The forest was alive with fire and chaos. Molten rock hissed as it rained from the skies, smashing through the canopy and sending sparks whirling like fireflies.
Ace ducked under a falling branch and leapt over a smoldering trunk, Ashwood staff bouncing on his back, ember-red scarf singed at the edges fluttering behind him. His grin, streaked with sweat and soot, split wide across his face.
Ace exclaimed: “Hunting near a volcano is just too fun! Just a little fire. A little death raining from the sky. Easy.”
The small Byzantine Kitty—gold-furred, dragon-blooded, eyes molten as amber—mewed confidently and scampered by his heels. Yodin, the fire Archon, crackled beside him, striding as if the inferno was no more than a warm breeze.
Ace’s grin sharpened as his boots slid to the crater’s edge. He stared down at the glowing boulder, breath ragged, eyes burning brighter than the flames around him. “There you are… jackpot.”
Ace had always known fire. In Praetoria, children were bound to Splinters by the sacrifices their parents made at birth—monster shards burned to ash to gift them affinity. The richer the essence, the stronger the blessing. Ace’s affinity had flared for Fire from his first breath.
And yet his greatest gifts hadn’t come from ritual. His parents, before sickness stole them, had defied Darkmooth’s nobles, trading their last Dark Energy Crystals, Glint and Splintershards to bind two Archons to him: Yodin, the Firelord, and Byzantine Kitty, the Dragon Healer.
They were legendary archons but despite being only level 1 their powerful abilities would help Ace to ascend out of poverty and glimpse greatness
It was their legacy, their last hope. And Ace had sworn—whether through victory, madness, or both—that he would not waste it.
With a snap of his fingers, Ace called forth Yodin’s flames. They burst and twisted into monstrous forms: a grumbling magma troll and a flame imp, wild energy crackling in every movement.
Ace pointed at the boulder: “Crack it open. Hard as you like.”
The troll swung its fists like hammers, slamming the boulder.
The imp shrieked, pounding it with magical blasts.
Then, with a thunderous snap—
The boulder split apart.
From its heart crawled a massive Living Lava, molten body heaving like a furnace, eyes glowing like golden suns. Firelight refracted strangely off its surface—it wasn’t normal. It was gilded with an otherworldly lustre. A chill ran through Ace despite the heat. That golden glow… it reeked of the rifts, the same Chaos taint that Silus’ legions brought to Praetoria.
Ace’s jaw fell open. “Golden… it’s gold!… Alright! Yodin—bring out the Pixie!”
Yodin roared, unleashing a burst of flame that condensed into a Spark Pixie, wings crackling with lightning.
The Living Lava bellowed, swinging a molten arm that sent the troll crashing backward in a spray of fire and slag.
The Magma Troll roared, massive claws raking the Living Lava’s golden hide, sparks hissing with each strike. The blows sparked—but the creature didn’t flinch. Its shielded form absorbed the strikes completely, the damage vanishing like sparks in a storm.
Ace’s grin tightened. “Too tough for you, big guy. Time for speed over strength.”
At his command, Yodin flared brighter, and from the inferno sprang the Flame Imp, wings beating so fast they blurred. The imp shrieked with delight, weaving circles around the Living Lava’s sluggish swings. Bolts of searing magic spat from its claws, slipping through the molten giant’s armour.
Overhead, the Spark Pixie darted like lightning, firing dazzling arcs of energy. Under Yodin’s aura, every shot struck harder—explosions rippling outward in bursts of molten sparks.
The Living Lava bellowed, stomping and swiping, but its molten fists struck only shadows and afterimages. The imp and pixie were far too quick, weaving a deadly spiral of fire and light around their golden foe.
Ace barked orders like a commander: “Troll, hold the line! Impy, Pixie, light it up!”
The troll groaned, bracing against a sweeping blow that nearly toppled it. The Pixie’s bolts crackled, burning golden streaks across the Lava’s molten hide. The imp flew high, screaming, landing effective blows across its head.
But the Lava roared, erupting in a shockwave that hurled them all back. Ace skidded on the scorched earth, coughing through smoke, scarf smoldering at its edges. For a heartbeat, the beast loomed over him—towering, dripping molten fire.
He clenched his staff tighter, refusing to back away. Ace (snarling through gritted teeth): “Not today. I will win this.”
The Pixie, flickering rapidly, zipped back into position. The troll lumbered forward again, fists raised. Together they struck—lightning searing, fists pounding, fire shrieking—until the Lava finally collapsed into itself, hissing as it sank back into the crater.
Ace wasted no time. He whipped out a Splintershard crystal, chanting quickly, guiding the golden essence of the Living Lava into its new prison. The shard burned hot in his palm, pulsing with light before settling into a faint, steady glow.
Ace pumped a fist skyward, laughing breathlessly. “Yes! My first Gold monster. It seemed like it was at least level 3! Oh boy, tomorrow’s tournament is mine!”
Yodin rumbled approval, smoke trailing from his shoulders. The Byzantine Kitty padded up, purring softly as it healed the troll and imp with a shimmer of light before they dissolved into embers. The imp, newly mended, managed a double flapping backflip, then farted crudely before dispersing—a final show-off gesture.
Ace chuckled. “Yeah, that’ll wow ‘em in the arena.”
He summoned his grimoire and slid the golden crystal into the Fire Chapter. The spellbook pulsed unnaturally, runes flaring like molten gold. For a moment, Ace swore he heard a whisper—‘Power calls’—in a voice like crackling embers. Then, with a flash of sparks, it vanished.
Ace blinked, breathing hard. His grin returned as he muttered: “And this is just the start.”
As a being from the land of Praetoria, Ace was born with an affinity for a certain magic. But not all magic is the same.
There are various runes, scrolls, incantations, curses, and summons, all with inherent Splinters of elements holding each type of magic together.
When a child is born in Praetoria, the parents are required to make a sacrifice to the Splinter they feel best suits their newborns. This revelation often comes to the parents in the form of dreams shortly before their child is brought into the world and consequently blesses them with an affinity to a particular Splinter.
This sacrifice is not usually a sinister one, though it requires monster essences to be given up to the Nameless Deity of each Splinter.
The monster shards used often reflect how strong the child’s affinity is to that element. Offering a level 1 Fire Beetle sacrifice would offer poor blessings to the child, whereas managing to burn a higher-level rare, epic, or even legendary monster shard would yield vastly superior results.
This is often why the nobles of Praetoria were able to always keep their standing. Due to vast amounts of adventurers they employed to hunt valuable monsters and Dark Energy Crystals they were able to accumulate as currency, they could afford the most valuable sacrifices for their offspring.
Each parent would offer to the Splinter that they were impelled to do by their revelations, sometimes leading to children who manipulate multiple elements with ease.
Such was the way of the world. Each child would learn to grow and nurture their favored Splinters through the Frontier system. Their lessons from the Academy would be put into practice in the arenas of the Frontier as they grew into young adults.
Ruminating on the last time Ace had a run-in with one of the noble children from Darkmooth, he scowled, slowed his pace, and booted a melon-sized rock as hard as he could into the distance.
About 100 meters away, a small pack of goblins scattered, terrified, into the underbrush as a violent melon-sized projectile splintered the tree trunk just inches above their heads.
The journey back to Darkmooth was long, but Ace’s thoughts burned hotter than the cinders still raining from the mountains. His fingers twitched restlessly on his staff, ember-red scarf singed from past battles catching the breeze.
His kitty padded beside him, tail flicking lazily, while Yodin trudged ahead, smoke curling from his shoulders.
Ace, now grinning to himself, mentally preparing for the upcoming tournament: “First-place prize—those Dark Energy Crystals are practically mine already. Maybe we can finally finish the guild hall upgrades… Oh, and snag those Cerberus shards from the Monster Market before some pompous noble does. Maybe someone will have some dragon beasts too…” he trailed off.
The kitty mewed softly, as if skeptical.
Ace scoffed, pretending to be offended: “Oh, come on. You’ll thank me when we’re feasting like kings.”
He paused at a ridge. Below sprawled the Gravel Valley, stretching to the distant silver walls of Darkmooth Fortress. His city. His home