Synopsis
Manalith's forest held breathless stillness, the kind of silence that pressed down on your skin like fog, not quite suffocating—but alerting. A warning in the wind.
Grey crouched low, brushing his fingers over the damp moss carpeting the earth. A fine mist hovered between the trees, diffusing the light of the pale sun into fractured rays. Beside him, Itarim inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring.
Grey (quietly):
"East. You smell that?"
Itarim (eyes narrowing, feral glint):
"Yeah. Stone. Old stone. Cracked iron too. Ruins, maybe."
Navigating by scent alone was reckless, but in Manalith's forest—where magnetic pulses from the mist warped even the most precise compass—recklessness was all they had. No birds. No wind. Just footsteps and instinct.
---
They pressed forward through dense underbrush and knotting vines until, after what felt like hours, the mist peeled back.
And there it stood.
A monolithic wall, easily thirty meters tall, carved into with ancient scripts long devoured by time. The stone gate at its center was massive, each slab twice the width of a siege tower door. Moss clung to its surface, but the structure still radiated menace—as though it waited.
Two statues flanked the gate, each nearly four meters high. Warriors cast in stone. One bore a sword, its hilt as tall as a man. The other, a lance anchored into the ground like a stake into the earth. Their armor was archaic—layered plates fused directly into their limbs. No eyes, no faces beneath their helms—just hollows.
Itarim (awe-struck):
"Whoa… are those sentinels,the guild should have definitely made them part of the academy test."
Grey (grinning faintly):
"Still wanna run toward it?"
Itarim (already jogging):
"Yup."
They broke into a sprint, boots slapping earth. Excitement surged—until a low, grinding hum rippled through the forest floor.
THRUMMMM!
A flash of movement.
CRACK!
The ground in front of them exploded as a massive stone sword embedded itself inches from Grey's foot. Dust and gravel showered outward.
Grey (wide-eyed):
"That… would've been my ribcage."
They both skidded to a halt.
Itarim (stepping back):
"Uh… Captain Drayk didn't mention this part."
The two statues moved.
But not like puppets—not with the stiffness of constructs. Their movements were precise. Controlled. Heavy footsteps echoed with a thunderous finality as each warrior stepped down from its pedestal and approached.
Six paces. Then they stopped.
Silence.
Then, a voice—a deep rumble that seemed to come from within the stone, like a soul trapped and speaking through ancient weight.
Left Statue (voice like grinding tectonic plates):
"You. Shall not pass."
A moment passed. The mist thickened around their boots.
Then the Right Statue leaned forward slightly, the tip of its lance embedding itself into the soil.
Right Statue:
"Beyond that…is death"
A cold shiver crept down Grey's back. The gate wasn't just sealed. It was guarded.
Itarim narrowed his eyes, already stepping forward again.
Grey (placing an arm across his chest):
"Wait. Something's off."
Itarim:
"They're constructs. Enchanted. But we can't use brute force to go through them."
Grey:
"Or maybe we can just talk to them."
Grey lowered his stance, raising his voice just enough to address the statues.
Grey:
"We were sent by Captain Drayk. He gave us this."
He reached into his coat and revealed the yellow diamond-shaped badge—its surface catching a ray of mist-filtered light.
For a moment… nothing.
Then, a faint shimmer passed through the statues' hollow eye sockets. Recognition? Calculation?
Left Statue (slower this time):
"The seal... is acknowledged."
Right Statue:
"Then… prove your intent."
Both statues raised their weapons. Not to strike—but to engage.
Their blades hummed faintly with embedded rune-light.
Grey (grim smile):
"Well, looks like we've got to dance before we pass."
Itarim (grinning):
"Alright it's about time. I was getting bored."
The forest pulsed with energy as the battle began.
The statue with the lance lunged first, far faster than its size suggested. Grey ducked, rolled, and deflected with an upward pulse from his gauntlet—a Shock breaker—which pushed the weapon aside just enough to avoid instant disembowelment.
Grey (panting, smirking):
"These things don't pull punches."
The sword-bearer locked onto Itarim, swinging in a wide arc that sent a pressure wave ripping through the nearby trees. Itarim's eyes glinted with excitement, his body pulsing with adrenaline. He used a technique he calls Savage Flow it's a technique he made him self that utilizes intense speed to attack an opponent— swiftly appearing above the blade mid-swing, then pivoting off the statue's shoulder to land a kick to its helm.
Impact. CRACK.
But the statue didn't flinch.
Instead, its eyes lit up fully—golden fire sparking to life.
The lance burst into three and struck like a trident.
Grey created a void shell( a personal skill that involves manipulating a certain amount of space around and object) catching two points, but the third scraped his shoulder. Blood stained his coat.
Grey (gritting teeth):
"Tch… fine. We'll play serious."
He tossed a beacon into the air—his gauntlet lighting with a three-ring circuit. Lock-On Initiated.
Grey:
"Itarim!"
Itarim:
"Yeah?"
Grey:
"Let's pass the test."
Grey darted in low, drawing both statues' attention with erratic footwork and mid-range pulses. He baited the lance for a side thrust and flipped backward.
That was the signal.
Itarim vanished into a blur.He appeared behind the sword-wielder, both hands glowing. With a howl, he drove a burst-strike into the small of its back—shaking the forest floor.
Grey, catching his timing, followed up by launching his staff directly at the lance's core. The energy crackled on impact.
Both statues staggered.Their weapons cracked—stone crumbling away to dust. The statues not defeated but relenting,took a step back.
Left Statue:
"The will… is proven."
Right Statue:
"You may pass"
The gate creaked as they opened. A sliver of darkness formed between the stone slabs until the gates where completely opened.
Itarim and Grey stood, panting, bruised but upright.
Itarim (grinning):
"Now that felt like a real test."
Grey (wiping blood from his lip):
"Let's hope the Gate Guard doesn't hit harder."
They passed through the gate together, swallowed by the shadow beyond—
—and the stone warriors resumed their positions, silent once more.The stone gate behind them rumbled shut with a deep thoom echoing through the crumbled rubbles of what was once a thriving city. Itarim and Grey stood in eerie silence.
Grey (glancing over his shoulder):
"...Well, there goes our way back."
The moment they stepped forward, the air shifted. Dry. Dust-laden. Heavy with sorrow.
The ruins stretched ahead like the husk of a forgotten civilization. Broken archways, scorched walls, hollowed-out towers. A city crushed under time... or war.
Itarim crouched, touching a fragment of a shattered signboard. A half-burned name was still visible, though the letters were foreign.
Itarim (to himself):
"What happened here…"
Grey (hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the surroundings):
"Judging by the blast marks and collapse patterns… maybe a fight. A big one."
They kept walking, their footsteps soft on ash and gravel. A faint pulse tickled at their senses, growing stronger.
And then—they stopped.
A wide clearing opened before them, where a collapsed arena lay in the heart of the ruin. Atop a massive pile of rubble sat a lone figure, drenched in a shimmering purple energy like ethereal fire. Its presence alone was suffocating—an oppressive weight pressing down on their lungs.
Figure (without moving):
"Who are you?"
Its voice was smooth, echoing in their heads rather than their ears.
Itarim (eyes narrowed):
"I should ask you the same thing."
Figure (cold, detached):
"Go back. You are not welcome."
Itarim (shrugging):
"Yeah… that can't happen. We just got here."
The figure turned its head slightly. The energy pulsed violently for an instant.
Figure:
"Then… die."
In the blink of an eye they didn't see the figure move.
One moment it was above them. The next—it was between them, standing still as stone.
A blinding image injected itself into their minds—
Grey, his chest pierced by a dozen lances.
Itarim, his head crushed beneath an unseen force. Illusions of their death flashed in their minds,both teens stumbled backward, breath ripped from their lungs by sheer fear. Grey dropped to one knee, cold sweat soaking his shirt. Itarim gritted his teeth, eyes wide.
Figure (voice closer now, resonating inside their skulls):
"I won't say it again. Leave."
Itarim (panting, growling):
"...and why the hell would I do that? Just because you said so?"
Suddenly his body tensed as he transformed into his Primal form.veins stood firm beneath his skin. Claws formed at his fingertips. Canines sharpened. Eyes turned to amber. The two launched at each other,
The entire ruin shook, the air rippling with Beast Energy clashing against pure mental pressure.
Itarim lunged forward—blindingly fast—claws extended, fangs bared.
The figure deflected without effort, using two fingers to parry a blow that could have split a boulder. Every strike from Itarim created shockwaves, but the figure evaded, gliding like mist between assaults.
Figure (calm, analytical):
"You've achieved a rare state…Curious,tell me how did you unlock it?"
Itarim (dodging a mental spike):
"Tch! Not your business!"
The figure smirked, if only faintly.
But as Itarim fought, he began to stagger. His movements slowed, just slightly,he was being attacked by illusions and visions of his death over and over.Grey, just recovering, tried to stand—but was hit with another wave of paralyzing fear. He saw himself being vaporized. But nothing had happened. The figure hadn't moved.
Itarim (noticing):
"Grey…!"
Figure:
"Impressive that you're still standing, boy… but can the same be said for your friend?"
A vision flashed. Grey falling. Grey bleeding. Grey—gone.
Itarim snapped.
Beast Energy burst outward, his body erupting in streaks of red and black lightning. The world shook.
Itarim (roaring):
"Don't you DARE—!"
The earth cracked beneath his feet as he moved with unnatural rage, his left hand slashing across the distance.
For the first time—the figure moved defensively.
Their battle turned savage.
The figure's calm faltered. Itarim's strikes became erratic, primal—blisteringly fast and chaotic.
Figure (in thought, straining):
"Such raw energy. If this continues, his mind… he'll destroy himself."
Then, in one blink—the figure disappeared.
Mental Suppression.Itarim's rampage slowed, eyes unfocused. A second wave washed over Grey.
Thud. Thud.
Both boys collapsed—asleep, locked in mental stasis.The scene transists to an almost surreal serenity.Birds chirped. A soft breeze drifted over a vast pond, perfectly still—reflecting the pastel sky like a glass sheet. Tall reeds swayed gently, and a luminous tree with glowing white leaves stood in the center of an island within the water.
Itarim stirred.
He sat up on smooth grass, blinking as golden sunlight danced across his skin. No ruins. No figure. No blood.
Just peace.
He rose and stepped cautiously outside the stone chamber he'd woken in—and found a man seated cross-legged in the middle of the pond, atop the water.
Man (without turning):
"You're awake. Good. Join me."
Itarim (scratching his head):
"...I can't walk on water."
Man (chuckling):
"Really?"
He stood casually, walked on the water's surface, and reached Itarim without a ripple.
Man (smiling):
"What do you think now?"
Itarim (eyes sparkling, mouth agape):
"That's… awesome!"
Behind him, Grey finally emerged, rubbing his eyes. He paused at the sight of the two.
Grey:
"Okay… where are we now? Heaven?"
Moments later...The boys sat by the edge of the pond, feet in the water. The man—still unnamed—stood, arms behind his back.
Man:
"You encountered the Phantom Warden. His job is to weed out those unworthy of the inner city."
Grey:
"So you're not him?"
The man chuckled softly, his voice rippling through the still air like water over silk.
Man (turning slightly):
"No. That was a Warden—a construct of mental energy born from a caster's will. Normally, they vanish once their master dismisses them… but this one—"
He raised his hand, drawing patterns in the air. Faint purple mist trailed from his fingertips.
Man:
"—this one gained consciousness. After years of negative emotion soaked into the very air…it created a creature that no longer obeys.I stepped in after you both collapsed. Had I delayed even a few seconds, you'd be nothing but names etched in dust."
The statement hung in the air like a guillotine.
Grey tensed. Itarim shifted, uneasy. The calm of the pond belied the storm that almost claimed them.
Then the man's tone lightened.
Man:
"Now… where are you two from?"
Itarim hesitated, but Grey beat him to it.
Grey (cautious, arms crossed):
"A village called Dragonoth. We were sent to look for master Argone—then ended up here."
Itarim (nodding):
"It was just supposed to be training…"
The man's lips curled slightly, as if he already expected the answer.
He walked a few paces along the pond's edge, silent.
Then, as if casually dropping a pebble into still water:
Man (without looking at them):
"Itarim… show me the form you used when you fought the Phantom."
Both boys froze.
The wind stopped.
Grey slowly turned toward the man, brows furrowing.
Grey:
"...How do you know about that?"
The man finally stopped, turning to face them, eyes serene but filled with age and knowledge.
Man (calmly):
"I have been watching you both since when you passed through the gate."
Itarim clenched his jaw. Grey shot him a sidelong glance—a quiet conversation exchanged with just a look.
Grey (quietly):
"...Do we trust him?"
Itarim (soft growl):
"...Don't think we have a choice."
The man said nothing, merely stepping aside and gesturing toward a clearing beside the pond, ringed with tall white reeds and ancient stones covered in glyphs.
The scene Shifts to the Glyph-Circle by the Pond,the grass shimmered under their feet. In the center of the new clearing, circular stones stood like ancient sentinels—each carved with glowing etchings, softly resonating with primal energy.
Itarim walked into the circle slowly, his breath steady, eyes locked forward.
He took one breath.
Then another.
His spine arched slightly as his hair, now wild spiked backward like a mane.Amber pupils locked forward like a predator.The ground beneath him cracked, the glyphs glowing brighter in response.
Then—a low chuckle.
The man stepped forward, eyes soft with wonder.
Man (to himself, smiling faintly):
"Just as I suspected."
He raised his voice, gaze steady.
Man:
"Welcome home… prince Ariel. Agrone at your service"