Exiled To Rule

The flickering fire in my palm hissed as I fed it another tuft of dried moss. The small flame grew for a second before dying back to a gentle ember, barely enough to warm my hands. I sat cross-legged on the cold temple floor, the flicker of firelight casting long shadows on the stone walls.

[Ember Affinity I – Active Skill]

Manipulate ambient heat into a small burst of flame. Power scales with Willpower.

I had been practicing for hours.

Every attempt drained a sliver of my mana. But it was worth it. I needed to understand what this ability could really do.

At first, it had been a parlor trick—a tiny flame, more emotional comfort than combat potential. But now, the flame held form. It moved slightly when I willed it. It could dance across my fingertips, wrap around sticks like a snake of fire, or burst upward in a flare if I pushed too much mana into it.

It was slow, but it was growth.

And in this world, growth was everything.

I leaned back against the cold wall, rubbing my eyes. My body still ached from the tension of the Alpha encounter. But at least now I felt like I had a purpose.

In the novel, affinity was one of the most vital components of the power system. It wasn't about raw stats—not really. Stats helped, sure. But true power came from how well a person resonated with a specific element or concept.

The power system of this world was based on four interconnected components: Affinity, Traits, Skills, and Intent.

Affinity governed your connection to an element or force. It determined what type of spells you could wield and how powerful they'd be. Fire affinity, like mine, granted access to spells related to heat, combustion, and even passion or rage. But Affinity was only the beginning.

Traits were more passive—born from bloodlines, divine encounters, or moments of extreme will. They shaped the way the world responded to you, how creatures perceived you, and how the system processed your growth. My Trait, Believer of Fire, wasn't something I trained for—it was something I earned by deceiving a monster and unknowingly invoking a forgotten creed.

Then came Skills. These were more mechanical, trainable, and often reflected in combat or utility. Skills evolved with practice, like my Ember Affinity, which started as a spark and had already grown stronger with repeated use.

But perhaps the most important and subtle of all was Intent.

Intent wasn't written in stats or UI windows. It was the metaphysical fuel behind magic. You could have the best Affinity and Traits, but if your intent wavered—if you doubted, feared, or lacked clarity—your power would falter. Intent defined how magic manifested. It shaped fire into destruction or warmth. Water into healing or suffocation. Wind into whispers or blades.

That's why the protagonist of Sword of the Last Sovereign became so strong. He didn't just level up. He understood Intent. He wielded flame not just as fire, but as judgment. His Affinity shaped reality because his will was unshakable.

I remembered scoffing at it back on Earth. Too convenient, I had thought. But now? I understood. Affinity wasn't just a bonus.

It was the foundation.

And I had one now. Fire.

A humble beginning, maybe. But a beginning nonetheless.

I stood and stretched, bones cracking. My mana had replenished somewhat after a long rest, but I couldn't afford to waste it now. Not until I was sure this temple didn't have more nasty surprises.

Torch in hand, I ventured deeper.

The Emberfang Alpha had vanished into the lower corridors. I had no intention of following it. But the upper halls still had rooms I hadn't explored.

And something in my gut told me this place wasn't done with me yet.

The corridor curved slightly downward, stone tiles slick with moss and soot. My torch cast a flickering glow ahead, revealing faded carvings on the walls.

They weren't just decorations.

They were murals.

I stopped and stepped closer.

The first one showed a figure cloaked in flames, standing atop a mountain of ash. People knelt before them, arms raised, as fire poured from the sky.

Below it, a strange inscription shimmered faintly in red:

"Only those who bow before fire shall rise through it."

I shivered.

Another mural followed.

This one was darker. A great beast—a drake or lizard, perhaps—curled around a molten lake. Inside the lake were bones. So many bones. And above them floated red runes.

I couldn't read the language, but the feeling behind the symbols was clear:

Judgment. Sacrifice. Power.

The next mural depicted fire not as destruction, but rebirth. A phoenix rose from the bones of fallen warriors. Flames curled around it like wings of golden hope, illuminating the corpses below. The message etched beneath was barely readable, but I made out a few words:

"In fire, the worthy rise. In ash, the false remain."

The final mural…

It stopped me cold.

It was a painting of a robed figure.

My robe. My exact robe.

The figure stood at the center of a ring of flame, hands lifted as fire coiled around them like a serpent. The face was obscured by shadow, but something about the stance—the posture—felt familiar.

Below it was a symbol etched into the stone:

Two swords crossing beneath a broken crown.

The same sigil on my chest.

A chill ran down my spine.

Was this a coincidence?

Or had Lucien Elvar—the original one—been part of something more?

In the novel, Lucien had been exiled early. He was barely relevant. He never returned, never made a mark.

But maybe the novel didn't tell the whole story.

Maybe this temple, these murals, were from a different draft. A forgotten truth.

I reached out and touched the mural.

[System Notification: Lore Point Unlocked]

You have discovered a forgotten piece of history. Would you like to store it in your journal?

I confirmed.

And the painting shimmered—just slightly.

As if it saw me.

I stepped back.

The room around me suddenly felt larger. More ancient. Less like a dungeon… and more like a shrine.

This wasn't a place of combat.

It was a place of awakening.

I explored further, carefully moving from chamber to chamber. Some were collapsed. Others were filled with scorched skeletons, long forgotten. But each room held fragments—scripts, symbols, even crude diagrams of humans meditating in fire.

In one room, I found a half-burnt book on a stone pedestal. The pages crumbled when I touched them, but one survived.

It showed a figure drawing fire from their chest—not their hand, but their heart.

And beneath it:

"To wield flame truly, one must offer more than mana. One must offer intent."

I sat down and meditated.

Slowly, I summoned a flame.

But this time, I didn't just cast it like a spell.

I imagined it growing from my chest. From a desire to live. A need to protect. A hunger to change.

The flame responded.

It didn't grow bigger.

But it became steadier. Warmer. As if… aware.

The system chimed again.

[Ember Affinity I → II]

You have deepened your connection to fire.

I smiled.

Maybe I was weak.

Maybe I was nobody.

But right now, in this forgotten place of gods and ash—

I felt like I belonged.