In a dimly lit room filled with an array of intricate tools and ingredients, a man meticulously went about his work. His focus was unbreakable, his hands moving with a practiced grace as he mixed, measured, and combined various elements.

This man was the Paragon of the Alverian family in Sector-4, one of the tier-1 families in the human domian, Thorne Alverian. He possesses a fiery red hair which cascades over his forehead, framing his countenance in a wild and untamed manner. Partially obscuring his gaze, his hair seems to enhance the intensity of his sapphire eyes, which pierce through the veil of uncertainty with a sharp, discerning brilliance.

While the Ravensteins forge their legacy on the battlefield, the Alverians have sculpted their dominion through the arcane and enigmatic art of alchemy. Within their secretive enclaves and well-guarded laboratories, they manipulate the very essence of elements to craft potions of unimaginable power.

These elixirs, both wondrous and perilous, have become the lifeblood of the realm, a silent force that bolsters warriors, bestowing upon them advantages that could tip the scales of any conflict. As the Ravensteins marshal their strength for battle, the Alverians exert their influence in the markets, their grip on the alchemical trade firm and unyielding.

As Thorne worked diligently, his concentration unwavering, a woman entered the room. She observed him from a distance, a silent presence that refrained from disrupting his meticulous process. Four hours passed in an almost meditative silence, the woman’s patience evident as she patiently waited for his attention.

Finally, with the finishing touches of his potion complete, the man glanced up and noticed the woman standing there. His brows furrowed in mild surprise, and he cleared his throat before speaking, “What do you want?”

The woman’s voice was respectful and succinct as she reported, “The Ravensteins have declared war on the obsidian order.”

The man’s expression shifted “This is going to be troublesome,” he murmured, “Those madmen have the potential to cause a lot of destruction if left unchecked.”

His words hung in the air and woman nodded in understanding. The man then gestured for her to leave, his attention returning to his tools and potions. With a respectful bow, the woman turned and exited the room, leaving Thorne to his contemplations.

***

In a chamber bathed in the fiery glow of a freshly forged metal, a man sat in solemn contemplation. His raven-black hair framed his face, casting a stark contrast against his tanned complexion.

Muscles, firm and unyielding, coiled beneath his skin like steel cables, a testament to his strength and endurance. He was a figure of formidable presence, his very aura exuding an air of command. This man is the Paragon of the Emberforge family in Sector-2, one of the tier-1 of the human domian, Gavric Emberforge.

The Emberforge family are deeply rooted in craftsmanship and innovation. Their skilled artisans and crafters forge intricate and enchanting creations. With meticulous attention to detail, the Emberforge produces artifacts that are as beautiful as they are functional, from enchanted weaponry to intricate trinkets that weave magic into the fabric of daily life. They are the main reason for humanity’s technological advancements.

Before him, the centerpiece of his attention, rested a piece of metal that glowed with an otherworldly intensity. If one could take a closer look, they would notice that this metal was Daramite Coreneum, a metal that is 10M times harder than diamond.

His eyes fixated upon the metal as if seeking to unravel its mysteries. There was a depth to his stare, a search for understanding that went beyond the physical realm. .

A presence entered the chamber, bowing respectfully to the man who sat before the awe-inspiring metal. As the newcomer relayed a message, the man’s gaze reluctantly shifted from the metal to settle upon the messenger. An aura of authority enveloped him, and a chilling silence hung in the air, a testament to the power he wielded and the weight of his attention.

The message delivered, the man excused the messenger with a barely perceptible nod. His expression remained unchanged, a mask of quiet contemplation that betrayed no emotion. Once more, his focus returned to the burning metal, his thoughts a labyrinth of possibilities and plans that only he could fathom.

Across the sprawling expanse of the human domain, whispers of uncertainty and concern swept through the distinguished families like a chilling wind. The news of the Ravenstein family’s declaration of war against the Obsidian Order reverberated through family halls, opulent chambers, and secluded estates alike, leaving an indelible mark of trepidation in its wake.

***

Atticus made his way to the garden where his Anastasia and Freya were drinking tea. It had been a week since Ariel died. There, amidst the delicate symphony of rustling leaves and fragrant blooms, he spotted them. Atticus approached and greeted them.

“Good morning, mum. Grandma” he offered, a blend of warmth threading his words.

Anastasia’s lips curved into a fond smile as she looked up from her cup of tea. “Ah, honey, what are you doing here?” she asked

Freya also looked at Atticus, wondering why he was here. He was always in his room doing who knows what. He never comes out on his own, unless Anastasia forces him.

He settled into a seat beside them. He cleared his throat and spoke. “Mum, I can’t wait a year. Please, let me learn how to fight now.”

He had thought about it and decided that getting strength couldn’t wait. ‘Life is full of uncertainties, the stronger you are, the better your chances,’ Atticus thought.

Anastasia’s gaze held his, and a moment of contemplative silence hung in the air. Then, to Atticus’s surprise, a smile graced her features as she nodded. “Alright, At. I agree.” .𝒎

His eyebrows furrowed in astonishment. “You… you do?”

Anastasia’s eyes twinkled with a newfound resolve. “Yes. I’ve realized that in this world, anyone can be vulnerable, no matter how much protection surrounds them. It’s your own strength that truly matters.”

She reached out, her hand encompassing his. “Promise me, though, that you’ll be careful. Take it step by step.”

Atticus beamed with gratitude. “Thank you, Mum. I promise.”

He kissed her and Freya on their cheeks and left the garden.

As Atticus departed, Anastasia’s gaze shifted to Freya, the unspoken weight of their shared sorrow lingering in the air. “How are you, Freya?” she asked.

Freya’s expression softened, her voice carrying the echoes of past grief. “Seeing your child die before you must be the most unbearable pain a parent could endure.”

A somber understanding passed between them, and then suddenly Freya’s aura surged forth. An aura of undeniable strength of a Grandmaster-rank. “The obsidian order will be eradicated from this world, no matter what it takes.” she muttered.