In this world, power isn't an idea.
It's currency. It's control. It's the line between being someone and being nothing.
Magic is real. So is martial arts strong enough to crack steel? Some abilities are passed down from the gods. But none of it started that way.
It started when the sky tore open.
Portals glowing rips in reality—split across the sky like lightning scars. Monsters flooded through. Cities fell. Towns disappeared. The world drowned in chaos.
Then, a few people began to change. They awakened.
Not many. Just a few. But they were enough.
Hunters, the world called them. They were capable of channelling magic, wielding divine strength in battle, and reversing the tide.
And among them, five stood apart.
Chosen, some said, by the gods themselves. They were the first to push the monsters back, force them into dungeons, and seal the portals. The world hailed them as heroes.
But the monsters never stopped coming.
Now, decades later, dungeons are still part of life. Hunters still die, keeping the world safe. And those five original heroes? Their bloodlines rule everything.
Five territories. Five ruling families. Each child in those families chooses a divine stone at eighteen, bonding with the god linked to their blood.
That's how power is passed down. Not earned—inherited.
Of course, those families hate each other's guts.
And the rest of us? We survive however we can. If you're not born into power, you're just background noise.
Lyra Veyne used to be somebody.
She was born into House Veyne—once the most powerful of the five clans, rulers of the First Domain. Her father, Lord Cael Veyne, was a war hero, one of the strongest Hunters alive.
But he loved power more than people.
When Lyra's mother died, Cael remarried fast. Too fast.
His new wife, Selene Marris, brought her own daughter—Aria Marris—into the family.
And that's when everything went to hell.
Selene hated Lyra. She never said it out loud, but she didn't have to. Lyra was too talented. Too respected. Too much like the first wife.
So Selene did what cowards do.
She poisoned Lyra. Not to kill—just enough to destroy. She laced her tea with a compound that shattered her core.
No core meant no power. No more magic. No martial strength. Just a shell.
Selene turned the house against her. Lies, manipulation, bruises hidden by expensive fabric. And her father?
He believed everything.
At fourteen, Lyra was exiled.
No trial. No explanation. Just tossed aside like garbage.
Since then, she has scraped by. Cleaning jobs. She has been running errands for junior hunters. She even forced her way into a Hunter prep school—not because they believed in her, but because she begged until they gave her a janitor's slot and a worn-out training robe.
Without a core, she was a joke.
No one cared who she used to be.
Now she was seventeen. Tomorrow, she'd turn eighteen.
At the same age, the next generation of divine heirs would bind their god-stones and step into their destinies like gods in human skin.
Lyra wasn't even invited.
That evening, she sat alone on a rusted bench outside the market, watching the sky go dark. Red streaks cut across the clouds. Fireworks had already started across the river in the noble sector.
Tomorrow was their day.
Not hers.
She stood and started walking. Her path cut through old alleys and broken neon signs. She passed food stalls, the smell of spiced skewers making her stomach twist. Then something caught her eye.
A rickety cart tucked between two shuttered shops.
An old man sat behind it, surrounded by junk—cracked crystals, rusted blades, half-broken Hunter gear, and a box of dust-covered stones.
She stepped closer. "Power stones?"
The man glanced up with half-lidded eyes. "Barely. Old. Weak. Leftovers from a better time. But maybe…" He reached in and pulled out a rough, half-glowing stone. "Maybe this one surprises you."
Lyra didn't have enough money for food. But she bought the stone anyway.
It was warm in her palm. The stone seemed to acknowledge her presence.
She didn't know why she bought it.
Maybe she was tired of being nothing.
Her room was a shoebox. One bed. One cracked mirror. A broken fan that hummed like it hated life.
She sat on the floor, legs crossed, stone in front of her.
It pulsed softly. A quiet rhythm.
She reached out and touched it.
The world snapped.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
She wasn't in her room.
This place was... endless. White sky. A massive stone platform suspended in nothingness. Silence pressing in from all sides.
And on a throne in the centre, a man sat.
He looked young but ancient. Calm, but dangerous. His presence alone was pressure—like gravity.
Lyra dropped to her knees.
The man didn't move. He just gazed at her. "Who are you?" he asked.
Her voice caught in her throat. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. But then—
"I... I want power," she said. "I want to take back what's mine. I want revenge."
The man stared at her.
Then said, "No."
Her heart dropped.
Then he smiled.
"I don't give power," he said. "But I've been bored. Alone is too long. So…."
She looked up, confused.
"I'll help you," he said. "Not with shortcuts. I'll be your shadow. Let's see what someone like you can do with no gifts. Just rage, grit, and me."
She swallowed. "Who are you?"
He stood. His eyes glowed gold—ancient, heavy, eternal.
"Call me Ashen," he said. "Once, I killed five gods. Now I'm the one who they pretend never existed."
That's how her story begins.
a broken girl with a god-shaped shadow behind her.