The sound of sirens. The acrid scent of smoke. The roar of the crowd.
Amina Yusuf remembered the chaos—protesters clashing with riot police, the chants echoing off concrete, the desperation in her chest as she shouted for justice. She had seen too many friends hurt. Too many promises were broken. That night, it had boiled over. Windows shattered, fires lit, and lines drawn.
Then the flash. The sharp sting.
A bullet through the chest.
She hadn't screamed. She'd just fallen—rage still burning in her bones.
Then… the stillness of stars.
The divine board. The glowing tiles beneath her feet. The statues of gods above, watching in unreadable silence. The voice. The title Proxy of Wrath and Patience. Is something greater than she'd ever imagined.
Now—
She awoke with a gasp, her lungs drinking in crisp mountain air.
The world around her was vast and clean. Jagged cliffs carved the sky, and a river coiled like a silver ribbon far below. Tall grasses bent with the wind, and strange birds sang in haunting harmonies. The air shimmered with mana.
She sat up, her hand digging into the stone.
Everything felt... alive. Her muscles coiled with strength. Her vision is sharper. Her heartbeat—steady, powerful.
Her skin was deep bronze, smooth and radiant with faint ember-like veins trailing along her arms. Her blackhair, once cropped short, now fell in thick braids to her waist. Her eyes glowed with a deep amber hue, like molten fire sealed behind restraint.
She stood and looked into a nearby pond, stunned by the reflection.
She had awakened as a Dravari—a rare elemental race said to be born of flame and forged by trial. Known for their connection to volatile mana and emotional amplification, Dravari could draw strength from their wrath and will it into form… but only if tempered by patience, lest it consume them.
She clenched her fists, testing the sensation. Heat swirled in her palms, then faded.
Her body no longer felt fragile—it was a weapon. And a responsibility.
A sound caught her attention.
A figure approached—an old man with skin-like bark and a staff of twisted root. His eyes gleamed with ancient calm.
"You fell like a flame from the sky," he said gently. "Yet you do not burn."
Amina hesitated. "Where am I?"
"Sanctum's Edge. The gods have been whispering. You were meant to rise here."
She opened her mouth to speak of the board, of the voice, of the game… but the words dissolved before they could form. The divine seal held her tongue fast. Her brow furrowed.
"You'll find your answers," the old man said, as if reading her worry. "But fire must learn when to rest, and when to rage."
She nodded slowly, accepting the water he offered.
Her gift stirred within her: Rage Reservoir. A wave of burning heat surged through her veins. It was like the world had suddenly grown heavier, as if she were carrying the weight of all her unresolved anger and grief in her bones. Every moment she had held back, every time she had swallowed her rage to keep her head cool, now exploded inside her. She could feel it building, gathering strength, a tempest of fury that had nowhere to go, but needed release.
But Amina knew better than to release it carelessly.
She closed her eyes again, drawing deep breaths, trying to contain it. She had always known that if she didn't control this—if she didn't maintain some kind of discipline—this power could destroy everything around her. But if she mastered it... if she could harness the fury within her, she could change the very world she stood on.
It was a perfect mirror of her soul.
Injustice had always ignited her. But now, she had the chance to wield her fury with wisdom. Her death had been a spark in a burning world. Now, her rebirth was a slow, steady blaze.
As she followed the old man down a winding trail, Amina looked toward the horizon.
"I wasn't finished fighting," she whispered. "And now… I won't have to."
Auron had just met its fiercest reckoning.
And Amina Yusuf had found her battlefield.