Anvata

In a future beyond futures—where countless worlds orbit the ruins of old creation—legends speak of a war so vast, it left scars on time itself.

They call it the Era of the Above Alls: beings born from the Source of All Things, who ruled reality and reshaped existence in a clash of unimaginable power. That war ended in silence. But the silence never lasted.

Now, in the endless sprawl of a reborn cosmos, a boy with no name awakens.

He bears no lineage, no past, no purpose—yet the world around him shifts when he dreams.

In the highest realm of celestial kingdoms, tales of the ancient clash are told as myth. But something is stirring. Old laws are fracturing. Forgotten powers are whispering. And in the shadows of gods, watchers, and sovereigns, an unknown presence begins to rise.

Some call him a mistake.
Others, a prophecy.
None understand what he truly is.

But all will remember the name that has not yet been written...

The unwritten one

"A storm that forms without sound will not be noticed until it stands above all."

In the northern dome of the academy, beneath a ceiling carved like constellations, students gathered for the Quarter-Circle Duel Trials—a light tournament for lower-ranked initiates. Just a formality, they said. A test of learning. Nothing more.

Yet, it was here that things would shift.

Nocth stood near the back of the gathering, behind more than fifty students dressed in gleaming robes, all of whom had awakened far more veins than him. Some laughed. Others ignored him. A few—who'd seen the "crest burning"—glanced over with discomfort.

One of the tournament hosts, a second-year noble named Calzed Nyhm, stepped forward. His voice carried in the hall.

"Each fight is single-round. You may forfeit if you sense danger. All matches are monitored. No deaths."

"Beginner-class initiates… step forward."

His opponent: Fenril Oth, a tall boy with 189 awakened veins, Class 4 affinity, known for his Wind Fang technique.

"Try not to blink," Fenril said. "I'll make it painless."

At the signal, wind bloomed like blades. Fenril vanished, appearing above Nocth with speed.

But before he could descend, his eyes widened.

The space between him and Nocth seemed longer than it should've been.

Nocth hadn't moved. But his position in space had somehow... shifted. A ripple. A warping.

Fenril adjusted mid-air and struck. His Wind Fang technique arced forward—

—and shattered before reaching Nocth.

Gasps echoed. One instructor leaned forward.

The technique had collapsed in midflight, as though it had touched a wall of pressure it couldn't comprehend.

Nocth raised a single hand—not in defense, but out of curiosity. And the air around his fingers twisted.

Fenril landed, visibly shaken. "What... was that?"

Nocth said nothing. He simply bowed slightly—then walked off the stage.

In the observation tower above, Lady Vaelserine's voice whispered to herself:

Elsewhere: Instructor Yezhlun's Notes

> "Confirmed: Spatial deviation. Technique collapse within pre-contact radius. Student Nocth may be triggering pre-form dissonance in enemy constructs. Recommend observation only. No interference."

He sat alone again that night, veins lightly glowing under his skin.

From the depth of his soul, a faint rhythm echoed—like a spiral winding deeper into silence.

Chapter 50 — The Silent Spiral