Prologue: Rise of the Ascended
In the year 2149, Earth cracked open—not through tectonic fault or nuclear war, but through something far older.
The skies burned with hues unseen by the human eye. For exactly seven minutes and thirteen seconds, the entire planet stood still beneath an aurora that wasn't light, but judgment. It was called the AscensionPulse.
Billions fell unconscious. Millions awoke... changed.
They called it the "UnnaturalPower"—not magic, not science. Something else. A force that transcended logic. And it didn't choose randomly.
Only those with unbreakable will were awakened. The Archeons. The rest? They remained ordinary, if not less.
As society crumbled and reformed, a new hierarchy emerged. Seven Monarch Houses, each housing individuals whose power could sink continents. Each house represented a core aspect of the new world order:
House Virel – Known for speed and precision.
House Draven – Masters of darkness and stealth.
House Caelis – Controllers of sky and wind.
House Thorne – Fierce and unyielding like the earth.
House Ignar – Wielders of flame and destruction.
House Neris – Masters of water and healing arts.
House Luxar – Guardians of light and order.
Each house commanded legions. Calamity-level threats. Gods in mortal skin. But even they feared the sky.
Because they knew they weren't alone.
In the void beyond Saturn, the Syndicate waited. An alien empire of conquest. Their War Generals had shattered civilizations older than Earth's solar system. They didn't invade immediately.
They watched.
And when they came, they expected domination.
Until he stood in their way.
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Klaus Aetherion.
He was not born into greatness. He clawed out of obscurity with blood-soaked will.
He was a peasant of the lowest order, a nameless orphan raised in a forgotten mud village outside the Terravale Cradle. He worked the fields under the lash of a sun that cared little for mercy, his hands calloused from labor, his bones shaped by hardship.
By twenty, Klaus stood at an imposing
7'5—a towering monument of raw force and unshakable will. His body was carved by the gods themselves : broad-shouldered, chest armored with muscle, arms that seemed forged in battle, and legs like living pistons. His blonde hair flowed down in wild, sunlit strands, untamed and glowing faintly under moonlight. His eyes were a deep, relentless crimson, shining with unnatural intensity—as if fire had been trapped behind them, waiting to burn everything he gazed upon.
He carried an air of inevitability—like a storm that chose when to strike.
When he walked, the earth whispered.
When he stood still, the elements bent around him.
Winds coiled at his feet like loyal hounds, whispering his name. Flames shimmered along his shoulders, flickering without burning. Stone shards hovered near his skin, orbiting slowly like moons. Water droplets swirled in the air like stardust, shimmering with moonlight. Sparks of lightning cracked silently behind his back. Shadows bent unnaturally around him. Light itself seemed drawn to him—afraid to touch, yet unable to flee.
He didn't command the elements.
He was the force they answered to.
Klaus stood alone in the battlefield, facing down Farlok the Devastator,the War General who had shattered civilizations older than Earth itself. His crimson eyes glowed with fury as the earth shook beneath him, and the sky opened up with a blast of energy.
Farlok laughed, the sound echoing through the desolate wasteland. "You are but a speck of dust, human. Do you think you can stand against me?"
Klaus did not answer. He simply raised his hand, and the elements responded. Fire swirled around him, lightning cracked the sky, the earth trembled, and wind howled. The very air seemed to bow before him.
He was not just Klaus anymore.
He was an Aetherion, and he would show the Syndicate what it meant to challenge Earth