Ash had always kept to himself.
To the students of the Academy, he was just another quiet noble child — strange, yes, but harmless. He had no elemental flair, no visible affinity, and worst of all in their eyes…
No sword.
Among nobles, a sword was everything — status, strength, identity. Without one, Ash was an easy target.
"Why do you even bother coming to the Academy, swordless trash?" one boy sneered during the trip.
Ash didn't reply.
He never did.
He simply looked away, as if the world they lived in meant little to him — because, in truth, it did.
---
The Academy had chosen a clearing near the Death Forest for the annual survival training.
Instructors stayed within wards, monitoring the students as they were tasked with finding resources, navigating terrain, and building shelter.
It should have been a simple day.
But cruelty never needed reason.
---
Three older noble boys cornered Ash near the old cliff edge that overlooked a forest choked in blackened roots.
"Still playing noble? Think you're better than us with your silences?" one hissed, grabbing Ash by the collar.
He didn't resist. He just watched — calm.
That calm irritated them.
One boy shoved him.
Too hard.
Ash stumbled back.
And fell.
---
The fall was long.
Branches slashed against his arms. Shadows closed in. The sky vanished.
When he hit the ground, pain bloomed through his ribs, but he didn't cry out.
He slowly rose.
Dust. Stone. Cracks in the land that pulsed with old magic.
He stood not in the forest anymore — but in a buried scar of the world.
His breath caught.
Death Valley.
The lost capital of the Incursed One.
---
He felt it before he saw it.
A pulse. A tug deep in his bones.
He followed it through broken pillars and ash-covered ruins, until he reached the heart of the valley.
There, embedded in a stone pedestal, were two swords — one silver-white with glowing golden edges, the other pitch-black with red fire curling along its hilt.
The moment his fingers touched the hilts, the air trembled.
Light and darkness swirled around him.
His heartbeat thundered like drums of war.
The swords accepted him.
And with them came something else — armor of ethereal cloth and shimmering metal, silver-white robes wrapping around him. A mask formed over his face, sleek and sharp like the edge of a blade. It was silver, with a golden line running across the right side, and a dark red glow on the left.
Ash felt nothing.
No fear.
No confusion.
Just a strange... peace.
Like coming home.
---
The forest above roared suddenly — something ancient stirred, reacting to the rebirth of a legend.
His right eye began to glow — pure, radiant gold.
The left burned with crimson fire.
"It begins again," he whispered, his voice distorted beneath the mask.
Far above, the three boys who had pushed him now panicked — one injured, one screaming for help.
A monstrous shadow loomed near them, born of the cursed forest.
Without thinking, Ash moved.
One flash.
One blur of white and black streaking through the valley.
And then—
Boom.
The creature was cleaved in two, its body fading into dark mist.
Ash stood silently where it once loomed.
The boys looked on in terror.
"Wh-who... who is that?"
They didn't know.
No one did.
But the forest had begun to whisper again.
The Incursed One had returned.
---