Arcos slowly lifted his head, his eyes wandering across the cold stone cell that had become his prison. Every corner seemed unfamiliar, every shadow strange. His heart pounded against his ribs as countless emotions battled within him—fear, confusion, worry, and an overwhelming sense of being utterly lost.
Nothing made sense.
The last thing he remembered was the tournament.
The fight.
Phoenix.
The blazing fireballs hurtling toward him.
The unbearable explosion.
Then darkness.
And now... this.
His gaze drifted toward a shattered piece of glass lying against the wall. The reflection staring back at him made his blood run cold.
The face wasn't his.
At least, it wasn't the face he remembered.
The boy who had entered the tournament had been only ten years old, nearly eleven. The face reflected in the broken glass belonged to a grown man. Older. Sharper. Worn by years he couldn't remember living.
Every time he looked at it, a fresh wave of terror washed over him.
Who is that...?
What happened to me?
How long have I been asleep?
The questions swirled endlessly through his mind, each one more frightening than the last.
One of the guards suddenly stepped forward.
The massive man crouched down until his face was only inches from Arcos's. The stench of rotten breath hit him immediately.
"Our boss will be here shortly," the guard said, grinning so widely it made Arcos's skin crawl. Saliva sprayed from his mouth with every word, splattering across Arcos's bruised face. "So don't try resisting like last time."
The guard chuckled before straightening up.
He glanced toward the other guard standing nearby.
"But until then..." he continued, his grin widening further, "...we can enjoy ourselves for a little while."
The second guard laughed.
Arcos immediately felt dread settle into his stomach.
The larger guard began walking toward him.
Arcos instinctively shrank backward, his chains rattling softly.
"I—"
His words never finished.
A brutal right hook crashed into his face.
Pain exploded through his skull.
His head snapped sideways as blood sprayed across the floor.
"We didn't give you permission to speak, worm," the guard snarled.
Before Arcos could recover, a fist slammed into his stomach.
The air vanished from his lungs.
He folded forward, gasping desperately.
Then another punch struck him directly across the nose.
Something cracked.
Agony shot through his face.
The world became a blur.
For the next five minutes, there was no conversation.
No mercy.
No escape.
Only pain.
Fists rained down upon him relentlessly.
His body was tossed across the floor like a broken doll.
Every blow sent fresh waves of suffering through him.
His ribs screamed.
His vision blurred.
Blood dripped from countless wounds.
Eventually, he could no longer tell where one punch ended and another began.
All he could do was endure.
Then—
"Stop."
The single word echoed through the chamber.
Instantly, everything changed.
The atmosphere itself seemed to shift.
The guards froze.
Their cruel smiles vanished.
Both men straightened immediately, standing rigidly at attention.
Fear replaced amusement in their eyes.
A figure entered the cell.
His footsteps were slow and deliberate.
Confident.
Commanding.
Arcos forced his swollen eyes upward.
The man was unlike anyone he had ever seen.
His clothing was exquisite, woven from fabrics far beyond anything common people could afford. Gold embroidery traced elegant patterns across his garments, shining even within the dim light of the prison.
His golden hair flowed neatly down his shoulders.
His face looked almost unnaturally perfect.
Every movement radiated grace.
Yet beneath that elegance lurked something far more terrifying.
Power.
The kind of power that didn't need to be displayed.
The kind that simply existed.
The man stopped beside Arcos.
"I see he's finally awake," he said calmly.
His voice was smooth and pleasant.
Which somehow made it even worse.
"I suppose last week's treatment was a little too much for him."
Arcos's heart skipped a beat.
Last week?
His eyes widened.
A week...?
I've been unconscious for a week?
The realization sent fresh panic surging through him.
The nobleman slowly crouched down.
Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of Arcos's long hair.
Arcos cried out as he was violently pulled upward.
Their eyes met.
One pair filled with fear.
The other filled with fascination.
"Do you remember who I am?" the man asked.
Arcos hesitated before slowly shaking his head.
He didn't know this man.
He had never seen him before.
The nobleman stared at him for a moment.
Then he began laughing.
Not loudly.
Not wildly.
But there was something deeply wrong about it.
Something unsettling.
The laughter sent chills down Arcos's spine.
Finally, the man released his hair.
Arcos collapsed back onto the floor.
The nobleman bent down again.
This time he raised his right arm.
Brilliant armour covered it, gleaming even in the darkness.
Intricate runes glowed faintly across its surface.
It looked ancient.
Powerful.
Dangerous.
The man gently placed his armoured hand against Arcos's bruised face.
The gesture should have felt comforting.
Instead, it made Arcos's stomach twist with fear.
The man's eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"You truly are fascinating."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"The power you wield is beyond what any mortal should possess."
Arcos trembled.
The man's fingers slowly traced across his cheek.
"Aetherium."
The word hung heavily in the air.
"Even the smallest amount kills most people instantly."
His smile widened.
"But the amount inside you..."
His eyes lit up with obsession.
"...should have killed you before you were even born."
Arcos could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
The nobleman's gaze seemed less human now.
Like a scholar staring at a rare specimen.
Or a predator admiring its prey.
"It's almost as if..." the man murmured softly.
"...you weren't born with Aetherium."
His smile became unnervingly wide.
"It's almost as if you were created from it."
Silence filled the cell.
Arcos felt every ounce of warmth leave his body.
For the first time since waking up, he forgot about the pain.
Forgot about the guards.
Forgot about the blood.
There was only fear.
The man's smile deepened as he slowly rose to his feet, the corners of his lips twisting into something far more sinister than simple satisfaction.
"Now..." he said softly, extending one hand toward Arcos. "Shall we continue where we left off?"
His outstretched arm hovered mere inches from Arcos's face.
Confusion flickered through Arcos's exhausted mind.
What is he doing...?
Then agony consumed him.
It came without warning.
A searing pain erupted through every nerve in his body, far beyond the suffering he had endured before. It was not the pain of broken bones or torn flesh.
It was deeper.
Far deeper.
Arcos felt as though invisible hands had reached into the core of his being, grasping both body and soul, and were ruthlessly tearing them apart.
His scream shattered the silence of the cellar.
It echoed through the stone corridors.
It climbed the castle walls.
It spread throughout the city itself.
People stopped in the streets.
Guards shifted uneasily at their posts.
Even those who could not understand the source of the cry felt a chill creep down their spines.
Arcos begged for it to end.
He clawed helplessly at the cellar floor until his fingernails cracked and bled.
Tears streamed down his face as his throat grew raw from screaming.
But the man simply watched.
Smiling.
His expression never faltered.
One hour passed.
An endless hour of torment.
By the time the pain subsided, Arcos collapsed onto the cold stone floor, trembling violently. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. His voice had long since given out.
The man lowered his arm.
"Finally," he murmured with a satisfied sigh.
He turned toward the two guards waiting near the cellar entrance.
Both men stood rigidly at attention.
One hesitated before speaking.
"Did... did you complete the mission, Your Majesty?"
The king remained silent.
Then they saw it.
A strange glow began to emanate from his body.
Golden streams of energy danced across his skin.
The air itself trembled beneath its presence.
The guards' eyes widened in horror.
They had seen that energy before.
It was the same overwhelming force that had consumed Arcos whenever Aetherium had surged beyond his control.
The king slowly raised his hands, staring at them in awe.
The radiant power swirled around his fingers like obedient serpents.
A low chuckle escaped his lips.
Then another.
The laughter grew louder.
Darker.
Madness bled into every sound.
"Yes..." he whispered.
His grin widened impossibly.
"YES!"
The entire cellar shook as the power responded to his emotions.
"Finally..." he declared, his voice echoing against the stone walls.
"The power of Aetherium is mine to command!"
He laughed once more before striding toward the cellar exit.
Yet just before disappearing into the darkness, he paused.
Without even looking back properly, he cast a glance over his shoulder toward Arcos's broken form lying in a pool of blood.
"Dispose of him."
His voice held no anger.
No hatred.
Only cold indifference.
Then he vanished into the shadows.
Silence followed.
Inside Arcos's mind, chaos raged.
Aetherium had become a storm beyond control.
Normally, such overwhelming energy would have erupted violently, destroying everything around it.
But now...
Something different happened.
The world around Arcos dissolved.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Then—
Light.
He found himself standing once more beneath an overcast sky.
His younger self stumbled through muddy snowy forest ground as armoured men pursued him relentlessly.
Fear.
Desperation.
Confusion.
The memory played before him.
Then another.
And another.
Moments from his life unfolded around him like pages in a forgotten book.
The laughter he had shared with others.
The pain of loss.
The countless struggles that had shaped who he had become.
Aetherium was forcing him to remember.
To hold onto himself.
To remember why he had fought so hard to survive.
Then came another memory.
John.
The training grounds appeared around them.
Everything proceeded exactly as Arcos remembered.
John corrected his stance.
Explained the nature of Aetherium.
Forced Arcos back onto his feet every time exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.
Then suddenly...
Everything stopped.
John froze mid-sentence.
Silence filled the memory.
Slowly, he turned to face Arcos.
Something was different.
His expression lacked its usual carefree confidence.
There was urgency in his eyes.
Fear.
He stepped closer.
Then lowered himself onto one knee until they stood eye-to-eye.
"Time is running out," John said quietly.
Arcos stared at him.
Those weren't the words he remembered.
John's gaze softened.
"You must wake up, Arcos."
His voice carried a weight Arcos had never heard before.
"There is much left for you to do."
He hesitated briefly before placing a hand against Arcos's chest.
Warmth spread outward from the contact.
"I will lend you a small fraction of my power."
The world shattered.
Back in reality, the two guards cautiously approached Arcos's lifeless body.
"Poor bastard," one muttered.
"Let's just get this over with," the other replied.
They took another step forward.
Then—
BOOM!
The explosion consumed the cellar.
Stone walls ruptured.
The ground split apart.
A tidal wave of black and gold energy erupted outward with devastating force.
The guards didn't even have time to scream.
Dust and smoke filled the chamber.
Minutes passed.
Eventually...
A hand emerged from the rubble.
Arcos slowly pushed himself upright.
His body trembled violently.
Pain still coursed through him.
But something had changed.
The cellar around him no longer resembled the one he remembered.
Every surface had been scorched black.
Cracks spread across the walls.
Dark flames danced through the air, burning without consuming.
The atmosphere itself felt distorted.
Arcos looked down at his trembling hands.
"What..."
His voice cracked.
"...what happened?"
Memories flooded back.
The king.
The pain.
John.
The power.
A sharp ache pierced his chest.
Arcos clenched his shirt tightly over his heart.
Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them.
He had been helpless.
Again.
People had suffered because he was too weak.
His hands shook harder.
"No..." he whispered.
His breathing became uneven.
"I can't..."
The dark flames around him flickered violently in response to his emotions.
Arcos squeezed his eyes shut.
He remembered John's face.
The urgency in his voice.
You must wake up.
He slowly rose to his feet.
His legs threatened to give out beneath him.
Every muscle screamed in protest.
But he remained standing.
Aetherium surged around him.
Wild.
Unstable.
Yet no longer completely beyond his grasp.
Arcos wiped the tears from his face with bloodstained fingers.
Fear still lingered within him.
So did grief.
But beneath them...
Something stronger began to emerge.
Resolve.
He lifted his head and stared toward the ruined cellar entrance.
"They took everything from me," he said, his voice trembling before growing steadier.
His fists clenched at his sides.
"But I'm still here."