After The cloaked man, named Unknown, trained Atlas to survive, to hunt, and most importantly how to fuse his knowledge with the wild, volatile elements of Isle Terra. Atlas discovered Mythralite, a nearly indestructible metal hidden deep in the fire-cracked mountains of the realm. It pulsed with cosmic energy. But his greatest test came when the Three Treants, titanic beasts over 1000 feet tall, emerged. The Forest Titan appeared.
The winds of Isle Terra howled like ghosts through a dead forest as Atlas Vale just thirteen stood beneath the towering shadow of something ancient. A Treant. Not the kind told in bedtime stories or whispered in elven tongues. No, this creature was no protector of forests. This was a corrupted colossus of bark and rage, standing over a thousand feet tall, its limbs gnarled with molten sap and thorns thick as spears.
Atlas clenched his fists, each breath ragged. The boy had been forged by struggle fighting beasts in the dark, drinking water from rain-soaked leaves, gnawing bark for food when wild fruits ran out. But nothing prepared him for this.
The Treant bellowed, and a shockwave of spores erupted from its chest, burning through stone and trees alike. Atlas dove behind a boulder, the blast shredding his cloak. His heart thundered. "I need something more" Atlas said…
" I can't beat this with fists".
Then he saw it. Glowing, buried in the shattered roots a pulsating shard of crystal, humming with energy. It called to him.
Mythralite.
Atlas reached for it as if drawn by fate. As his fingers touched the shard, it burned his palm but he didn't let go. Instead, the energy surged through his veins, searing his blood, reshaping the cells of his body. The pain was indescribable, but in that agony… he evolved.
Metal laced his arms. Plates formed around his body. A glowing core took shape in his chest his first armor, raw and primal. The Treant struck, and the boy struck back.
Their clash echoed across Isle Terra.
He punched through bark as thick as houses. The Treant's vines lashed out, impaling his shoulder, dragging him into the air. But Ironsoul didn't scream. He ripped himself free, blood spraying, and launched upward. With a roar, he drilled through the monster's skull with a plasma-charged strike. The top half of the Treant's head exploded in splinters and gore.
As its massive body crumbled, the ground beneath trembled. Atlas, gasping, knelt beside the fallen creature. His armor flickered. His wounds burned. But something was born that day.
Not just survival.
The beginning of Ironsoul.
With mouths that fired beams of destructive energy, they brought ruin to the land. For five grueling hours, Atlas fought, wielding a prototype mech-suit made of raw Mythralite, through time-fold tech. After defeating the Treants, he earned the respect of Isle Terra's mystics and smiths, and chose to stay. Six years passed and Atlas grew, matured, learned. He became a hunter, a smith, a warrior. His skinny arms were now packed with strength, his mind sharper than any blade forged in Terra. But just as he was finding peace, a chant whispered through the wind. A portal opened.