In this world, every awakened individual is bound to an Elemental Soul, a primordial fragment of nature's essence. This bond is absolute—once awaken, it shapes the person's future, status, and path of mastery. Because of this, the hierarchy of society is built around elemental affinity and capability.
But an Elemental Soul alone isn't the whole story.
Each elemental soul awakens with a single nature, or so called— Classification, a unique mode of interacting with mana and with one's element. These classifications serve as the foundation of combat style, learning curve, and long-term potential. Some of the most common include: manipulator, enhancer, summoner, conjurer and shifter.
Each classification is governed by a Law of Mana Control, a set of principles that determines how the user interacts with their element. This is why two people with the same element can fight in completely different ways...
*****
The sky rumbled, its fury shaking the earth until the stones themselves seemed to shiver. A blood-red glow crawled across the horizon, staining the world in ominous crimson. Above, the wind dragged monstrous black clouds into a single shifting mass, a colossal shadow unfurling over the village.
It sank downward like a funeral shroud, swallowing every ray of light.
The air thickened—heavy, distorted—each breath carrying the silent certainty that something ancient and merciless was approaching.
A calamity not born of nature… but intentionally summoned...
*****
"Their footsteps trembling the ground— not from panic, but from grim preparation. Some had already drawn their weapons, others hauling crates and iron braces, desperate to barricade the path before the coming terror arrived."
Different elemental souls flickered awake across the village like glowing embers— fire, water, ice earth, energy, air, dark and light.
Every person capable of battle took their position. Even elders with shaky hands but steady mana joined. Some Teenagers already released their elemental souls, and not just adults. Even some children join the force and Zeke was one of them
Those who were unable to fight—mainly the elderly whose mana control had already become unstable, pregnants, and the unawakened like Emelia—were all sheltered inside the mansion.
Most of the gathered fighters were Enhancers, bodies surging with reinforced strength. A scattering of Manipulators stood behind, weaving mana with sharp precision. And then a handful of Summoners raised their hands, their presence shifting the air as unfamiliar creatures stirred on the other side of their portal.
A silver-haired boy with ember-bright eyes stepped forward, his fire-affinity flaring like a second heartbeat beneath his skin. He thrust out his palm.
Flames burst forth—wild at first—then twisted, folded, and kneaded themselves into shape. The searing heat curled like fingers sculpting burning flesh. Fur ignited, turned to ash, and reformed in the same breath.
In the next second, a body emerged from the inferno.
A creature obeying his call—
a twin-headed burning wolf, each maw dripping molten flame that hissed as it hit the ground.
A remarkable skill that even adults give their attention to it,
From the side, Zeke watched, his face was unreadable— Not proud. Not impressed. Just… existentially embarrassed.
His fingers tightened around his shovel—his weapon. A glorious, rust-coated, shovel. Everyone else was summoning spirit or manipulating weapon , and here he was, armed with the kind of thing you'd use to dig up old potatoes.
Beside the silver haired boy, a girl with a Pearly hair and ocean eyes she raised her hand Water spiraled upward, forming a rotating defensive ring around her — clean, simple yet tactical. The kind of move that made Zeke's face unreadable—calm, almost funny, like he have seen enough today.
Zeke exhaled sharply.
"Tssk... show-off…"
He muttered it under his breath, but the bitterness came out.
He cleared his throat, dragging his gaze away from those two, then forced himself to focus on the incoming monsters.
Turns out those two were siblings.
Actually — twins.
Yeah, twins.
Though they barely looked alike because of unmatched hair and eyes, they shared one thing: pure talent. Both ranked as the top-notchers of their school with an insane six point eight percent mana control rating.
'Yeah Zeke… you should be jealous...'
He gripped his shovel tighter.
He inhaled
"Well… let's hope they die first so I look useful..."
for brief moment...
Through the clouds, a shadow unfurled—creatures resembling bats, each as large as a horse. They swarmed like a hive of furious bees, their wings slicing the air with a terrifying rhythm. This creature was known as belzaic an abyssal predator that wildly hunt as troops.
Villagers say: "If one Belzaic marks you… the rest will arrive for your soul." hunting, hungry, driven by the metallic scent of blood.
The moment a single drop of human scent touched the wind, one creature descended… then another… and another, until the sky writhed with silhouettes.
"Everyone—prepare yourselves!"
The chief's voice boomed, His stance held no doubt, as if victory itself had already bowed to him.
He grinned with confidence. As he gripped tightly on his weapon.
"Will win this..."
******
Three minutes earlier…
A small crowd gathered around, one hand-drawn map scratched into the dirt resembles their village. At the center lay a few pebbles, marbles, and a sticks.
The pebbles represented them. The marbles—heavy, glossy, ominous—stood for the creature known as the Belzaic. And the stick marked the thin line that counted as their defenses.
Their plan was simple, but effective.
"First," the chief said, placing three pebbles firmly at the center.
"we build a frontline. This will be our shield."
The crowd leaned closer as he tapped the three stones.
"These three—this formation—will be the heart and bone of our defense. No matter what the Belzaic does… we hold this ground. We do not break understand?"
Everyone nodded—except one man who slowly raised his hand.
"But how long can we even hold, sir? I mean... Those creatures aren't just fast… they're tough. Really tough."
He wasn't wrong. And the worst part? They didn't even know how many Belzaics were out there. If the horde was large, they'd be outnumbered before the battle even began. The best they could hope for was to slow them down.
The chief only grinned.
"In that case… we choose the right people for the front line."
Confusion rippled through the crowd.
Who was he talking about?
"right people"?
If they were going to delay the Belzaics or form a proper barricade, the selection had to be precise—those chosen would decide whether the village lived or died.
For not even wasting any time.
They quickly grouped the villagers according to their elemental souls. And the selection was simple—Earth and ice—the natural defenders—were immediately marked for the front line. Solid stone walls and towering ice barriers could withstand a beating that no ordinary human could. Perfect for holding back the monsters...
However...
There was a one problem... Only manipulators had the skill to shape matter with such precision—and manipulators were rare. Even rarer were those bonded to earth or ice.
The selected villagers exchanged worried glances... And their numbers was not a good news
A tense silence fell… yet the chief remained unfazed and added.
"Few or not, it doesn't matter,"
he said, placing six more pebbles before the three that marked the front line.
"As long as they can hold, our support line will do its job."
He gestured to the remaining villagers.
"Most of you are enhancers, right? Then your job is simple: attack from afar. Cut down their numbers before they even touch the front. Those left standing… they're the ones we'll deal with last."
Eyes widened, adrenaline prickling every nerve. The plan was dangerous, yes—but brilliant.
Everyone nodded… but a new problem rose like a shadow creeping into the circle.
Not everyone in the village could fight. Some hands were steady, some shook. Some could wield their souls with precision, while others couldn't even defend themselves without trembling.
The chief didn't speak this time—
instead, the man standing beside him knelt and split the pebble formation cleanly in half. With a scrape of his fingers through the dirt, the layout shifted into a tight three‑by‑three pattern, forming a compact grid of defense.
He tapped the pebbles in the middle
"Those with real battle experience—guards, hunters, veterans—will take this position."
Then he tapped the rear.
"Those weaker in close‑quarters combat will stay back and support with long‑range attacks. Elemental arrows, distractions—whatever you can do from afar."
No one complained. No one hesitated.
For the first time since the alarm, everyone finally agreed.
The strategy... was complete?
With the mansion's structure blocking the rear and the sides, the villagers no longer had to fear being flanked. The threat would come from the front… and from above, where the Belzaic dove like predators sensing blood.
And behind the formation—
they cleared a tight space near the dimensional fountain, holding the line as they protected the mansion.
Everyone wore a grin—everyone except one man. His expression was grave, and his conclusion, unavoidable.
"But the thing is… Belzaic doesn't fight like other creatures. They don't scatter. When they hunt, they strike as a group, yes—but they target a single, specific point. They push relentlessly until they break through any defense."
Everyone went silent...
"And the worst thing is that this will drain our mana fast. Keep it up for fifteen minutes, and our people—most of whom aren't trained for combat—won't last."
Another man nodded reluctantly.
"He's right… but what else can we do?"
A pause. Then for brief silence, slicing through the tension, a new voice broke the discussion.
"That's why I have a plan."
Heads turned. The chief's eyes narrowed, scanning the room. And there, standing with calm certainty, was the man behind the voice.
At the corner, Zeke's father stood with her mother, looking as completely serious.
The chief's eyes narrowed, scanning the pair. His mind was already racing.
"It's him… the man who obliterated a belzaic with one shot… I can feel his strength was unnatural... and that woman next to him… their both strong I can sense it…"
He muttered to himself
"Uhm… p-please… what are you trying to suggest?" one of the guards stammered.
He turned slowly, pointing dramatically at the man who spoke earlier
"You said belzaics attack a specific target, right?"
The man just simply nodded
"In that case…" He paused, lowering his hands for dramatic effect, like a chef about to reveal the secret ingredient… or a villain in a cheap action movie.
Then, with the grin
"We need a bait."
He said it with full confidence—so full, in fact, that everyone else felt a shiver crawl down their spine.
They froze. Guards exchange glances. even the chief confused.
"Uhm? E‑excuse me?" someone asked, already regretting it.
BONK!
A fist came down on his head like hammer. His wife didn't even hesitate.
"You little idiot."
They froze. A couple of people actually flinched, thinking they were next. But Aveloria simply dusted off her knuckles and smiled sweetly at the crowd.
"Sorry about him. He's always like that. Don't worry—his skull's thick enough."
He rubbed his head with a pout while she straightened her posture, instantly becoming the real adult in the room.
"Anyway."
"what he meant is that we need to lure them out. Instead of letting the belzaic smash our defenses, we use bait to draw them away. That way, we can circle and strike them from their blind spot."
Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. That actually made sense. Heads nodded. Shoulders relaxed.
But the chief's eyebrow slowly arched upward.
"One question…" he said.
"Who's going to be the bait?"
Aveloria placed a hand on her hip, completely unfazed.
"We'll be the bait."
Her husband raised a finger like he was about to protest, but then saw her fist tightening again.
He put the finger down.
The entire group froze. Not a single breath disturbed the tense air.
Even the chief—usually a mountain of confidence—swallowed hard, his throat tight.
"These two… they weren't just strong. They were beyond reason, a storm barely contained in human form."
"What are your names?"
the chief's voice trembled slightly, though he fought to keep it steady.
"Aveloria Notchooven. Ave, for short," she said, her tone calm, almost unnervingly so, like she was naming the weather.
"Kyle Notchooven," her husband added, his gaze sweeping over the gathered people with the quiet assurance of a predator assessing prey.
The chief exhaled, but it was shallow, almost involuntary.
"Alright… Kyle. Ave… please," he said, his voice tight with a mix of awe and fear.
"Be careful."
A silence followed—thick, heavy, and suffocating. It wasn't just a warning; it was a prayer whispered into the eye of a storm...
And the strategy... Was completed...