Eclipsed Core [Unique Trait]

An existence bound to the veil no longer, your core devours the magic around you, ensuring you never truly run dry.

The ritual did not simply strengthen your core; it reshaped it into something entirely new. Your core is no longer a mere vessel but a gravitational force, a black sun that passively draws in ambient aether.

Effect:

Your aether reserves are permanently increased by

+200 Aether Points.

Passive Ability:

Your core now

absorbs ambient aether

, allowing you to slowly replenish lost aether when surrounded by high concentrations of magic. This effect is subtle and does not function in aether-deprived environments.

Secondary Effect:

The pull of your core is instinctive,

in places of intense aether density, your recovery rate is significantly enhanced.

Limitations:

While Eclipsed Core grants unparalleled regeneration in magic-rich areas,

it does not replace natural recovery methods entirely.

Additionally, drawing in too much unstable aether can lead to unpredictable effects.

Thorne barely had time to process the notification before he felt it, a shift, deep within his core.

It wasn't painful, but it was disconcerting, like the feeling of a limb waking up after going numb, except it wasn't his limbs that were affected. It was his very core, the center of his magic, the essence of his being.

The change was profound, a silent adjustment to his existence. He felt lighter, as though the weight of exhaustion from the ritual was already being siphoned away, replaced by something deeper, something vast.

His core was no longer a closed system, it was pulling from the world around him, drinking in the ambient aether like a slow-moving tide. He felt the air thrum against his skin, tendrils of power invisible to others but now palpable to him, brushing against him, feeding into him.

Then the burning began.

At first, he thought it was part of the transformation, the reshaping of his core, but then he realized it wasn't coming from within him.

It was coming from his pendant.

A sharp sting bloomed at the center of his chest, followed by a sensation of searing heat. The pendant, the artifact his mother had given him, was vibrating violently against his skin, its chains quivering like it was under immense strain.

His eyes widened slightly.

The reason became clear in an instant.

He was under attack.

From all directions, skills were being cast, probing, reaching, clawing at him. And something else, something more structured, more insidious than mere skills, spells, layered and intricate, woven into the very air itself.

His aether vision flared, and suddenly, he saw them, aetheric threads coiling toward him, seeking, prodding, each one an attempt to peer inside him, to unmask him. They came from above, from the balconies where the nobles and archmages sat, their gazes sharp, their fingers barely twitching, their expressions composed but their intentions clear.

They were trying to dissect him.

A sharp chill crawled up his spine, but his face remained smooth, his expression an impenetrable mask, even as fear coiled in his gut.

He should have expected this.

Of course they would turn their eyes to him, after what had just happened. He had drawn too much attention, made himself too interesting, too curious to ignore.

So much for keeping a low profile…

His jaw tightened, and for a single moment, he met the gazes of those watching him.

His white-blue eyes burned, the light within them flaring as he let his gaze sweep across the nobles and archmages, his stare a silent challenge.

Come on, then. Try and unmask me.

His fingers itched to summon his aether, to lash out, to disrupt their spells, but he forced himself to stay still, to endure. His pendant, strained and overheating, was still holding, fending off the attempts, but it wouldn't last forever.

One by one, he saw expressions shift. A few faces twisted in frustration, their attempts at probing him failing. He saw the moment their interest deepened, their suspicion solidifying into something more dangerous.

Before things could escalate further, a firm hand pressed against his shoulder.

An Aetherhold official, his expression blank, began to usher him away, guiding him toward the exit.

The spellbinding ritual continued, the next name already being called, the attention of the room shifting elsewhere but Thorne could still feel it, the eyes that lingered, the weight of curiosity and doubt pressing against his back.

As he walked down the platform steps, his bare feet against the cold marble, the whispers around him were a sea of murmurs, voices questioning, speculating, wondering.

He did not look back.

But the moment he crossed the threshold of the chamber, stepping through the heavy doors into the corridors beyond, he felt it.

The final attempt, one last probe, far stronger than the others.

This time, it was not the casual curiosity of nobles, not the greedy hands of those seeking potential recruits.

This was something more precise, more refined, more powerful.

And dangerous.

The Aetherhold representative.

A single, measured spell, slipping through the fabric of the air, aimed at unraveling his veil, at peeling away whatever was shielding him.

Thorne felt it, sensed the delicate fingers of magic pressing against him. But his pendant flared, a pulse of hidden enchantments surging forth, meeting the intrusion and snapping it shut like the jaws of a steel trap.

The attempt failed.

Thorne did not falter.

Instead, he turned his head slightly, just enough to meet the representative's gaze over his shoulder, and spoke, voice low and mocking.

"I was told by one of your colleagues that it is not proper to use identifying skills on someone without their consent."

A beat of silence.

Then, a thin smile ghosted across the representative's face, a glimmer of something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

Thorne turned away before he could analyze it further, stepping into the unknown halls of Aetherhold, the whispers of the spellbinding fading behind him.

The reception area was spacious, yet intimate, designed not just as a waiting room but as a place of transition, where those who had proven themselves could bask in the aftermath of their success. The ceiling arched high, crafted from starlit marble, the veins in the stone glowing faintly as if reflecting the celestial constellations above.

Soft, floating orbs of aetheric light drifted through the air, shifting in warm hues that pulsed in sync with the energy of the room. The walls were lined with mirrored obsidian panels, but instead of reflecting the students, they displayed visions of past spellbindings, flickering between historical figures who had stood in this very room, their faces illuminated with the same mixture of relief, awe, and uncertainty that lingered on the students now.

Groups of first years milled about in excited clusters, their voices hushed yet eager, reliving their experiences, whispering speculations about the other students who had gone through the ritual before them. Some were already forming alliances, seeking out those they deemed worthy connections.

But Thorne ignored the buzz of conversation as his gaze landed on a familiar figure.

Lucian was sprawled across a deep sapphire-colored sofa, head resting against the back, arms folded, his expression impassive. His eyes were closed, his demeanor one of pure disinterest, but the subtle tension in his body told Thorne he was fully aware of his surroundings.

Thorne crossed the room, moving like a shadow, barely causing a ripple in the atmosphere as he settled into the opposite end of the sofa.

Lucian cracked open a single eye, grunting in acknowledgment.

"Congratulations," he muttered.

Thorne dipped his chin. "Thanks."

Lucian's eye slid shut again, as if the conversation had ended there.

But after a beat, he spoke.

"What were your affinities?"

Thorne parted his lips, then paused.

A slight frown tugged at his brows.

"I have no idea," he admitted.

Lucian's eyelids twitched, but he didn't open them. "You… didn't notice?"

Thorne exhaled sharply.

He hadn't. Not really. He'd been too focused on keeping himself from falling apart, too consumed by the overwhelming surge of power, by the feeling of losing control.

He had seen colors, too many colors, swirling, shifting, until suddenly, everything had become black, an abyss so deep it seemed to consume all else.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

What did that mean?

"I was… distracted," Thorne said finally.

Lucian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting an oncoming headache.

"Wind and Arcana," he muttered, more to himself than to Thorne.

Thorne tilted his head, intrigued. "Arcana? That's rare, right?"

Lucian scoffed. "Oh, it's useful. Versatile. But… my primary affinity is Wind."

Thorne raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Lucian let out a low groan. "So… pedestrian. A basic element." He shook his head, as if personally offended by the universe's decision to gift him such an affinity.

Seeing Thorne's blank stare Lucian let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple as if deciding whether or not it was worth the effort to explain. Finally, he cracked open one eye and gave Thorne a sideways glance.

"Arcana isn't like the other affinities," he said, voice carrying a faint note of reluctant pride. "It's not fire, or wind, or anything tangible like that. It's... magic itself."

Thorne frowned slightly. "Magic itself?"

Lucian nodded. "The raw force that fuels all spells, all enchantments, all constructs of magic. It doesn't shape elements, it shapes spells." He lifted a hand and flicked his fingers, as if trying to demonstrate. "Arcana lets you reinforce spells, unravel them, redirect them. It's... control, more than power."

Thorne leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite himself. "So, what? You can just steal someone else's spell and turn it against them?"

Lucian smirked, the first real expression of amusement Thorne had seen on his face. "If I was good enough, yes. Arcana can counter magic, alter it, make it stronger or make it collapse entirely. Some of the strongest Arcana mages can shut down an opponent's magic with a single word."

Thorne's eyes narrowed slightly, considering the implications. "That sounds... absurdly powerful."

Lucian chuckled. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But it comes with a price. Arcana isn't brute force, it's finesse. You have to know exactly what you're doing, understand every layer of the magic you're working with. It's why Arcana specialists tend to be scholars, enchanters, or tacticians rather than warriors. Raw power isn't enough, you need knowledge, control, precision."

Thorne absorbed that, glancing at Lucian with renewed interest.

Lucian sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Of course, none of that really matters, since my primary affinity is wind." His voice took on a note of distaste. "It's like being given a royal library and being told you can only read the cookbooks."

Thorne huffed a quiet laugh. "Wind isn't bad."

Lucian shot him a flat look. "Tell that to my parents. They both specialize in Arcana. They were hoping I'd take after them."

Thorne hummed. "They attended Aetherhold?"

Lucian opened his eyes at that, fixing him with a dry stare.

"No." He adjusted his posture slightly, stretching his legs out before crossing them again. "They attended Meridia Institute in the capital."

Thorne's eyebrows lifted slightly. Even he had heard of Meridia, a prestigious magic academy, though nowhere near as exclusive as Aetherhold.

Lucian let out a humorless chuckle, as if already anticipating the reaction.

"They were beside themselves when I got accepted into Aetherhold. They think it's my chance to surpass them."

Thorne let out a low whistle. "Both parents mages? That's rare."

Lucian smirked. "Don't sound so impressed." He leaned his head back again. "They're mostly academics. Meridia lacks the knowledge and resources Aetherhold possesses. They know some party tricks, but they could never measure up to an Aetherhold mage."

Thorne let that information sink in.

His world had been so small, so isolated, that he still had no true grasp of the global hierarchy of power. The politics, the rivalries between magical institutions, the sheer magnitude of what it meant to be in Aetherhold.

He needed to learn quickly, before he made a mistake that could cost him everything.

His thoughts were interrupted as two more students entered the reception hall, fresh from the ritual.

A flicker of curiosity passed through him.

"Did you feel it?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Lucian frowned slightly, tilting his head. "Feel what?"

Thorne's expression remained neutral, but he was always aware of his surroundings, of the weight of the gazes on him.

Years of training had ingrained caution into his very bones. Even now, he had already marked potential exits, assessed threats, noted the constant stares of his fellow classmates.

Not because of his performance, none of them had witnessed his spellbinding.

But because of his appearance. His threadbare clothes, his shoeless feet, his unmistakable foreignness.

Yet Lucian didn't seem put off.

"The skills," Thorne clarified.

Lucian blinked. Understanding dawned in his amber eyes.

"Ah. Yes." He waved a hand lazily. "It's common practice. Everyone is looking for potential talents. I felt half a dozen. Hopefully some of them work out."

Thorne's fingers twitched slightly.

Half a dozen?

He had felt dozens. More than dozens.

Damn.

I'm in trouble.

Lucian watched him, then asked curiously, "How many did you feel?"

Thorne hesitated. Then, he answered with calculated vagueness.

"A few."

Lucian let out a tired sigh. "Let's hope we both get sponsors." He tapped his fingers against the armrest. "I really need one if I want to help my parents with their research."

That caught Thorne's attention.

"Research?"

Lucian nodded. "Did you know that there's disturbing evidence that our cores are degenerating with every generation?" His voice took on a sharp, intellectual edge, his usual boredom peeling away slightly. "It's thought..."

A sharp voice cut him off.

"Lucian."

Vivienne appeared smug as she approached, her posture perfect, her expression filled with self-satisfaction. She didn't even glance at Thorne, instead stopping in front of Lucian with a victorious tilt to her chin.

"Did you know Lord Vexley is in our year?" she asked, her voice rich with importance.

Lucian blinked once, slow and deliberate, his face utterly blank.

"Who?"

Vivienne's lips parted as if she couldn't quite believe he had the audacity to not know. Then, with an exasperated shake of her head, she dismissed the topic entirely.

"Never mind that." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, her expression brightening with the only subject she truly cared about, herself. "I got three affinities! Isn't it spectacular?"

She placed a hand dramatically on her chest, basking in her own triumph.

"The first of my line to study magic, and I possess affinity for three different elements!"

Thorne was ready to cut her down.

She barely managed to pass the ritual. True, she had three affinities, but they were so weak that she had nearly failed entirely. The only thing saving her was barely meeting the threshold to enter Aetherhold.

What that meant for her future as a mage, Thorne had no idea.

But what he did know was that she was conveniently ignoring his existence entirely, directing her conversation only to Lucian, as if Thorne were some kind of irrelevant ghost.

She plopped down onto the sofa, beginning to talk Lucian's ears off about the grandeur of her accomplishment. Lucian, for his part, looked bored out of his mind, occasionally making a noncommittal sound but otherwise offering no enthusiasm.

Thorne tuned her out, his gaze shifting to the growing crowd of students filtering into the reception area. More and more had passed the ritual now, their faces filled with a mix of relief, pride, and exhaustion.

Then, finally, one of their own entered.

Rowenna.

She hesitated at the threshold, pausing as her eyes flicked to their small group. She seemed uncertain, as if debating whether to join them.

Thorne didn't let her linger in indecision. He lifted a hand and gave a brief wave, silently inviting her over.

Rowenna hesitated for only a moment longer before crossing the room, her boots clicking lightly against the polished floor.

She stopped just before them, her posture still composed, but there was something guarded in her expression.

"How did it go?" Thorne asked, his voice calm but genuinely curious.

Vivienne turned slightly, as if she had only just now realized someone unworthy was standing there. The moment she saw who it was, her expression darkened into a barely concealed grimace. With an almost petty turn of her shoulder, she deliberately ignored Rowenna's presence entirely, directing herself back to Lucian as if the woman didn't exist.

Rowenna didn't flinch.

But Thorne noticed the way her fingers curled just slightly at her sides before she forced them to relax.

She stood tall, her face neutral, and answered, "Pretty good."

A brief pause.

Then, with pointed meaning, she added, "Not like you, of course."

Lucian's eyes flicked toward Thorne, curiosity sharpened in his gaze. Even Vivienne, for all her efforts to ignore him, had perked up slightly, her interest momentarily overriding her disdain.

Thorne kept his expression smooth and asked. "What elements did you get?

Rowenna seemed to debate something for a brief second, as if she wanted to press the topic further, but then his skill, Tactful Redirection, took effect.

She exhaled through her nose, and her focus reluctantly shifted to answering his question instead.

"Earth and Crystal," she admitted.

A strong, stable pairing. Nothing rare, but nothing weak. It spoke of endurance, resilience, power that was unshakable, if cultivated properly.

"Not as flashy as some others," she added, her expression unreadable. "But I have a strong connection to both."

Lucian nodded in approval. "Good for you." He gave her a small, genuine look. "Good luck with the sponsors."

Rowenna's lips tightened ever so slightly, but she didn't contradict him.

Instead, she took a small, measured breath, then moved to sit.

She didn't sit next to Vivienne.

She didn't sit next to Lucian.

She sat next to Thorne.

Thorne noted the way Vivienne's shoulders went rigid, how her chin lifted ever so slightly higher, as if she were offended by the very act.

Rowenna didn't seem to care.

She crossed one booted leg over the other, arms folding across her chest. Then, just like that, she fell into silence, her gaze far away.

Lucian shut his eyes again, leaning into the cushions. Vivienne, however, was undeterred, continuing to talk as though her entire existence depended on filling the silence.

Thorne didn't mind the quiet.

Rowenna, it seemed, didn't either.

The next from their group to pass was Garridan.

He stalked into the room, his entire body wound tight with frustration. His usual arrogance was overshadowed by something uglier, resentment.

He stopped in front of them, jaw clenched.

"Metal," he said, voice stiff. "And barely passable at that."

There was a pause.

Then, with a furious exhale, he turned on his heel and walked away, fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white.

Thorne merely watched him go.

Next to pass was Ronan, and the moment he strutted into the room, he radiated smugness.

Thorne barely had time to glance up before Ronan made a beeline for their group, his chest puffed out like a rooster in a noble's courtyard. His cocky grin stretched ear to ear, and before anyone could ask, he loudly announced his own success as if expecting applause.

"Two affinities!" Ronan declared, his voice carrying just enough for the students around them to hear. He ran a hand through his neatly styled hair, exuding the self-satisfaction of a man who had just been knighted.

"Fire and Wind..." he added, pausing dramatically, as if expecting gasps of awe. When none came, he carried on undeterred. "... A combination fit for a battle mage! It's one of the most powerful affinities in existence, you know. Deadly on the battlefield, nearly impossible to counter. I bet most of you wish you had a pairing this strong."

Thorne didn't bother reacting, though he felt Lucian shift slightly beside him, likely already regretting engaging with Ronan at all.

Noticing the lack of enthusiasm, Ronan pushed forward, his grin faltering only slightly before he redoubled his efforts.

"Did you know that the great Lord Everain was a Fire-Wind mage? One of the most fearsome warlords in history! He single-handedly crushed the Crimson Crescent Empire, wiping out thousands with a single inferno. His gales fed his flames, spreading destruction like a divine calamity." Ronan's voice dropped to a dramatic hush, as if he were imparting sacred wisdom.

Thorne could practically feel Vivienne roll her eyes beside him.

"Of course, not everyone is cut out for such power," Ronan added, his smirk sharp, his eyes flicking briefly to Thorne before quickly moving on, not daring to challenge him directly. "Aetherhold will separate the weak from the strong soon enough."

His chest swelled again, his arrogance somehow growing even larger, if that was possible.

"Frankly," he continued, his voice breezy, confident, "I wouldn't be surprised if I get recruited immediately. There's always demand for a battle mage, especially one with a pedigree like mine. My father always said I had the makings of a legend."

Lucian, who had been remarkably patient thus far, finally let out a slow exhale through his nose, rubbing his temples. "How fortunate for us to witness history in the making," he muttered dryly.

Ronan grinned, entirely missing the sarcasm.

"Exactly!"

Thorne, for his part, had completely tuned him out halfway through his self-important speech. But he felt Ronan's gaze flicker toward him every so often, filled with questions, suspicion, and most irritatingly envy.

Thorne said nothing.

He simply leaned back in his seat, lacing his fingers together and leveling Ronan with a look that held no amusement whatsoever.

Then, finally, the last of their group arrived.

Isadora practically floated into the room, radiant with self-satisfaction.

The moment she entered, several students turned toward her, some recognizing her, others eager to ingratiate themselves.

It took her a while to shake them off, but eventually, she approached.

And when she did, she gave a sly smile.

She didn't make them wait.

"Singularity."

Thorne frowned. "Singularity?"

She nodded, crossing her legs elegantly, tapping a manicured finger against her chin.

"It's an extremely rare affinity. Singular force manipulation, compression, redirection, expansion." Her smile turned thoughtful. "I only know of one other person who possesses it."

She tapped her lips, her gaze flicking upward.

Then, as if talking to herself, she muttered, "Maybe I'll have my parents ask if he'd be open to tutoring me."

Lucian suddenly sat upright, his eyes bulging.

"You know Grandmaster Aldren Kael?"

Ronan perked up. "Who? Who is he?"

Lucian shook his head in sheer disbelief, his face a mask of astonishment.

"Only one of the most powerful battle mages in existence," he muttered.

Then, with clear reverence, he added:

"He single-handedly crushed the Ildros Rebellion. And he's rumored to have a personal feud with the Red Mage."

Thorne's breath hitched.

A cold weight settled in his stomach.

The Red Mage?

No. No, it couldn't be.

He clenched his jaw.

There was no way.

Right?

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