The air in Fin Aodh’s bedroom hung heavy, thick with the damp musk of his rain-soaked cloak draped over a chair and the faint tang of ozone that clung to him like a second skin. He sat motionless, legs folded beneath him on the edge of his bed, its cushions a plush contrast to the threadbare mattress he’d known on Earth, a lifetime ago, a world away. The storm beyond his window battered the Eastern Reaches with relentless fury, its muted roar seeping through the stone walls, a lullaby and a challenge all at once. Kailos’s voice lingered in his mind, ancient and resonant, edged with a mocking pride that grated against his nerves: “You’ve done well, little Earthling.” The words hung there, a storm cloud refusing to break, pressing against his thoughts with an unseen weight. Then came the shift.
It began as a whisper, a tremor so subtle he might have mistaken it for his own heartbeat, a hum reverberating through his bones, stirring the marrow within. But whispers in Aetherys rarely stayed quiet. In a heartbeat, it surged, a tide of raw unrelenting awareness crashing through him like a tempest tearing across an endless sea. His breath caught, sharp and shallow, as the sensation clawed its way up his spine, igniting every nerve with electric fire. The System had awakened.
Before his eyes, a translucent interface unfurled, stark and prismatic against the dim flicker of his bedroom’s sconces. Letters shimmered into being, etched in lines of cold, luminous blue, as if carved from the heart of a glacier.
[System Initialization Complete]
Name: Fin Aodh
Age:10
Tier: One
Active Skills: []
Passive Skills: []
For a moment, there was nothing but silence, an expectant hush that pressed against his ears, broken only by the distant patter of rain beyond the window. Fin’s pulse hammered against his ribs, a drumbeat urging the stillness to break. Then, the interface stirred again, words cascading across it like ink bleeding into damp parchment, deliberate and unhurried.
[Evaluating past achievements…]
[Calculating proficiency…]
The silence stretched taut, a bowstring drawn to its limit. Fin’s fingers twitched, curling into fists as he waited, his mind racing through the years of effort that had brought him here, three elements forged into a core, a lattice of mana veins no cultivator in Aetherys had dared to weave. Lightning crackled in his memory, Fusion glowed with steady warmth, Transfer flowed like a river through stone. He had earned this moment, hadn’t he? The System’s judgment loomed, and with it, the promise of power, or the sting of inadequacy.
At last, it spoke, its voice a chime that rang through his skull, sharp and clear as a blade striking steel.
[Skill Offers Generated]

Sword Mastery (Common)
Mana Manipulation (Rare)
Convergent Resonance (Unique)

Fin’s gaze flickered across the options, his mind a storm of calculation, dissecting each with the precision of a blade honed on years of study. Sword Mastery (Common) drew a flicker of disdain, a near-scoff that caught in his throat. He could feel the weight of his training sword in his palms even now, the countless hours sparring with Kilian, the rhythm of steel meeting steel, the sweat that had burned his eyes as he pushed his small frame beyond its limits. That skill was a trinket, a bauble for novices who hadn’t already carved mastery into their bones. He dismissed it with a flick of thought, the interface dimming the option as if it sensed his scorn.
Mana Manipulation (Rare) gave him pause. His breath steadied as he considered it, the word glowing brighter in his vision, tempting him with its promise. Rare skills were coveted, foundational blocks upon which empires of power could be built. He could already feel mana bending to his will, Lightning arcing at his command, Fusion settling into his veins like molten steel, Transfer threading through his core with a grace he’d fought to master. This skill could refine that instinct, sharpen it into something surgical, something unstoppable. And yet… his jaw tightened. He wielded mana with a fluency few could match at ten years old. To lock a precious slot, five passives, ten actives, his mother had warned, for something he already possessed in spirit felt like shackling himself to redundancy. He exhaled, a slow release of tension, and passed.
Then his eyes settled on the third: Convergent Resonance (Unique). The word pulsed with a strange, magnetic weight, drawing him in like a lodestone. Unique. A classification that defied the rigid ranks Cahira had described, Common, Uncommon, Rare, Epic, Legendary. His hand hovered, trembling faintly, as he willed the description to unfold.
[Convergent Resonance (Unique)]
By leveraging three elements – Lightning, Fusion, and Transfer, the user has created a sophisticated method of constantly drawing and purifying ambient mana. This passive skill ensures a steady influx of refined energy, mitigating exhaustion and eliminating the risk of depletion.
A grin broke across his face, sharp and unrestrained, cutting through the stillness like a blade through silk. This was no mere skill, it was a cornerstone, a gift tailored to the path he’d forged. A passive that turned the air itself into a wellspring, feeding his core without effort, banishing the specter of fatigue that haunted every cultivator. He could feel the implications unfurling in his mind: battles prolonged beyond mortal limits, techniques sustained where others faltered, a foundation for power that would grow with every breath he took.
[Convergent Resonance (Unique) Acquired]
The words settled into the interface, and a pulse of energy rippled through him, sudden and fierce. Fin gasped, his chest heaving as the sensation sank into his core, a warmth that spread like ink through water, threading through his mana veins with a gentle, ceaseless current. The ambient mana in the chamber, once a faint hum at the edge of his senses, now flowed toward him, a river finding its bed. His core stabilized, its dynamo of Lightning, Fusion, and Transfer spinning smoother, stronger, as if it had always hungered for this harmony. The weight of exhaustion he’d carried, braced for like a storm on the horizon, melted away, leaving only clarity and a hunger to test this newfound strength.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
He surged to his feet, the motion fluid and urgent, and bolted from his bedroom. The corridors of the Aodh estate blurred past him, stone walls streaked with torchlight, the air cool against his flushed skin. His boots pounded the floor, a staccato rhythm that matched the thrill thrumming in his veins. He burst into the main hall, its vaulted ceiling swallowing the sound of his arrival, and found his mother and Marian mid-conversation, their heads bent over a sprawl of parchment.
“I did it,” he announced, breathless, his voice cutting through their murmured debate like a thunderclap. “I’ve got my first skill.”
Cahira turned, her dark hair catching the glow of a nearby brazier, and her lips curled into a proud, knowing smirk. “And?”
“Convergent Resonance.”
Marian’s brows shot up, his spectacles slipping slightly as he leaned forward, amber eyes alight with scholarly hunger. “Rare?”
Fin shook his head, unable to suppress the grin tugging at his mouth. “Unique.”
“Unique!” Marian shouted, his voice echoing off the rafters, half-exultation, half-disbelief.
Fin nodded. “It lets me constantly absorb and refine ambient mana.”
Cahira folded her arms, her gaze piercing as she studied him, not with doubt, but with the weight of a mother measuring her son’s potential. “A fine choice,” she said at last, her voice steady but warm, a rare crack in her composed facade.
Marian adjusted his spectacles, his fingers trembling faintly with excitement or exasperation, Fin couldn’t tell. “What else was offered?”
“Sword Mastery and Mana Manipulation.”
The tutor stilled, his quill hovering over the parchment as if frozen mid-stroke. “And?”
“I passed on them.”
The hall fell silent, a suffocating hush that pressed against Fin’s ears. Cahira’s expression didn’t shift, but a faint crease appeared between her brows. Marian, however, erupted.
“You absolute idiot!” The tutor threw up his hands, the motion so sudden it sent a cascade of papers fluttering to the floor. His voice rose, sharp and incredulous, echoing off the stone walls. “You passed on Mana Manipulation? One of the rarest foundational skills in Aetherys? What is wrong with you?”
Fin flinched, startled by the outburst, but he squared his shoulders, defiance flickering in his chest. “What?”
Marian jabbed a finger at him, his face flushed with a mix of fury and disbelief. “Mana Manipulation enhances control, efficiency, casting speed, it’s the bedrock of every great cultivator’s arsenal! You’ve got a mind like a steel trap, Fin, and you throw away a gift like that?”
Cahira sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a grace that belied her exasperation. “He’s not wrong,” she said, her tone measured but edged with a quiet reprimand. “It could have sharpened what you already wield into something extraordinary. Why refuse it?”
Fin crossed his arms, meeting their stares with a stubborn tilt of his chin. “I already manipulate mana just fine. Convergent Resonance gives me something I can’t replicate, an edge no one else has.”
Marian made a strangled noise, half-laugh, half-groan, and turned to Cahira as if seeking an ally in his dismay. “Are you hearing this? The arrogance!”
Cahira’s lips twitched, a small smile slipping through her composure. “The choice is his, Marian,” she said, her voice softening with a hint of amusement. “And he’s not entirely wrong. A unique skill tailored to his path… it’s a bold move.”
Marian glared at Fin, his indignation simmering but no longer boiling over. “You’re lucky Convergent Resonance sounds absurdly overpowered,” he muttered, “or I’d be dragging you back to that System interface myself to beg for a redo.”
Fin smirked, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I think I’ll manage.”
The hall settled into a quieter rhythm, the crackle of the brazier filling the silence as Cahira and Marian returned to their papers. But Fin’s mind buzzed, alive with the hum of his new skill, the current of mana flowing through him like a second pulse. He slipped away, leaving them to their discussion, and climbed to the ramparts overlooking the Eastern Reaches. The night air greeted him with a chill bite, rain-slick stone gleaming under a sky stitched with lightning. He leaned against the wall, letting the storm’s song wash over him, and felt the resonance within, a promise of power yet to be fully unleashed.

A Few Days Later — House Northwell
Far to the west, beyond the storm-swept ranges of the Eastern Reaches, the study of House Northwell brooded in shadow. The room was a cavern of aged wood and flickering candlelight, its walls lined with shelves groaning under the weight of dusty tomes and scrolls yellowed by time. The air carried the scent of wax and parchment, thick and cloying, a shroud that seemed to cling to the man seated behind the grand mahogany desk.
Gregor Northwell sat rigid, his broad frame a monument to unyielding will, his fingers tightening around the letter in his hands until the parchment creased and threatened to tear. His face darkened with each word his sharp gray eyes traced, the ink blurring into a venomous scrawl as rage coiled in his chest like a serpent poised to strike. House Aodh had dared to announce their son, Fin, had reached Tier One. At ten years old.
The paper crumpled beneath his grip, a sharp crackle breaking the room’s stillness. “Lies,” he spat, the word a hiss of contempt that hung in the air like poison. “Arrogant, pathetic lies.”
Across from him, his son Gregory stiffened, his lean frame taut with unease. At fourteen, he bore his father’s sharp features but none of his cold certainty, his dark hair falling into eyes that flickered with doubt, and a spark of something sharper, something personal. “House Aodh exaggerates,” he said, his voice steady but lacking conviction.
Gregor sneered, his lip curling as he tossed the ruined letter onto the desk with a force that rattled the inkwell. “Of course they do. No child reaches Tier One at ten. You were thirteen, the youngest in Aetherys’s history, a record unbroken.” His voice was a low growl, each syllable laced with pride and scorn. “They think to mock us with this farce.”
Gregory lifted his chin, a spark of defiance flaring in his posture, though tension coiled tight in his shoulders. “Then why announce it? If it were false, they wouldn’t dare risk the shame…”
“Because they want us to believe it,” Gregor snapped, slamming a fist onto the desk. The impact sent a tremor through the wood, toppling a stack of ledgers to the floor. “To elevate their standing, to challenge our legacy. The Aodhs have always been upstarts, frontier nobles grasping for glory they haven’t earned.”
Gregory clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his gaze flickering to the crumpled letter. “What do we do?” His voice was quieter now, but there was a hunger in it, a need to prove himself against this unseen rival who dared to eclipse him.
Gregor exhaled slowly, the sound a predator’s breath before the strike. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, and a gleam of something dark and calculating flickered in his gray eyes. “We pay House Aodh a visit,” he said, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur that belied the steel beneath.
A slow, cruel smile crept onto his lips, stretching the lines of his weathered face into something almost feral. “And we see for ourselves just what their little prodigy is truly worth.”
The candle flames danced in the draft, casting shadows that twisted across the walls like specters of ambition and ruin. Outside, the wind howled, a distant echo of the storm brewing in Gregor Northwell’s mind, a storm that would soon descend upon the unsuspecting halls of House Aodh.