Ryn vision blurred as the world around him erupted in chaos Explosions of energy tore through the barren land, debris and smoke twisting violently in the air. He barely had time to react before the figure before him—a silhouette wreathed in purple flames, wielding a spear that seemed to pierce reality itself—struck again Why… why with me? Ryun groaned staggering backward chest heaving, body trembling under the assault.
Then came the explosion—a shockwave that could have obliterated mountains. And from it a blue light surged. Ryn's eyes went wide but before he could comprehend it, he collapsed
unconscious, as the power around him moved independently.
The source revealed itself: the Armor Hand. Shimmering in a deep azure glow, it was unmistakably the hand of a dragon—the first of the elemental powers that lay dormant within Ryn. Though he lay unconscious, the hand acted on instinct, guarding him and countering the puppet of the purple spear wielder. Every strike, every motion of that hand, was precise, almost sentient. Ryn realized in fragments of consciousness that this battle was never truly his alone.
When he finally regained partial awareness, the figure he had been fighting collapsed under the Armor Hand's coordinated assault. Only then did he understand the truth: the spear wielder had not come himself. This was merely a puppet, controlled and observing, feeding energy into its unseen master.
Clenching his fists, Ryn tried to awaken his powers, but nothing came. A bitter memory flared—the stones thrown by childhood tormentors, mocking and relentless. "I… I was powerless even then," he whispered, choking back shame and anger.
A sudden shining light burst in front of him. Calm, commanding, resonant. "You are safe now."
Ryn's voice shook. "Who… who are you?"
The light shifted, revealing a colossal shadow stretching across the horizon, darkness incarnate, with the beat of distant drums vibrating through the very earth. Ryn's knees buckled under the weight of the presence. It was Tavros.
"You have questions," the shadow said, voice low, authoritative. "I am Tavros. Do not mistake my form for all I possess. I am ranked fifth, yet even I wield only a fraction of the powers that exist in this universe."
Ryn's jaw tightened. "Fifth? Then… am I nothing here?"
"You are here because your true primordial energy has yet to awaken," Tavros replied. "I have brought you to this world so that you may grow, so that one day you will stand among the strongest."
Before Ryn could respond, a portal tore open in the air. Energy crackled, reality bending at its edges. Tavros gestured, and Ryn was pulled toward it, helpless but compelled, a surge of anticipation rushing through him.
From afar, the purple spear wielder observed, eyes alight with malicious curiosity. "How long can they hide from me?" he murmured, energy crackling around his form.
And then another presence emerged—a figure wielding a red flame spear, crowned as the god of territory, a destructive force beyond comprehension. "Why do you linger behind him? Strike now!" The air thickened; even a fraction of his power would annihilate Ryn instantly.
Ryn's heart pounded, but a strange clarity filled him. This was his first step toward reclaiming what had been stolen, toward awakening what lay dormant. Though he could do nothing against the forces watching from afar, he understood one undeniable truth: the world was about to change because he had fallen, yet would rise.
Ryn's eyes snapped open, disoriented. The ceiling above was familiar yet foreign—a small, cramped room bathed in pale morning light. He sat up and instantly felt it: someone else's body, someone else's life. Confusion surged through him like a storm, but before he could process, flashes of memory tore through his mind.
The body he now inhabited belonged to a boy in 11th grade, a second-year student at a local school. And these weren't just ordinary memories—they were the lingering echoes of the body's previous owner.
His father, Ryn realized, had been a gambler. Constant debts, endless disappearances. He never returned. The mother, worn and exhausted, ran a tiny restaurant, barely making enough to cover rent, food, and school expenses. A life of struggle and quiet desperation.
Ryn swatted at a mosquito landing on his cheek, and as he did, he noticed something unsettling: bruises on his hand, swollen and blue, telling silent stories of recent pain. Then the memories sharpened. School. That very morning. The bullies. They had demanded 10,000 Korean won, and when he had refused, they had beaten him badly.
A wave of disgust and rage surged through Ryn. But before he could dwell on it, the world shifted.
Outside the window, among falling leaves from a massive tree, he saw a figure—a man wearing black and light gray kimono, aura radiating with a lethal calm. Purple energy shimmered faintly around him. One leaf floated unnaturally, guided by his hand, and then a puppet emerged, dark and twisted, echoing the wielder's aura.
Ryn stumbled back, knees weak, as instinct screamed at him. The puppet's aura, charged with thunder elements, seared through the air. Ryn could feel the power's pull, almost tangible, as if the world itself was bending to it. Pain lanced through his body when he tried to resist, and he cried out instinctively as a strange, alien aura began to radiate from him, one that was unmistakably Ryn's own.
The purple-spear wielder's calm voice sliced through the chaos.
"Take this to the Earth. Kill him."
The puppet, silent until now, shifted, transforming into human form, its movements fluid, unnatural. It obeyed without question. The spear wielder's hand traced the edge of a portal, its energy pulsing and warping reality. "Jump. Now," he commanded.
Before Ryn could even comprehend, the puppet leapt through the shimmering portal, dragging him along. The sensation was instantaneous, violent, and dizzying. The world dissolved into streaks of light, the memories of the boy's life and his own merging, colliding, twisting into one chaotic stream.
When the light faded, Ryn hit the ground with a jarring thud. The air smelled different. The sounds were different. He was on Earth, far from the strange training grounds, far from the powers he had barely begun to understand. Yet even here, danger waited. The puppet's shadow loomed, and somewhere in the distance, the threat of the purple spear wielder lingered, a constant, invisible weight.
Ryn's chest heaved. Pain, confusion, and a spark of something else—determination—burned inside him. He had survived betrayal before. He had awakened powers before. And though he was now trapped in a new body, a new life, one thing was certain: he would not die here. Not without a fight.
The puppet blinked into existence, teleporting instantly to where Ryn now lay. Its aura flickered in the morning light—a pale purple streaked with electricity. Despite Ryn's confusion, the puppet's movements were precise, almost clinical.
A flashback surged in the puppet's mind—a conversation with the purple spear god:
"How will you recognize him?" the puppet had asked.
"It's simple," the god replied, voice cold and detached. "No one in this area holds elemental power. If you feel the slightest trace of it in a human, eliminate it immediately. That is how you find him."
Back in the present, the puppet stood atop a tall building, scanning the city below. Tiny people moved like ants, unaware of the deadly predator watching over them. A worker noticed its precarious stance and shouted, "Hey! Step back! You'll—"
The warning came too late. The puppet leapt.
The worker froze in horror, expecting the worst. But before he could scream, a blinding flash of light exploded across the puppet's face. The intense illumination shattered everything, sending fragments scattering across the worker's vision. When he blinked, the puppet's aura still radiated, calm and unnerving.
"It's laughable," the puppet muttered, observing Ryn from a distance. "A human so weak… like an insect."
Yet something clicked in its mind—the memory of the spear god's instructions, the careful steps to blend into the human world. It had to track him without raising suspicion, maintain a low profile until the perfect moment to strike.
And for Ryn—now inhabiting this fragile human shell—the puppet knew something else was coming: a new identity, a cover in this human realm, to survive and gather strength before the storm returned.
Ryn, amidst his own confusion and the bruises that told of his new life's struggles, decided on a name for himself. It had to be unique, strong, memorable, something that could mark the start of his human journey:
"Kael Veyra."
A name born not from his past, not from this body, but from his own awakening will. A symbol of survival, of hidden potential, of the destiny he would carve in this world.
With a deep breath, Ryn—Kael now—stood, feeling the faint echo of Armor Hand's dragon aura inside him, waiting, preparing. Somewhere, the puppet moved, searching. And somewhere, far above in the shadows, the purple spear god watched, smiling at the chessboard that had only just begun.