Strength rules all. This is the law of the world Aldric was reborn into—a world where the heavens bless the strong and forsake the weak. Power is the only truth, the only currency, the only salvation. Without it, one is nothing more than dust beneath the heels of the mighty. It was a world where mercy was mistaken for weakness, and kindness often led to ruin. The powerful dictated the laws, and those beneath them had only two choices: obey or perish.
Celestine Academy, a place of elegance and power, was no sanctuary for him. A lone male in a sect of warriors, he was tolerated at best, despised at worst. His mother's sin had become his burden. His body, frail and cursed, shackled him to a fate of ridicule and scorn. The daughters of Celestine Academy viewed him as an anomaly, an unwelcome shadow in their sacred halls. He had no allies, no mentors—only the cold stares and whispered mockery that followed him like a specter.
From the moment he had first stepped foot in the academy's grand halls, he had been an outcast. The women of Celestine Academy were warriors of legend, trained in arts that could shatter mountains and rend the heavens asunder. Each of them bore an illustrious lineage, their names spoken with reverence. Aldric, however, had neither power nor pedigree. The blood that flowed through his veins was tainted by the shame of his mother's past—a past that many still whispered about in hushed voices.
To be weak was to be nothing. To be powerless was to be discarded. He had learned this lesson not through words but through wounds—through bruises that never quite healed, through shattered pride and endless nights spent staring at the moon, wondering if fate had any mercy left for those like him. He had endured the mockery of his peers, the derision of instructors who saw no potential in him, the scorn of warriors who believed that a man had no place among them. But amidst the suffering, he had made a vow: he would not break.
The world had given him nothing, but he would take everything. If the world sought to break him, he would forge himself anew in its relentless crucible. If destiny deemed him unworthy, he would carve his own path with blood, sweat, and unyielding will. He would not be cast aside. He would not fade into obscurity.
Aldric clenched his fists, feeling the raw determination burning within him. The academy had stripped him of everything—his pride, his dignity, his belief in fairness. But they had underestimated him. Strength was not merely muscle and magic; it was will. And his will was unbreakable.
Even if it meant defying the very heavens themselves.
He would rise, not because he was chosen, but because he chose to stand. He would seize his rightful place in this world, not through birthright, but through unrelenting effort. Let those who mocked him now tremble when they heard his name. Let those who scorned him watch as he ascended beyond their reach.
Aldric exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the towering spires of Celestine Academy. This was where his journey would begin. This was where he would carve his legend.
His story begins here.
A tale of an outcast who refused to bow.