Fate: The Sun of Akasha

Rael stopped at the edge of a crystal-clear lake, whose waters reflected the gray sky and the surrounding mountains. The tranquil surface of the lake was only slightly disturbed by the icy wind, creating ripples that seemed to dance in harmony with the nature around it. He gazed at the reflection of his own golden eyes, which shone intensely, as if they held a flame that could never be extinguished.

Taking a deep breath, Rael focused. Magical energy flowed through his body, a constant and powerful current that he had learned to master through years of practice. Raising his right hand, he began to use his magic. Unlike Projection Magecraft, which simply summoned objects from the air as temporary replicas, the magic Rael wielded was far more profound. It was called [Construction], a method of true creation. With it, he didn't merely shape a mental image; he brought material into existence and, from it, formed something entirely original.

As his thoughts aligned, particles began to form in the air before him—tiny fragments of energy that gradually took on a solid consistency. He visualized the object in his mind: an elegant and lethal dagger, with lines that reflected the essence of his own magic. It was a process that demanded absolute focus, as every detail had to be perfect. The material emerged from nothingness, shaped by his invisible hands like a sculptor working on the most precious marble.

The dagger began to take shape. The blade was long and thin, with a slight curvature that made it both graceful and deadly. The hilt was simple yet comfortable, designed for maximum functionality in combat. There were no unnecessary ornaments—just the pure essence of a weapon crafted to kill. But what truly made this creation special wasn't its form; it was the power it carried.

Rael was a True Magus, a title reserved for those who had transcended the normal limits of magic. He didn't just create weapons; he imbued them with true power, a reflection of his own origin. For this dagger, he assigned the essence of his origin: Extinction. That was the hallmark of his magic, the force that could reduce everything to nothing. As he infused this concept into the weapon, the blade began to pulse with a dark energy, almost imperceptible, yet carrying a crushing weight. It wasn't just a weapon; it was an extension of Rael, a physical manifestation of his very existence.

When the dagger was finally complete, he held it in his hand, observing it with a satisfied smile.

Rael looked at the dagger in his hand for a few more seconds, admiring his masterpiece. The blade seemed alive, faintly pulsing with the dark energy of its origin: Extinction. But he knew that, as powerful as it was, the time to use it had not yet come.

Extending his right hand, he activated his Magic once again – Silver Key: Extradimensional Storage. The dagger glowed for an instant before disappearing, as if swallowed by the void. Now it was safely stored in his boundless imaginary space, secure and ready to be used when needed.

"I will name it Necros," Rael murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

As he spoke, his golden gaze shifted to the horse, which had approached the edge of the lake to drink. The animal, with its natural majesty and untamed beauty, seemed perfectly in harmony with the surroundings. As soon as it heard Rael's voice, the horse raised its head, small droplets of water dripping from its muzzle, and turned toward him. Its brown eyes seemed to shine with something that could be interpreted as understanding.

"You like it, huh?" Rael asked, as if the horse could actually respond. He knew he wouldn't get a verbal answer, but the soft neigh that followed sounded almost like confirmation.

The dark-haired young man laughed, a rare and carefree sound that echoed gently through the surroundings. It was a simple moment, yet it carried a lightness he hadn't felt in a long time. The horse took a few steps toward him, stopping by his side and gently rubbing its muzzle against his shoulder, as if to reinforce their bond.

Rael stroked the animal's neck, his expression softening even further.

"The problem is, I don't know how to listen to you. I don't speak the language of animals," he said with a light, almost mischievous smile. Even as he made the remark, he felt that the horse understood far more than it let on.

Necros galloped across the grassy fields with impressive speed, his hooves barely touching the ground before propelling him forward again. Each stride was fluid and powerful, as if the horse were an extension of the very earth and wind. The faint glow emanating from the animal's legs made it clear he was under the influence of Rael's magic. It was this magic that strengthened his muscles, enhanced his stamina, and allowed him to reach speeds no ordinary horse could ever achieve.

Rael, firmly mounted on his back, felt the cold wind whip across his face and tousle his dark hair. His golden eyes were fixed on the horizon, but his mind wandered, reflecting on the nature of the magic he wielded. He knew that, although incredibly useful, there were limits that should not be crossed. Necros was strong, but even a creature as robust as he was not invincible. That's why Rael ensured the magical reinforcement lasted only 30 minutes—enough time to cover great distances without causing permanent harm to the horse.

"It's fascinating," Rael thought, as he felt the connection between himself, Necros, and the magical energy flowing through them both. Magic was something beyond most people's understanding. It wasn't just a tool or a talent; it was a miracle, a power that allowed the manipulation of the very laws of reality. Compared to Magecraft, which relied on tricks and established principles to replicate specific effects, true magic was limitless—a direct reflection of the practitioner's will and potential.

Rael looked at Necros, admiring the way the horse ran with determination, even under the influence of the power that overwhelmed it. There was something inspiring in seeing that creature accept magic as an extension of itself. He knew what he was doing was miraculous, but also dangerous. It was the balance between these extremes that defined a True Magician.

Minutes passed quickly, and when the reinforcement time came to an end, Rael raised his hand and murmured a silent command. The magic dissipated in an instant, and Necros returned to a more moderate gallop, still strong, but now powered only by its own natural strength.

Rael patted the horse's neck, murmuring, "Good job, partner. Now we'll rest for a while."

As they rode at a calmer pace, Rael couldn't help but smile slightly. Magic was indeed something miraculous.

While riding across the field, Rael spotted something that caught his attention: a column of black smoke rising on the horizon. The contrast with the pale sky and the vast plains was unmistakable. He frowned, his golden eyes glowing with renewed intensity. He stopped Necros for a moment, watching the smoke cautiously, but there was no doubt in his mind that something was wrong.

"Let's go, Necros. Run there, please," he said firmly, gently pulling the reins. The horse whinnied in response, as if understanding the urgency in its master's tone. Without hesitation, Necros began to run again, its hooves pounding the ground with strength and determination. Rael activated his reinforcement magic, feeling the flow of energy flood the animal's body, increasing its speed and endurance once more.

As he got closer to the source of the smoke, Rael focused his senses. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing his magic to connect him to the environment around him. What he felt made him narrow his eyes. There were human presences in the direction of the village, but something was wrong. He could sense the number of lives still in the area—about 90 people at most. The problem was that this number was rapidly decreasing, as if an invisible force was reaping lives at an alarming rate.

"A village," he murmured to himself, opening his eyes. "Small, with few people... and they are dying." His tone was grave, but there was no hesitation. The golden gleam in his eyes seemed to intensify, reflecting the growing determination inside him.

Necros was running at full speed, crossing the field with ease thanks to Rael's magic. The young man felt the urgency pulsing through his veins. Whatever was happening in the village, he knew he needed to get there before it was too late. He gripped the reins tightly, leaning slightly forward to match Necros's pace.

"Hang on tight, partner."

The smell of thick smoke mixed with the metallic scent of blood, spreading through the surroundings of the devastated village. To any ordinary person, that smell would be suffocating, a nauseating combination that seemed to carry the weight of tragedy. But for the wild animals lurking in the distance, there was something more.

Normally attracted by the scent of blood, they hesitated. An instinctive fear overtook their minds, pushing them away. It was as if something invisible was present, something they couldn't comprehend, but knew was dangerous.

In the center of the destruction, a group of bandits celebrated their massacre. Flames consumed the houses around them, and muffled screams echoed through the chaos. The leader of the bandits, a man with disheveled hair and a cruel smile named John, stood in the midst of the group. His voice echoed loud and clear, filled with arrogance and brutality.

"Hahaha! Kill and steal, my companions! We have all the time in the world!" he shouted, his harsh laughter blending with the crackling of the flames. When he mentioned "fun," his cruel gaze landed on the young women who had survived the attack. They were gathered in a corner, trembling with fear, some trying to hold back tears while others had already given up resisting.

The bandits roared in approval, cheering their leader with laughter and frantic shouts. John, pleased with the response, approached one of the women. She was young, with wide eyes filled with fear and tears streaming down her dirty face. He gently touched her face, a perverse gesture in his cruelty, as the woman sobbed desperately.

"Don't cry, it'll be fun, I promise," he murmured, getting closer, his sadistic smile growing.

(Author: I felt dirty writing this part, this disgusting idea of rape or seeing women as objects is just too revolting, unfortunately, I had to include it to give myself the final satisfaction for the next chapter.)

But before he could do anything, a piercing scream echoed in the air. "ARGH!" One of the bandits fell, clutching his throat as a shadow rose beside him. All eyes turned to the source of the scream, where a mysterious figure stood.

The man was tall, with dark hair tied in a ponytail and golden eyes that shone intensely, as if forged from the sun itself. Beside him, a black horse waited, imposing and unmoving, its presence as threatening as its master's. The figure held the bandit by the neck with one hand, lifting him off the ground with a strength that seemed inhuman. Silence fell over the group of bandits, the sound of the flames around them now seeming distant.

Rael, with a deadly calm in his gaze, shot a piercing look at John and his men.

"You've had enough fun," Rael repeated, his voice low but carrying an overwhelming strength that made the air around him feel heavier. The bandits recoiled slightly, uncertain, but the leader, John, watched with narrowed eyes, assessing the new opponent.

Rael tightened his grip around the neck of the thug he held. The sound of breaking bones echoed through the area, followed by the grotesque snap of the head being torn from the body. The man's skull flew like a thrown stone, landing far away as the body collapsed like a marionette with cut strings. A deadly silence took over the place.

"Damned!" shouted Joseph, one of John's men, unable to contain his anger over the brutal death of his companion. He charged forward, wielding a rusty sword with a desperate battle cry. But Rael didn't even flinch. With a swift and precise movement, he grabbed the aggressor's head with his right hand, stopping his attack mid-strike.

"Now it's my turn," Rael said, his cold gaze locking onto Joseph's terrified eyes. Slowly, a threatening smile spread across the face of the young man with golden eyes.

Without hesitation, he squeezed the man's head. The sound of flesh and bone being crushed was followed by a sudden and grotesque explosion. Blood and chunks of skull stained the floor, leaving the other thugs paralyzed with horror. Some began to instinctively retreat, realizing they were facing something far beyond their understanding.

Rael paid no attention to the blood staining his clothes and skin. He extended his right hand and, with a fluid gesture, summoned his Great Sword of Moonlight. The crystalline, icy blade materialized in his hand with an ethereal blue glow, as if the very light of the moon had taken form. The sword seemed to emit a cold, relentless energy, its presence as overwhelming as Rael's own.

Without saying another word, he began to walk toward the remaining group of thugs, his steps slow and cold. Each step seemed to resonate in the hearts of the men, spreading a growing fear among them. Those who had once laughed and shouted now trembled, some unable to move, others nearly dropping their weapons in despair.

"Who will be next?" Rael asked, his voice as calm as the silence of the night, but carrying a promise of destruction. The golden gleam in his eyes and the cold light of the sword were all the thugs could see as the shadow of death approached them.

The people who were still alive, hidden among the ruins of the village, watched the scene with a mix of fear and fascination. The brutality with which Rael had dealt with the bandits scared them, but at the same time, his presence seemed like a beacon of hope amidst the despair.

Whispers began to spread among the survivors. Some questioned who the young man with golden eyes was, while others simply watched in silence, too afraid to look away. The flames still danced around, illuminating the imposing figure of Rael, who was now walking toward the remaining bandits with his icy sword in hand.

It was then that a clear, determined voice stood out among the murmurs.

"A knight?" said a woman, her voice heavy with a mix of surprise and hope.

The other survivors turned to her, confused and curious. The woman, a young one with brown eyes marked by tears and soot on her face, stared fixedly at Rael, as if trying to see beyond the figure standing before them.

The word echoed among the villagers. Knight. A protector, someone sent to save those who couldn't defend themselves. Gradually, more people began to murmur to each other, their voices growing louder.

"Is it really him?"

"Did he come to help us?"

"Maybe the gods sent him."

The gazes turned back to Rael, who, oblivious to the words, continued advancing toward the group of bandits with the calm of someone who already knew the outcome of that confrontation. The light from his sword seemed even brighter now, almost divine, reflecting in the watchful eyes of the survivors.

The leader of the bandits, John, noticed the growing murmur and turned to look at the villagers with an irritated expression.

"A knight? That guy? Don't make me laugh!" he shouted, trying to mask the growing fear that was beginning to seep into his voice.

But the survivors no longer seemed to listen to John's words. Their eyes were fixed on Rael, who now symbolized the chance of survival, the promise that this nightmare could come to an end.