Tarek D'Rael

Year 3115. Technology was replaced centuries ago. Now, we live by mana — the energy that fuels the four elements: fire, water, earth, and air. Most people are lucky to master even one element. Their mana simply runs out before they ever come close to touching another.

But me? I was born different.

I don’t remember a time when my body didn’t hum with power, when my blood didn’t burn with it. Doctors said I wouldn’t survive childhood — too much mana would tear me apart. Instead, it built me into a weapon. I was trained from the age of four, molded by the best mages the Federation had. Now, I’m not just a soldier — I’m a symbol. A protector of order.

I serve directly under High Archon Dalmar Vessor, the most powerful political figure in the New Federation. They call me his shadow, his blade, his shield. I’ve mastered fire, air, and water. Earth still sleeps in me... but something tells me it won’t stay that way forever.

Peace is an illusion.

From beneath the cities, old powers rise again. Not the mafia of history books — these are the Limit Syndicates, criminal forces armed with corrupted forms of elemental magic. Forbidden disciplines that twist the four elements into something darker. Water becomes blood control. Earth bends into metal and poison. Air manipulates sound, crushing organs with a whisper. Fire rots and decays flesh and matter.

And leading one of the most feared Syndicates is Tarek D’Rael — the Broken Prince. They say he was raised in the Void Sectors. That his mana nearly killed his mother in childbirth. Like me, he was born with an unnatural reservoir of power. But where I was taught to protect, he learned to survive. His elements are water and earth... but what truly makes him deadly are his forbidden affinities — blood and metal.

He can stop a man’s heart without lifting a finger. He can pull iron from blood and shatter steel with a breath. Some say he isn’t even human. I used to think so too.

Until tonight.

A diplomatic event at the Dawnlight Spire — a floating restaurant atop a thousand-meter tower, walls made of glass and pride. Inside: politicians, generals, the rich and important. I stand at Dalmar’s side, eyes scanning, magic coiled in my palms like a second heartbeat.

Then — The eastern wall shatters. Mana screams. A wave of masked intruders floods the room. Syndicate soldiers. I react before thinking, casting a shield wide enough to cover a dozen delegates.

But the air changes. I feel him before I see him.

Tall. Calm. In a black suit laced with living metal and dried blood. No mask. Eyes like mercury. He walks across broken glass like it’s his stage. And he’s looking at me.

Tarek D’Rael. The myth. The monster. The man I’ve only seen in surveillance, never up close.

His voice — enhanced by magic — echoes across the hall.

"You’ve learned to protect them well, haven’t you?" he says, eyes locked on mine. "Okay, let me kill you and be done with it.."