It was an early summer morning.
The wind blew fresh and cool, brushing against the golden warmth of the first rays of sunlight that caressed the white walls of Aurelion.
Its towers pierced the sky, and the city—sculpted in seven concentric rings—was already brimming with life.
Capital of the Kingdom of Valdheim, known to all as the Concentric City, Aurelion stood proudly upon the hills of Velxenton, in the northern lands of Elyonor—one of the most impregnable fortresses in the world.
Each ring revealed a different face of society:
from the lowest level—where misery and crime slithered through narrow alleys—to the highest, where the royal family Van Estrid reigned.
King Alexis and Queen Miteril had ruled for over thirty years, together with their two children, Prince Michel and Princess Yui.
The second ring housed the five great noble houses, keepers of the elemental powers of Quarium:
Phonetix – fierce and blazing, masters of Pyra, the living fire that burns in battle.
Idra – empathetic and deep as water, healers and diplomats.
Aerosis – rebellious and curious, rulers of the skies and adventure.
Treakurs – stern defenders of justice, steadfast as the earth they command.
Luxeris – devoted to the goddess Lethe, guardians of light and ancient memory.
The third ring rose around the Sanctuary of Luxeris and the Great Cathedral of Memory, the spiritual heart of the capital where crystal bells rang at every dawn.
The fourth contained the Imperial Academy of Quarium, the greatest training ground for mages, scholars, and warriors in the realm.
The fifth pulsed with the heartbeat of the middle class—wealthy merchants, artisans, and families who dreamed of sending their children to the Academy.
Below lay the sixth ring, the district of the common folk; and beneath even that, the seventh, a labyrinth of shanties where thieves and mercenaries ruled.
From top to bottom, every ring told a different story.
But the one about to begin belonged to a boy from the fifth ring—
a boy unaware of how deeply his fate was tied to the Eternal Thread.
His name was Soriel Agridor.
---
Golden Veins
The fifth ring, Golden Veins, was alive with sound and color.
The scent of spices mingled with the clang of hammer and steel.
Children darted between the passersby, chased by their mothers' calls, while the morning breeze played with the golden leaves along the main avenue.
Pipers filled the air with bright tunes.
In taverns, master brewers poured amber beer between bursts of laughter and cheers.
Young adventurers crowded the halls; waitresses weaved between tables balancing trays of steaming dishes, while the aroma of roasted meat and seasoned stew danced in the air.
"Hey, kid! More beer over here! Today's a day to celebrate!" shouted a man by the window.
"Right away, sir!" came the timid reply from a boy with chestnut-amber hair, darting between tables to the counter.
"Master Lemin, five more mugs for that table," he said, slightly out of breath.
The tavern keeper—a burly man with a silver beard—sighed as he filled the mugs.
"Again? They've been drinking since last night… Fine, Soriel. Tell them this is the last round. They must have wives waiting at home!"
Soriel smiled shyly, grabbed the tray, and hurried back.
"Here you go, gentlemen—last round. The Mad Cat Tavern is closing soon."
"Ehhh! Come on, Lemin! We had a good hunt—we've got to celebrate!" one protested, standing up with his group.
Murmurs spread across the room.
"Show some mercy for an old man and his staff!" Lemin barked, pointing at one of them.
"You've been drunk for half an hour already! Drink this and head home. This round's on me!"
A roar of approval shook the hall. Soriel had to grip the tray tighter not to spill it.
"Soriel! Come on, let's water these fools one last time!" Lemin laughed.
"On it!"
The boy sprinted back and forth between the counter and tables.
"Margaret, Vivian! Don't slack off!"
"Yes, sir!" the two girls answered in unison.
For fifteen chaotic minutes, the tavern was alive. Soriel, Margaret, and Vivian rushed everywhere while Lemin poured beer like a machine.
Amid the noise, Soriel's eyes shone with quiet joy.
"Hey, Soriel," Vivian teased, "it's rare to see you smiling like that."
"I always smile," he replied, exaggerating a pout.
"Liar! You only smile when adventurers show up. Otherwise, you do something stupid like last time."
"Last time?"
Margaret's stern voice cut in. "You jammed a piece of metal into the lock so you could skip work, remember? We lost a whole day! So-ri-el!"
He coughed, pretending to wipe a table.
"No idea what you're talking about…"
"Oh, come on! Lemin was shouting your name across all of Golden Veins!"
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"What's so wrong with wanting to see adventurers up close?"
"You're fourteen," Margaret reminded, tugging at his cheek, "and the minimum working age is fifteen."
Vivian giggled; Soriel wriggled free, cheeks red. Ugh… just because I want to see real adventurers, I'm stuck bussing tables…
"Come on, Margaret," Vivian said kindly. "At his age, it's normal to be fascinated by adventurers."
"Vivian… not you too!"
Soriel chuckled watching them bicker. But then Vivian—tall, platinum-blonde, with emerald eyes—bumped into a man, spilling his drink.
"Hey! Watch it! Hard to see where you're going?!"
"S-sorry… I didn't mean to…" she bowed quickly.
The man glared. The air grew tense.
Whispers rose:
> "Oh no… she had to bump into him?"
"That's Greyson…"
"The one who killed a Basilisk?"
A shiver ran down Soriel's spine.
Greyson, called The Lightning Fang.
A top adventurer of Aurelion: leather armor, twin orichalcum daggers, master of Aeris magic—fast, unpredictable, deadly.
And another title: The Brawler.
"Hey, little girl," one of his men sneered, "you're paying for that."
"Yeah," Greyson added, standing with a predator's gait. "You could apologize better."
Margaret tried to step forward, but Lemin grabbed her arm.
"Don't. You'll get us all killed. He's from the Aerosis family."
Before she could reply, a slim figure moved past her—Soriel.
He stood in front of Vivian, arms spread.
"Stay away from her."
Greyson froze, then laughed low, like a knife sliding free.
"Ohhh… what do we have here?"
He circled the boy slowly, like a wolf sizing up prey.
Soriel followed every step, heart hammering.
"I'm scared… but I can't back down."
"You know who I am, boy?"
Soriel didn't move. Fragile as glass, but steady as a wall.
He glanced around—no one met his eyes. "Why aren't they helping? You're adventurers!"
Greyson chuckled.
"You still don't get it? How pathetic."
Margaret tried to interject, "Greyson, stop! We'll pay for the drink, all right? No need to—"
A gust.
A blur.
Margaret collapsed, unconscious.
Greyson stood behind her, smiling coldly. The move had been too fast to see.
"When did he move?"
"I didn't ask you to talk," he said softly, turning back to Soriel.
"Margaret!" Vivian screamed.
Behind the counter, Lemin grabbed a club.
"I wouldn't, old man," Greyson said without even looking. "You wouldn't like what happens next."
Lemin froze.
Greyson stepped forward until his face was inches from Soriel's.
"You know, kid… for some reason…" his hand touched a dagger—"I feel like playing with you."
Soriel's heart thundered. His hands shook.
Around him, all the so-called heroes kept their heads down.
"Those I admired… just cowards."
A faint ding… ding… echoed—like a bell ringing far away.
Soriel's eyes darted around. No one else seemed to hear it.
Then—
A calm, sharp voice filled the air:
"Greyson. That's enough."
The room froze.
Every head turned toward the doorway.
An old man stood there, tall and composed.
A light-purple robe. Silver hair tied back. Warm brown eyes carrying weight and quiet strength.
Greyson clicked his tongue.
"Tsk. Let's go."
"What about the girl?" one of his men asked.
"I said let's go!"
He cast one last look at Soriel.
"Lucky brat."
Then he brushed past the old man and vanished into the daylight.
Silence.
Soriel stood trembling, staring at the stranger. Around them, sighs of relief, murmurs, shame.
But he couldn't look away from that man.
And then, reality… shifted.
In that man's gaze, Soriel saw it—
a massive white fox, its fur like snow, eyes like frozen skies, body vast as a mountain, nine tails flowing like rivers of light.
Around its neck, a small bell chimed softly.
Ding… ding.
The fox looked straight at him.
"Ohh… interesting," it murmured, its voice deep and resonant.
Soriel staggered back.
Why can't anyone else see this?
The fox grinned.
"Look at that—you can see me. And you even ask what I am. Cute. Depends, kid. What do you think I am?"
His heart pounded.
"W-who are you?"
The bell rang three times—
ding—ding—ding.
"My name," it said, "is Rinshou, little one."
Just a name.
Yet in that instant, Soriel felt smaller than he'd ever felt before.
"What's happening to me…?" he whispered.
"Why can't I move?"
His instincts knew the answer.
Before him stood a power beyond comprehension.