Dust hung thick in the training yard behind House Aodh’s estate, late autumn sun scorching the packed dirt to ceramic hardness. The day had reached that perfect stillness when even insects paused their buzzing, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation. In this suspended moment, Fin moved like the only living thing for miles.
At thirteen, he had grown into his lanky frame, still a boy, but one forged by two years of relentless training. His movements had purpose now, each step calculated as he navigated between straw dummies arranged in concentric circles. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Sweat beaded on his brow but didn’t fall; the air was too dry, too hungry.
Blue light crackled along his right hand, intensifying as he channeled mana through pathways he’d spent months perfecting. Thunderfang, his first unique active skill, manifested not as wild lightning but as a controlled arc that extended from his fingertips like an ethereal blade. The light pulsed with his heartbeat, steady and certain.
Twenty-five, he thought Level Twenty-five and waiting.
He struck.
The dummy exploded. Not with the random scatter of his early attempts but with surgical precision. The wooden core inside splintered exactly where he’d aimed, straw erupting outward in a perfect circle as the scent of ozone and scorched fiber filled his nostrils. A sound like a thunderclap compressed into a whisper followed, then silence.
Fin inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. Perfect control. Two years ago, he would have been panting, exhilarated. Now he just felt the familiar itch beneath his skin, the sensation of reaching a ceiling he couldn’t yet break through.
He shook out his hand, watching as the blue light faded and normal sensation returned. Convergent Equilibrium hummed beneath his skin, his most mysterious skill. Level 10, unchanged for months, yet constantly working to balance his mana channels and physical movements. He could feel it now, a subtle undertone to his existence, like the ticking of a perfectly calibrated clock.
He thought about the System, and blue text shimmered before his eyes, visible only to him.
Name: Fin Aodh
Age: 13
Core Status: Tier Two Ready – Elemental Imprint Required
Active Skills:
Thunderfang (Unique) Level 25 [Evolution Available]
Plasma Compression Burst (Unique) Level 25 [Evolution Available]
Passive Skills:
Convergent Equilibrium* (Unique) Level 10
Electromagnetic Perception (Unique) Level 25 [Evolution Available]
Scientific Warfare (Unique) Level 25 [Evolution Available]
The frustration was familiar now, dull ache rather than the sharp disappointment of months past. Four skills capped at 25, pulsing with potential, ready to evolve. One skill stubbornly halted at 10, despite countless hours of meditation and practice. And at the core of it all, the most aggravating limitation: Tier Two Ready – Elemental imprint required.
Fin scowled and kicked at the splintered base of the dummy, sending fragments scattering across the yard. Two years of pushing himself beyond reasonable limits, sparring with Allsfern's toughest fighters, hunting beasts in the Eastern Reaches until his legs gave out, practicing his skills until darkness claimed his vision, and still he remained Tier One.
Most cultivators hit Tier Two around eighteen. Marian, his tutor in theoretical cultivation, called his pace "prodigious" and "remarkable." Kilian, his brother, just laughed and told him to "slow down, runt, before you burn your channels out."
But the words did little to ease the frustrated energy building within him. He'd witnessed Tier Threes reshape entire battles at just eleven years old. At thirteen, he wanted, no, needed, more than straw dummies and sweat-drenched afternoons.
"Fin!"
Cahira's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade through silk, precise and unyielding. He turned to see her standing on the back porch, arms crossed over her dark skirts. The sun caught in her brown hair, worry lines for him, he knew. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, pinned him where he stood.
"Inside," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now. News."
Fin nodded, wiping dust from his face with his sleeve. He reached down to his hip, where his tantō rested in its sheath, a beautiful, deadly thing forged from the chitin of that ant leg he'd claimed two years ago. Its black-green curve gleamed even in shadow, the edge impossibly sharp. He adjusted it before jogging toward the house, a trail of dust following in his wake.
Inside, the main room of House Aodh's estate felt cool after the scorching yard. Stone floors absorbed the heat, and tall windows allowed cross-breezes to filter through gauzy curtains. Donovan sprawled in his favorite chair by the hearth, unlit in summer but still the focal point of the room. The older man's frame still imposing, still looking in his early thirties because of his Tier. In his lap rested a parchment envelope, sealed with silver wax that caught the afternoon light streaming through the windows.
Cahira shut the door behind Fin, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged room. Her frown softened as she watched him, pride warring with concern.
"Training again?" Donovan asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You look like you've been rolling in the dust bowl behind the stables."
“Always,” Fin replied, brushing futilely at his tunic. The dust had worked its way into the fabric, a testament to his dedication. “What’s the news?”
Donovan leaned forward, sliding the envelope across the polished wooden table. The silver wax seal caught the light, revealing an embossed insignia, a cliff face with a star above it, rendered in meticulous detail.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Haven Academy,” Donovan said, his voice dropping to a reverent tone. “They’ve sent an invitation. Two years early.”
Fin stared at the envelope for a heartbeat, then snatched it up. The wax cracked satisfying as he broke the seal, releasing a faint scent of cedar and something else, something that made his core pulse in recognition. Inside, crisp script flowed across heavy parchment:
Fin Aodh of House Aodh, Allsfern
By merit and recommendation, you are invited to Haven Academy, Havenhol, for the study and advancement of your talents. Your achievements have not gone unnoticed, and we believe you will find challenges worthy of your abilities within our halls.
Report by first frost, Year 127 of the Mercia Accord.
Headmaster Elijah Torin
Fin read it twice, fingers tracing the embossed star. “Havenhol?” he said, the name tasting foreign on his tongue. “The academy in the cliffs?”
Cahira nodded, leaning against the table. Her posture relaxed slightly, as if the invitation confirmed something she’d expected. “Haven Academy is carved directly into Mount Veyra’s cliffside, a natural confluence point where all mana types exist in perfect balance. No advantage for anyone, regardless of what they’re cultivating. Most students get called at fifteen.”
Donovan made no attempt to hide the pride flickering in his gaze. “Not you, though. The Guild’s been chattering since that dungeon incident, a Tier One outpacing established Tier Twos in combat applications. You’re a standout, kid.”
Fin's heart kicked against his ribs, fingers tightening on the parchment. Haven Academy, where mana flowed pure and even, where elemental entities were drawn to the confluence of energies. A proving ground for warriors and mages alike, where his core might finally snag that elusive elemental spark it needed.
Not built for him, not waiting for him, just a place his work had earned him the right to enter.
"My skills are all at 25," he said, setting the invitation down carefully. "And my core feels..." He searched for the right word. "Stretched. Like a waterskin filled past capacity. They're ready to evolve."
Cahira's eyes narrowed, that maternal steel rising to the surface. "Hold off, all of it, until you reach Haven. Most cultivators rush into Tier Two before they are ready and spend years regretting it. The Academy has proper mentors, natural mana veins, better than fumbling through it here."
Donovan leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice dropped, as if sharing a secret. "Your core's full, Fin, I can feel it buzzing from here like a hive about to swarm. You've been soaking up mana like a sponge, faster than most. Haven will show you how to break through properly."
"Full?" Fin frowned, arms crossing over his chest. "It's been two years, four of my skills are capped, but one's stuck at 10. I've pushed as hard as I can."
"That's exactly it," Donovan said, voice low and serious. "Your Tier One core can only hold so much, it needs that elemental imprint to stretch into something new. Haven's cliffs naturally draw elemental entities, that's your chance to find whatever your core resonates with."
Cahira's hand brushed his shoulder, her touch gentle despite her stern expression. "You're already ahead, Fin. Level 25 skills at thirteen? That's rare enough to turn heads. Trust us on this, wait until Haven.”
Fin’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Donovan didn’t know all the quirks of his skills, Fin hadn’t fully explained Convergent Equilibrium, just its name and basic function. Still, a maxed-out core made sense, two years of constant cultivation could have bloated it beyond what a typical Tier One frame could contain. Haven promised answers, and right now, answers were what he needed most.
“When do we leave?” he asked, excitement beginning to override frustration.
“First frost, about a month from now,” Donovan said, standing with a stretch. “It’s a week’s ride to Havenhol if the weather holds. Pack smart, and definitely take that tantō."
“Write to Kilian,” Cahira added. “He’ll want to know about this.”
Fin grinned, the reality of the invitation finally sinking in. “He’ll probably storm Haven just to challenge me to a sparring match.”
"Poor headmaster," Donovan muttered, chuckling. "Won't know what hit him."

The weeks blurred together, training lightened as preparations took hold. Following Cahira's advice, Fin dialed back on his harder drills, instead focusing on finesse and control. He spent hours probing the subtle nudges of Convergent Equilibrium, how it steadied his hand during a Plasma Compression Burst, how it sharpened his reflexes during a dodge, but kept evolution locked, as promised.
In the evenings, he drafted letters to Kilian, finally settling on a simple message: Haven called early. Core's full, need an imprint. Don't burn Wellspring down while I'm gone. He sealed it and sent it off, picturing his brother's characteristic smirk when he read it.
The day of departure dawned cold, fog curling through Allsfern's streets like ethereal fingers. Fin stood in his room, suddenly aware of how cramped it felt, desk strewn with notes on Earth cultivation theory, bed too short for his growing frame. He packed methodically: three tunics, his winter cloak, a whetstone for the tantō, and Marian's worn compilation of theoretical cultivation texts. He wondered if he could figure out a storage skill using his Transfer mana, something for another time.
The tantō itself, chitin blade with faint runes etched along the spine, gleamed on his desk, his constant companion since he'd turned twelve. He strapped it to his hip, its familiar weight grounding him in the midst of change.
Outside, the carriage waited, House Aodh's finest, dark wood gleaming with recent polish, four horses snorting mist into the early morning air. Cahira stood by the door, adjusting her traveling cloak, the outline of a concealed dagger visible only to those who knew to look for it. Donovan hefted a trunk onto the back, securing it with practiced movements.
Fin paused on the portico, taking in the scene. Two years ago, he'd stood in nearly this exact spot, a kid dumbstruck by the sight of Tier Threes in action, clutching an ant leg like it was the most precious thing in the world. Now, Haven Academy beckoned, promising evolution, advancement, answers.
"Ready?" Cahira called, climbing into the carriage, her eyes tracing his taller frame with that mixture of pride and worry that seemed permanently etched into her features.
"Yeah," Fin said, tossing his satchel inside. He slid onto the bench beside Donovan, feeling the carriage lurch forward as they began their journey westward. Allsfern, the only home he'd known since he’d been in this world, faded into rolling hills behind them.
As the landscape changed around him, Fin pulled his System sheet once more, blue text flaring in his vision:
Name: Fin Aodh
Age: 13
Core Status: Tier Two Ready – Elemental Imprint Required
Active Skills:
Thunderfang (Unique) Level 25 [Evolution Available]
Plasma Compression Burst (Unique) Level 25 [Evolution Available]
Passive Skills:
Convergent Equilibrium* (Unique) Level 10
Electromagnetic Perception (Unique) Level 25 [Evolution Available]
Scientific Warfare (Unique) Level 25 [Evolution Available]
The Evolution Available tags pulsed insistently, like heartbeats. Convergent Equilibrium remained stubbornly at Level 10, two years, and it hadn’t climbed past that first year’s gains. He frowned, tracing the text with his mind.
Donovan nudged him, breaking his concentration. "Scheming already?"
"Just thinking," Fin said, letting the System sheet fade from view. "This elemental imprint, what exactly does it mean?"
Cahira gazed out the window, her voice soft but steady. "Could be anything, fire, stone, wind, water. Haven's cliffs draw them naturally, the mana there is even, old, and wild. You'll find what resonates with you."
Fin leaned back against the cushioned seat, fingers tapping the tantō at his side. A week's journey to Havenhol, seven days until he would stand beneath those legendary cliffs where mana thrummed in ancient veins, where Tier Two waited just beyond his grasp. Two years of work had earned him this chance; one month more would see it realized.
The road stretched westward before them, gold and brown in the autumn light. Somewhere ahead, a spark waited on the edge of evolution. Fin closed his eyes, allowing Convergent Equilibrium to hum through his channels, steadying him for whatever lay ahead at Haven Academy.