Fog rolled across London's gaslit streets, curling around wrought-iron lampposts and cobblestones slick from a sudden drizzle. Fifteen-year-old Jonathan Jorwick hurried along, medallion clutched tightly in his hand. The words of his grandfather echoed in his mind: "The Ether flows in our veins. Guard it, or it will consume you."
Jonathan had always known the Jorwick name carried weight, but he had never imagined its true power. Tonight, that would change.
A scream ripped through the alleyway. Jonathan spun, eyes widening. A street performer was being cornered by three masked assailants. Without thinking, he charged forward. His medallion pulsed with light.
From his right arm erupted a spectral figure—a jagged, metallic construct, its limbs moving as though alive. Aetherion, his Ether Mark, had awakened.
"Arise… Aetherion!" he shouted.
Time seemed to slow. The attackers froze mid-strike as Aetherion extended, striking with crushing precision. Within moments, the assailants fled, leaving Jonathan panting in the rain-soaked alley. He looked at his medallion, now glowing faintly, and whispered, "So… this is what it means to be a Jorwick."