In the land of Aderfel, where mysteries are like remains of runes. Power does not come from gods nor stars, but from within the blood.
Each child born into this fractured realm is a thread in the web of ancient forces, passed down since the beginning of the world.
They can either command that from the natural world or release that within them.
And they are known not by title, but by what pulses beneath their skin.
Some are born 'Velary'—commanders of water, drawn from mist, ocean, or ice. Their touch can soothe or drown.
Others emerge as 'Aeris'— wind-bound spirits who dance with the skies. Some among them are the 'Galeweavers'— wielding the breath of storms, while the 'Dustbinders' bend sand into weapons and walls.
There are those of 'Thundrix'—whose bones crackle with lightning. They move with pulses, fight with storms, and their presence echoes like thunder in the marrow.
The world fears the 'Ignivar.' And among them are the 'Pyrels'—children of wildfire, while the 'Cindervaults' churn magma from the depths. To anger one is to risk the wrath of the earth itself.
Among the more silent ones are the 'Echoir'—speakers of sound and silence. They shattere stone with whispers and silence rooms with the absence of breath.
The 'Cronis'—manipulate time's flow upon flesh, aging or preserving. These walk among the mortals but belong to neither the past nor present. To them age is just a number
Then comes the 'Mortalis', gatekeepers of life and death. Among them are the 'Whispergraves'—commanders of rotting armies in stillness. And the 'Lifetide'—givers of hope where breath had ceased.
The rarest are the 'Timevein'—benders of time itself. Some can vanish from a moment and return later, unaged. Others can steal hours, rewrite memory, or trap seconds in loops.
And in secret corners of the realm are whispered rumors of a forbidden class: 'Umbralis'. Shadow-bearers. They bend light and pull thought into nothingness. Even kings fear their name.
Although, not all are born the same.
Some are born gifted— the 'Kayl'
Others awaken later — the 'Layk'
And there are those with nothing or still waiting for a spark— the 'Kaylayk'
And those with multiple Classes are— the 'Mayana.'
These nine became the structure of the world. And yet...
None can explain the boy born sixteen years ago with a half of his soul.
In a painful memorable night when chaos had arose in the land of Aderfel. Amidst the chaos and ruin, a single soul was born into two children—on the same day—in two different places.
And in that night far at the edge of Elaria city stood Thalor Ashenhive. His eyes sweeping across the desolate horizon, lingering over smoldering ruins and creeping shadows.
After a tense pause, he turned and beckoned to the two figures behind him. But just as they stepped forward, their eyes widened in shock.
Standing before them was a guardian of sealed knowledge: Sēndra.
A towering, humanoid entity cloaked in mist. Its skin was pure obsidian, absorbing light like a void. Its eyes glowed an eerie white, piercing and otherworldly. A veil of smoke-like fabric drifted around it, humming with ancient silence.
A woman's voice rang out, sharp and frantic. "Nyra, look away! You're going to lose all your memories!" But Nyra couldn't hear her.
When Thalor turned toward the creature, he staggered under the force of its presence. One look nearly stole his mind.
He spun back toward the women and shouted, his voice trembling with urgency. "Nyra, you have to snap out of it!"
But Nyra was caught in a trance, murmuring as though in a dream. "What am I doing here? Where is my husband?"
Then, a piercing cry escaped her. She doubled over as another wave of labor pain tore through her body. The spell shattered.
Dazed, she glanced around. "Where are we?" she asked weakly, stumbling.
Myrrin, the other woman next to her—gripped her tightly—yelling, her voice raw. "Thalor, she has been in labor for three hours! We need to leave!"
A glowing holographic screen flickered to life before Thalor. Without hesitation, he drew his sword and slashed—but all it met was empty mist. Then he saw it: claws slashing through the air, aimed at the pregnant woman.
A sudden explosion of blood followed. A massive head—huge like a trailer front—slammed to the ground. A figure landed from above, cloaked in fury and flame.
He barked at Thalor. "Thalor, what do you think you're doing standing there dazed? Your wife will die of labor pain!"
The man turned and shouted again. "You all need to hurry and run to the caves! Hey, hunter Kael, where are the rest?!"
But Kael never answered. A flying spear tore through his skull with brutal precision.
The man cursed and growled to Thalor. "Get moving!"
Thalor nodded once, clutching Nyra with both arms. "I owe you one, Varek."
The city behind them burned in chaos. Strange creatures prowled through buildings laced with glowing runes. Fire danced across shattered stone. Blood soaked the streets. Dead bodies lay in heaps.
Thalor plunged into the forest, eyes flicking between trees, blade ready.
"I see a cave up close," Myrrin called, her voice strained but steady.
He responded quickly. "Mom, you guys go on in with Nyra. I will meet you ahead."
But just as he turned, a splash of hot blood hit his back. Nyra collapsed.
Spinning around, Thalor saw a monstrous sight—one leg of a woman being swallowed by a colossal crocodile-lion hybrid. Its skin was like jagged stone, pulsing with green glowing veins. Horns, like twisted ivory crowns, curled along its head.
It roared, a deep, thunderous bellow that shook the trees.
Nyra was sobbing, her labor agony unrelenting, her strength fading fast.
Thalor roared back, lifting his sword. In a blinding instant, he reduced the beast to shredded flesh. But more surged from the darkness.
He kept shouting, urging Nyra toward the cave, but her limbs refused to move. Her world had become nothing but pain and exhaustion.
He prepared to carry her again, but a sudden grip locked around his ankle. Shadows held him fast—he had been caught in a shadow trap.
A woman appeared, fierce and swift, grabbing Nyra and dragging her into the cave. Nyra struggled to push, but even lifting a finger felt impossible.
She said she couldn't push. Elunara's voice thundered inside the cavern, demanding more.
She urged her, her voice cracking like a whip. "Do you want to kill your child?!"
But Nyra kept crying, insisting through sobs that she couldn't. That she had nothing left.
Outside, the battle grew darker. The sky seemed to bleed. Thalor slashed and slashed, but the monsters only multiplied. Each step forward became heavier.
Inside, something shifted.
Nyra began to push. Not for herself, but for the life she carried. For the child she refused to lose.
Then—
Everything outside stopped.
Every creature froze. They turned their heads, ears twitching, claws still.
And then they began to retreat. Backward. Slowly. Step by step. Into shadows. Into earth. Into silence.
They felt it.
Something was coming.
Inside, Nyra gave one last scream.
And then he was born.
A child with hair of white-blue strands, like frost under moonlight. Eyes clear as the sky. He lay still.
No sound came from him.
For a terrifying moment, they feared he was dead. But his heart beat—steady, powerful, silent.
Elunara turned him again and again, desperately searching. Then, light.
A faint glow from his back began to pulse.
A mysterious mark.
Etched into his skin like a seal of fate. It glowed.
First blue. Then red. Then gold. Then black. Then white.
Each color brighter than the one before.
Outside, the world changed. The creatures were gone, as if they had never been. Even the monsters that ravaged the city had begun to flee like rats before a storm.
And in that very moment another child was being born, far across the city in a hospital laying in ruins, swallowed by devastation. Only half its walls stood, jagged and broken, while the roof had collapsed inward, exposing the sky above.
Amid the debris and dust, a nurse knelt beside a woman writhing on the cold, cracked floor.
The woman screamed that the baby wasn't coming, her voice raw with desperation. The nurse urged her to push, her own voice barely rising above the distant chaos. Outside, hunters clashed with monstrous creatures, steel meeting shadow in a war that had no end.
Amid all of it, the woman pushed—again and again—her body trembling with strain and agony. Her cries rose with the explosions in the distance. Then, at last, the child came.
A newborn with soft, light green hair.
And as he entered the world, he cried.
But his cry was no ordinary sound. It tore through the air like a rupture. The vibrations shook the dust from fractured beams, shattered the few remaining windowpanes, and echoed like thunder trapped in stone. The nurse staggered back, her ears ringing, eyes wide with disbelief.
The sound was too loud. Too deep. Too real.
Even the creatures beyond the broken hospital faltered. Their monstrous forms recoiled, sensing something they did not understand. One by one, they began to retreat, uneasy.
The woman tried to hold the child, but the cry pierced her bones. The nurse could no longer hear her own thoughts. The infant's wail was raw—like mourning, like something ancient had been awakened.
This child had not been born in silence.
He had been born in sound. A sound that shook the world.
And since that day, silence fell.
No one could explain it.
And this is how I and my other half were born.
The other half... I am yet to know.
---
Thirteen years later, the city was fully rebuilt with high technology everywhere but I was never allowed to live in it.