The Aetherium Peaks carved a jagged scar across the Veridian skyline, an indifferent crown above the sprawling metropolis. Elias Thorne descended from their desolate heights, the air growing thick with the metallic tang of industry and the acrid smoke of countless chimneys. His boots, worn thin by three months of grueling training, crunched on the paved road leading back to the Thorne Veridian manor. Even from a distance, figures moved to avoid him – stable hands pulling at the reins of Aether-carriages, groundskeepers veering off manicured paths, even the uniformed Enforcers posted at the outer gates. His reputation, it seemed, had only festered in his absence. “Why is there a vagrant near the manor…?” A whisper, barely audible, carried on the wind. Elias’s senses, sharpened to an unnerving degree by the raw Aetherium coursing through his veins, snagged it. He heard the ragged catch of breath, the rustle of servant’s livery, the quick, frantic shush. “Shh, quiet! That’s the young master Elias!” Another, laced with disbelief, a younger voice: “That… grime-covered person?” A sharp slap. “Be silent, girl! Hold your tongue!” He heard every hushed word, every tremor of distaste, every ripple of contempt. Yet, Elias felt nothing but a cold, unwavering focus. The grime clinging to his clothes, the wild tangle of his hair, the gauntness etched into his face – these were the marks of his rebirth, not his shame. He was a vessel for raw Aetherium, capable of feats he once only dreamed of, and the derision of nameless servants was a price he willingly paid. His grim thoughts coalesced around a single, pressing objective: *The moment approaches.* His temporal echo, a faint, flickering memory of a future tragedy he was desperate to avert, pulsed with increased urgency. The precise details remained blurred, a haunting premonition rather than a clear blueprint, but he knew. Within the next seven cycles, a pivotal incident would unfold, an event crucial for acquiring the leverage he needed, the resources that would define his next move. His new body, a conduit for potent, unstable Aetherium, thrummed with a controlled power, a silent promise that this time, he would not fail. The manor’s baths were a sanctuary of sorts, a stark contrast to the biting winds and jagged rocks of the Peaks. Kael, Elias’s personal attendant, hovered with a mix of exasperation and genuine concern. “By the Cogwheel, Master Elias! Have you been wallowing in the slag heaps for the past three months?! What in Veridia’s name did you *do* up in those mountains?!” Kael’s voice was a practiced whine, full of theatrical suffering. He vigorously scrubbed at Elias’s back with a stiff brush, splashing hot water from the ornate faucet of the bathing chamber. Steam plumed around them, heavy with the scent of pine and lye soap. “Training,” Elias grunted, the word clipped. He felt the sting of the bristles, a welcome sensation after the dull ache of constant Aetherium manipulation. “Training? What kind of training turns a Thorne into… a bog-dweller? My nose, Master Elias, my nose!” Kael gagged for effect, though his movements remained meticulous. He clearly detested touching the grimy exterior, yet the sheer volume of greyish-black water rinsing from Elias’s body left him momentarily speechless. Elias leaned back, allowing the hot water to scald away the last vestiges of his mountain sojourn. “Anything noteworthy happen while I was gone?” Kael paused, then offered a strained, awkward laugh. “Nothing, Master Elias. Without you, sir, the manor has been… well, it’s been dreadfully quiet. Ahahaha. What I mean to say is… it was boring. Yes. Utterly boring.” The truth, Elias knew, was that his absence had brought a certain peace, a relief from the constant turmoil he had once embodied. Kael’s forced cheer sounded like a lie born of habit. The unexpected reply came after Kael had finished and was now laying out fresh robes. “The official story, that is. Unofficially… well, it’s not exactly quiet. Rumors, Master Elias. All over the manor. They say you… fled. That you ran from a sparring match with young Master Caspian. That you couldn’t face the comparison. A coward, they call you. Unfit to inherit such a prominent Veridian house.” Kael’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, a mixture of scandal and pity. “Three months of seclusion, they say, just to hide your shame.” A coldness settled in Elias’s chest. “Ridiculous. Though I have a good idea whose whisper campaigns are behind such fabrications.” Vivienne. It could only be Vivienne, his cold stepmother, ever eager to discredit him and elevate her own son. “But you always said you didn’t care for rumors, Master Elias. Didn’t you? You shouldn’t let them trouble you.” Kael’s simple advice was earnest, if naive. “Yes, you’re right, Kael. It’s fine. Everything will be rectified once I speak with my father.” Elias’s voice was devoid of emotion. He envisioned his father, Master Thorne, a formidable Aether-Engineer and Guild Master, immediately recognizing the profound change, the burgeoning Aetherium mastery within him. Once his father acknowledged this transformation, these petty whispers would crumble to dust. It was a logical, calculated step. His complacent thoughts, however, shattered within the hour. Elias, now clean and clad in simple but dignified robes, strode towards his father’s study, intending to report the completion of his training. But the path was barred. At the entrance to the inner chambers, Commander Valerius, a seasoned Enforcer in his late forties with a perpetually stony expression, stood rigid, blocking the way. “According to established Thorne protocol,” Valerius intoned, his voice flat and unyielding, “even direct blood relatives cannot breach the Master’s private residence without prior, formal notice.” Kael, who had followed a respectful distance behind, stammered, his eyes wide with incredulity. “That… that rule is centuries old, Commander! From the founding era!” Elias stared at Valerius. “What is this absurdity? I entered these chambers without 'notice' just three months ago.” A sharp memory, vivid and clear. Valerius’s lips curled, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “Then, Master Elias, the Enforcer on duty at that time was derelict in his duties.” Elias met the Commander’s gaze, a spark of ice igniting in his own. *This never happened in my past life.* The temporal echo flickered, showing him a different memory – a path walked unimpeded, a father met without obstruction. He had chosen a different path, made different sacrifices, and the consequences were immediate. He had anticipated changes, yes, but not such a blatant, public downgrade of his standing. His heightened senses, a legacy of his Aetherium channeling, caught a low murmur from within the residence. Hushed voices, carefully modulated, but distinct. “Is Valerius mad? He’s still the Thorne scion, isn’t he?” Another replied, heavy with disdain. “I don’t know. Reckless, always. But he’s retiring soon, so I hear. Made your bets on the other side, didn’t you?” A snort. “Think Elias will actually turn back? Or start one of his usual tantrums?” The first voice chuckled. “He’s a craven, cowers even from young Master Caspian. So yes, he’ll turn back, tail tucked.” Another added, a hint of schadenfreude, “Well, whatever unfolds, it’s on Valerius’s head.” And then, a dismissive, “We were on a rotational break, so we couldn’t know.” The words, laced with contempt for Valerius and open scorn for himself, carved into Elias. His reputation, he realized with chilling clarity, had plummeted far lower than he had imagined. “The Enforcer roster is currently at minimum, Master Elias,” Valerius continued, his voice dripping with faux regret. “No one to deliver a message to the Master. I must insist you return at another time.” The Commander’s face, now openly mocking, twisted something raw and primal within Elias. *Hah. You witness this, don't you?* By nature, Elias Thorne was no meek lamb. His past life, spent as a brutal field agent for a desperate resistance, after being disinherited and cast out, had forged a patience most men could only dream of. He did not typically indulge in petty provocations. Yet, this went beyond mere annoyance. His gaze swept the grand hall beyond Valerius. From the upper balconies, from behind half-closed doors and ornate tapestries, he saw them. Thorne family members, distant cousins, manor associates. Some watched openly, brazen smiles playing on their lips. Others feigned disinterest, quickly averting their eyes, yet their postures were rigid, their attention fixed. Nearly all of them, he understood, were tacitly endorsing Valerius’s blatant disrespect. Elias had known his reputation was in tatters, that his past failures invited disregard, but to feel the sting of such direct, collective scorn was a different matter entirely. *Was it this pervasive? This is… troublesome.* His initial plan, to calmly present his altered self to his father and slowly rebuild his standing, evaporated. It was too slow, too vulnerable to these simmering resentments. *No need for delay.* The thought, cold and decisive, solidified in his mind. The temporal echo of a future where hesitancy led to ruin spurred him on. Though his strategic mind had dismissed the old plan, the raw, youthful anger simmering beneath his new, hardened exterior flared, igniting a calculated fury in his eyes. “Your name, Enforcer,” Elias commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. Valerius, still smiling, though a flicker of unease now crossed his features, responded with a dismissive shrug. “Valerius, Master Elias.” “Commander Valerius,” Elias articulated, each syllable sharp and precise, “you have publicly humiliated me, Elias Thorne, heir to this house, by invoking an archaic, rarely enforced Thorne protocol. I, Elias Thorne, formally challenge you to a duel to redeem this unjust humiliation.” Valerius’s smile froze, melting into a mask of stunned disbelief. From beneath his robes, Elias withdrew a heavy, reinforced sparring gauntlet, its metal plates gleaming dully in the gaslight. He tossed it. It struck Valerius’s breastplate with a dull *thud*, echoing through the sudden silence of the hall, before clattering to the polished flagstones. The manor went utterly still, all eyes riveted on the fallen gauntlet. The standoff was brief. Valerius, his face red with a mixture of shock and suppressed rage, finally capitulated. The spectacle was moved to the Thorne family’s Aetherium training yards, a sprawling expanse of reinforced flagstone and suspended Aether-lenses, where knights and Enforcers typically honed their martial and channeling skills. Sparring Enforcers, mid-drill, abruptly ceased their practice, morphing into an eager, murmuring audience. “What use is a faint that wouldn’t stir a sleeping street urchin, Valerius?” Elias’s voice cut across the murmurs, a deliberate barb. “You call yourself a Commander, and that is the best the Thorne Enforcers can offer as an opening?” He hadn’t even truly moved, merely shifted weight, but the subtle, almost imperceptible dodge was enough to make Valerius’s initial, clumsy lunge appear pathetic. Whispers erupted. “The Thorne scion did that?” “I didn’t even see him move!” Servants and retainers, startled, exchanged wide-eyed glances. The most shaken, however, were the Enforcers themselves. For years, Elias Thorne had been an embarrassment, a reckless, untalented scion who only ever caused trouble. This hooligan, this direct descendant they scorned, had just revealed an unexpected, dangerous edge. These hardened warriors, usually unflappable, looked at each other with more agitation than the mere domestic staff. “Referee,” Elias called out, drawing every eye in the buzzing crowd, his tone laced with mocking magnanimity, “I believe Commander Valerius deserves a second chance. What say you?” The officiating Enforcer, a stern-faced man named Commander Jorn, had been thrust into this role mid-training. He looked utterly bewildered, his eyes still wide with shock as he glanced between Elias and a thoroughly humiliated Valerius. “…Yes, proceed. Valerius, are you amenable?” Valerius, his face a mottled crimson, his jaw clenched, could only nod heavily, defeat already etched into his features. As the crowd settled, no one genuinely expected Elias to win. Their interest was purely in seeing how long the disgraced Thorne scion could last against a seasoned Enforcer, or how spectacularly he would be knocked out. Every Enforcer present remembered Elias’s public defeat by young Master Caspian months prior, an embarrassment that had solidified his reputation as a coward. *Was I truly that inept, or was Caspian a genius even then?* Elias wondered, a cold, analytical thought. If he were to win this duel against a Commander, what new rumors would ignite? Elias was already calculating the ripple effects, the shift in narrative. Commander Valerius, unwitting and unwilling, would serve as an excellent catalyst. “...Take care of yourself, Master Elias,” Valerius gritted out, his voice polite despite the anger simmering beneath. He lacked the nerve to openly curse a direct family member in front of so many watchful Enforcers and manor staff. “Let the official duel between Elias Thorne and Commander Valerius commence!” Commander Jorn announced, his voice strained. “For safety, all weaponry is limited to Aetherium-reinforced sparring staves! Do your best, both of you!” Jorn, clearly unhappy at this unexpected interruption to his training, could only swap out their ceremonial swords for the blunted, durable staves. Even so, any Enforcer capable of channeling raw Aetherium could kill with a sparring stave, making the situation far from truly safe. But Elias’s resolve was unshakable; there was no turning back now. *Whatever happens, it’s not my fault,* Jorn silently pleaded, a grimace tightening his face. *Still, please go easy, Commander Valerius.* Against the officiating Enforcer’s unspoken wish, Valerius charged first, his body visibly pulsing. Faint, crimson tendrils of raw Aetherium leaked from his form, a clear sign of immature control, but an intimidating display nonetheless. His Aetherium-reinforced sparring stave became a blur, splitting into three distinct, phantom trails as he launched his furious attack toward Elias.

The First Stone