The cold wind swept across the ancient mausoleum atop the hill, carrying whispers of forgotten gods and forgotten duties. Deep within the hallowed stone halls, the Guardian God of the Mausoleum — sat, eyes heavy with fatigue. For centuries, he had fulfilled his divine role: guarding the resting place of the gods, ensuring the dead remained undisturbed. But after countless ages of endless vigil, an unrelenting weariness gnawed at his spirit.
"Is this all there is to existence?" he pondered, voice echoing softly among the tombs. The endless silence, the lonely eternity—it was a prison forged from divine duty.
Gathering his resolve, the Guardian rose. He would seek permission to live a mortal life, to walk the earth as humans do. Such a request was unheard of. The supreme deity watched the Guardian's plea gravely, contemplating the weight of such a choice.
After much deliberation, the council of gods convened. One by one, their voices cast a vote. The decision was made: the Guardian would descend to the mortal world, not merely as a visitor, but as its overseer—an unseen sentinel among men.
Many years later, in a quiet kingdom surrounded by seven others, a child was born under unusual circumstances. The midwife's face paled as she examined the newborn. Kertia was small, fragile—his breath shallow, his skin pale as moonlight.
His mother, Ellen, held him close. She was a diligent administrator at the local government office, accustomed to order and paperwork, but nothing prepared her for the delicate life she now cradled.
His father, Zenix, was a soldier of the royal magic forces. Strong and disciplined, he was used to danger but found his son's condition unsettling.
The doctors diagnosed Kertia with a rare, severe illness. They warned the parents that he might never grow strong, that his body could betray him at any moment.
Yet, despite the fragility, a strange warmth lingered in Kertia's faint smile.
At the Royal Magic Academy, news of Kertia's arrival spread quickly. The school, renowned across the eight kingdoms, was a place where the elite learned the art of magic—noble bloodlines mingling with talented commoners, each hoping to master their destined path.
But the academy was also a crucible of judgment. Those who were weak were scorned, and those who failed to meet expectations were cast aside.
When Kertia arrived, whispers followed him. "Sickly boy," some sneered. "How can he possibly last in the academy?" others doubted.
Yet among the crowd, there were those who saw past the surface: Arielle, a noble girl with icy blue eyes and a sharp mind, and Tomas, a kind-hearted commoner who recognized the fire behind Kertia's pale gaze.
The magic tiers at the academy defined every student's progress:
Tier 1: Novice — Beginners learning basic spells and elemental control.
Tier 2: Apprentice — Those who can combine spells and start minor necromancy, such as animating bones.
Tier 3: Adept — Summoners of small undead minions, capable of more complex magic.
Tier 4: Expert — Commanders of undead armies, masters of sustained magic.
Tier 5: Master — Legendary magicians with godlike power.
Tier 6: Ascendant — A level few can reach; control over death and forbidden arts.
Kertia's power was unknown, hidden beneath his frail body, but soon the dormant god would awaken.
"Are you sure you can handle it?" a tall noble boy taunted as Kertia struggled to lift a basic elemental orb during class.
"I will do my best," Kertia replied calmly, though exhaustion weighed heavily on his limbs.
Laughter echoed from the sidelines, but Tomas stepped forward, his voice steady: "Strength isn't everything. Don't judge him so quickly."
Arielle gave Kertia a nod, silently offering an unexpected alliance.
As days turned into weeks, Kertia learned to summon bones from the earth, animating them into obedient skeletal soldiers. With a simple snap of his fingers, they would vanish, leaving his classmates both awed and uneasy.
But the journey had only just begun.
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