The Last Veldrath: The Exiled Swordsman’s Path

Eryndor had trained relentlessly on his own for years, pushing himself far beyond his limits to reach the Apprentice level. His body ached, his mind burned with exhaustion, but there was no stopping. This was the only way he could move forward, the only way he could escape the suffocating expectations of his family.

But even with all his effort, the journey ahead seemed almost impossible. The Aetherial Academy... His thoughts wandered as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He could still hear his father's mocking voice in his head: "You'll never belong there. You're nothing more than a failure." The words cut deep, but Eryndor refused to let them break him.

He focused on his sword, feeling its weight in his hands as he executed another series of strikes—each movement sluggish but deliberate.

Eight levels of power... Eryndor thought, swinging the blade through the air, a bit more force than necessary. Each level reflected one's mastery of mana and combat. But... He paused, the thought pressing on his chest. He couldn't even access the most basic level of magic. It felt suffocating.

His mind wandered through the different stages, imagining what it might be like to truly belong to one of them:

• Apprentice The starting point... the lowest. That's where I began.

Eryndor grimaced, remembering when he could barely summon even the faintest spark of mana. The Apprentice level was weak, a place where only the faintest abilities could be found. It was the entry point for everyone, but to Eryndor, it felt like a permanent home. I'll never leave this place...

• Virtuoso At least I've reached this point. Barely.

The Virtuoso level was a mark of improvement—a sign that one could manage their magic and combat techniques with some consistency. But to Eryndor, it felt like he was still years behind. His brothers reached Virtuoso before they could even walk, while he struggled every step. They will surpass me. They already have.

• Savant To become a Savant… one must achieve perfection.

Eryndor could only imagine what it would feel like to wield his abilities with grace, to move like a master. But that dream felt so far out of reach. He couldn't even summon the faintest wisp of magic. How could I ever become something like that?

• Grandmaster A Grandmaster... a near-perfect ideal.

A Grandmaster stood at the peak of human capability, in control of both their magic and combat abilities. They were mentors, leaders, paragons of strength. I'll never reach that height. Magic and combat have always eluded me.

• Colossus My father... A Colossus.

The word stung in his mind. A Colossus was a warrior whose power could level mountains, one whose mastery over combat was unparalleled. Eryndor's father, Valdric, was a Colossus, an invincible force. But I can't even match his shadow. I'll never be like him.

• Warlord A Warlord... greater than even Colossus.

Warlords were warriors who could bend the world itself to their will. Not only could they defeat armies, but they could alter the fabric of reality, their power spanning the spiritual and physical realms. I could never lead a nation. I could never command that kind of power.

• Archon The Archons...

Archons were beings of immense power and wisdom. They had lived for centuries, surpassing even the might of Warlords. Theodric Veldrath... my grandfather... was one of them. His name is etched in the history of Aetheria, while I stand here, unable to even summon magic.

• Eternal The Eternal...

The final level, something only a god could achieve. Those who reached this pinnacle were said to surpass even the gods themselves, their power incomprehensible. King Lucius VIII had ascended to this level, becoming Aetheria's immortal ruler. But that's not me. There's no place for someone like me among them.

Eryndor's sword arm trembled as he tried to maintain his stance. No matter how hard I try... I'll always be an Apprentice. A failure. A disappointment. He gritted his teeth, gripping the sword tighter as the weight of his family's expectations bore down on him. Sweat dripped down his face, his movements sluggish, but still, he did not stop.

Not yet. I'll get into Aetherial Academy. I have to. The thought burned in his chest. No matter how impossible it seems, I'll prove them all wrong.

He took a deep breath, focusing on his sword as he prepared for another round of strikes, each one harder, faster, driven by his frustration.

Eryndor stood at the door of the Veldrath estate, his pack slung over his shoulder. The weight of his belongings was nothing compared to the weight of what he was leaving behind.

For a moment, he looked back at the stone mansion, cold and imposing, like a prison to him. His father's voice echoed in his mind: "You'll never amount to anything. There's no place for you here."

His fists clenched around the straps of his pack. Why was it always me? he thought, his eyes wandering over the family portraits that lined the hallway. Why am I the failure? For a fleeting moment, he thought about slamming the door behind him, but instead, he let the anger fade, replaced by cold resolve. I'll prove them wrong.

With a deep breath, Eryndor stepped out into the morning air. The sprawling grounds of the estate stretched before him, a picture of wealth and status. But to him, it meant nothing. This place... it's not home. I have nothing here.

His gaze hardened. But I'll make my own path. The Aetherial Academy was his destination, and nothing would stop him.

Four Days Later

The road stretched on for days, each step heavier than the last. Eryndor's legs ached, his body fatigued, but the frustration—the constant, gnawing frustration—was what made each step feel even more exhausting.

I've always had to struggle, he thought bitterly as the endless road stretched out before him. They never believed in me. They left me behind.

His mind was filled with memories of silence at the dinner table, the insults from his family. His fists clenched tightly around the straps of his pack. But I'll show them. I'll show them all.

Despite his resolve, the quiet nights in the wilderness were when the weight of his thoughts became unbearable. Sitting by a small fire, his mind would drift back to the mansion—the family gatherings, the luxury, and how he was always an outsider. None of it matters now. Not anymore.

Each day, his body grew weaker, but his determination remained unyielding. I'll prove that I'm more than just a disappointment.

Three Days Later: Arriving at the Capital

After three days of relentless travel, Eryndor finally saw the capital city of Aetheria. The towering spires of the city seemed to reach the heavens, their gleaming stone structures casting an ethereal glow.

He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the city—a place of wealth and power, where the strong thrived. This is where people like me are nothing, he thought bitterly, feeling the disparity between him and the bustling crowd around him. His worn clothing and weary eyes made him feel like an outsider in a sea of wealth.

But he didn't flinch. He didn't shrink from the weight of his own insignificance. I'm here to stay.

The Aetherial Academy

And then, there it was. The Aetherial Academy stood before him, its towering white walls regal and imposing. The grand iron gates gleamed in the sunlight, a symbol of the institution's wealth and prestige.

Eryndor felt his heart race, his throat tight with a mix of anticipation and dread. The grounds were expansive, lush gardens, training fields, and students—young prodigies—gracefully honing their craft. Every one of them seemed to belong here. They belong here, he thought bitterly, the disparity stinging. I don't.

For a brief moment, doubt gnawed at him. What if they don't accept me? What if I don't belong here, like they always said?

But there was no turning back. He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. His pulse quickened, his gaze hardening. He had walked this far, and now, he would walk through those gates, whether they opened for him or not.

I'll prove them wrong. I'm here to stay.