It was easy, sometimes, to believe that progress would slow—that we had reached a kind of equilibrium after five years of relentless change. But the city, like a living thing, refused to stay still. There was an undercurrent—a hunger in the people's eyes, a restlessness in the streets. Even as I taught, planned, and led, I could sense that something greater waited just beyond the next sunrise.
The day the elements awoke, I learned that destiny was not done with us.
It was a bright, cloudless morning. The Academy yard echoed with the sound of hammers and laughter. A dozen blacksmiths and their apprentices, faces streaked with soot and determination, had gathered for a collective attempt at the next realm of evolution. They had studied my teachings, followed every method, and now—after months of patience—stood on the edge of transformation.
I volunteered to watch over them. The process of breaking through to the Second Realm could be dangerous, and while our understanding of spirit power had grown, we were still learning its mysteries. The city's trust was my responsibility; their safety, my first oath.
The air shimmered with tension as one by one, the smiths settled into their stances, drawing spirit energy through their bodies. I paced quietly among them, ready to intervene should any signs of distress appear.
Minutes passed. The energy in the yard thickened, like a thunderstorm gathering on a summer afternoon. The blacksmiths' breaths grew deeper, their bodies trembling as power spiraled toward the critical threshold. I saw sweat bead on brows, muscles tense, eyes squeeze shut in concentration.
One by one, I felt the familiar pulse as each broke through—spirit power surged, their bodies visibly changing, senses sharpening, strength and stamina rising in a flash of new potential. Most gasped or shouted with giddy disbelief. A few wept, the joy of transformation washing away years of hardship.
But it was the last smith who would change everything.
He was an older man—strong, stubborn, with hands like iron and a will forged by decades at the anvil. As his breakthrough neared, the atmosphere changed. Spirit power gathered around him with an intensity that made my heart pound in my chest. The very air seemed to flicker.
Then, in a sudden burst, his body shuddered and a ring of heat exploded outward. Flames erupted from his skin—not burning him, but flowing around him like a living shroud. For an instant, panic gripped the crowd. Apprentices scrambled back; shouts echoed across the yard. His clothes blackened and fell away, but his body remained untouched, eyes shining with fire and new power.
I stepped forward, heart racing, ready to shield him. But the smith's fear lasted only a moment. With a deep breath, he tamed the flames—will overriding chaos. The fire bent to his command, swirling around his fists and then vanishing with a single gesture.
Gasps turned to stunned silence, then to wild applause.
I stared, mind spinning. In that moment, I saw the impossible become reality. This was not just a greater strength or sharper senses. This was something altogether new—command over the elements themselves. And if it could happen once, it could happen again.
The implications struck me like a hammer blow.
As the excitement died down, my thoughts raced ahead. For years, I'd been dreaming of the Iron Age—of finding ways to forge metal stronger than bronze, to shape tools and weapons that would last generations. But iron's high melting point was a nearly insurmountable barrier for a society still using primitive kilns and wood-fired furnaces.
Now, standing before me, was a man who could ignite fire hotter than any forge we had built. I realized in a heartbeat that with control over elemental flame, the age of bronze would not fade slowly. It would be swept aside, surpassed in a single leap.
That evening, I met with the Blacksmith Association, city planners, and the Academy's inventors. "With elemental fire," I told them, "we can melt iron, shape steel, create the tools that once only existed in dreams. We must work together to design forges and molds that can harness this power—and we must be ready for the changes it will bring."
The smiths, still trembling from the day's revelation, nodded in awe. Plans were drawn, experiments begun. For the first time, the city of Beginning prepared to leave the Bronze Age behind.
The Rise of the Elemental Awakened
What happened in the next three months felt more like a story from the old myths than the sober chronicle of history. The tale of the fire-smith spread quickly—by word of mouth, by travelers, and through the Academy's records. All over the city, cultivators who reached the Second Realm began to exhibit new abilities.
At first, fire was the most common. Young men and women learned to spark flames from their palms, control heat with a gesture, and harden metal with a thought. Then came water—a quiet apprentice who broke through and found she could pull moisture from the air, shape water into spheres, or cool hot iron with a wave of her hand.
The next was earth: a stonecutter who could sense the veins of ore beneath his feet, shift boulders with a touch, or send tremors through the ground to break new land for farming. And then air—a city watchman who, in the midst of his evolution, discovered he could move with impossible speed, leap onto rooftops, and even call a breeze to carry his voice or clear away smoke.
With each new awakening, excitement gripped the city. The Academy became a place of pilgrimage, the training grounds packed with hopeful cultivators eager to test their limits. Teachers hastily developed new curricula for controlling elemental power—emphasizing safety, discipline, and responsibility.
I was called upon daily to observe, explain, and calm fears. My own heart burned with hope and anxiety. We stood at the edge of a miracle, but also at the precipice of danger. Elemental power could heal or destroy, create or unmake. I urged caution, wisdom, and community above all.
The changes came with breathtaking speed. Where once construction took months, now new buildings rose in weeks. Earth-users leveled ground, raised walls, and carved stone with their hands. Water-users irrigated fields and fought fires. Air-users became messengers and scouts, mapping forests and mountains with ease.
Most transformative of all were the fire-users, whose ability to melt and shape iron transformed industry overnight. The first iron tools were forged, then swords, plows, nails, and beams. We built the first true steel furnace, using a combination of elemental flame and careful design—something that in my previous world had taken civilizations centuries to achieve.
The city swelled with newcomers—traders, adventurers, scholars, and the curious. Taverns overflowed with stories; the market teemed with new crafts and goods. The Adventure Guild grew, issuing tasks for mapping the wilds, studying beasts, and harnessing elemental power for exploration and protection.
Yet, for all the growth, challenges arose. The very speed of change unsettled many. The gap between those with elemental gifts and those without widened. Some feared a new class of "superhumans" might dominate or oppress others. I spent many nights in counsel with elders, seeking ways to keep the city united—emphasizing law, equality, and shared purpose.
One evening, as the sun set over the iron-clad walls of our growing city, I stood on the Academy's roof, watching the lanterns flicker to life below. The air was filled with laughter, the scent of baked bread and new-forged metal. Children played games that mimicked elemental arts, while elders watched, remembering the world that had been left behind.
I thought of how much we had accomplished—and how much responsibility we now bore. The world was changing faster than I could have ever imagined. Spirit power had unlocked the doors of possibility, but it was wisdom and unity that would decide whether we flourished or fell.
My own cultivation had reached new heights, but I no longer felt alone on the path. All around me, a generation of heroes was awakening—each with their own gift, their own hope, their own dream. Together, we were shaping not just a city, but the destiny of a world.
The City of Beginning had become more than a name. It was a promise, and I would do everything in my power to see it kept.