In the year 1907, in the world of Gaia, every child at the age of ten receives a soulmate object known as an Aether a living artifact that is directly connected to its owner. Only 40% of these Aethers possess the ability to fight; while they may not be powerful at first, they can be trained to grow stronger and even evolve. The remaining 60% are non combat Aethers, lacking any fighting capabilities. Among the 40% that are combat capable, 20% are classified as special Aethers, possessing unique elements or attributes. From that group, 2% are considered legendary Aethers, rare and powerful beyond measure.
As the morning sun cast golden hues across the fields of Little Wind Village, a boy of ten stood ankle-deep in soil, helping his parents tend to the earth. His name was Zend Kly. His skin bore the warm tone of the land he tilled, his hair was white as if dusted by frost, and his eyes shared the same pale tone mysterious and calm.
Beside him, his father, Roger Kly, swung a large, worn-out hoe into the earth. His Aether was that very hoe, a sturdy farming artifact bound to him for years. Zend's mother, Lily Kly, worked not far away, her Aether a silver sewing needle tucked behind her ear, ready to mend sacks or clothes on the spot.
Their life was simple, their hands calloused by seasons, but their hearts steady.
"Zend!" came a call from beyond the field.
A boy with neatly combed blonde hair and bright blue eyes ran up the dirt path, waving excitedly. He was dressed in finer clothes, his boots spotless despite the muddy ground. Chris Xavier, son of the noble House Xavier, was Zend's friend since infancy, despite the difference in their status.
"Hurry up! We're going to be late for the Aether Ceremony!" Chris called out, slightly out of breath. "The entire Wind Province is gathering today at Glory Hall!"
Zend looked at his parents, who nodded with a smile. Roger clapped a heavy, muddy hand on his son's shoulder. "Go. Your time has come."
The journey to Glory hall was short, but Zend's heart made it feel long. The ancient structure sat atop the hills, shaped like a great stadium with stone tiers rising in a circle. At its center was an altar, and at the heart of that altar stood a golden cauldron brimming with radiant, sky blue liquid the Aether pool, said to be where soul bound artifacts emerged.
Children lined up nervously, one by one stepping forward as the cauldron called to them. Some received swords that shimmered with flame, others received tools or books that pulsed with gentle magic. Laughter and awe echoed through the stone chamber.
Then it was Chris's turn.
As he stepped onto the altar and extended his hand over the cauldron, the air thickened. The clouds above darkened as thunder rumbled in the heavens. Lightning slashed the sky. Gasps rang out.
Then, slowly, something emerged from the blue light a blade.
A long, obsidian sword rose from the liquid, adorned with golden engravings of coiled dragons. Its aura rippled outward, casting light and shadow in equal measure. The mayor himself stood in stunned silence.
"A legendary Aether..." someone whispered.
When Chris grasped the sword's hilt, the storm ceased. The clouds vanished. The light returned.
Then came Zend's turn.
Nervously, he stepped forward. The crowd, still murmuring about the legendary sword, barely paid him attention. He placed his hand above the cauldron.
Suddenly everything stopped.
The air froze. Sounds dulled to silence. Time itself seemed to hesitate.
And from the liquid rose a thin, black needle small, unassuming, like something lost in a drawer. To most, it was meaningless. Forgettable.
But Zend saw.
In that frozen moment, he could feel it a pull, a hum, something ancient hidden deep within the needle's simplicity. When he reached out and touched it, time resumed, as if nothing had happened.
Laughter bubbled in the crowd.
"A needle?" someone scoffed. "What's he going to do, poke his enemies?"
Zend held the needle tightly, saying nothing. But inside, he knew something was different.
After the ceremony, Zend and Chris walked back to Little Wind Village. The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows behind them.
Behind them, scholars and scouts from the great academies had already surrounded Chris, desperate to claim him for their institutions. They offered promises of training, honor, power. Chris smiled politely but looked for Zend.
When he finally escaped their attention, Chris jogged up beside his friend.
"They don't understand, Zend," he said. "Not all strength looks the same at first. Your Aether… it came with silence, not thunder. That means something."
Zend looked at the needle in his palm. It pulsed faintly, just once like a heartbeat.
"I know," he whispered.
And so the boy with the dragon blade and the boy with the black needle walked down the hill, into a world that would soon come to fear both.