My Power

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.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***