Chapter 2: Forgotten Son of the Valen House
Rain fell softly upon the city of Celaris, the capital of the Kingdom of Allitia, nestled deep within Earth's only surviving continent. Long after the technological collapse and the Event that brought Earth into the Supreme Universe, the world had found a strange sense of balance. Gone were the mega cities and machines. Now, ancient forests crept into old ruins, and people relied on the mystic power of Mana to survive.
It was within this world—part ancient, part reborn—that the House of Valen stood. A minor noble family in a minor human kingdom, on a weak, mana-starved world. Though they bore the name of nobility, their power was fading, and their influence was kept alive only through alliances and old bloodlines.
Eighteen years ago, Lord Arion Valen, Viscount of the Eastern Borderlands, had made a decision born from desperation.
He adopted a one-year-old child found near the remains of an ancient bunker, buried in ash and cloaked in mystery.
The child had no name, no documents, and no energy signature. But he was alive—barely. And Arion, a man without heirs and under pressure from his aging lineage to continue the bloodline, saw the infant as a gift from the heavens.
So he named the boy Ethan Valen, giving him his house name and a place among nobility.
For a time, life was warm.
Arion's wife, Lady Elira, doted on the child. The servants whispered that perhaps the gods had indeed blessed the family. The infant grew quickly, unusually strong and curious. Even without signs of Mana circulation, he showed remarkable intelligence—walking early, speaking in full sentences before most children learned to stand.
But a year after Ethan's arrival, Lady Elira gave birth to twins: a boy named Darius and a girl named Seris.
Celebration filled the estate.
And with it, Ethan's place in the family began to fade.
Two years later, Lord Arion took a second wife—a political marriage that brought him land and soldiers. The new Lady, Maerin, bore him another set of twins: Kael and Kyria, another boy and girl.
Now the family was full—two mothers, five children, and only one heir born without the Valen blood.
Ethan became the shadow of the household.
Though he shared the Valen name, he was not of the bloodline. Though he was the eldest, he held no seniority. And though his mind remained sharp and curious, he possessed no Mana—his body refused to absorb even the smallest thread of it.
In a world where strength determined status, Ethan was the weakest of them all.
---
The Valen Estate was large, if modest compared to other noble houses. Surrounded by a thick forest, it held training yards, small gardens, and a private library—a relic from when humans still hoarded knowledge instead of spiritual insight.
Within those halls, Ethan now walked alone.
Nineteen years of age, tall but lean, with sharp features and dark, unruly hair that often veiled eyes too intense for someone supposedly powerless. His gaze was cold, but not cruel. Detached, but not empty.
He had learned early not to show emotion.
When he had cried at being ignored, no one came. When he had excelled in studies, no one praised him. When he had bled in training, the healers always prioritized the bloodline heirs.
He wasn't hated. That would have required effort.
He was simply… forgotten.
"Ethan!"
He turned at the sharp voice. Seris stood with a hand on her hip, her twin brother Darius beside her, both dressed in battle gear lined with silver thread—the mark of Mana Condensation, level four. Middle stage.
They had begun cultivating three years ago. It had taken Ethan years of silent observation to understand just how fast their growth was. On Earth, reaching level four of Mana Condensation at age eighteen was rare. For both twins to do it spoke of excellent aptitude—and abundant resources.
"I asked if you were going to train or mope around like usual," Seris said, tossing a wooden staff at his feet. Her long hair was braided tight behind her, and her expression bore the smugness of someone used to winning.
"I don't mope," Ethan replied flatly, not bothering to pick up the staff.
Darius chuckled. "It's fine, Seris. He knows better than to fight us."
They turned away, laughing as they walked to the training yard. Ethan watched them leave without a word, then glanced down at the staff.
His fingers flexed unconsciously.
There was a time he would have picked it up. Not to fight back—he had tried that, once—but to prove something. To remind them that he existed.
But that was before the stirrings began.
For months now, something inside him had pulsed.
He didn't know what it was—only that it had started the moment he turned nineteen.
---
The world outside the estate was even less kind.
Earth was a mere ember in the cosmic flame of the Supreme Universe. A lowly planet governed by a Stellar-ranked planet named Emerald—home to the Elves. Not the whimsical kind from old tales, but tall, ethereal beings whose beauty hid terrifying power.
The Elves of Emerald were the ruling class, with nearly a hundred subordinate planets under their control. Earth was barely a footnote among them.
And yet, their visits were rare.
Mana had returned to Earth almost a century ago after the Aether reshaped its foundation during the Event. But unlike other worlds, Earth had not flourished. The Aether had pooled in only one place—and vanished shortly after. Most believed it had dissipated. Some whispered that Earth was cursed.
The Elves had once come to inspect it themselves. But they left soon after, unimpressed.
Since then, Earth had stagnated. No one had ever reached the Origin Realm. The strongest humans were in the Heavenly Realm, and even then, the highest level ever achieved was six.
Ethan knew all this not from the nobles, who preferred banquets and boasting, but from books. He spent hours in the old Valen library—studying cultivation theory, dissecting historical records, and analyzing ancient schematics from before the collapse.
But no matter what he read, nothing explained the thing growing inside him.
---
It happened during a morning walk.
Ethan had long learned to avoid family gatherings. Instead, he wandered the nearby woods—not too far, or the guards would drag him back.
But this time, something was different.
The Mana in the air... responded to him.
For the first time in nineteen years, Ethan could feel it. Not like others did—not like a warm current, but like prey sensing the gaze of a predator.
It recoiled.
The energy in his body—whatever it was—had awakened. Slowly, like a sleeping giant stretching its limbs.
And with it came change.
He no longer tired as quickly. His thoughts became clearer. His skin grew tougher, and his senses sharper.
But even more startling—he could now see Mana.
Not just the ambient mist in the air, but its flow through others. The way it entered Darius's strikes. The patterns in Seris's spells.
And he understood it all.
Not in theory—in instinct.
It was like reading a forgotten language that had always been in his mind.
But he said nothing.
He trained in secret. Practiced his breathing. Visualized the pathways. Let his body memorize what others forced through with trial and error.
He felt no need to rush. The energy in him was not Mana. Nor was it Magical or Divine. He had read of those. Even Aether, described in fragmented records as the breath of creation itself.
His energy was none of them.
It didn't exist outside his body. It couldn't. It was something entirely internal—woven into his cells, born of some impossible fusion that defied categorization.
And it dominated.
Whenever he came near the training grounds, weaker cultivators felt uneasy.
Servants would grow ill-tempered around him. Animals avoided him.
He was an anomaly.
A void wearing skin.
---
That night, a storm struck the estate.
Ethan stood on the rooftop, arms crossed as lightning cracked through the sky. Rain soaked his clothes, but he didn't shiver.
For the first time, he felt… alive.
Not because he was happy.
But because the world could no longer ignore him.
The energy in him—once dormant—had begun to hunger. It craved challenge. Growth. Battle.
He didn't know what realm he was in. He hadn't even begun true cultivation.
But he knew one thing.
This world had no place for him.
So he would carve one.
With fire, with silence, or with blood.
Whatever it took.
And far above, on the Stellar Planet of Emerald, an Elf Seer opened her eyes from a vision.
She trembled.
"A shadow stirs on the forgotten world," she whispered. "Born of nothing… and beyond everything."
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