Ashes Of The First Tyrant

Training with Ragan was a daily trial by fire but the Bastion itself, Thalen soon discovered, held more than just stone halls and iron discipline.

The fortress was alive.

It whispered with the voices of aura sparring heroes, glowing walls infused with ancient energy, and the echo of battles long past. Every corner breathed power. Thalen often paused at murals carved into the walls, scenes of the SSS Heroes standing against titanic beasts, armies of corrupted aura-wielders, and one constant presence in them all: a cloaked figure with eyes like wildfire.

The First Tyrant.

No name. Just legend.

And yet no one spoke of him directly.

A week after receiving his first sword, Thalen was summoned to a different training floor. Not with Ragan this time.

A group of young aura users stood in the arena none older than twenty. He counted five. Their uniforms bore the Bastion crest but not the SSS insignia.

A new voice called out to him. "You’re the Trial boy, huh? The quiet one who made it out."

Thalen turned to see a broad-shouldered youth with wild brown hair and a grin too confident for his own good. He offered a hand.

"Name’s Bran. I punch rocks and make them explode."

Thalen blinked. "Earthshatter Aura?"

"Bingo."

Before he could respond, a short girl stepped between them, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like daggers. "Don’t let Bran’s big mouth fool you. He hasn’t beaten me once in sparring."

Her voice was low and sharp. She wore a short white cloak and moved like she weighed nothing.

"Liora," she said. "Mist Aura." 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Thalen introduced himself, and soon the others gathered around.

There was Selis, a reserved tactician with ice-blue eyes and Binding Aura capable of suppressing enemies’ aura for short periods. He barely spoke, but when he did, the words were razor-sharp. And finally, Aven, a pale boy with silver hair and faintly glowing eyes.

"Magic Aura," he said quietly, as if the words themselves were a burden.

Thalen felt his stomach twist. Magic Aura was rare rarer than even Tyrant Spirit, according to some.

This wasn’t just a group of trainees.

This was a proving ground.

They trained together for the next month under a new overseer named Hadrik, a burly SSS lieutenant who had once served directly under the First Tyrant. His methods were brutal often pitting the five against each other or dropping them into live-combat simulations using aura-forged illusions.

Each trial chipped away at Thalen’s weaknesses.

He learned to fight beside others not as a lone blade, but as a piece of a formation.

Bran covered his flanks with explosive strikes. Liora veiled their movements in illusion. Selis called tactical shifts, while Aven unleashed devastating waves of elemental force.

Thalen, at first, struggled to find his place.

He wasn’t the strongest, or the fastest. But his aura constructs were evolving. The longer he fought, the sharper they became his sword no longer flickered. It gleamed, reflecting light that wasn’t there.

In time, he began to lead the charge. And the others followed.

Not because of his power.

But because he endured.

One night, after a particularly grueling spar, Thalen sat on the steps of the northern tower, his breath fogging in the cold air. Liora approached and dropped beside him.

"You don’t sleep much," she said.

"I’m still adjusting."

She pulled her hood tighter. "You’re not like the others who try to fake strength. You... grind. It’s annoying, but admirable."

Thalen gave a faint smile. "Thanks, I think."

A pause. Then: "You ever wonder why only ten people have the Tyrant Spirit?"

He turned to her.

She continued, voice softer now. "I don’t think it’s about strength. I think the aura chooses who is stubborn enough to survive it. You’re one of them."

Thalen looked down at his hand. The Blade Aura shimmered faintly there, calmer now. Controlled. He had begun forging it into a real weapon a part of him rather than a separate force.

"I don’t know what I’m becoming," he admitted. "But I’ll keep going until I find out."

Two weeks later, the summons came.

Ragan called Thalen to the central hall. Not to spar. Not to lecture.

But to test.

"You are ready," Ragan said, holding a curved stone tablet. "This is a Binding Sigil. One of the few keys left from the First Tyrant’s age. It will take you to the Ember Core beneath the Bastion."

"What’s there?"

"The flame that awakened the first Tyrant Spirit."

Thalen’s breath caught.

"You must walk through it," Ragan said. "Face what remains of your fear, your guilt, your hesitation. Only then can your soul fully house a second aura."

Thalen took the tablet. It hummed in his hands, warmth radiating from its core.

Ragan’s voice was lower now. "You will not return unchanged. If your spirit fractures, the aura will reject you and burn you from within."

Thalen nodded.

Then he descended.

The Ember Core was deep, deeper than any chamber Thalen had seen. The tunnel spiraled downward, torchlight giving way to molten glow. When he stepped through the final arch, he found himself in a circular chamber of black stone.

At its center floated a single flame no larger than a candle, but brighter than the sun.

He approached.

His aura quivered. Not in fear but in recognition.

The moment he stepped within reach, the flame surged.

Visions crashed over him:

—His failure against Kern, being laughed off the dueling floor.

—His years training alone while his friends surpassed him.

—The grief of losing Lira in the Trial Chamber.

—The fear of never being enough.

And then... a voice.

You reached for the sword when others fled. You bled for it. You broke for it. Will you burn for it, too?

Thalen knelt before the flame.

"I will."

The fire surged into his chest.

Pain, then silence.

Then power.

A second aura bloomed inside him.

The flame did not destroy. It fused. Wrapped itself around his Blade Aura like a mantle of authority.

Not yet Tyrant Spirit.

But close.

An Ember State the final step before the full awakening.

When he rose, his blade manifested of its own will.

This time, the edge glowed not just with lightbut with fire traced in runes.

He was ready.