Chronicles Of The Shadow Sovereign

The gathered Sovereigns, each chosen by the rulers before them, nodded in silent agreement. They knew what this meant.

A Sovereign chosen by the Archangel himself was beyond precedent. It was a declaration that defied the previous orders.

And then, the world around Levi shifted once more.

He now stood before a massive black castle, an ominous fortress stretching beyond sight.

Its towering presence loomed over him, and before it lay seven colossal gates, each a passage into the very essence of a Sovereign's power.

Each gate bore a sigil—an embodiment of the trials he would face.

On the Seventh Gate, a hammer wreathed in burning flames was engraved into the iron—"The Shattered Veil." It was the gate of Pain.

On the Sixth Gate, a chain hung broken, a single drop of blood falling from its shattered links—"The Emberforge." It was the gate of Suffering.

On the Fifth Gate, a great spinning wheel of golden, silver, and black threads wove an unseen pattern—"The Loom of Threads." It was the gate of Fate.

On the Fourth Gate, a celestial compass was surrounded by a constellation, ever-shifting—"The Starforge Crucible." It was the gate of Destiny.

And so it continued, each gate leading him deeper into the essence of what it meant to rule.

But the final gate was not a gate at all.

At the end of the path stood a throne.

A great chair, carved from the fabric of the Dream Realm itself, adorned with the sigil of an open book, a glowing eye set upon its cover—"The Seat of Wisdom."

It was the throne of the Sovereign.

To sit upon it was to ascend—to become the Protector of the Dream Realm.

But there was a price.

A Sovereign could wield limitless power within the Dream Realm, but outside of it, he was nothing without his Domains.

Each of these seven gates represented a Domain—Pain, Suffering, Fate, Destiny, and beyond. They were not mere symbols. They were the limbs and hands of a Sovereign's power.

Without them, he was no more than an ordinary man.

A Sovereign without his Domains was a ruler of dreams—but powerless in the real world.

And that was both the blessing and the curse of his existence.

For what use was a ruler who could not act? A god trapped in a realm of illusions?

________

A vast crowd of students gathered before an ancient temple the temple of Erytheia, its towering presence casting long shadows over the stone courtyard.

Thousands stood in anxious silence, their gazes fixed on the single colossal gate that loomed before them.

One by one, students approached the gate, stepping forward into the unknown.

In a secluded corner, Elyra meticulously recorded their names, her quill moving with practiced precision.

She noted every reaction, the ones who showed fear, those who hesitated, and the unfortunate few who failed the trial before it even began.

Each time a student neared the sealed gate, an ominous sigil ignited upon its surface—a hammer engulfed in flames.

It was the mark of The Shattered Veil.

The moment they stepped too close, the gate unleashed its aura upon them in crimson red color, and in an instant, they were trapped—dragged into a dream that was theirs alone to endure.

What they faced inside, no one knew.

But the results were clear.

Commoner students, unprepared and lacking the knowledge to resist, merely closed their eyes for what felt like a fleeting moment. Yet when they opened them again, terror was painted across their faces.

Their breath came in sharp gasps, and their steps faltered as they instinctively retreated, unable to bear the unseen horrors within.

But the noble students, the ones born into power, raised in halls of knowledge and discipline, stood firm. They did not yield to the oppressive aura.

When they refused to submit, the gate opened before them.

And as their reward, the aura that once sought to crush them was instead absorbed into their very bodies.

The Shattered Veil was no mere test. It was a forge of suffering, weaving illusions so harrowing that only those with unyielding resolve could withstand them.

Pain beyond imagination. Suffering beyond comprehension.

Only those who faced fear, not as victims but as conquerors, would be deemed worthy.

Among them, a select few, the finest of the noble seedlings, completed the trial in record time. The five fastest to endure the ordeal would be granted an honor far beyond simple passage.

They would ascend.

Marked by the Shattered Veil, these chosen students became Marked Echoes, a status that set them apart from all others.

A crimson-red aura surged into their bodies, seeping into their very being, tempering flesh, muscle, bones, and blood.

Even their nerves and spirit were reforged, reshaped into something greater.

This was their beginning.

Their first step toward a power that few would ever attain.

Elyra knew that nobles possessed knowledge beyond the grasp of commoners, secrets that gave them an undeniable advantage. This was why their success rate in the trials far exceeded that of commoners.

Among the commoners, only a rare few survived the Shattered Veil and its nightmarish ordeals. But for the nobles, nearly three out of four emerged as Echoes, their passage through the trial almost assured.

Seated at her desk, pen scratching against parchment, Erya meticulously recorded each student's fate, not just to sell the news only, but for herself also. She needed this knowledge.

If she wanted to fight the system that hoarded the key to survival, she had to understand it first.

Yet, in her frustration, she almost forgot, she needed to keep an eye on the sky within the Dream Realm. There was something there, something she could not afford to miss.

Meanwhile, Dorian had yet to take the trial. He was waiting, despite the odds, despite the near impossibility of what he hoped for.

He waited because his friend had told him to. And for Dorian, that was reason enough.

"Young master, when will you take the trial? Half the students have already gone through it," Anderson said, watching the boy who looked like Levi.

"Wait," Levi replied, his gaze locked onto the sky. A frown settled on his face as a thought crept into his mind. "I shouldn't have believed that Veyrathis brat... By now, a beast is probably feasting on his corpse."

"That boy had claimed a constellation in the shape of an eye would appear in the Dream Realm, signaling the opening of the Domains. And yet, nothing had happened."

Levi let out a sigh, rubbing his temples. "And now, thanks to that boy's 'main character syndrome,' we have to leave Kalimaru too."

He muttered, frustration seeping into his tone. "If he enjoys playing the hero so much, he should just join a theater troupe."

His form flickered for a brief moment, Kael Aeltheryn, disguised as Levi, clenched his jaw. Curse that boy. His expression shifted through a myriad of emotions—anger, frustration, and finally, outright disgust.

Dorian, who had been watching quietly, noticed the subtle changes in "Levi's" face. A cold sweat formed on his palms. Something's wrong with him...

Before he could speak, a voice cut through his thoughts.

"You should worry about yourself," a sharp voice remarked.

Dorian turned, locking eyes with a boy with jet-black hair, piercing gaze, and a chiseled jawline, Lysander Draymoor.

Recognition flickered in Dorian's mind. It was him. The same boy from yesterday's gathering, the one who had brazenly inserted himself into the conversation with him and Levi.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. "Why should I care? I will awaken an Order 4 talent, no doubt.

"Instead, Lysander, you should watch your tongue, you're always meddling in others' business."

Lysander smirked. "Oh? Have I become a threat, Dorian?"

A chuckle echoed behind them. Garrett, standing among the gathered nobles, folded his arms and said mockingly, "And what will you do, Lysander, if Dorian awakens a Level 4 talent?"

Lysander's smirk faded. His expression hardened, and he took a step forward.

"If he even awakens an Order 5 Echo Talent, I, Lysander Draymoor, swear on my ancestors' name—I will give him 2000 Solari," he declared, confidence gleaming in his eyes.

A hush fell over the gathered nobles.

2000 Solari.

The weight of that number rippled through the crowd. Even among nobles, that was a staggering sum.

Solari, the gold coins roughly the size of a human thumb, were the standard of wealth, while Paleons, the smaller silver coins, were used for everyday transactions.

Solari carried immense value, a symbol of true prosperity, whereas Paleons were the more common currency of the people.

For most, earning even a single Solari per week was considered fortunate. Yet here was Lysander, wagering 2000 Solari as if it were a casual gamble.

Whispers erupted. Nobles who had been merely observing now turned their full attention to the conversation.

"Is he mad?" someone murmured.

"Even a bet of 100 Solari would have been absurd…" another voice chimed in.

After all, 1,000 Solari was a lifetime's fortune for some nobles, and for commoners enough to sustain their entire household for years.

Yet here, 2000 Solari was being thrown into a bet as if it were mere pocket change.