Darkness engulfed him.

No sound. No gravity. Just endless nothingness.

He couldn’t tell if he was falling or standing still in midair. Then suddenly, a streak of light tore through the void. It wasn’t large, but bright enough to make his eyes sting. A line of glowing text appeared before him:

[Welcome.]

[You have been chosen.]

A white flash burst forth. In front of him, luminous words materialized in the air, like an invisible interface booting up:

[Initializing new world… Confirmed: you have died in the previous world.]

[Soul verification: complete.]

He tried to speak, but no sound came out. Before he could grasp what was happening, the ground cracked beneath him. Light exploded. His body was pulled downward, tearing through a thin veil of space, and he fell straight into a strange new world that was unfolding below.

He opened his eyes.

It was no longer total darkness — but a forest, pitch-black and silent. Pale moonlight filtered through thick canopies, scattering across the ground like silver blades. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of wet earth. Every breath hurt, as if his lungs weren’t used to the air here.

“...Where… am I?” he whispered.

No answer. Only the wind brushing through the leaves, carrying a faint whisper — like voices from afar. He took a step, cautious and slow. The dried leaves beneath his feet rustled softly, blending with the distant murmurs of the forest. Everything was so quiet that even the sound of his own heartbeat felt deafening. The moonlight above flickered faintly, as if guiding him — and then he saw it: a glimmer between the dark tree trunks.

He moved closer.

In the clearing lay a field of flowers. They glowed faintly, their petals trembling as though breathing. Then, a sound rose — soft, pure, almost like a lullaby.

“...la la... la la... the moon sleeps in the deep woods...”

He froze.

The flowers were... singing. And worse — they had faces. Each flower bore tiny eyes and a smiling mouth between its soft petals, innocent as children.

“What the hell…?” he muttered, stepping back.

The singing stopped. The entire forest fell silent. Dozens of small eyes turned toward him all at once. In a heartbeat, their sweet smiles warped — twisted, cracked, stretching all the way to their ears.

Then a shrill voice pierced the air, shaking the leaves:

“A HUMAN!!!”

The sound rippled through the forest like a wave, making his heart tighten. The flowers began to twitch, their petals turning into jagged fangs that gleamed under the cold moonlight. Their screams echoed through the forest like a distorted, maddened symphony. He spun around, heart pounding, searching for a way out.

Then the ground shook.

A low, thunderous BOOM rolled through the forest, making the treetops quiver. He froze, breath caught in his throat. The darkness behind him split apart. Something enormous was coming. Each of its steps left deep craters in the damp soil. He turned — and his heart nearly stopped. the creature towered twice as high as the trees, its gray skin cracked like dried stone. On its shoulders — two heads. One snarled, baring teeth like blades; the other giggled madly, its high-pitched laughter echoing through the forest.

Its eyes didn’t match — one glowed bright red like burning coal, the other was milky white like fog.

The stench of its breath made him gag.

“...Human…”

one head growled, its voice scraping like stone on metal.

“...A chosen one…”

He backed away, trembling, not knowing what to do.

Behind him, the screaming flowers; before him, the two-headed monster.

No escape. Only the pounding of his heart and the cold moonlight over a forest drenched in death. He stumbled backward — and before he could comprehend, a figure shot forward, stepping between him and the beast.

“Behind you!” the man shouted, his voice deep and commanding.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, sharply handsome, with dark, tousled hair. In his hand gleamed a bright sword, its light scattering across the forest, making the monster recoil. With a single swift slash, he severed one of the creature’s heads. It roared in agony, swinging the other head toward him. The man moved like lightning — his sword flashed several times, and the remaining head fell. The giant collapsed, shaking the ground with its dying breath. The boy stood frozen, speechless, eyes wide in disbelief.

The man turned to him, stern but calm.

“You… all right?”

He could only nod, heart still racing.

Under the pale moonlight, the man looked like a hero from legend — powerful and mysterious, so much that the boy couldn’t look away.

He finally spoke, voice cold but steady:

“So… I’m dead, aren’t I? Or is this just a dream?”

The man frowned slightly but kept his composure.

“You have… died in your previous world.”

The boy tilted his head, unafraid.

“They chose me… for what? Is this world real, or just an illusion?”

The man took a slow breath, his tone low and grave.

“You are one of the chosen. Those like you are brought to this world — where magic exists, where the gods watch over all. The chosen do not merely live again… they are given power — to save others.”

The boy narrowed his eyes.

“Save… others? What about me? Do I get saved, or must I save myself?”

The man stepped closer, gaze firm.

“You must find your own path. But the power within you… will help you survive. And perhaps… help others, if you choose to.”

The boy tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Granted power, but no guidance? So I just stumble around until I figure it out?”

The man nodded gravely.

“Yes. You are not alone — but not everyone will help you.”

The boy gave a faint nod, as if slowly accepting it. Before he could gather his thoughts, footsteps echoed — figures emerging through the trees.

The man glanced toward them and said quietly:

“These are my comrades. They’ll help you get settled.”

The group approached — serious, but not hostile. The boy stepped back slightly, watching them with caution.

A young man with silver hair and kind, gentle eyes knelt beside him, inspecting a scrape on his leg.

“Let me bandage that for you,” he said softly.

The boy frowned slightly but didn’t resist. The silver-haired man took a clean cloth from his pouch and wrapped it deftly around the wound — quick, careful, efficient.

“Thanks…” the boy murmured, his tone calm but a bit warmer now.

The silver-haired man smiled faintly, said nothing, and stood up, scanning the surroundings. The others moved around, forming a protective perimeter.

The man who saved him spoke again, his deep voice steady:

“You don’t need to worry. They’ll take you somewhere safe. But remember — this world isn’t easy.”

The boy nodded.

“Yeah… got it.”

He followed them out of the forest, eyes fixed on the vast village ahead. Wood and stone houses lined the clean cobblestone streets. People bustled about — orderly, respectful, bowing their heads when the distant castle was mentioned.

The silver-haired man beside him said gently:

“Watch closely. Everyone here deeply respects the Sovereign. Not just for power or authority — but because he governs and protects this land.”

The boy stopped, eyes turning toward the massive stone castle towering at the end of the village. Its tall spires and iron gates radiated authority and solemnity. The entire village seemed to live under its rule.

He frowned softly.

“So… they live under his will, or out of true respect?”

The silver-haired man smiled faintly, eyes calm yet deep.

“Both. They scared of him, but they respect him too. Lord Neolux is not easy to approach — but deep down, he’s a kind man.”

He led the boy into a large building. Light from stained-glass windows cast colorful reflections on the stone floor. Around them, people were practicing magic — hands glowing with small spells, others moving objects with ease.

The silver-haired man explained gently:

“Everyone here has power. Most of them are chosen, like you. You’ll live with them, learn, and discover how to use your own strength.”

The boy narrowed his eyes slightly.

“So… not everyone is like me, huh? Are there any normal people here?”

The silver-haired man nodded.

“Almost all here are chosen and gifted. 

If there are ordinary ones, they’re rare. You’ll soon see the difference.”

They reached a large room upstairs with a sturdy wooden door.

He pointed to the bed.

“This room is yours. Rest. When you’re ready, meet the others. But remember — everyone here has power. Never underestimate anyone.”

The boy stepped in, glancing around the spacious room as moonlight shimmered across the stone floor.

Then the silver-haired man turned back with a small smile.

“Oh — I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Silas Blake. And you?”

The boy blinked, then replied,

“I’m Aster Risnoah. Nice to meet you.”

Silas chuckled.

“Aster, huh? Kind of sounds like a girl’s name.”

Aster smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah… I guess so.”

“Alright then,” Silas said, turning to leave. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, I’ll explain everything.”

And with that, he left.

Aster stepped into his room — it was spacious, with a bed, wardrobe, desk, and a large window.

He dropped onto the bed, exhaling deeply.

“Alright… tomorrow, everything begins.”

After a night of rest, he woke when the faint light of dawn slipped through the narrow window. The chill crept into the stone chamber, making him shiver slightly. Everything here was silent—so strange that he could no longer tell what was dream and what was real. He stood up, put on his coat, and stepped outside. His footsteps echoed along the long corridor, where gray stone walls were covered in damp moss. He didn’t know where he was going; he just wanted to look around, to find something familiar in this foreign place. After walking for a while, he turned a corner and saw a black-haired boy leaning against a window frame. The boy looked about seventeen, slender, with a calm face and eyes still and cold like a lake.

He stopped and spoke first:

“Excuse me, do you know where Silas—the one with silver hair—is?”

The black-haired boy turned, his dark eyes studying him for a brief moment before replying softly, slowly:

“Silas… I saw him leave early this morning. He’s probably at the eastern training grounds.”

He nodded slightly.

“Thank you. Oh, I’m new here—arrived just yesterday.”

The other boy only nodded, saying nothing more. The air between them was still, broken only by the wind whistling through cracks in the wall. After a moment, he asked again, more gently:

“Are you one of the chosen too?”

The black-haired boy was silent for a few seconds, his gaze drifting out the window before he answered:

“Yeah. Same as you.”

With that, he stepped away from the window and began walking slowly down another corridor. As he passed, he spoke in a low voice without looking back:

“If you’re looking for Silas, take the right passage. The big wooden door at the end.”

He nodded again, watching the boy’s figure fade into the bend of the hallway. For some reason, he felt that boy was not just another chosen one. He headed toward the eastern section of the fortress—the so-called training grounds. The atmosphere there was completely different: lively, hot, and charged with energy.

The clang of metal rang constantly, mixed with chants of magic, the hiss of wind, and bursts of mystical explosions. On the field, dozens of people trained—some wielded swords and spears, others cast spells that shook the ground. Strange creatures appeared too: wolves shrouded in blue light, birds with wings of fire, and even a giant white tiger guarding its meditating master.

He stood watching for a while, both curious and overwhelmed. Everyone here was one of the chosen—bearers of special power.

A woman passed by, noticed him, and asked softly:

“New arrival? Looking for someone?”

He nodded and answered quietly,

“I’m looking for Silas.”

The woman smiled faintly and pointed toward the distance—where a silver-haired man stood at the center of the training yard, sword in hand, his every movement sharp and powerful.

“He’s over there. Best not to interrupt him while he’s training.”

When Silas noticed him, he stopped after finishing a slash, the sword’s tip touching the ground, its silver blade reflecting the morning sun. His breathing was steady; his icy blue eyes turned toward the boy.

“Aster? What are you doing here?”

“I… just wanted to ask a few things. About this place, and… about the chosen ones.”

Silas was silent for a moment, then set his sword down, his expression softening.

“Alright. Let me explain.”

Aster nodded, listening intently.

Silas crossed his arms, his deep voice steady:

“In this world, the chosen are those acknowledged by ancient spirits. Each is granted a unique power—and with it, a spirit beast that mirrors their nature.”

He paused, then raised his hand. A silver light shimmered, and from it stepped a great snow wolf, eyes glowing like the moon.

“This is my spirit beast—Fenrir.”

Aster’s eyes widened in awe, speechless.

Silas continued,

“The soul of a person and their beast are bound together. They become one—sharing life, emotion, even pain. A spirit beast can transform into a weapon for its master. But if that weapon is destroyed, the bond is broken…”

He lifted his gaze, eyes sharp as blades.

“…and the master will die as well.”

Aster shuddered, uncertain if it was from fear or something else rising within him.

“That’s why,” Silas said quietly, his voice like the whisper of wind, “each time they fight, no one fights for themselves alone. They fight for the other half of their soul.”

Aster stood there, watching the snow wolf fade into silver light. After a pause, he turned to Silas, speaking slowly but clearly:

“Then… how can I gain power like yours?”

Silas looked at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly before he gave a faint smile.

“You’re impatient, aren’t you?”

“I just want to know,” Aster replied calmly, though curiosity gleamed in his eyes.

Silas leaned against the stone wall, voice deep and measured, as though he’d said these words a hundred times before:“Every half-month, the newly chosen are taken to a place called the Land of Gods. It’s where the human realm and the spirit world meet.”

Aster tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face.

“The Land of Gods…? Does that mean there really are gods there?”

Silas smiled faintly, not answering right away. He bent down, picked up his sword, and brushed fine dust off the blade with his fingers.

“No one knows for sure. Some say they’ve heard the voice of a god. Others claim to have seen a faint figure in the wind. But only there… can you awaken your true power.”

He looked up at Aster, his gaze serious.

“The newcomers will be taught the ancient incantations—the language of spirits. Then they must summon their own spirit beast.”

Aster frowned slightly.

Silas spoke again, his tone like a chill breeze:

“You must swear and bind your soul to your spirit. If you call the wrong one, you’ll fail. And sometimes… the spirit might consume you instead.”

Aster fell silent. A light wind swept through the training ground, carrying the clang of steel and distant bursts of magic.

“When will I go?” he asked softly but firmly.

Silas’s gaze softened.

"Three days from now. Be ready, Aster. The Land of Gods isn’t a place for the hesitant.”

Three days later, at dawn, Aster and the new chosen followed Silas out of the village. They crossed mist-covered forests, silver rivers, and entered a land where the sky shone brighter than anywhere else.

“Beyond this point lies the border of the Land of Gods,” Silas said gravely. “This territory is ruled by the Sovereign of Light, mistress of the spirit realm.”

Aster looked ahead. In the valley stood a massive city of white stone, surrounded by floating towers and ribbons of light twisting through the sky like silken streams. At its heart rose a crystal castle, nearly touching the clouds. There were not only his group but many others, seemingly from different regions. No one spoke as they entered. The air was so sacredly still that every footstep echoed clearly. Then, from the depths of the grand hall, she appeared.

A tall woman, her long hair flowing like a stream of moonlight, her skin pale as morning mist. Her eyes were a soft, dangerous shade of blue. She wore a silver gown etched with glowing runes, and as she walked, the whole hall seemed brighter.

Everyone bowed.

Silas whispered,

“That’s the Sovereign of Light—Lysandra. Ruler of the Land of Gods, and the only one who can awaken the spirit within each chosen.”

Aster gazed at her, awe and reverence rising in his chest.

Lysandra stopped before them, her voice clear and commanding:

“Welcome, wandering souls… to the realm where mortals and gods converge. From this moment on, your fate will no longer be ruled by the world you came from.”

As the hall’s light steadied, she lifted her hand. A white glow radiated from her palm, and golden letters appeared in the air, rotating slowly around them. A deep voice echoed through the space, as though hundreds of spirits spoke at once:

“This world is held in balance by five Sovereigns—the supreme spirits who preserve order between mortals and gods.”

The symbols shone brighter, then divided into five pillars of light, each bearing an emblem:

“The Sovereign of Light — Lysandra, ruler of the Land of Gods.”

“The Sovereign of Shadows — Morvane, lord of the Abyss of Vantaris.”

“The Sovereign of Ice — Serin, monarch of the Eternal North.”

“The Sovereign of Flame — Caelis, ruler of the Crimson Desert of Kha’reth.”

“And the Sovereign of Balance — Neolux, keeper of harmony among the four powers, protector of the human realm.”

When the name Neolux was spoken, Aster flinched.

“Neolux…?” he turned to Silas. “That’s…”

Silas nodded solemnly.

“The Sovereign who rules the land you came to. Where we live—it’s Neolux’s domain, the neutral territory that balances all forces.”

The light faded, leaving behind a faint trembling in the air, as if the earth itself was breathing.

Lysandra smiled gently, her voice soft as the wind:

“When you awaken your true power, you will have the right to choose your allegiance—to serve the Sovereign you trust most.”

Aster watched the fading lights, his mind clouded with thoughts.

“If there are five Sovereigns… then who truly decides the fate of this world?”

When the golden letters vanished, the hall dimmed again under a veil of misty white light.

Lysandra raised her hand, and a massive magic circle appeared on the floor. Ancient runes glowed, slowly rotating around its center.

“Newly chosen ones,” her voice resonated, deep and serene, “step forward.”

Aster and the others exchanged looks. No one spoke. Only the sound of footsteps and the soft hum of magic filled the air. He stepped into the circle and felt the ground quiver beneath his feet, like a heartbeat.

From outside, Silas watched with a grave expression.

“This is the Spirit Awakening ritual,” he said quietly. “You’ll be taught your first incantation. Don’t try to remember it with your mind—feel it with your soul.”

A priestess in white stepped forward, holding an old book bound in silver. She opened it, and glowing letters floated out, swirling around everyone in spirals of light.

Lysandra’s voice echoed throughout the space:

“It is the breath of the earth.”

"It is the pulse of the soul.”

“When you call your true name—the world will answer.”

The glowing symbols began circling the new initiates. Some immediately closed their eyes, whispering along with the rhythm, and the light around them flared brightly. Aster stood in the center, eyes closed, syncing with the chant that resonated in the air.

He took a deep breath and whispered to himself:

“I… call you—appear before me.”

A gentle breeze swept through. The golden symbols spun faster, glowing intensely. From the white light ahead, the shape of a creature emerged—a brown-feathered eagle, eyes sharp as blades, wings broad and steady.

The eagle landed before Aster, tapping its beak against the floor, letting out a low but commanding cry. The light from its body merged with the glow surrounding Aster, forming a faint aura—the mark of a newly forged bond between him and his spirit beast. Aster looked at the eagle and held out his hand. The bird lowered its head in acknowledgment. He nodded slightly, his eyes soft with newfound connection. From outside the circle, Silas watched him closely.

Aster smiled faintly, warmth blooming in his chest.

“Your name will be… Cale. Alright, Cale—let’s walk this path together from now on.”

The eagle answered with a short cry, then spread its wings, sending a soft gust rippling through the hall. The bond between Aster and his spirit beast was sealed—marking the first step of his journey in this new world.

After the last spirit beast had been summoned, the atmosphere in the summoning hall became thick and heavy. Surplus streams of spiritual energy, yet to dissipate, swirled in the air, casting a faint, ethereal glow across everyone’s faces.

Suddenly, a deep rumble echoed from deep beneath the ground. The entire floor trembled—cracks of light began to spread, dividing the floor before them into five paths radiating outward like the points of a star, each glowing with a distinct color.

An ancient voice, both warm and distant, resonated inside the minds of everyone present—neither clearly male nor female, but carrying absolute authority:

“The Five Sovereigns of Aetherion, the pillars maintaining the balance of this world.

Those who bear a spirit beast, step onto the path to which your soul belongs.”

Immediately, lines of ancient script ignited in the air, revealing five names—bright and luminous, circling them like a ring of fate:

Sovereign of Light — Lysandra, keeper of the Land of Gods, the light of creation.

The path of silver, pure and radiant, emanating a holy aura.

Sovereign of Darkness — Morvane, ruler of the Vantaris Abyss, where darkness crystallizes into power.

The black-purple path, cold and profound, as if leading into a bottomless void.

Sovereign of Ice — Serin, sovereign of the eternal northern snows, where the east wind never ceases.

The blue path, transparent and serene, like a frozen lake reflecting the sky.

Sovereign of Fire — Caelis, commander of the red desert of Kha’reth, where fire consumes and renews.

The blazing red path, echoing with the roar of flames, like the heartbeat of living fire.

Sovereign of Balance — Neolux, the one who maintains equilibrium among the four forces and protects the human world.

The golden path, steady and luminous, like the dawn dispelling chaos.

The air grew heavy. Each path seemed to possess its own soul—inviting, yet challenging. Aster felt the spirit beast within him stir slightly; his heart raced, as if his soul was being drawn toward the golden path—the same path as those who had saved him.

Neolux… The name reverberated in his mind, cold yet gentle, distant yet near.

Lysandra’s gaze swept across them, and she smiled lightly:

“Perhaps this is where destiny divides you. Once you step into the light, you will be transported to the domain of the Sovereign you have chosen.”

One by one, each person stepped forward, carrying the weight of their choice. Light engulfed them, and the five paths began to close, leading to five different lands. From that moment, their fates—and the fate of all Aetherion—diverged into five separate directions.

Aster stood before the radiant golden path, his heart racing, eyes fixed on the gentle yet commanding light. As he took his first step into the beam, the surrounding space vibrated subtly, as if responding to his presence.

A warm, tranquil sensation spread throughout his body. It was not fierce or cold power, but balance—gentle yet certain, as if the world itself whispered:

“You belong here.”

From ahead, a familiar figure appeared—Silas had been standing there all along, his gaze softening as he watched Aster approach.

“You… have made your choice?” His voice was deep, with a faint smile.

Aster nodded

“Yes… this Legion. I want to understand this power, to see what I can do with it.”

Silas stepped closer, closing the distance. He raised his hand gently:

“Then… this will be the place where you will study, live, and protect.”

A soft breeze blew, carrying the scent of earth and fresh grass. Golden light enveloped them, and together they stepped into the central region of Neolux’s domain—where the soul of the world intertwined with the power of the chosen. Before them lay a vast square, five monuments representing the Sovereigns, with at the center a balanced tower of light, shimmering and radiating stable energy across the land.

Chosen ones moved about, training and interacting—but everything was orderly, never chaotic.

Silas addressed those who had chosen Neolux’s Legion:

“Alright everyone, step through this circle of light, and we will be transported to the city immediately.”

Aster nodded slightly, eyes fixed on the tower of light:

“I’m ready… starting from here.”

The golden glow of the teleportation circle dimmed, and Aster felt his body drift lightly before touching down gently. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the familiar room of the stone castle belonging to the Balance Legion, where his footsteps echoed across the cool stone floor.

The room was spacious, with high ceilings and intricately carved stone pillars. Light streamed softly from the yellow-tinted windows onto the floor mats, highlighting a wooden desk, bookshelves filled with tomes on strategy, magic, and spiritual balance. Small potted plants added a touch of life to the cold stone space. Cale, his spirit beast, perched on the windowsill, its golden light reflecting on the walls and brightening the room. Aster took a deep breath, absorbing the tranquility. Everything outside—along the long hallways where people moved, trained, or exchanged information—remained bustling yet orderly, reflecting the rhythm of the Balance Legion.

Aster placed his hand on the windowsill, watching the castle grounds. People moved between towers and training grounds, streams of golden light weaving together, forming the pulse of the Legion. He smiled lightly, thinking to himself:

“This is where I belong… and where I’ll start learning to master my power.”

Cale chirped softly, flapped its wings—a reminder that this journey had only just begun. Aster turned to the desk, where books, maps, and training tools remained in place, and began organizing his thoughts, preparing for days of practice, exploration, and the challenges ahead in Neolux’s Legion.

Standing in the familiar room, watching Cale’s golden glow, Aster remembered Silas’ words: the spirit beast could become a weapon, but it was not easy.

He inhaled deeply: “Cale, you can transform into a weapon, right? We should try, shouldn’t we?”

Cale flew to his side. Aster tried to sense every breath, every tiny vibration of his spirit beast. At first, nothing happened. His spiritual energy quivered, casting a faint golden light across the room, but nothing more. He closed his eyes, forcing himself deeper into the connection with Cale. “Cale… we can do this,” he whispered, clenching the air before his chest. A tense feeling spread from his shoulders down his arms, spiritual energy rushing like a turbulent river.

Suddenly, golden light began to coil around Aster’s arms from Cale’s body. A faint vibration echoed, as if the beast’s body was resisting, not fully cooperating. Gritting his teeth, Aster focused harder, guiding the energy in rhythm with his heartbeat. After a strenuous effort, a golden bow began to take shape before him. It was not a flamboyant sword but a slender, powerful bow, its light flowing along its frame. The arrow seemed to form spontaneously in the air, ready to launch at Aster’s command.

He grasped the bow, feeling the perfect balance—flexible yet potent. A warm surge ran through his arms, harmonizing with Cale’s essence, making every shot more precise and forceful than ordinary.

“All right… we did it,” Aster panted, sweat beading on his forehead. The golden light surrounding the bow signaled that the link between him and his spirit beast had formed, though it still required time to perfect. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to focus, attempting to fully connect with Cale. Spiritual energy within him surged, the bow gradually materializing. Aster smiled, thrilled at the unfamiliar sensation of controlling his spirit beast’s weapon for the first time.

But just as Aster tried to lift the bow, a hollow wave of energy surged around him. The bow flickered, trembled, and vanished before he could grip it securely. Aster’s eyes widened, his heart racing with surprise and disappointment. “W-What… just happened?” he muttered. Cale also vanished.

Slumping onto the bed, hands gripping the empty air, Aster felt the sting of failure but also a surge of determination: “I have to train… I need to find a way to stabilize my spiritual energy if I want to wield this power.”

The room grew silent, leaving only Aster’s labored breathing—a reminder that the power he held was still fragile and unfinished. He inhaled, forcing himself up after the disappointment. Closing his eyes, he focused on controlling his energy, trying to stabilize the flow within.

Once more, the shape of the bow appeared, more delicate, golden light reflecting Cale’s presence along the frame. Aster smiled faintly, feeling a glimmer of hope. But when he tried to draw the string… only a faint glow emerged, insufficient to launch, and the bow partially dissolved, leaving only a dim fragment in his hands.

Aster frowned, inhaled deeply, staring at the empty space. “Just… a little at a time…” he exhaled, both frustrated and realizing the truth: his power was still not enough to sustain a full weapon. Every summoning drained his spiritual energy quickly. His body trembled, reminding him that he needed more practice, to learn energy control, and—most importantly—to understand his own limits. Placing his hand on the bed, his eyes filled with resolve:

“I must train more… next time, I’ll do it completely. There’s no other way.”