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The Elowen Legacy
Before the empire was united by steel and spells, there existed seven ancient houses—each granted divine relics from the First Sorcerer. The Elowen bloodline was one of them.
But legacy was a chain, and Sylvia Elowen bore it alone.
Her father, a war mage who once split mountains, died before she was born. Her mother—once hailed as the "Mindweaver of the North"—succumbed to madness after losing her mana core in a forbidden experiment.
Sylvia was raised in silence, expectations, and glass walls.
At age 9, her mana core was shattered during a summoning rite gone wrong.
She should have died.
Instead, she lived. Half a core. Full of pain. Overflowing with questions.
That was when the Obsidian Council found her.
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A Test of Worth
Now, under the faint glow of the mana moon, Sylvia stood with Harvey at the cliffside behind the academy. The wind was cold, but her stare was colder.
> "Do you know why they sent me to you?"
Harvey, seated on the edge with his coat fluttering behind him, didn't look at her.
> "Because I'm dangerous."
Sylvia stepped closer. "No. Because I'm expendable."
Her words lingered.
> "I'm not like the other prodigies," she said. "I don't have a stable core. My magic burns through me. I'll be lucky to survive past twenty."
Harvey finally turned.
> "You're dying?"
She nodded. "And they thought if you killed me, it'd be a convenient excuse to take you out."
Silence.
> "So," she continued, "why didn't you?"
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The Answer
Harvey rose, his eyes unreadable.
> "Because I don't waste tools."
Sylvia flinched, but he continued.
> "And because someone who survives death once... has the potential to do it again."
> "So you think I'm useful?"
> "No. I think you're dangerous. That's better."
She smiled for the first time.
> "Good. Then I won't have to hold back."
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The Clash
She suddenly raised her hand, forming a sigil in midair. It flickered violently, unstable.
> "Let's test if your instincts are real, Harvey Gravemore."
The sigil ignited.
A blast of distorted magic burst forward—unstable, fast, and erratic.
Harvey dodged effortlessly, flipping through the air. His coat snapped like a flag behind him. He didn't cast anything. He simply moved—like he knew where the magic would go.
> Chrono instinct… again, Sylvia thought.
She cast again—this time with five overlapping runes, each one twisted by broken mana.
But Harvey moved through it all.
Not with brute force.
With precision.
Then suddenly—he was behind her.
> "You burn through your core because you fight like you're dying," he said quietly.
He placed a hand near her wrist.
> "Let me show you how to live."
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A Spark of Change
Harvey cast a minor stabilizing rune—ancient, long-lost. Her magic shimmered, slowed, then stilled.
Sylvia's eyes widened.
> "What… was that?"
> "Something the council buried," Harvey said, already turning away. "Next time, try not to die before the duel ends."
She stood in place, stunned, her heart beating in a way it hadn't for years.
> He knew.
> He knew how to fix the instability. Who is this boy...?
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Elsewhere: The Coffin Opens
Back in Lucien's quarters, the sealed coffin cracked open.
A low, bone-chilling hiss echoed through the manor.
From the shadows emerged a tall figure, its face masked in silver and flames etched across its pale skin.
It whispered, in a language lost to time:
> "Blood of Gravemore… the storm begins again."
Lucien bowed deeply.
> "Rise, O Sin-Eater. I have someone I need you to destroy."
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