In the world of Aethelgard, mana wasn't just energy; it was destiny.
For centuries, the laws of power were absolute. On the day a youth turned fifteen, they were required to perform the 'Rite of the Spirit Grove'. Deep within the mystical forest, ancient stones waited for their destined masters. To claim a Stone of Power was to claim a seat among the elite. To fail, or to miss the window of synchronization, was to remain a 'Hollow'—a mere servant to those born with light.
Ashura was not just another youth. He was a prodigy. Even without a stone, his affinity for the raw elements was terrifying. The village elders whispered that he would claim a 'Sun-Grade' stone, a rank that hadn't been seen in generations.
But genius breeds a poison called envy.
"Is this the great prodigy? Crawling in the dirt like the worm he is?"
A heavy boot slammed into Ashura's ribs, sending him sprawling across the jagged rocks at the edge of the Spirit Grove. The entrance to the forest glowed with an ethereal blue light, just a few hundred meters away. The sun was setting, bleeding into the horizon. The window of the Rite was closing. Fast.
Ashura coughed, blood staining his white tunic. He looked up through blurred vision at the three figures standing over him. They were his 'friends'—Kael, Marcus, and Zen. People he had trained with, shared meals with, and protected from bullies for years.
"Why?" Ashura's voice was a ragged whisper. "The sun... it's almost down. If I don't enter now, I'll never get my stone. My life will be over!"
Kael, the leader of the group, smirked as he toyed with a jagged dagger. "That's exactly the point, Ashura. You're already too strong. If you get a Sun-Grade stone, we'll be nothing but shadows in your light. We can't have a commoner ruling over us."
"We're doing this for the balance of things," Marcus added, though his eyes gleamed with a sadistic, twisted joy.
They didn't just stop him. They broke him. For the next hour, they used Ashura as a living punching bag for their nascent spells. Fire scorched his skin, and wind-blades tore at his limbs. They made sure he couldn't stand. They made sure he watched, paralyzed, as the last sliver of the sun disappeared.
The blue light of the Spirit Grove flickered... and went cold. The Rite was over. The gates of destiny were shut.
"Look at him," Kael laughed, kicking Ashura one last time in the stomach. "The prodigy is now a Hollow. A nothing. Let's go, boys. We have our stones to cultivate. Let the trash rot in his own failures."
Ashura lay alone in the freezing mud. The silence of the forest felt like a physical weight, crushing his chest. His dreams, his years of agonizing training, his future—all of it had been stolen by the very people he trusted most.
A sob escaped his throat. It wasn't a sob of weakness; it was a sound of pure, unadulterated despair that resonated with the very earth. Tears mixed with blood flowed down his cheeks, hitting the soil like cursed rain.
"I'll kill them..." he choked out, his fingers clawing into the dirt until his nails bled. "I'll burn everything they love... I'll make them pray for a death I won't give them!"
Suddenly, the air went cold. Not the cold of winter, but the cold of a grave.
The ground beneath Ashura's chest began to tremble. A vibration, deep and ancient, hummed through his bones. From the absolute darkness of a nearby forbidden ravine, a streak of obsidian light shot out. It didn't glow; it seemed to eat the very light around it.
It hovered inches from Ashura's face. A stone. But it wasn't the blue of the Grove or the gold of the Sun. It was as black as the deepest pit of the abyss, pulsing like a dying heart.
[Notice: Compatibility 100%.]
[Ancient Sin Detected: Betrayal.]
[Object: The Shard of the Void (Darkness Stone - Mythical Grade).]
The stone didn't wait for permission. It slammed into Ashura's chest, sinking into his heart like a burning needle.
"AAAGHHHHHH!"
Ashura's scream tore through the night, silencing the forest. His body contorted as black, ink-like veins began to spread from his chest to his neck and face. His mana, once pure and bright, turned into a thick, corrosive shadow. His eyes, once brown and full of hope, bled out until only a terrifying, abyssal black remained.
He stood up. His wounds didn't just heal; they were consumed by the darkness, replaced by skin that felt as cold as obsidian.
He looked at his hands. Shadows danced around his fingers like obedient snakes. The trees around him seemed to wither and bow in terror.
"You wanted a Hollow?" Ashura's voice was now a layered harmony of a thousand dark whispers. He looked toward the village, a twisted, beautiful smile appearing on his face.
"I'll give you the Abyss."