The crowd around the altar whispered in awe and trepidation as Charles stepped forward and took the dagger from the priest. Suddenly, thick fog rose around the altar, shrouding it in a dense veil. Even the ninth-order extraordinary people strained to see through it, their powers stymied by the supernatural mist. Inside, a soft blue light flickered in the fog, an ethereal glow that pulsed and faded as though it might vanish at any moment. The jade base of the altar emitted a pale white glow, a faint light visible even under the blazing noon sun.
Within the fog, murmurs echoed—distant, chilling whispers like demonic incantations, casting an eerie aura over the scene.
On a high castle balcony overlooking the altar, Lin and Hercu watched the proceedings with tense interest. Despite their vantage point, the fog obscured any view of Charles within the altar.
Lin held a small bronze torch, his deep black eyes as still as water, concealing whatever emotions stirred within. Hercu, cigar in hand, nudged him lightly. “What’s on your mind, Lin? Thinking of your own enlightenment?”
Lin glanced at Hercu, then at the cigar offered to him. He frowned, sensing the cigar’s distinct aroma. “Western goods?” he asked.
Hercu blew a smoke ring with an air of satisfaction. “Yes, fresh from the Western Regions.”
Lin stuffed the cigar into his pocket, his military jacket stiff and buttoned. “Father told us not to trade with the Westerners,” he murmured, shaking his head with a hint of disapproval. Hercu rolled his eyes and resumed smoking, resigned to Lin’s rigid obedience to their father’s dictates. The stark contrast between them was as clear as their bloodline differences. Lin, whose blood held an impressive 44% of the rare blue essence, and Hercu, who barely had 5%, bore few resemblances beyond their family name.
After a moment, Lin’s gaze shifted, and he spotted Fiona—a cold beauty with short hair—standing by the wall. He mused quietly, “It’s strange seeing her grown. She was barely up to my waist last time.”
Hercu chuckled, disinterested in the topic. Fiona’s aloofness toward him was a mutual sentiment, so he quickly redirected the conversation. “But let’s focus on the star of today. Charles. What do you think will come of him?”
Lin’s gaze deepened, as if searching through the mist for a glimpse of Charles at the altar’s core. But, after a pause, he closed his eyes, answering thoughtfully, “He reminds me of his father.”
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Hercu nodded, biting down on his cigar. “Do you think he’ll awaken as a wind warrior?”
Lin raised a brow. “Is there any doubt? The wind warrior legacy has run through the West family for generations. If Charles succeeds, he’ll surely inherit it.”
Hercu gave a knowing smile, discarding his cigarette. Beneath the surface, he knew his brother harbored depths that few could guess.
In the heart of the altar, the priest floated midair, encircled by glowing bands inscribed with ancient words. His low voice boomed as he chanted, the name echoing through the mist.
“Charles!”
“Charles!”
“Charles!”
Charles stood at the center, his eyes closed, his lips a strange purplish-red. Blue light flickered from his chest, faint but growing stronger, illuminating his figure in the haze.
In that surreal moment, he felt himself drifting, slipping into a vivid, lifelike dream. In the dream, he relivie a childhood he had long forgotten. He was a young boy, reunited with his parents, surrounded by the warmth of family. It felt blissfully ordinary, filled with the simple joys of life, laughter, and security. Slowly, memories of his present life faded. His name, his mission—all slipped away as if they had never existed.
He grew up in this dream, reaching his sixteenth birthday. On that day, he discovered something odd. While looking in the mirror, he noticed another version of himself staring back—a figure with sapphire-like eyes, dressed in a refined black coat and exuding an air of nobility. Though their appearances differed, Charles felt an unmistakable connection to this reflection.
From that moment, his life changed. He realized he possessed powers far beyond ordinary human capability. He could defy bullets, leap from mountains, dive into the ocean's depths, and explore volcanic landscapes, facing ancient creatures without harm. The very laws of the world seemed to bend to his will. His desires shaped his surroundings, and he reveled in the freedom to do whatever he pleased.
Yet, even as he lived this dreamlike existence, he occasionally heard faint whispers echoing in the background. They were unclear, and he dismissed them as irrelevant. This life was idyllic, and he wanted to stay in it forever, free from intrigue or threats.
Years passed, and though he climbed the highest mountains and plumbed the deepest oceans, he began to feel a hollow boredom gnawing at him. The endless perfection dulled his senses, and everything seemed strangely empty.
Then, an unsettling question surfaced in his mind: What is my name?
A splitting pain shot through his head, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. He panicked, instinctively pushing the question away, fearful of the consequences of remembering. And yet, as more time passed, the boredom grew unbearable, his curiosity about his forgotten identity pressing harder.
Finally, he faced it again: What is my name?
The fog within the altar churned, the blue glow intensifying as Charles’ consciousness clawed back from the illusions that had lulled him.