In this realm, the origins of Chronotechnology and xenoarcanery remain shrouded in mystery, accessible only to the privileged few granted entry into exclusive academies where the esoteric teachings of these disciplines are imparted. Even among the elite within these academies, mastery of these arts is rare, understood only by a select few. Nevertheless, scattered throughout this world are individuals blessed with an innate talent for xenoarcanery, capable of wielding its power without the need for formal training.
Aldeen got out from John’s office, and then rode a Sandcycle Model-XII, a vehicle resembling a motorcycle except it requires sand like mineral to run, the device origin is unknown, but it is given by the capital, to elected Archons in the kingdom; and it is believed to be a mix of Chrono technology and Xenoarcanery.
Its frame is crafted from an amalgamation of enchanted metals, shimmering with desert-inspired hues - sandy golds, deep ochres, and sun-kissed bronzes. The wheels, adorned with intricate runes, are oversized and rugged, constructed to effortlessly navigate through shifting terrains.
Its destination the Sylvan Vale Forest, Eldoria is a self-governed city in the kingdom, and the Sylvan Vale forest is a self-governed tribe inside the city of Eldoria. Though, he is the archon of Eldoria before making an important decision, he must confer with the old woman Sage Willow.
The device took off flying around the kingdom.
You can see the beautiful Azure pale blue sea in the rear, it stretches far and wide, and its tranquil waters a lifeline for the townsfolk. It’s not merely a picturesque backdrop but a bustling source of sustenance, providing bounty.
image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/183ae4d5-8661-4252-89d4-26699b842bc1/0_1.webp]
Upon arriving, various people in the forest greeted Aldeen with respect, and he then proceeded towards Sage Willow’s tent.
Two young men, their dark skin accentuated by black shirts and white pants, approached Aldeen.
Each wore a lotus necklace, a subtle touch connecting them to the natural world. One of them greeted, "Mr. Aldeen, we've been expecting you."
Aldeen, with a smile, quipped, "One of Sage Willow's few tricks? This is supposed to be unplanned."
As the two men approached, one of them addressed Aldeen, his tone carrying a weight of familiarity and warning.
"Alright, Mr. Aldeen, you know the rules," he stated firmly, extending a brazier emitting wisps of various hues of smoke.
Aldeen acknowledged with a subtle nod, accepting the challenge laid before him.
With cautious deliberation, Aldeen inhaled the fumes rising from the brazier. The air around him shimmered with a volatile energy, and the colors of the smoke within the vessel intensified, swirling into a slightly ominous grayish hue. His chest tightened, and a sudden sense of weight bore down upon him. The swirling vapors invaded his senses, clawing at his throat, forcing him onto his knees with an involuntary gasp for air.
The smoke infiltrated his lungs, triggering a violent fit of coughing that racked his body. Each breath seemed to draw in a tempest, an unseen force battling within him. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his breathing labored as if a weighty burden pressed upon his chest.
Concern etched on the faces of the men surrounding him, one of them gently inquired, "Are you alright?" Aldeen, with a strained nod, signaled his faltering reassurance. Summoning inner resolve, he struggled back to his feet, his posture wavering but determined.
Gathering his strength, Aldeen reclaimed the brazier from their grasp, a mixture of determination and apprehension etched on his features.
With a controlled exhale, he directed his breath into the brazier, the air expelled now carrying a blend of hues—a haunting pale blue merging with wisps of darkened smoke.
"Remarkable, Mr. Aldeen, truly exceptional," one of the men commended with a tone laden with admiration.
"Pale blue again!" while raising an eye brow one of the men flanking Aldeen stated, he then added "your unwavering positive spirit sets you apart," he added, a sense of pride evident in his voice. Together, they guided Aldeen toward Sage Willow's tent, their steps infused with a subtle sense of reverence.
The duo flanked Aldeen.
Outside the tent of sage willow, the plants swayed in an orchestrated dance, their rustling almost a melodic chant. Aldeen, a man of resilience, known for his unyielding nature, yielded upon crossing the threshold into this mystical area.
Entering the tent adorned with vibrant tapestries and plush sofas, Aldeen felt the warmth wrap around him like a comforting embrace.
The air inside, rich with an enigmatic aura, whispered secrets that only those initiated into its mysteries could comprehend.
He moved forward, entranced by the intricate tapestries that adorned the tent's interior.
His gaze then fixated on a brazier emitting alternating hues of gray and green, an ethereal display that seemed to respond to the words of Sage Willow.
Amidst the tapestry's labyrinth, Aldeen spotted an elderly woman draped in a smooth green and white garment that cascaded to her ankles – Sage Willow. An ornate amulet dangled from her neck, and a bracelet made of small, polished incisors and canines adorned her wrist, a testament to ancient practices.
Upon seeing Sage Willow who was playing with balls of energy, Aldeen fell to his knees, an act of reverence to a force greater than himself.
"It's too soon..." she intoned, her words holding the weight of destiny.
"You are not the one, Aldeen." Each word that emanated from Sage Willow's lips carried a deliberate cadence, resonating with an otherworldly knowledge that echoed through the tent.
Aldeen's response was a clenching of teeth and fists.
Yet, he composed himself, expressing, "I m the one in my own life! chosen or not, I don't care.”
Sage Willow, continued, "Indeed, when you encounter the chosen ones, you will recognize them. Give your all to them, and you will find the comfort you seek..."
"I will try" he said with a serious face.
As she spoke, the flames in the brazier transformed, turning a fierce red and intensifying, mirroring the gravity of the conversation.
Concerned, Aldeen sought guidance, "Is there anything I should be worried about, Sage Willow?”
"You know, Aldeen..." her voice carried a weight that settled like a blanket of anticipation over the gathered assembly. Every eye fixed on her, awaiting her next words as if they held the key to a hidden realm.
"I won't claim you're the chosen one..." she began, her tone tender despite the gravity of her message, "but among those destined. When destiny beckons, you'll face allure from forces beyond. Guard against the allure of being special. Seek instead a life steeped in virtue, joy, and fulfillment," she imparted, her words an embrace laced with stark truths that somehow managed to soothe.
Once more, the shadowy duo with the lotus necklaces, flanked Aldeen, silently urging him to depart.
Aldeen gazed at Sage Willow, grappling with a familiar sense of inadequacy. "Just who are you?" he pondered.
The symphony of birdsong abruptly disrupted his thoughts, accompanied by a sudden gust of wind.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Bewildered, and with no answers no clues, yet satisfied.
If anything dangerous were to happen, I’m sure the clairvoyance of sage Willow would’ve sense it. Anyway, I guess I ll proceed as planned. I should go to the academy! he muttered, attempting to slot the sigil into the SandCycle, only to fumble and drop it. Frustration flickered across his features before he resumed.
Mounting the SandCycle, and veering onto a shorter path that wound through the outskirts of Eldoria's mountains. These initial peaks were almost an extension of the city, inhabited by the lower echelons—servants, maids, miners, fishermen, and peasants.
The route to the mountains unveiled a gradual transformation. The city's clamor receded, giving way to a serene landscape painted with lush foliage. The road ascended gently, flanked by quaint cottages and humble dwellings. As Aldeen ventured deeper, the scent of pine mingled with the crisp mountain air, while the vista opened up to reveal a breathtaking panorama.
The path twisted and turned, navigating through narrow passages lined with verdant trees. Occasionally, cascading streams whispered secrets as they crossed the path. The gradient grew steeper, yet Aldeen guided the SandCycle adeptly, maneuvering through the terrain with practiced ease. He reached his destination.
Ragon Academy --------------
This renowned Academy is the breeding ground for Eldoria's most promising youth—a place where talents were honed and potentials realized. Within its walls, the gifted found their callings: some excelled in Xeno-arcania, others mastered the intricacies of Chrono-Technology, while a select few were groomed as astute diplomats, adept at leveraging the power of words to craft strategic maneuvers.
The atmosphere outside the academy hummed with energy and purpose. Echoes of fervent chants filled the air, marking the rigorous physical training undergone by the spirited youth of Eldoria. The sounds carried the essence of dedication and discipline, blending seamlessly with the aura of ambition that permeated the academy grounds.
As Aldeen approached the academy gates, the guards immediately recognized him, offering respectful greetings as he passed. A quiet exchange between them ensued, one guard discreetly signaling to his colleague, "Alert the principal, High-Archon is here."
"Good day, Mr. Aldeen," one of the officials inquired, curiosity lacing his tone. "What brings you here today?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," he repeated smoothly, his voice betraying no hint of the competition he was about to announce. "Just dropping by to check in on my son."
Walking down the lengthy corridor, nods of acknowledgment followed Aldeen's path.
His presence was distinctive—a rarity in these halls. He held the distinction of being the sole individual who had brought in over twenty individuals from the lower class into the academy.
For many students, he was more than a figure; he was a hero, a symbol of opportunity and change.
Entering the classroom where his son was expected, Aldeen encountered Professor Tristan, an elderly man clad in a crisp white coat. "Oh, boy! If it isn't Aldeen!" the professor exclaimed, moving in for a heartfelt hug.
"Professor Tristan, still savoring your wife's delightful donuts, I see." While gently tickling the fat belly of Tristan.
"And I see your dreadful sense of humor hasn't deserted you," they chuckled in unison.
"Here to check on your son?" Tristan asked.
"Yeah, how is he doing?" Aldeen inquired, concern etching his features.
Tristan, who had been sorting through various documents on his desk, swiftly picked up a key and discreetly closed an armoire containing an array of Chrono-Technology tools.
image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/5ba6bdc1-53bb-4758-814d-08ad315a1b1d/0_0.webp]
Turning toward Aldeen, he remarked, "Your son possesses exceptional talent in Chrono-Technology. However, Miss Victoria mentioned his lack of aptitude in Xeno-Arcania, and his physical condition seems fragile."
"Like father, like son," Tristan added, raising an eyebrow playfully, eliciting a wry glance from Aldeen.
“I’m not fragile; physically, no one can best me!” said Aldeen.
“Yeah, yeah, but you’ve went through a rigorous training. And honestly a reckless one. No sane person would attempt your ways” replied Tristan.
“To gain something you must risk losing something”
“Agree, it’s just a question of probability. The probability that people would endure your training is almost zero. And I must also add that you were kind of lucky” said Tristan raising an eyebrow playfully.
“I was lucky” confirmed Aldeen while nodding.
“Anyway, I have to meet with the principal. Take care of yourself Tristan.” They shared a hug and Aldeen continued towards a hallway, on his right there was an arena.
To his astonishment, Aldeen's son found himself locked in a one-on-one combat situation.
Mashle, adorned with a steel gauntlet emitting white smoke, and sporting a C-technology, stood poised with wires adorning his right ankle.
His opponent, Kyros, shirtless and muscular, donned a red band on his forehead, channeling Xeno-Arcania energy into his legs.
Mashle stayed on high alert as Kyros darted around him like a speeding bullet.
Kyros moved so swiftly that only a blur and a trail of dust marked his path, making it challenging for Mashle to anticipate his next move.
Kyros seemed to search for any gap or vulnerability in Mashle's defense.
Suddenly, with a surge of energy, Kyros directed all his power into his leg and lunged towards Mashle.
Reacting swiftly, Mashle employed his mental focus to manipulate the steel gauntlet, launching an energy ball in his own place. This maneuver propelled him backward, narrowly evading Kyros's formidable kick-infused with intense energy.
"Heh, nice try!" Mashle exclaimed after successfully dodging Kyros's powerful kick.
"Now's my chance," he thought to himself, recognizing the opportunity to launch a counterattack while Kyros was momentarily immobilized.
Having dodged Kyros's attack, Mashle seized the opportunity and launched another energy ball towards Kyros while airborne. Kyros took the full force of the hit, causing the energy surrounding his legs to visibly diminish in size.
However, to Mashle's surprise, Kyros remained standing, undeterred by the onslaught.
"Is this all you've got?" Kyros taunted, his eyes burning with determination. With a confident flourish, Kyros effortlessly plucked the red band from his forehead, revealing a faint smirk playing across his lips.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, he nonchalantly tossed the band aside, his movements exuding an air of cool self-assurance.
"How did he survive that?" Mashle wondered in amazement as he watched Kyros withstand the powerful blow.
Frustration welled up within him as he realized that his C-Gauntlet was now down to only 20% energy remaining.
On the sidelines, in the hallway, Aldeen seized the opportunity to assess whether his son had improved.
"Interesting," Aldeen mused as he observed Kyros's last-second maneuver to distribute his energy throughout his body to defend against the energy ball.
Upon landing, Mashle found himself perilously close to the edge of the arena, his back pressed against the unforgiving wall.
And standing before him was the relentless Kyros, a foe he knew all too well he couldn't outmatch in a contest of speed or physical prowess.
"Hmph! I've expended some energy, but with Mashle cornered near the edge of the arena, he has nowhere to flee," Kyros mused. "I'll bombard him with energy balls, forcing him to rely on his Chrono technology. We'll both exhaust ourselves, but my superior physical strength will give me the advantage in the end."
"Why are you smiling? Do you think you've won just because my back is against the wall?" Mashle retorted confidently.
"Come on! Come at me with all your strength!" he declared, pointing boldly at the ground in a defiant pose.
And so, Kyros unleashed a barrage of fireballs towards Mashle, who, as anticipated, utilized his gauntlet's energy to deflect them. The resulting clash filled the area around Mashle with swirling dust and mist, obscuring the battlefield.
Both fighters perspired profusely, their exhaustion evident. Seizing the opportunity presented by the swirling dust and mist, Kyros cleverly reduced the size of his fireballs, aiming to further disorient the already bewildered Mashle.
"Nice, the dust," Kyros strategized. "I'll use it to my advantage."
With a plan in mind, he began launching small balls of energy, intending to drain Mashle's gauntlet energy.
In the midst of the swirling dust, Mashle found it difficult to gauge his energy levels accurately. Determined to gain clarity, he utilized his gauntlet to propel himself into the air. With a decisive motion, he unleashed a powerful blast of blue fire energy, dispersing the dust and mist that enveloped him, revealing the battlefield once more.
"What a grave mistake!" Kyros exclaimed as the dust cleared. He recognized that Mashle, in his attempt to clear the smoke, had inadvertently trapped himself with no means of escape.
"You're in the air now!" Kyros added, seizing the opportunity to exploit Mashle's vulnerable position. He focused his palm, like a sniper, on the airborne Mashle.
"Gotcha! Learn the power of Xeno-Arcanery, son of Archon!" Kyros declared triumphantly, prepared to unleash the full force of his abilities.
The supervising professor stood at the edge of the arena, his gaze fixed on the unfolding spectacle with a mixture of awe and concern. Witnessing the sheer magnitude of power gathered by Kyros, he felt a twinge of apprehension for Mashle's safety.
"You lose, Mashle!" declared Kyros confidently, his voice cutting through the tension-filled air with unwavering certainty.
Kyros focused every ounce of his energy into a formidable attack, conjuring a three-colored energy ball infused with the elemental powers of black, red, and purple.
With a sense of urgency, the supervising professor hovered his hand over the activation switch for the nullifying field, ready to intervene if the situation spiraled out of control.
Blinded by the onslaught of energy hurtling towards him, Mashle found himself in a vulnerable position, unable to evade while suspended in mid-air.
With his gauntlet depleted of energy, he relied on the wires coiled around his boots for a desperate gambit. Mashle dodged the three-colored energy balls, their sheer force creating a massive pressure wave that reverberated through the arena, causing the walls to crack under the immense strain.
With a swift and calculated maneuver, Mashle utilized the wires on his boots like spider webs, hooking onto the nearby wall for leverage. Harnessing the residual pressure from the energy ball's impact, he propelled himself forward with incredible speed, hurtling towards Kyros like a bullet.
Kyros attempted to defend himself with the scant remnants of XenoArcania energy at his disposal, bracing for the incoming kick. However, overwhelmed by the sheer force and velocity of Mashle's dropkick, he found himself unable to withstand the onslaught.
With Kyros collapsing to the ground, defeated, Mashle's victory was declared.
Overwhelmed with triumph, Mashle couldn't contain his elation, his shouts of victory echoing through the arena. "Yes! Yes!" he exclaimed, celebrating his hard-earned triumph.