The grand gates of House Namaroth stood towering before Thrain and Stef, wrought with intricate carvings of their clan's emblem—a twin-headed dragon, its tails coiling into an ouroboros, symbolizing unbroken strength and legacy. As the gates groaned open, the city beyond unfolded before them, vast and alive with energy, a world Thrain had barely known in his past life beyond the suffocating walls of duty and betrayal.
For the first time in years, he stepped into Eldoria, the heart of the empire, where the seat of power lay, and the destiny of all noble houses was written in both ink and blood. It was a world governed by strength—both political and magical. Mana was the lifeblood of society, and its wielders dictated the course of history. The hierarchy was strict, divided into five tiers of mastery:
Novice (Stage 1-3) – The beginning phase, where users could barely sense mana.
Adept (Stage 4-6) – The first step into actual spellcasting and elemental control.
Master (Stage 7-9) – Capable of bending reality, these mages were rare and revered.
Grandmaster (Stage 10-12) – The pinnacle of mortal magic, their strength rivaled armies.
Archmage (Stage 13+) – Legends spoken in whispers, wielding power that could change the world.
But mana was not the only force in Eldoria. The lands were plagued with magical beasts, some as old as time itself, roaming both charted and uncharted lands. The Western lands, where Thrain now intended to travel, were once teeming with unspeakable horrors—monsters that had stirred the Great War itself. And it was there that the truth lay hidden, buried beneath the blood of thousands.
The House of Namaroth
Their house was one of the six Great Clans, descendants of Eldoria's first rulers. Yet, unlike the royal family, House Namaroth's true power lay in its influence over the throne. Every king had always chosen an heir of Namaroth to serve as their right hand, a role more powerful than the crown itself in many ways. The competition within the house was relentless, brutal, and soaked in the ambitions of countless heirs vying for that position. To rule, one had to outlast, outfight, and outthink the others.
Stef understood this. So did Thrain.
But this time, Thrain carried knowledge no one else did—the knowledge of who had conspired against the throne in his past life, the whispers of betrayal that had been ignored. He had witnessed the fall of House Namaroth firsthand. This time, he would not let history repeat itself.
As they passed through the bustling streets, Thrain observed the city's stark divide. The inner sanctum held the noble estates, luxurious palaces, and academies where young aristocrats honed their magic. Beyond them, the merchant districts thrived with trade, their shops filled with enchanted artifacts, potions, and relics looted from the lands beyond. But further still, at the edge of the city, was the common district, where laborers and mercenaries gathered, where the law was a mere suggestion, and where information could be bought—if one knew where to look.
It was there that Thrain intended to begin.
He turned to Stef, his voice calm but firm. "We head west."
His brother frowned. "Why the west? Those lands are dangerous. Even scouts don't return from there."
Because that's where it all began… the war, the betrayals, the fall of our house. But Thrain couldn't say that. Not yet.
Instead, he smirked. "That's exactly why we need to go."
Stef let out a sigh and shook his head. "Then our paths diverge here." His expression was unreadable, though Thrain caught the slight tension in his brother's jaw. "I will head east. There is much to uncover there as well."
For a moment, silence hung between them, two brothers standing on the precipice of destiny, knowing that from here, their paths would only grow further apart. Thrain gave a nod, respect and understanding passing between them without words.
And so, with the weight of history pressing upon his shoulders, Thrain took his first step westward, while Stef ventured toward the unknown east.