Casted To Die... Returned With Power To Change Fate.

ELEMENTAL POWER FACTIONS 1. Pyrosent: - Control and manifest flame - Religious zealots from the "Ember Reaches'' 2. Mireborn: - Control tides, mist, and liquid states - Come from the "Tide Sanctum", a floating archipelago 3. Stonekin: - Reshape rock, soil, metal—weaponize terrain - Reside in the "Stone Coil'' 4. Hollowforged: - Manipulate skeletal structures (theirs and others) - Found in the ''Hollow Vein'' 5. Zephyrites(Air/Pressure): - Control wind, pressure, and sound - Rule from the "Breath Court" 6. Virelords: - Influence blood flow, health, and body rhythm - Hidden among the "Redflow Clade" 7. Pulsebinders(Emotion/Will): - Break will, twist emotion, extract truth - Serve the ''Iron Wound'', a secretive order 8. Shiftborne: - Alter appearance, bone, and identity - Nomadic and feared; no fixed nation. STORY They say the wind in the Eastern Hills is not real wind. They say it’s the breath of the condemned—watching, waiting. I, Shanka Veylor had never known my true name until the day the wind called me. i’d lived most of my25 years as a nobody. Raised in the ash-mines of Drelk, barely clothed, less than fed, orphaned with no real origin. No birth papers. No surname. Just “Shanka.” A broken sound with no meaning. But the wind had spoken it three nights ago. And since then, everything had begun to unravel. standing now on a jagged cliff, boots worn to the thread, hands trembling not from cold but from something else—something under my skin, whispering of power. Of change. Of danger. Of choices. “Shanka Veylor.” I flinched again at the name. It wasn’t mine, Couldn’t be. Yet when that cursed wind whispered it, i felt something... click inside. “Can’t sleep again?” croaked Old Morren behind me, leaning heavily on his twisted staff. “That’s three nights in a row, boy. You planning to let the mountain eat you or what?” i didn’t turn. “The wind. It said my name again.” Morren coughed. “It tends to do that when it’s right.” i finally faced him. “I’ve never told you my surname.” “You never did. But I never asked either.” “Why now? Why is it happening now?” Morren's eyes, clouded but sharp, locked on his. “Because your time’s up. You were hidden too long. The world’s moving again, and it hasn’t forgotten what you were meant to be.” I could feel my jaw clenched. “A weapon. That’s what they say.” Morren said nothing. But in my heart, the words twisted like a blade. "Then why do I feel like I could be more than that?"he thought. "Why do I feel like I could change everything… or ruin it all?" " The air trembled... There was a shift behind the sky... Then the first attack came". They called themselves the Red Singers—flame-wielding assassins from the Ember Reaches. Not soldiers. Not scouts. But sacred executioners, sent when fire needed to erasee. There were five of them. Clad in layered crimson silk that burned without burning, eyes like embers, voices like smoke very dark. The leader stepped forward. She was tall, elegant, and cruelly calm. “Shanka Veylor,” she purred, “by decree of the Flame Concordant, your existence is declared an abomination. You are to be cleansed.” Old Morren raised his staff. “He’s not ready yet. He’s not even awakened” “He’s too ready,” the woman said. “That’s the problem.” She moved. Fire leapt from her hand - scorching the rock- ripping toward me like a serpent. I didn'tthink. I didn’t know what I was doing. But my body moved before my mind could catch up-the world slowed-the flames twisted mid-air. And in a heartbeat, they stopped—frozen in place, hovering like a painting made of fire. I blinked. Time had stilled. Or maybe…i had stepped out of it. “What—” i gasped, and as soon as i spoke, the moment shattered, time snapped back. The fire slammed into the cliff—but missed me entirely. Hit stone. Shattered it. The Red Singers stared. So did Morren. “You’re beginning,” Morren whispered. “By the ash... it’s started.” “I don’t understand,” i said. “You will.” The fight was brutal,i moved instinctively, dodging blasts, ducking behind fallen stone, barely alive. Morren held them back where he could—his staff glowing with pale green sigils of forgotten magic. But it wasn’t enough. One of the Red Singers reached him, blade of flame arcing downward, I had to do something so I just raised my hand—not to block, but to beg. “Don’t,” i whispered. The assassin’s fireblade "shattered" mid-air. Pieces of molten steel clattered to the ground. She screamed. He’d unraveled it. Not broken it. Unmade it. “What are you?” she hissed, backing away. “I don’t know,” I breathed. “But I’m not what you say I am.” She tried to run. The mountain cracked beneath her feet and swallowed her whole. I didn’t touch her. i only thought it. Hours passed. Morren was quiet, we had to buried the bodies at the edge of the cliff. “What the hell was that?” I finally asked Morren. “Power,” Morren said. “But not just magic. Something older. Something outlawed by nature itself.” “You said I wasn’t ready.” I fired back at him. “You’re still not.” he replied looking down, I became very confused and tied of what I just saw myself did so I sat in the dirt, shaking. “Then why now? Morren sighed. “Because the other nations feel you waking up. And they’ll come. One by one.” “And what happens when they all do?” “You either survive long enough to decide who you are...” Morren paused, “...or you become what they fear most.” Far away, in a silk-covered chamber of ironwood and candlelight, a young woman knelt before a pool of water. Her eyes flickered—bright silver, almost feral. “His powers are awakening,” she whispered. Behind her, a cloaked figure growled. “Then it’s time. “Not yet,” she said. “Why?” “Because I need to get close first.” “And when you do?” She hesitated. Then she whispered: “I’ll kill him.” But her hand trembled. "Thoughts (Shanka, as he stared into the fire):" "They tried to kill me today. Not because of what I did—but because of what I might become?" "I don't want to be a weapon. I don’t want to be a god either." "But if I don’t use this power... who will protect the ones they’ll burn next?" As I decided to laid down to sleep, bloodied and exhausted, the wind whispered again,but this time it said something different, Not my name "a warning". “He walks toward you now. The one who bears your face… but not your heart.” suddenly my eyes snapped open. “Rael,” he whispered. your twin.