreis appeared.
It had no classification. No name.
It pulsed in shades of gold, black, white, red—unstable. Alive.
The crowd didn't cheer.
They trembled.
Kyle's eyes rolled back.
Visions danced in his mind—angels, demons, swords that wept, and realms falling apart.
Then blackness.
He awoke minutes later, a glowing approval card shoved into his hands.
"Take it," the examiner said, voice trembling. "Leave now."
He stumbled back.
Everyone stared.
Some pointed. Others stepped away in fear.
He pulled his hood up, hid his card—
—and ran.
Kyle didn't stop running until the Awakening Tower was a ghost behind him.
He ducked into an abandoned stone corridor once used by transporters in Lower Iserra. Cracked walls, old torch mounts, a collapsed marble lion… it was forgotten by the city and perfect for hiding.
He dropped to his knees, heart thundering.Then—he felt it.
A soft burn under his sternum.Not pain.Not warmth.But a presence.
"Keras of Heart… initialized."
His eyes widened.
The first ring. The first Keras. It was real.
Every cultivator dreamed of that moment. When your body resonated with your Kreis. When power moved through you like a second heartbeat. When the first ring was born.
But Kyle… felt nothing else.
He focused.
Reached inward again.
Silence.
"Why isn't anything happening…?"
He clenched his fist. No glow. No shape. Not even a whisper this time.
It was there—but not his yet.
"I haven't awakened it. Not truly…"
No skill. No aura. Just an echo in his soul.Something had begun.
But it had not arrived.
Far above, deep within the Awakening Tower's forgotten catacombs, a forbidden chamber glowed for the first time in a century.
There, the Preservers of Balance—ancient custodians of knowledge—gathered before Vault XIII-B.
The seal broke with a low moan, and a single scroll unfurled itself midair.
The ink shimmered red under moonlight, as if soaked in still-living blood.
Its message read:
"He shall walk with Death, and Memory, and Blood.And still shall he not fall."
"Death will roam with him and follow his path.Where he walks, he will destroy every road behind him—And carve a new one no god has dared to tread."
"He is not born to inherit.He is born to become what was never allowed."
The chamber fell to silence.
One Preserver, pale-faced and trembling, whispered:
"The Seventy-Second Awakening has begun."
Kyle sat under a collapsed fountain now, hiding under its vine-covered arch.
He didn't understand anything.
He had awakened all the elements.
His Kreis had no classification.
But his first Keras wasn't even usable.He had no skills. No strength. Only fear.
"Then what was the point?" he muttered. "Why give me everything and leave me with nothing?"
But deep inside… he knew the answer.
This wasn't a gift.
This was a warning.
Keras were not sparks.
They were rings of ascension, buried within the body like spiritual anchors.
There were ten total:
Keras of Heart
Keras of Veins
Keras of Breath
Keras of Bone
Keras of Spirit
Keras of Blood
Keras of Thought
Keras of Soul
Keras of Sky
Keras of World
Each could be awakened as cultivation deepened.
Each added a layer of strength, aura, endurance, and—if the user was capable—a skill.
But there was more.
Some Keras could be summoned—appearing briefly to grant boosts.Rare ones could be equipped—forming weapons, armor, cloaks, or sigils.But few… truly few… could withstand wielding their Keras fully.
Why?
Because it drained you. It pushed you to your limit. The stronger your Kreis, the more control—but the exhaustion was real.
Kyle's wasn't summoned. Not even a flicker.Only that whisper.
"Keras of Heart… initialized."
No one told him what to do after that.
In the heights of Iserra, beneath moon-pierced banners, the Noble Houses gathered.
Three stood as the triad:
House Lizak: Flame-walkers, sword bearers, blessed by their God
House Zyvarn: Masters of Seals and Gravitation
House Nyxveil: Whispered alchemists, bones and poison
Their heirs had all awakened great gifts.
But none had shaken the Tower.
None had lit All The Seventy-Second Orb.
And now, a single name ran on every noble's tongue:
"Kyle Veilworth."
No known bloodline. No recorded history.
Yet the orbs had obeyed him.
Kyle didn't notice.
But someone watched from a rooftop far above the ruined plaza.
Draped in black.
Eyes like glass daggers.
A scroll in hand, its seal broken, and on it—the same prophecy from Vault XIII-B.
The man said nothing.
But a whisper crawled from under his breath:
"One has walked where only gods once dreamed."