What happened after the battle with the Beowolf changed everything.
When the glyph appeared and absorbed the Grimm's remains… when the system revealed itself… the triplets understood.
They were no longer just children struggling to survive in a broken world.
They were heirs to something ancient. Something vast.
And with that realization, **a fire ignited within them**.
They ran—no, *raced*—back through the woods to the abandoned village they now called home. Their small bodies, still trembling with adrenaline, felt weightless with purpose. For the first time since their parents died, they felt something deeper than sorrow.
They felt *resolve*.
Their names echoed in the forest wind, carried like the whisper of prophecy.
**Aetherion Elarion.**
**Virelia Elarion.**
**Zephine Elarion.**
Three children. One soul.
Bound by loss, awakened by memory, driven by fate.
The memories of countless lives now stirred constantly in their minds—faint but clear, like echoes calling from distant timelines. Battlefields soaked in blood. Stars falling over forgotten cities. Smiles… screams… vows.
And through it all, one truth remained: they had always been meant for something greater.
This time, they would not simply survive.
**They would become strong.**
Strong enough to never feel powerless again.
Strong enough to tear down anything that threatened their bond.
Strong enough to eliminate *everything* that chained this world to fear and injustice.
Not out of hatred.
Not out of vengeance.
But because they *remembered*.
They had fought gods.
They had defied the stars.
They had bled for countless worlds.
Now… they would do it again.
When the triplets returned to their home, they didn't rest.
They couldn't.
A fire had been lit inside them—fueled by purpose, by memory, by the faint echoes of lives lived long before this one.
The very first thing they did was begin to forge their weapons.
They didn't need blueprints. They didn't need guidance.
They had the **Authority of Aeons**—and they had *each other*.
Aetherion and Virelia stood outside the house, palms pressed to the earth. Their eyes glowed faintly with power as they activated their **Elemental Authority**. With a whisper of intent, the ground trembled.
Raw material began to rise—iron, carbon, quartz, and traces of unknown ore, drawn from deep beneath the soil. But they didn't stop there. They concentrated, reaching further, commanding not just the elements—but the *very structure* of the materials.
Atoms shifted. Molecules realigned.
The ore was no longer just ore.
They were reshaping matter itself—refining, purifying, and forging it at the molecular level.
Then it was Zephine's turn.
Her eyes narrowed as she stepped forward, her aura flaring to life with white light. She reached out, activating the **Arsenal Authority**, and the air around her responded. Pieces of raw, glowing material floated into the air like puzzle pieces.
With a flick of her hand, they began to assemble.
Blades formed in the air, each piece locking into the next with divine precision. Some were long, others curved. Some gleamed silver, others shimmered with a faint iridescence. Each weapon was crafted from soul and instinct—artifacts not of metal, but of memory.
Together, the three repeated the process.
Mine. Reshape. Forge.
Again and again.
The sun fell below the trees. The stars emerged.
And still, they worked.
By the time night wrapped around the village, their auras were nearly drained, their limbs heavy with fatigue. But none of that mattered.
Because for the first time since the day their lives were shattered…
**They smiled.**
Dozens of weapons now surrounded them—swords, spears, daggers, chakrams. Some practical. Others ceremonial. Each one a testament to their will.
To protect.
To survive.
To destroy.
Before retreating inside, Aetherion raised his hand once more, this time invoking the **Eclipse Authority**. A glyph pulsed into existence before them—one etched with both celestial light and abyssal shadow. He reached toward it, and the weapons shimmered, vanishing one by one into the pocket dimension it created.
A vault between realms. A sacred armory only they could access.
Their legacy, sealed in starlight and void.
With that, their work complete, the triplets dragged their tired bodies inside. No words were spoken. None were needed.
They collapsed onto the floor together and fell asleep instantly—surrounded by moonlight and the soft hum of power still lingering in the air.
They had forged their first weapons.
And tomorrow… they would begin forging themselves.
The next morning, the triplets woke to the dull ache of overworked bodies.
Sleep had come quickly the night before, but even after a long rest, fatigue still clung to their limbs like heavy chains. Their muscles were sore. Their joints stiff. Every breath felt thick with exhaustion.
Aetherion stirred first, blinking slowly as the light of dawn filtered through the cracked window. He groaned softly and turned to his right.
There lay Zephine, curled against the floorboards, her snowy-white hair tangled and wild. She looked peaceful, despite the dried aura of yesterday's effort still clinging faintly to her form.
To his left, Virelia was much the same. Her black hair, usually so neat despite their circumstances, was now a chaotic halo around her head. She slept with her arm across her eyes, shielding herself from the morning light.
Aetherion sighed quietly and turned his gaze toward the shattered mirror leaning against the wall.
His reflection stared back—half-white, half-black hair, mirroring the halves of his sisters. His face was smudged with dirt and exhaustion, eyes dull but burning with quiet purpose beneath the surface.
He sat there for a while, just breathing, thinking.
Then slowly… he looked at his sisters again.
Zephine stirred first, her eyes fluttering open.
Then Virelia, blinking the light away.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
Aetherion gave them a single, silent nod.
And without hesitation, they nodded back.
Understanding flowed between them like current through a shared soul—no words, no hesitation, just unity.
After a quiet breakfast of roasted deer meat—seasoned only by the fire and their hunger—the triplets felt their strength slowly returning.
The soreness remained, but their hearts were focused.
Today would be different.
This was no ordinary routine of hunting and training. Today… they would begin the path to something greater.
Aetherion, Zephine, and Virelia stepped outside their makeshift home and stood in a loose triangle, the rising sun behind them casting long shadows across the village. They exchanged a glance—and then, in perfect unison, activated the next fragment of their inherited legacy.
The **Martial Authority.**
A pulse of green light shimmered into existence within their right eyes. Ancient glyphs rotated across their irises, glowing softly like divine circuits. Then, without warning, their minds were flooded.
*Memories.*
Not from this life—but from those before. Thousands—no, **millions**—of techniques, stances, breathing forms, and divine arts surged into their consciousness like a river of data. Their heads didn't ache. Their brains didn't burn. The Authority had prepared for this. It filtered the flood like a living archive, offering them access to everything—but never overwhelming them.
They weren't recalling memories.
They were *scrolling* through them.
Like a living library stored within the soul.
As they scanned through martial styles forged in burning deserts, under stormy heavens, in ruined worlds long forgotten, they each paused—drawn to a particular technique.
**Mana Core Formation.**
It wasn't a combat skill.
It was a *foundation*—a divine method of drawing mana from the world, storing it in the heart, and forming it into a crystalline core of power. The technique described creating rings of mana—concentric loops around the heart, each one representing a deeper mastery and purity of the mana within.
*Ten rings.*
That was the mythical limit.
A feat only thought achievable by those born with 'blessed' bodies—divine lineage, monstrous talent, or inhuman training.
But as the triplets read deeper into the file etched in their minds, the truth was revealed:
That limitation… was a lie.
**Anyone** could reach ten rings.
The reason most failed was not a lack of talent—but a lack of *understanding*. They were absorbing mana incorrectly. Misguided. Inefficient.
But now, with the **Martial Authority** to guide them, the triplets knew the truth.
The technique was deceptively simple.
But simplicity meant nothing when failure carried consequences.
One wrong breath. One flicker of doubt. One crack in the cycle—and the entire process could collapse. Yet the triplets understood this instinctively. The **Martial Authority** didn't just give them memory. It gave them comprehension.
The moment they activated the technique, a stream of memories flooded their minds—clear instructions, ancient sensations, the feel of mana flowing like a river beneath the skin.
No hesitation. No fear.
They began.
---
### **Stage One: Meditation and Breath Alignment**
They sat in silence—Aetherion in the center, Zephine and Virelia on either side.
Their bodies folded into lotus positions atop the grass-covered earth, their spines straight, palms resting on their knees.
They focused.
Breathing slowed, syncing with the beat of their hearts.
Inhale—*one*.
Exhale—*two*.
Again.
And again.
Their eyes closed.
Within their chests, they envisioned it: a flickering ember, glowing faintly inside the heart. Waiting to ignite.
Their minds stilled. Their auras softened.
The world around them slowed. And within that stillness… *something opened.*
---
### **Stage Two: Ambient Mana Inhalation**
They took a deeper breath.
And this time, it wasn't just air they pulled in—it was **mana**.
With every inhale, golden threads of energy drifted from the trees, the soil, the sky—swirling like stardust, drawn toward them.
The triplets visualized the mana entering their lungs, flowing into their bloodstream, and spiraling into their hearts.
Their chests pulsed with energy, and the ember inside began to glow brighter.
Not all mana was welcomed. Some came twisted—corrupted with chaotic undertones. But they *rejected* it instinctively, only allowing the purest forms to enter: wind, light, fire, and earth.
With each breath, they grew stronger.
---
### **Stage Three: Impurity Burning and Cleansing**
The mana furnace ignited.
Their hearts now roared like sacred crucibles, superheating the flow of energy through their veins.
It began.
Aetherion gritted his teeth as sweat beaded on his brow—dark and sticky.
Zephine's nose bled faintly, a line of red tracing her lips.
Virelia trembled, her body purging something old, something fearful.
But they didn't stop.
This pain wasn't suffering.
It was **cleansing**.
With each surge of mana, toxins—physical and emotional—were incinerated. The echoes of trauma. The grief. The rage. The helplessness.
Gone.
Burned away in sacred fire.
---
### **Stage Four: Formation of the Mana Rings**
As the impurities faded, the furnace within their hearts began to spin.
Energy gathered and condensed—swirling in radiant spirals.
Then… it happened.
Aetherion's eyes snapped open.
A sound, like a low hum, pulsed from within his chest.
A **ring**—translucent, glowing—formed around his heart.
Then Zephine. Then Virelia.
The first **Mana Ring**.
It spun slowly, pulsing in sync with their heartbeats. A perfect rhythm. A closed cycle.
Mana flowed from the ring, down their limbs, through their cores, then back into the heart again.
A self-sustaining flow of power had begun.
### **Stage Five: Heart Resonance and Body Awakening**
Their eyes closed once more as they drifted into deeper focus.
It was no longer simple meditation.
This was **resonance**—a sacred harmony where body, soul, and mana core moved as one.
The air around them pulsed gently, almost rhythmically. Their heartbeats were no longer singular.
They were in sync.
The rings around their hearts began to hum—softly at first, then with growing strength, like an ancient song awakening in their blood.
And then… something stirred.
A glow formed around their bodies—not blinding, but *gentle*—and from that light, faint silhouettes emerged.
They weren't monstrous or divine.
They were **wolves**.
Each of the triplets manifested a shimmering aura shaped like a calm, regal **black wolf**—its fur glinting with streaks of silver, its eyes glowing faintly with a deep, radiant purity.
There was no snarl. No growl. Just presence.
Silent.
Resolute.
**Wild... yet uncorrupted.**
The wolves stood at their sides—one for each child. Not summoned, but born from within. They were not spirits.
They were *truths*.
* Aetherion's wolf was taller, its eyes calm like still water—but behind them, storms waited.
* Zephine's wolf had a graceful frame, circling her slowly, its eyes always alert.
* Virelia's wolf sat upright, regal and still, its tail flicking only once, as if dismissing all fear.
The wolves were not beasts of destruction.
They were **pure predators of purpose**. Creatures that hunted chaos. Guardians of sacred stillness. And yet… if provoked, they would tear the world apart to protect what mattered.
The resonance reached its peak.
Their rings glowed, their hearts thrummed, and their bodies flooded with refined aura. But beyond all the power, what remained was this:
**A sense of clarity.**
Of unity.
Of identity.
Of *belonging*.
When the triplets opened their eyes again, the wolves faded—leaving behind only their presence. The calm. The watchfulness. The strength.
The three looked at each other…
And in their gazes, they saw not just siblings.
They saw a *pack*.
And they knew—no matter what hunted them, no matter what gods or monsters rose…
They would hunt back.