Weak.

16 Years Later.

Eldoria Academy.

Explosions echoed through the air, the clash of weapons resounding in the chaos of battle. Amidst the chaos stood a lady.

Her form delicate and frail, her features glowing with a warmth that seemed to defy the violence surrounding her.

Her gaze was locked on him, a soft smile on her lips, but the moment was shattered as a sword pierced through her chest.

"Noooo! Haaa... Haaa..." A frail-looking boy cried out, his hand stretching towards her, but grasping nothing but empty air.

His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping down his pale face. The pain in his chest was overwhelming, as it tightened.

"Not again," he muttered under his breath, ruffling his hair with trembling hands. The pain in his chest slowly began to dull, but the weight of the vision remained.

Dreams like this had become a recurring nightmare for him, a relentless cycle that he could not escape since he began to perceive things.

In recent years, these strange dreams had only intensified. Sometimes the scenes would shift, placing him in strange different place altogether.

Towering skyscrapers replaced the battlegrounds, different flying ships roamed the sky, the air filled with the hum of carriages on unfamiliar roads, as if the whole world was different.

Each dream was like a puzzle piece, and he couldn't help but wonder if they were somehow connected—if they were fragments of a life he had lived before, or perhaps echoes of a future that was yet to come. Whatever the case, they haunted him, each one more vivid and painful than last.

With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, the images of the dream slowly fading as he came back to reality. But the lingering ache in his chest remained, an ever-present reminder of the mystery that surrounded him.

As he looked at the time, it was still early morning. Deciding he needed some fresh air to clear his mind, he made his way towards the bathroom to change into something more comfortable than these sticky clothes.

Click.

The door opened with a subtle sound, and he stepped inside, the coolness of the bathroom greeting him. He walked over to the basin, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror as he splashed cold water on his face.

The chill of the water helped shake off the remnants of the dream that still lingered in his mind.

As the droplets of water ran down his face, he took a deep breath, letting the coolness calm the turmoil inside him.

The pain in his chest still lingered, but he was beginning to understand that it was more than just a nightmare. It felt like a memory, a piece of something deeper, something connected to his very soul.

He stared at his reflection, the familiar white hair falling softly around his face, his grey eyes seeming to hold an infinite depth of emotion. His skin was pale, but it only added to his ethereal, almost otherworldly beauty.

A beauty that had become both a blessing and a curse. The same handsome face that had attracted envious gazes and fueled the relentless bullying he'd suffered throughout his life.

He could still hear the taunts echoing in his mind, the whispers of how his appearance made him "unnatural," how it made him stand out in a world where blending in was a form of survival.

Yet, despite all the cruelty, he had grown used to the pain. He had learned to endure to push through it, though it never quite stopped stinging.

With a deep sigh, he wiped his face dry, his eyes lingering on the mirror one last time. It was as if the person looking back at him was someone he knew, yet someone he couldn't fully comprehend.

He wasn't sure where the dreams came from, or why they felt so real. But they were a constant reminder that there was more to his existence than what he had been led to believe.

The morning sun bathed the world in golden light, casting a warm glow over everything it touched. Azhrael stepped outside, the cool air brushing against his face, and took a deep breath.

His body, though still weak, responded to the invigorating atmosphere, and he immediately began to run. The rhythm of his feet hitting the ground was steady, but with every passing moment, he felt a growing sense of frustration.

"Haa, haa... even without mana, why is my body so weak?" he muttered under his breath, his chest heaving with exertion.

Despite his years of training and the unnatural strength he had felt in certain moments, his stamina was anything but exceptional in a negative way of course.

After only ten minutes of simple running, his body felt like it was on the brink of collapse. It was failing him in the simplest of tasks.

He came to a halt, hands resting on his knees as he gasped for breath. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you? You should be able to do more than this," he motivated himself.

With one last deep breath, he took off again, determined to push past his limits, though the doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

After 30 minutes.

Azhrael lay on the grass, panting heavily, his chest heaving with each shallow breath. The pain in his limbs was unbearable, but his will to push forward kept him from giving in completely. He cursed under his breath, frustration lacing his every word.

"Ah, fuck," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Perhaps I should ask Old Man something about this... With his knowledge, maybe he could tell me what's wrong with me." His mind raced, wondering what kind of answers he will get but something inside told him that even that wouldn't be enough.

What he didn't know, however, was that the very "Old Man" he was thinking about was watching him from a great distance, his piercing gaze fixed upon him from the highest point of the central tower.

Elaric stood silently at the top, his eyes filled with an unusual trace of pity. He could see the boy's unwavering determination, the way he pushed through his limits without hesitation.

However Elaric also knew the painful truth — there was only so much even a person as stubborn as Azhrael could do when bound by such powerful restrictions.

Elaric's thoughts drifted as he observed the boy from afar. "What kind of sealing magic did Cassandra use?" he wondered. He had seen many forms of magic in his long life, but nothing like this.

The seals on Azhrael were unlike anything he had ever encountered, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't understand them. That was a rarity, and it both troubled and intrigued him.

He also couldn't help but marvel at the boy's strength. "What kind of monstrous body does he have?" Elaric mused quietly.

He had witnessed Azhrael break through his seals slightly multiple times before, but even with that extraordinary resilience, the boy had no idea how much more he could achieve once those seals were finally lifted.

Elaric's gaze lingered on Azhrael for a moment longer. "Perhaps soon enough, you'll understand," he whispered.

After all the sixteen years were coming to an end.