The air outside the Western City gates was unnaturally still.
The frost from the morning runs hadn't melted from the cobblestones, and the clouds above rolled in heavy and gray, forming a ceiling that weighed down upon the land.
Veyn stood beside Vastarael just outside the grand walls of the city, his breath fogging the air with each shallow exhale. With them were six of the highest-ranking Insignia mages. Up above, archers lined the battlements, bows notched, eyes narrowed, every man and woman ready to unleash death should the unknown arrive.
But there was nothing to fire at.
Not yet.
"Why… is it so quiet?"
Vastarael looked out at the barren field ahead.
"Because it hasn't begun yet."
"…The Ice Rain?"
Vastarael gave a single nod, his voice calm.
"But let me explain something before it starts. The term Ice Rain is… deceptive. It doesn't fall from clouds. It doesn't come from storms."
Veyn looked to him, brow furrowed.
"It's not nature," Vastarael said, folding his arms behind his back, regal even in the creeping cold. "It's magic. And not just any magic. It's a ritualized, anchored spellwork. Ice Rain is caused by the emergence of gigantic, ancient mystic circles. The ice you see falling isn't shaped by weather; it's summoned, shaped, and hurled by a being. Some of it in the form of frost spears the size of horses. Some in wide slashing arcs that freeze entire structures solid."
"…So, someone's doing this?"
"Yes. And that someone is extremely powerful."
The wind shifted, ever so slightly. As if the world had been holding its breath.
Veyn turned to him, uncertainty lining his voice. "…Why am I here?"
Vastarael's gaze lingered on the horizon. And then, slowly… he exhaled a truth that cracked the foundation of everything Veyn had believed about his life.
"The reason Chrysanthemum came to the Northern Underground…"
Veyn stiffened. "Because of Zarvana—"
"No," Vastarael interrupted. "It wasn't Zarvana. That was a front. The truth is… she came for you."
Veyn went pale.
"What? But why?"
"Because you're not just a Sentient Krepsuna. You're half Aeterium."
It was like someone had ripped the breath from Veyn's lungs.
He blinked. Once. Twice. His voice barely came out.
"What… what's an Aeterium?"
"An ancient race. We're rare and most think we're extinct. Aeterium are born with something called a Tether. Think of it like a soul-bound ability that grows with you, evolves with your trials, your trauma, your victories. It's not just power. It's a spiritual awakening. A reflection of your very identity."
"I don't have any powers," Veyn whispered, confused.
"That's because neither side of you has awakened. Your Krepsuna side is dormant. So is your Aeterium heritage. And until one sparks, you'll always feel… weak. You'll always feel behind. Always afraid."
Veyn's hands trembled at his sides.
"But there's more. And this is where it gets dangerous. We studied the remnants of the Ice Rain mystic circles. What we found is that the energy signature used to create them matches your energy. Not just your aura but your soulprint."
"…What does that mean?"
"It means the mage who summoned those circles, who caused the deaths, the destruction, is either your parent… or a blood relative."
Veyn staggered back half a step, the snow crunching under his boots.
"No. No, that—how—"
"We're not here to confront them. Not yet. We're here to use that spell's resonance to awaken you. Because if that magic is from your bloodline, then your soul will recognize it. And in doing so, it might finally push your power to surface."
"…Might?"
"It's a gamble," Vastarael said plainly. "We're going to throw you straight into the center of a mystic ritual capable of decimating cities. It'll trigger everything inside you. And maybe, just maybe, it'll make you awaken."
Veyn's mouth was dry. His blood pounded in his ears. And then, it began.
Without warning, the earth rumbled.
A shrieking, arcane hum screamed across the sky like a thousand whispers merging into one shrill screech. Then a burst of blinding blue light emerged as a mystic circle erupted into existence, unfurling like a cosmic scroll directly in front of the city. It was enormous, towering over the field like a divine sigil at sixty meters tall, layered with ancient script and rotating inner rings, all spinning in opposite directions with terrible grace.
The light of it was sickeningly cold with ice blue so intense it burned the eyes. Pulses of freezing air shot out from it, causing the very air to crystallize. Trees in the field shattered. Birds fell from the sky, turned to ice mid-flight.
The Ice Rain was coming.
"ARCHERS!" barked the wall commanders. "Prepare for falling hail!"
But before the first spike could descend, Vastarael turned sharply toward the mages behind them.
"CAST BARRIERS! FORTIFY THE EAST AND WEST WALLS!"
The six mages moved instantly, slamming their hands together and forming a hexagram in unison. Pillars of glowing energy shot up the sides of the city, casting protective domes along the battlements.
Then he turned to Veyn.
"…It's time."
Veyn's mouth moved before he could stop himself.
"What do I do?"
"You feel. Let the energy inside you answer the call of that mystic circle. Stand as close to it as you can bear. It'll try to kill you. That's how you know it's working."
"And if it does kill me?"
Vastarael gave him a cold, yet proud smile.
"Then you were never worthy of Raika in the first place."
Veyn stared at the man, stunned. Then he nodded, swallowing his fear.
He stepped forward, toward the thunderous heart of the mystic circle, the cold wind clawing at his skin, the hum of old power beckoning his soul and in that moment, for the first time in his life…
He felt something stir inside him.
As Veyn stepped closer to the colossal mystic circle, the air around him seemed to twist and bend, contorting reality itself. The circle layers pulsed with light, rotating in an unnatural rhythm, like the ticking of a god's clock. Each ring of runes burned brighter as he approached, glowing with intensity that shouldn't have been possible in a mortal world.
His boots scraped against the frost-hardened earth. The first step was heavy. The second was heavier. By the third, he felt like he was walking through syrup made of raw magic, a force dragging him down, suffocating him from the inside out.
Vastarael stood behind him, arms folded, eyes locked on Veyn's back with a near-predatory gaze. His voice rang out like a death sentence.
"Go further. Let it touch you. Let it pull."
Veyn clenched his teeth and stepped forward.
And then it hit.
The moment he crossed the inner radius of the mystic circle's range, a bolt of energy shot through his entire body.
It was as if the circle had recognized him.
It screamed his name without a voice.
It branded his very soul.
Veyn convulsed. His knees buckled, his eyes rolled back, and from his lips came a choked scream that was instantly swallowed by the storm winds. His body glowed faintly with the same hue as the mystic circle, flaring up through his veins like molten frost.
His chest heaved. His skin cracked.
Blood leaked from his nose, from his gums, from the corners of his eyes. Every breath was a fight. Every heartbeat was a drum of torment. And deeper, a second pain began to unfurl.
Spiritual agony.
The energy of the mystic circle tore through the boundaries of flesh and soul, dragging ancient, dormant memories to the surface. Visions, echoes crying in a language he didn't know, faces obscured by light watching him from above a crib of dark ice. Then fire. Falling. Loneliness.
And a single voice calling his name, weeping as if it had lost everything.
He screamed again, falling to his knees.
The magic began etching into his skin, glowing runes appearing across his arms, chest, and neck.
Cracks spread along the mystic circle itself. The runes began to unravel just slightly, wobbling like ripples in glass. The energy flow faltered. The air pulsed once with shock.
The Ice Rain above halted.
No more falling spikes formed. The sky grew still as if frozen in time. The archers gasped. The mages' spells faltered. The temperature spiked upward almost unnaturally.
Veyn had done it.
He had resonated so deeply with the circle that it disrupted the entire spell's foundation. It was like slamming the signature of the caster with the imprint of a blood equal or more frighteningly, a descendant.
But it came at a cost. His body was breaking.
Blood soaked his outfit. Steam rose from his skin. His limbs twitched violently and his breathing was no longer rhythmic. Magic wasn't meant to awaken this way. No one was meant to tether their soul to an unknown power in this raw, direct a method.
He collapsed fully, his hands splayed against the icy dirt, mouth open in a silent scream. And yet, in the chaos of his suffering, something shifted. And from within the inner edges of the circle, the snow parted like water.
Something moved. Vastarael's eyes narrowed.
Something was there.
The mages turned to shout, arrows were loosed from the walls, but they were all too slow.
It came like a ghost, a blur, a howl, a shadow laced with light and mist.
Veyn's body was yanked upward so violently that the sound of bones dislocating echoed through the field. He was gone in an instant, carried by an invisible beast that moved faster than the eye could trace. A shimmer of distorted air marked its path as it tore back into the frost-covered forest beyond the fields, leaving only a broken ripple of space in its wake.
The mystic circle trembled once more then collapsed, imploding into motes of mystic dust.
Vastarael stepped forward slowly, watching the last of the light fade.
And then… he smiled.
His hands slipped behind his back as he turned to the others.
"Exactly as I predicted."
The mages stared at him in confusion, but didn't speak.
He gazed into the direction where the beast had gone, his voice little more than a murmur now, yet soaked in satisfaction.
"The resonance was perfect. Now he's gone to the one who abandoned him."
He looked down at the spot where Veyn had knelt. Steam still curled from the imprint he left behind.
"Now, let the real story begin."
He turned, cloak billowing behind him, his boots stepping over Veyn's blood as if it were water.
His smile never left his face.
The Sixth Star Control Circle faded beneath his palm, its activation completed.
And behind him, in the farthest edges of the snow-blasted field, silence returned.
As if nothing had ever happened.