The air was silent and still as he glided, yet as he climbed higher, a faint, echoing roar caught his attention, reverberating from somewhere far behind him. The roar was guttural, raw, and impossibly vast. Thorne’s instincts urged him to turn and look, to understand what pursued him, but an invisible force nudged him forward, compelling him onward. Somehow, he knew that the roar behind him was not his destination. There was something… someone… waiting for him, just beyond the horizon.
The aether thrummed through his core, guiding him toward an unknown point that pulsed in his mind, as real as a heartbeat. He could feel his core humming in response, creating a strange, inexplicable bond that filled him with a sense of purpose and certainty. The alien sensation grew stronger, more intense, yet somehow felt familiar, like a half-remembered melody or a voice from a forgotten dream. He was drawn toward it, connected to it, feeling as though he was approaching something vital, something that had always been meant for him.
The feeling swelled, deepening until it seemed to envelop him entirely. Just as he felt the connection solidify, almost within his grasp...
Thorne’s eyes flew open, his heart pounding against his ribs as he found himself staring at the ceiling. The brilliant colors of the sky, the aether wings, the distant roars, it all vanished, replaced by the shadows of his room.
Thorne lay still, blinking at the shadows shifting across his ceiling. Disoriented and confused, he tried to make sense of the sensations flooding his body. Everything ached, but not with the familiar bruises and stings of battle. Instead, it was a hollowness, a strange, deep ache that seemed to come from within, as though some essential part of him had been drained.
And yet… he felt more alive than ever.
The aether wasn’t just around him; it was in him, pulsing gently beneath his skin, cradling him with a soothing promise of power and relief. Every nerve seemed attuned to it, his body attuned to the constant ebb and flow of the energy that surrounded him. His fingers tingled, each one seeming to draw warmth and life from the aether in the air. As he took a steady breath, he felt the aether thread through him, weaving around his bones, his muscles, even his thoughts.
The sensations were exquisite, almost intoxicating. It was as though he had tapped into a hidden well of strength, one that surged through him effortlessly. His exhaustion was profound, yet in each breath, each heartbeat, the aether seemed to soothe and fortify him, lapping at his weariness like a tide against the shore.
He reveled in it for a moment, letting the sensations wash over him, his body a conduit for energy that felt both alien and entirely natural. But then a flicker in his vision caught his attention, a series of notifications flashing insistently at the edge of his sight. He ignored them for the moment, his gaze drifting down to the words that had most recently appeared in his mind’s eye:
Aetherbound
Effect: Your connection to aether reaches a profound level where you are not merely attuned to it but inextricably woven into its fabric. You gain a subtle but constant symbiosis with the aetheric forces around you, experiencing an intuitive awareness and connection to the world’s underlying energy.
Passive Benefits:
Universal Flow: Your body aligns perfectly with the natural flow of ambient aether, granting you passive resilience, heightened intuition, and seamless adaptability to any environment or magical influence. The aether flows through you as though you are part of it, enabling you to perceive shifts in energy, balance, and intent around you without conscious focus.
His Elder Race trait had… evolved. The shock of it sent a shiver through him. He’d known his other special traits could evolve, their descriptions had suggested it. But his Elder Race trait had never hinted at growth, remaining the same no matter what he endured. Yet here it was, transformed into something new, something beyond even his wildest imaginings.
Thorne closed his eyes, feeling the subtle power thrumming within, the aether coiling gently in his chest like a resting dragon. With each breath, he felt a flicker of understanding, a sense of connection to the unseen forces around him. He could feel the aether outside the walls, in the air, in the distant hum of life pulsing through the city. The Universal Flow was more than just passive awareness; it was an instinct, a raw intuition that guided him effortlessly.
He opened his eyes, his body still aching, still hollow, but as he flexed his fingers, he felt the ambient energy gather around them, like moths to a flame, responding to his need without him even trying. For a fleeting moment, Thorne wondered if he’d ever felt so deeply connected to the world around him, the fabric of existence itself.
With a slow smile, he let the sensation linger, his mind turning over the possibilities.
Thorne dismissed the flurry of notifications with a flick of his thoughts, bringing up his character sheet instead. He could barely register the changes at first; the sheer number of shifts, upgrades, and new traits left him momentarily stunned. For a long moment, he simply stared, his breath caught in his throat as his mind processed each line, each revelation.
And the longer he looked, the more profound the changes became.
Name: Thorne
Level: 41 → 42
Race: Human
Age: 19
Special Trait:
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Aetherbound [Elder Race]
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Veilbreaker 1/5
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Lunar Champion 2/5
Health Points: 1000/1000
Aether: 570/570
Stamina: 920/920
Core Attributes
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Strength: 78
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Agility: 96
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Dexterity: 83
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Endurance: 92
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Vitality: 100
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Spirit: 122
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Wisdom: 57
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Intelligence: 52
Combat Skills
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Vengeful Blades (Daggers): 1 → 6
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Lethal Flurry: 15
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Backstab: 13 → 14
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Bloodletting: 6 → 8
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Unarmed Combat: 28
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Combat Reflexes: 44 → 47
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Sword Mastery: 19
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Charging Strike: 3
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Throwing Knives: 21
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Knife Fan: 8
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Crossbows: 10
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Critical Eye: 17 → 19
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Archery: 24
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Piercing Arrow: 5
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Silent Draw: 7
Stealth Skills
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Veil of Light and Shadow (Stealth): 4 → 6
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Shadow Meld: 33
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Sleight of Hand: 23
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Pickpocketing: 20
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Lockpicking: 17
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Stealth Strike: 26 → 27
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Escape Artist: 36
Survival & Miscellaneous Skills
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Tracking: 27
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Foraging: 6
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Acrobatics: 46 → 49
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Burst of Speed (Running): 6 → 10
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Herbalism: 6
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Hunter’s Insight: 12
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Cunning Trapper: 16
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Swimming: 2
Mental & Social Skills
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Acting: 40
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Haggling: 10
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Reading: 15
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Arithmetic: 12
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Mindguard: 18
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Echoes of Truth: 31
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Mask of Deceit: 40
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Deception: 36
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
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Sculpted Persona: 12
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Tactful Deflection: 7
Defensive Skills
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Resilience: 44 → 47
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Aetheric Skin: 21→ 22
Aetheric Abilities
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Primal Aether Manipulation: 27 → 35
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Aether Burst: 14 → 17
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Aether Surge: 13 → 19
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Aetheric Grip: 7 → 9
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Invisible Threads: 9 → 12
Special Abilities
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Veil Sense
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Lunar Regeneration
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Silverlight Strikes
Even the numbers and stats, for all their cold precision, failed to convey the gravity of what he was seeing. It was the extent of his newfound strength, agility, and command over aether that sent a thrill through him. He could feel the power resting under his skin, like a surge waiting to be unleashed.
His Aetheric abilities were the most staggering. He’d expected an increase, but what he saw now went beyond anything he’d imagined. His connection to the aether felt sharper, his sensitivity heightened. Manipulating aether no longer felt like a task of will, it was as if the energy now eagerly answered his call.
A surge of exhilaration bubbled within him.
Without giving it too much thought, Thorne dumped all 15 points into his Spirit stat. The moment he did, it felt like a lock clicked open within him, a sense of relief washing over him so immediate that he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t done this sooner.
Spirit was the key, he realized.
The response was instant, the ambient aether around him stirred and gathered, drawn to his newly expanded core. The hollow ache that had been gnawing at him since he awoke dulled, replaced by a wave of warmth that spread through his body, soaking into every cell. His limbs felt lighter, his breath steadier, and he let out an involuntary sigh of bliss.
From his side, he heard a groan and his gaze snapped toward it. Jory, the young servant who’d seemed glued to his side lately, was slumped awkwardly in a nearby armchair, blinking himself awake. When their eyes met, Jory straightened, blinking rapidly as if trying to shake off sleep.
“Young master!” he exclaimed, relief and excitement coloring his tone. “You’re awake!” He stood up, eyes bright, a broad smile starting to form, and Thorne managed a small, appreciative nod, though even that slight effort felt strangely exhausting.
But something changed in Jory’s expression. As his gaze settled fully on Thorne, the young servant’s face blanched. He froze, taking a stumbling step back, his hands clumsily gripping the back of the armchair as if to steady himself. The panic in his eyes was unmistakable, and before Thorne could even ask what was wrong, Jory backed away further, muttering to himself, “Miss Arletta… I need to… Miss Arletta!” He turned and scrambled out of the room, his footfalls fading quickly down the hallway as he called for Arletta in a frantic tone.
Thorne frowned, bewildered by the servant’s reaction. He could feel a strange hum beneath his skin, the sense of aether like a second pulse thrumming through him, but he didn’t understand why Jory would react like that.
His curiosity tugged him toward the tall mirror by the wall. He shifted himself slowly out of bed, his body reluctant and heavy, the hollowness pulling at him. The aether whispered promises of strength, urging him to reach for it, to channel just a touch to bolster his stamina and speed.
The temptation to activate Aether Surge was strong, he knew it would make him feel powerful again, give him the rush of energy he craved, but he forced the urge down, painfully aware that his body, so depleted from the recent battle, would likely rebel.
Managing to crawl out of bed, Thorne winced as his feet hit the floor and his knees buckled. He had to grip the bedpost to keep from collapsing entirely. Every muscle protested the movement, his entire body thrumming with exhaustion, but even that ache was secondary to the strange shift he could feel inside him. Through the ringing in his ears, he caught Jory’s frantic voice down the hall, still calling out to Arletta. A phrase echoed back to him, one Jory kept repeating as if in shock: “His eyes… his eyes! They’re magic!”
Thorne’s frown deepened, curiosity giving him the push to hobble over to the mirror. When he looked, he froze.
The familiar brown of his irises was gone, replaced by something out of a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. His eyes were pools of pure aether, a swirling blue-white that shifted with every blink, as if a storm had taken residence within them, the colors pulsing as though lit from within. He lifted a trembling hand to his face, half-expecting to feel the energy radiating from his skin, but everything was normal to the touch. Only his eyes revealed what had changed within him.
In a flash of panic, he searched for his mother’s pendant around his neck, fingers clumsily fumbling over its shape. He clutched it as though it could contain the power threatening to spill over, his last shield against prying eyes. Please, don’t let it be broken… But the pendant, cold and solid against his palm, was intact.
He tried to will more aether into the pendant, hoping to dim the otherworldly glow in his gaze, but it was no use, the pendant was filled to capacity, like a jar that couldn’t hold a single drop more. It felt unyielding, overfull. It’s not enough, he realized bitterly. It can’t contain it anymore.
He cursed, a string of bitter words escaping his lips. The pendant wouldn’t help him hide this new evolution.
This was supposed to be his safeguard, the one thing that protected him from prying eyes, from becoming something, someone, who would inevitably draw attention. Damn it, I’m going to have to figure out how to control this, he thought, frustration and desperation intertwining within him. But even through his frustration, he could feel the aether, a soft whisper at the edge of his awareness, like a caress, reminding him of the power now bound to him in ways he could hardly understand. It wanted to help him, to soothe the rawness inside.
The hollow ache he’d felt upon waking was subsiding, slowly replaced by a sense of completeness, like he was being rebuilt from the inside out. He could feel the ambient aether around him, brushing over his skin, pulsing with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat, responding to the surge in his spirit stat. It was as if every breath he took pulled aether into his very being, replenishing the emptiness inside. A soft hum rose within his chest, grounding him, giving him the strength to stand a little straighter.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway, steady and deliberate. Thorne tore his gaze from his reflection and turned toward the door, pulse quickening as he heard Arletta’s sharp voice outside. He didn’t have long to wait, she swept into the room like a storm, her eyes immediately zeroing in on him, appraising and controlled, but with a flicker of something he rarely saw on her face: unease.
“Thorne,” she said, her voice steady but edged with something that almost sounded like surprise. She barely acknowledged his haggard state, her gaze lingering on his eyes, taking in the strange, ethereal glow with a flicker of surprise that she quickly masked.
“Yes, Arletta?” He tried to sound unaffected, as if his entire world hadn’t just been upturned, but his voice was taut. He forced himself to stand a little taller, willing the raw energy coursing through him to steady his frayed nerves.
She observed him in silence for a moment before speaking. “Jory’s babbling had me expecting… something else. But…” Her voice trailed off as she took a step closer, her brow furrowing as she examined his eyes, the swirling currents within them.
Thorne braced himself for a reprimand or even a demand for an explanation. But instead, her expression softened ever so slightly, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “So it’s true, then,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “This is... different.”
He felt the familiar hum of his Acting and Mask of Deceit skills surge to the surface, preparing him to face whatever questions Arletta might have. Feigning casualness, Thorne gave a slight shrug, letting a sly smile touch his lips. “You mean the eyes?” He gestured with a nonchalant wave. “Just a new skill I picked up.”
Arletta arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I assume it happened during your battle during the aether manifestation?”
The mention of the beast made Thorne’s heart skip a beat, though he masked it with a quick smirk. “You’re well-informed,” he replied smoothly, but the question gnawed at him. “How much do you know about that?”
Arletta’s gaze hardened. “Half the city saw it, or at the very least felt it.” She folded her arms, her tone clipped and unamused. “You left quite an impression.”
Thorne’s heart thundered in his chest, but his expression remained cool, his posture relaxed. Half the city? The weight of what she was saying settled heavily over him, a mix of excitement and dread gnawing at his thoughts.
But as the reality sank in, something else tugged at him, something he’d overlooked. Sid. A wave of guilt washed over him, realizing that he’d been so consumed with his own abilities and transformation that he’d almost forgotten the man who’d fought beside him. “What about Sid?” he asked, his voice steady but filled with a growing unease. “Is he…?”
Arletta’s mouth tightened. “Alive. Thanks to the spectacle you put on, the guards came to investigate as soon as the beast fell. They found you both unconscious.” Her tone held a sharp edge. “In a rare stroke of competence, they brought you here, and the poisoner managed to save him. He’s been up and about for days now.”
Her words hung in the air, and Thorne frowned. Days? he thought. “How long have I been out?” he asked, hoping he’d misheard her tone.
“Two weeks, give or take,” she replied with casual indifference, though her gaze studied his reaction carefully.
The words hit him like a blow. “Two weeks?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The power he’d wielded had felt incredible, but now the toll it had taken on him loomed larger than ever.
She studied him carefully, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she tilted her head. “This new skill that has your eyes looking like twin portals of doom, what is it? What does it do?”
Thorne’s eyes remained steady, even as his pulse quickened. “You know it’s rude aking about someone else’s skills...” he replied evenly, flashing a relaxed smile. “Can’t help what you pick up.”
“Indeed,” she replied, her words laced with a hint of irony, as if she were weighing his every sentence. “I’ll admit, though, that's a unique skill if I have ever seen one.”
Careful, he reminded himself, the urge to fidget with his pendant a whisper in the back of his mind. “I’d hope so. You wouldn’t want an underwhelming heir,” he quipped lightly, glancing away as if he’d grown bored of the subject.
Arletta’s mouth twitched, but her tone shifted to a more pressing question. “And Sid? Did he see this new skill of yours?”
Thorne’s smile faltered for a split second, his expression quickly smoothing. “Sid? He only saw enough to get the job done.”
Arletta’s eyes flickered, almost disappointed. “Then perhaps you’d like to explain what exactly that was.”
Thorne felt his heart skip, but he recovered with a short laugh. “I fought. The beast went down. We’re both alive.” He gave her a lazy shrug. “Anything else is just… theatrics.”
Arletta nodded slowly, though her gaze was still heavy on him. “Theatrics. I suppose that’s one way to explain what happened.”
She paused, her eyes scrutinizing him once more before she spoke again, voice laced with something that sounded like warning. “Uncle won’t be satisfied with that answer, you know. Eventually, he’ll want to know what’s hidden under the surface.”
Thorne held her gaze, letting his face harden just enough to hint at frustration. “Then maybe he’ll get the same show everyone else did.”
Arletta looked at him, her eyes sharp, but finally, she nodded as if conceding. "Then we’ll let him see just that.”
Arletta closed the door swiftly, muttering a quick order to the pale Jory outside, before turning back to Thorne. The air shifted around her, her usual unflappable demeanor replaced with something sharper, almost frayed. Her voice was low but intense, clipped with frustration. "A lot has happened while you were asleep," she said, her eyes narrowed. “Half the city is up in arms, one disaster piling on top of the other. And Uncle, he’s not stopping any of it. Instead, he’s making rushed decisions, each one worse than the last, pushing us all closer to the edge.”
Thorne blinked at her, caught off guard by her candor. For a moment, he forgot to summon his mask of indifference, and his surprise flickered across his face. Arletta’s words poured out, fast and uncharacteristically blunt.
“I don’t know what’s happening with you,” she continued, her gaze flicking briefly to his eyes before darting away, “and frankly, I don’t care to find out. Everyone has secrets. But that secret,” she pointed to his eyes, “it can’t be kept, Thorne. You’d better find a better excuse than ‘a new skill I picked up.’ Uncle has been asking about you relentlessly these past few days. He’s growing impatient. And angry. That is not a good recipe for any of us. So take whatever time you need to prepare yourself, but understand this: you’ll have to face him soon.”
With each word, Thorne felt his frustration building, bubbling up inside him like molten iron. He clenched his fists, the resentment, the anger he’d harbored for so long suddenly surging, threatening to spill over. Not toward Arletta, she was just the messenger, but toward the man who had ruled over every facet of his life. The one who had held his fate, his future, in his iron grip since he was a boy.
Uncle.
Once, that thought might have sparked fear. Even as recently as a few days ago, when Sid had told him he couldn’t kill the man, the old familiar dread had stirred within him. Even with all he’d gained, the levels, the skills, the power, he had faltered.
But now… now he was different.
The aether had become something more than a tool, more than energy, it was his ally, his weapon. And Uncle had no shield against it. He could do it. He knew he could. The aether was with him. The aether was his.
"Where is he?" Thorne’s voice emerged in a growl, rough and edged with violence he could barely contain.
Arletta looked up at him sharply, her eyes widening in alarm. She took a step back, her composed mask slipping as something almost like fear flickered across her face.
Thorne barely noticed. He felt the aether vibrating around him, stirring in response to his fury. It pooled and swirled, coiling into his limbs, wrapping around him like a shroud. He could feel it, thick and electric, radiating out from his core until the air itself felt charged with energy.
“Thorne,” Arletta whispered, her voice trembling. “Your eyes… they’re glowing.”
Only then did he see the pale blue-white light flooding her face, casting shadows against the walls, illuminating the room. He looked down and realized his hands were pulsing with aether, half-formed shapes swirling and solidifying within his grasp, casting a searing glow across the room.
"Where is he?" Thorne demanded again, louder, his voice vibrating with the raw energy that filled him.
Arletta pressed herself back against the wall, trying to put as much distance between herself and him as possible, her eyes wide with terror. “Thorne, stop it! Don’t be reckless. Don’t, don’t be stupid!” she cried, her voice breaking under the weight of her fear. “Stop it!”
But he didn’t hear her. All he could feel was power, pure and boundless. His hands reached out instinctively, the air around him rippling with light and heat, aether swirling so thick it was almost visible, filling the room with an intense, otherworldly glow. He could feel the rage pounding in his veins, feel the power crackling, ready to be unleashed, ready to destroy...
Then, abruptly, his leg buckled.
Thorne stumbled, a jolt of weakness piercing through his fury. He tried to reach for the bedpost, for something to keep himself upright, but his arm wouldn’t respond. His limbs felt like lead, his strength draining in an instant.
He staggered, his vision dimming. For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of Arletta’s face, her expression a mixture of fear and pity. The light in his hands flickered, then vanished entirely.
“I… don’t feel… very good…” he managed to mumble, his voice weak.
The room spun, the walls blurring as he felt his body collapse, the last remnants of aether slipping away. The glow faded from his eyes as darkness closed in, swallowing him whole.
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