Kael had just finished another exhausting shift at work deadlines, noise, and the endless, dull routine that left him drained every day. When he finally slumped into his chair that evening, there was only one thing he wanted: distraction.
His eyes locked onto the game he'd been playing all week Flames of Chindar, a brutal fantasy world filled with heroes, monsters, and tragic choices. Kael had spent hours grinding through quests, choosing dialogue options, and reading lore. But tonight… everything went wrong.
The screen showed a bloodstained battlefield.
All the protagonists the chosen ones, the powerful NPCs, even the secret unlockable character were dead.
Game Over.
"What kind of garbage writing is this?" Kael muttered, eyes wide in disbelief. He leaned forward, staring at the screen. "They all die? No redemption arc? No hero's return?"
His frustration boiled. The developers had teased hope, growth, and justice only to crush everything with an ending so bleak it felt personal. Without thinking, Kael raised his fist and slammed it into the monitor.
A bright flash exploded from the screen.
He didn't even scream. Just a burst of light and then, nothing.
Kael gasped awake, chest heaving like he'd just surfaced from underwater. His back pressed into something soft and smooth leather, maybe? His eyes flickered open, and for a moment, he couldn't process what he was seeing.
The ceiling wasn't his cracked apartment drywall. It was canvas thick and stretched overhead, dimly lit by small, floating orbs of light that hovered in the air like lanterns without strings.
He sat up, blinking rapidly. The place looked like a tent but not just any tent. The air was scented with herbs, the floor covered with ornate rugs, and polished wooden shelves lined the walls. Thick drapes, bronze armor sets, scrolls and strange tools gave the space a vintage, imperial feel like something out of an old British war novel. Everything screamed ancient, noble, and wrong.
Kael touched his forehead. "Ugh... that hurt," he muttered.
Then the headache struck.
Blinding. Deep. It was like a spike drove straight through his skull, dragging something with it memories.
Memories that weren't his.
His name was Ceyr Venmire, heir to one of the most feared families on the continent. The House of Venmire, known for its mastery of poison, alchemy, and assassination. A family that ruled in the shadows, respected and feared in equal measure.
Ceyr had been born with their blood poisonous, rare, powerful.
But when his father went on a diplomatic campaign, his uncle took power. And with it, came madness.
The man gathered children with powerful bloodlines noble heirs, gifted bastards, even orphans and subjected them to forbidden experiments. The goal? To create someone with 100% elemental affinity the perfect host for pure elemental magic.
They were force-fed distilled magic stone water, injected with elixirs and poisons, exposed to extreme temperatures and raw mana storms. Dozens died in agony. Only two survived.
Ceyr... and a silent orphan girl.
She awakened with 95% poison affinity.
Ceyr? He awakened fire.
100% fire affinity.
The Venmires were horrified. Fire was an element completely outside their domain. Their entire legacy was built on subtlety, decay, and toxins. Flame was destruction wild, uncontrollable, visible.
When Ceyr's father returned and learned the truth, he was furious. He rescued his son, but only barely. And then, in front of the entire house, he exiled him to the western borders.
"Fire has no place in our clan," were the only words he spoke.
Ceyr was sixteen then. Alone, unwanted, and carrying the flames that no one around him understood.
But he didn't die.
He trained.
He fought.
He survived.
Ten years passed. Now twenty-nine, Kael no, Ceyr was a general stationed at the western front, commanding the border garrisons that constantly clashed with monstrous beasts from beyond the wildlands.
The beasts had been at war with mankind for over a century. Vile things born of chaos and elemental corruption. Few returned from the front. Even fewer survived long enough to earn rank.
Ceyr did both.
But now... the memories showed him something terrifying.
A beast wave larger than any before is coming. A storm of flesh, fangs, and fury that would swallow the western borders in a matter of days.
And according to the memories?
No one survives.
Ceyr clenched his fists, breathing in deeply. The air tasted faintly of dust and burning oil. "So that's it," he murmured. "I died… and woke up in this hellhole. As him."
He took another breath and said aloud, "Status."
A soft chime echoed in the tent. A translucent blue screen shimmered into view in front of him.
Name: Ceyr Venmire
Age: 29
Elemental Affinity: Fire – 100%
Tier: 5
Occupation: Western Border General
He exhaled slowly. "Tier 5, huh?"
Tier System Explained
In this world, power was ranked in nine Tiers. Each Tier reflected how deeply a body could interact with mana the life force of magic.
Tier 1 – Mana-Receptive Body
The body is altered to accept external mana without rejection.
Tier 2 – Mana Absorption
Mana begins to flow into the body naturally, without the need for potions or stones.
Tier 3 – Mana Organ Formation
The user's organs begin producing their own mana, turning the body into a living wellspring.
Tier 4 – Environmental Sync
The user becomes connected to ambient mana able to sense and draw it from the world.
Tier 5 – Elemental Transmutation
Mana can now be converted directly into the user's elemental affinity, changing their body, breath, and even surroundings into fire, ice, shadow, or whatever affinity they possess.
Tier 5 was a major threshold.To where affinity comes to play But above it, the real monsters waited those who had mastered internal worlds, domains, and divine will.
Ceyr wasn't there yet. But Tier 5... was enough to matter.
Especially when the world believed he was nothing more than an exiled mistake.
He stood up, flexing his fingers. He could feel the mana within his blood now rising, eager, like a predator long kept caged.
And though the flame inside him was powerful, he knew better than to rely on it blindly.
He had ten years of training. Ten years of scars. Ten years of surviving against things that should've killed him.
He wouldn't waste them.
And if the beast wave was truly coming?
He wouldn't die a second time.
"I may not be the poison heir they wanted…" he muttered, eyes narrowing as flames sparked faintly around his fingertips.
"…but I'll show this world what fire was really meant for."