Chapter 3: "The Hierarchy of Power"
The Ashborne estate was quiet in the early morning, dew glinting on the marble walkways as the sun slowly climbed above the distant mountains. Arthur wandered through the vast library, a place that smelled of old parchment, polished wood, and the faint hum of lingering mana. Here, knowledge was just as valuable as strength, and the air itself seemed to pulse with centuries of accumulated power.
He had been awake for hours, reviewing the basics of Primordial Affinity, practicing subtle flows of Creation and Destruction in his mind, imagining constructs and attacks that might one day exist. Yet despite all the effort, he still felt weak, like a fledgling bird struggling to lift its wings.
"Arthur," a voice called softly from behind a row of shelves. He turned to see his third sibling, calm and analytical, their hair catching the morning light. "Come. You need to understand something before your training today."
Arthur followed silently. They walked to a raised platform at the center of the library, where a massive, glowing chart hovered in the air. The chart pulsed with vibrant energy, mapping the hierarchy of power in the world of Primordial Affinity. The colors shifted in waves—blues and greens for lower ranks, golds and crimson for the elites, and a shimmering white at the top that almost hurt the eyes.
"This," his sibling said, gesturing, "is the ladder every Primordial Affinity user climbs. Every one of our family members, every ally, every rival—you will be judged by it."
Arthur's eyes widened. The chart displayed ten distinct levels:
1. Fledgling – Those just learning to control Primordial Affinity. Most cannot sustain even a basic attack.
2. Aspirant – Minor control; can maintain simple constructs, perform elementary techniques.
3. Novice Adept – Can combine a few elements in a controlled way; limited reliability in combat.
4. Skilled Adept – Combines two or three elements creatively; can sustain constructs in battle.
5. Expert – Recognized talent; capable of crafting new techniques; reliable in larger battles.
6. Master – Authority over multiple elements; battlefield-level control; inspires respect and caution.
7. Grandmaster – Combines all basic elements fluidly; can rival small Primordial Families.
8. Legendary – Extremely rare; influence spans kingdoms; mastery allows shaping environments and large-scale combat.
9. Primordial – Elite among elites; mastery of nearly all elements; capable of controlling entire battlefields with ease.
10. Primordial Legend – Pinnacle of power; mastery over every known and unknown element; surpasses even gods, shaping reality as they see fit.
Arthur's chest tightened. The levels stretched before him like an impossible mountain. He had glimpsed the heights in Wake of a Hero, the feats of the legendary protagonist who inspired him as a child. But now, standing in the Ashborne library, seeing the chart glow with raw mana, the distance between himself and even a Skilled Adept seemed insurmountable.
"Where do I… start?" Arthur whispered.
"Where everyone starts," his sibling replied gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "At the bottom. Fledgling. Every Primordial Legend you see began as a Fledgling, just like you. Some fail. Some stagnate. Few survive. But survival is not enough—you must grow, adapt, and learn faster than the world expects you to."
Arthur nodded slowly, his mind racing. Fledgling. The word felt heavy, yet grounding. It reminded him that despite his reincarnations, his power was raw, unrefined, and his understanding incomplete. The trick was not in despair—it was in patience, discipline, and cunning.
"Do not think of the top," his sibling continued, eyes soft but firm. "Think of the next step. Learn your limits, then push them. Every level is a trial, every rank a milestone. And remember, ranks are more than numbers—they are recognition, responsibility, and expectation."
Arthur looked at the chart again. He imagined himself climbing it: Fledgling to Aspirant, Novice Adept, Skilled Adept… each step a battle, a lesson, a growth spurt of both mind and body. And far, far above it all, shimmering in impossibly bright white, floated Primordial Legend.
A shiver ran down his spine. That pinnacle was not a dream; it was a goal, a prophecy, and a promise. He would climb slowly, meticulously, because a single mistake could ruin centuries of effort. And as he glanced at the names of his family members hovering around Skilled Adept and higher, he realized that while they loved him, their expectations were not lowered. He would have to match—or exceed—their standards, not for recognition, but because survival and mastery demanded it.
He clenched his fists, feeling the raw hum of Primordial Affinity in his veins. Even now, the energy was wild, chaotic, and uncooperative. His constructs collapsed, his shields wavered, his attacks faltered—but the ember of potential remained, bright and defiant.
Arthur took a slow breath and raised his hand. A faint shimmer of energy flickered at his fingertips, a small, wobbling construct that lasted barely a heartbeat. It was insignificant by the standards of the courtyard masters, but to Arthur, it was proof—proof that he could begin climbing, that he could grow, that he could survive.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, eyes burning with determination, "I will do better. I will rise higher. I will not stay a Fledgling."
And somewhere, in the pulse of the estate, in the hum of ancient mana, the whisper of destiny answered.
"A human who has reincarnated a hundred times will come and shall doom the gods and become a Primordial Legend, saving the world."
Arthur's lips curved into a faint, determined smile. Then let them watch. Let them all see the Ashborne heir rise.
The climb had begun.