Everblood Ascendant

The rhythmic clang of metal filled the Virelith Training Hall.

Caelan Virelith stood alone, his body drenched in sweat, his breathing deep and controlled. Around him, six life-sized combat dolls—replicas matching his current strength, speed, and elemental power—moved in coordinated attacks. Each blow they unleashed mimicked his own swordplay, spells, and footwork with uncanny precision.

His dual blades danced through the air as he parried, dodged, and countered. Wisps of flame and arcs of lightning surged from his strikes as he trained relentlessly.

This was more than battle. It was precision.

**Control.**

That was his goal.

His mana pulsed violently inside his body. Ever since his rapid ascension to Level 18, his mana core had become unstable. His strength had jumped so quickly that his control hadn't caught up. And if he let it continue, his core might fracture.

So he trained.

Every motion, every spell, every clash was calculated.

He wasn't just fighting the dolls.

He was fighting himself.

> "Fine-tune the flow. Use less to do more... Get it under control."

He inhaled. His next Flame Arc sliced through two dolls at once, while a compressed Lightning Lance shot from his off-hand blade and pinned a third to the wall.

The last doll lunged. Caelan ducked under its strike and drove his knee into its chest, shattering it with a crack of mana-infused force.

Silence fell.

Caelan dropped to one knee, gasping. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the marble floor.

Then—a jolt.

His mana core pulsed erratically.

> "What... now?"

Before he could react, his vision faded.

---

Darkness.

When it lifted, he stood atop a cracked celestial platform beneath a shattered sky. The air was heavy with forgotten divinity.

The **Broken Pantheon.**

He knew this place.

And he wasn't alone.

From the void ahead, a glowing red mist coalesced into a vague humanoid form. A voice echoed, deep and eternal.

**"Welcome again, Child of Blood. The Everblood stirs within you."**

Caelan stood tall, not flinching. "Why am I here?"

**"You approached control. Now your bloodline calls you. The fusion of the Draconic Flame and my Everblood... it has deviated from destiny."**

Caelan narrowed his eyes. "Deviated?"

**"Yes. Even I, the Concept of Everblood, cannot see the end of this path you've stepped upon. Your bloodline is evolving beyond design. The potential is limitless... and dangerous."**

The mist swirled darker.

**"Beware, Caelan. There are powers that will sense you. The Death Pantheon still seethes from their loss at my hands. To them, anyone who bears my mark is an echo of that defeat."**

The sky darkened above.

**"And worse still... the Void Pantheon. Their worshippers walk unseen among mortals. They, too, will hunt you. You must rise fast. You must stand strong."**

Caelan clenched his fists. "Then I will."

A final pulse.

The vision shattered.

---

Caelan awoke with a gasp, sprawled on the cold floor of the training hall.

Dawnlight filtered through the high windows. The day of the feast.

He pushed himself up slowly, muscles aching but heart steady.

> "They'll come for me. Then let them."

---

In his room, freshly laundered garments lay neatly across his bed. His maidservant had already delivered them.

The formal robes were black, traced with crimson along the sleeves and collar—the proud colors of House Virelith. A small silver pin of the clan symbol—a sword entwined with a serpent—was fixed to the chest.

He dressed silently.

---

Evening fell.

The Grand Hall blazed with golden light and silken banners. Dozens of guests were arriving, each announced with ceremonial flair.

"Announcing the King of Avalon, His Majesty Ardan Avalon, accompanied by Queen Elira Avalon and Crown Prince Lysander Avalon."

They entered in flowing green and gold garments. All bore the signature features of the Avalon line: **blonde hair and piercing green eyes.** Wind motifs adorned their cloaks, and a crest of swirling wind crowned by a blade was emblazoned on their backs.

Next came:

"Lord Velian Stormbrite and Lady Nyra Stormbrite, with their daughter, Heir Seryn Stormbrite."

They wore robes streaked in **light blue, grey, and silver**, shimmering with stormlight. Their **storm-grey hair and lightning-purple eyes** crackled faintly with elemental power. Their symbol, a lightning-split trident, shimmered across their belts.

"Lord Malrik Cromwell and Heir Silas Cromwell."

Black garments that seemed to swallow light flowed around them. Their **midnight-black hair and abyssal eyes** gave off an aura of dread. A silver chain looped around a crescent moon marked their clan sigil.

"Lord Garruk Shieldbane and Heir Dorn Shieldbane."

They entered like walking fortresses. Their robes were heavy brown and grey, their **steel-like silver eyes** gleaming beneath **brown hair** bound in warrior knots. Their massive crested shields bore a mountain-rooted emblem.

The clans assembled.

And finally, **Theron Virelith** stepped out onto the dais.

He raised a goblet high, his aura silencing the crowd with ease.

His voice boomed like a battlefield command.

"To strength. To legacy. To the one who returns!"

He turned, eyes proud.

"Let the feast begin!"

---