The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the bustling capital city of Eldoria. The streets hummed with whispered rumors and restless glances. Everywhere, the name Alaric was spoken with a mixture of awe and fear.
Since his recent victories, Alaric's presence had become impossible to ignore. His tactical brilliance and unique ChronoAether abilities had earned him fame—and enemies.
In the grand hall of the High Council, Lord Varen sat behind a polished obsidian desk, his fingers steepled as he studied the reports.
"Alaric grows stronger by the day," murmured Varen, voice low and tinged with unease. "His Mythforged Core edges closer to the Celestial threshold. If he crosses that, we lose our advantage."
Beside him, Lady Seraphine, head of the Arcane Bureau, nodded gravely. "We must act before he consolidates power. The political factions are fracturing—some rally to his cause, others plot to strike him down. The balance teeters."
Meanwhile, in a shadowed alley not far from the council chambers, Alaric moved with silent grace. His senses sharp, he could feel the pulse of the city—an intricate web of aether and time flowing through its veins.
His recent breakthrough in ChronoAether mastery had unlocked a subtle but profound ability: Temporal Displacement. Unlike his earlier, brief moment locks or afterimages, he could now shift his position in space-time for a fraction of a second—appearing and disappearing with near-imperceptible speed.
Alaric paused and closed his eyes, focusing inward. His Mythforged Core hummed, a soft glow radiating from his chest. The energy was no longer raw and erratic; it pulsed with steady, controlled rhythm.
This was progress.
Suddenly, the faint sound of hurried footsteps broke his concentration. From the shadows emerged a squad of Core Bearers clad in dark armor, their aether crackling with anticipation.
"You're cornered, Alaric," the lead attacker sneered. "The council sends us to bring you in—dead or alive."
Alaric's eyes narrowed. He measured their power—mid-tier Core Bearers, competent but no match for his current mastery. Yet, their numbers meant caution.
With a flick of his wrist, he summoned shimmering Echo Fragments—phantoms of himself darting left and right, confusing his foes. Using his new Temporal Displacement, he vanished from sight, reappearing behind the squad.
His Arcblade flared, striking with precision. The weapons sang through the air as he disabled two attackers before they could react. But the others recovered quickly, their aether igniting in retaliatory bursts.
The fight was fierce but controlled. Alaric relied on tactical ingenuity rather than brute force, weaving illusions and freezing weapons with his Moment Lock just long enough to turn the tide.
As the last assailant fell, Alaric's breath came steady. The battle had tested his recent growth—and he had passed.
Later, atop the city walls, Alaric gazed out over Eldoria, the distant mountains silhouetted against a star-speckled sky.
"This is only the beginning," he murmured.
His journey to the Celestial Core—and beyond—was fraught with danger, but his power was evolving. Soon, he would face enemies who would push him to his limits.
But for now, he had earned a moment's peace.
End of Chapter 15