Weeks melted into months, each day a forge for Alden's body and soul. One crisp morning, as mist clung to the backyard, it happened. During Aether meditation, Alden felt a pull, like a river meeting the sea. Aether flowed from the earth, seeping into his heart. It gathered, coiling into a faint ring of energy—the First Circle. His eyes snapped open, breath ragged, and met Rowan's nod of approval.
"Two months," Rowan said, a rare smile creasing his face. "Faster than most. The First Circle will solidify soon. You're on the path."
Alden's academic studies surged. He devoured tomes on Ironhold's lore, tracing the demon wars that birthed the kingdom's militaristic heart. He memorized alchemical recipes, conjuring sparks of flame or gusts of wind with novice spells. His mind, sharpened by discipline, absorbed geography—Bloodridge's fortified hills, Crimsonhold's spires, and the distant capital where the Nine-Circle Masters held court. But the nightly Eidolon training yielded nothing. The black angel's power remained a phantom, felt but untamed. Alden pressed on, his resolve a flame in the dark.
One evening, as they descended to the basement, Rowan paused at a locked cabinet, its iron surface etched with wards. He withdrew a small, obsidian amulet, its center swirling with a light that seemed to devour itself. "Your father left this," he said, voice heavy. "He said it's tied to the Eidolon. I don't know how. Keep it close, but tell no one."
Alden took the amulet, its weight unnatural, as if it held a fragment of the void. He hung it beneath his shirt, its cool touch a constant reminder of the power within him. The mystery deepened, but answers remained elusive.
By the third month, Alden's Aether training bore fruit. The First Circle stabilized in his heart, marking him a First-Circle Warrior. His strength swelled—lifting rations that once strained him now felt trivial, and his senses caught whispers of Aether in the wind. But the Eidolon lagged, its presence a taunt. Then, in the fourth month, a breakthrough. During a basement session, Alden felt a surge—not in his heart, but through his entire body. Unlike Aether, the Eidolon didn't pool; it saturated his muscles, his bones, his blood, at a ferocious pace. He gasped, sweat beading on his brow, the amulet pulsing against his chest.
"It's different," he told Rowan, voice trembling. "It's not gathering—it's consuming. It needs more energy to form a circle."
Rowan's eyes narrowed, awe warring with caution. "Your father warned of this. It's stronger than Aether, hungrier. Keep going."
Alden redoubled his efforts, pouring mornings and evenings into the Eidolon. The Aether took a backseat, its First Circle secure. By the sixth month's end, in the basement's dim glow, it happened. The Eidolon coalesced—not in his heart, but in his mind. A radiant circle formed in his brain, pulsing with alien power. As it stabilized, Alden's senses erupted. Colors blazed, sounds sharpened into crystalline notes, and his thoughts raced, untangling complex alchemical formulas in moments. He felt elevated, as if his soul had brushed the divine.
"I did it," he whispered, trembling. "The First Star."
Rowan's hand gripped his shoulder, pride shadowed by worry. "This is no ordinary power. The Eidolon's First Star… it's changed you already." He glanced at the amulet, its light now steady. "But the exams are weeks away. Shift to academics. The second star can wait."
Alden nodded, but the Star in his mind hummed, whispering possibilities. He tried absorbing more Eidolon, using the same method, but the energy refused to budge. A new approach was needed, one he couldn't yet fathom. With the Ironhands Royal Academy looming—its gates open to only four from Bloodridge—he pivoted to his studies. His enhanced mind devoured texts, mastering spellcraft patterns and memorizing the kingdom's political hierarchy. He practiced basic magic, conjuring flames that danced with precision and winds that carved runes in the air.
One night, as he studied by candlelight, the amulet flared, its light casting shadows that writhed like demons. A voice—not his own—whispered in his mind: Seek the Hollow Spire. Alden froze, heart pounding. The Hollow Spire was a myth, a ruined tower in Ironhold's northern wastes, said to house forbidden magics. Was it tied to the Eidolon? To his father? He kept the vision secret, even from Rowan, but it burned in his thoughts.
The academy's exams loomed, a crucible that would test his Aether, his intellect, and the shadowed power he dared not name. Alden's resolve blazed brighter than ever. The world was unbreakable, forged in blood and bone. He would prove himself its heir—or shatter trying.