Intro into the wrld and powers X

In the M'Clora Clan of the southern continent, the atmosphere was electric with tension and curiosity. The grand hall, where the ceremonial test was held, erupted into murmurs as the young man leaped off the elevated platform, ignoring the traditional order of precedence. It was unwritten but universally understood those who failed the initial test went first, while those who passed did so according to their rank, status, or seniority. Raman's audacity stunned the crowd.

"Did he just jump down?" one of the young clan members whispered.

"What is he doing? This isn't how it's done!" exclaimed an elder.

The only one in the hall who didn't seem fazed was Elder Topang, Raman's father. His face was alight with a subtle but unmistakable smile. Meanwhile, his younger brother, the clan patriarch Uslan Futum M'Clora, studied Topang carefully. The patriarch's thoughts churned like a restless sea. Was this his plan all along? What is he scheming now?

As whispers rippled through the hall like a tide, Raman ignored them all, walking confidently toward the Stone of Ages. This ancient artifact was central to the M'Clora Clan's rites, said to measure a person's affinity with the elemental power of fire—the clan's ancestral blessing. The highest recorded affinity in the clan's history was 97, achieved by Matuck, the legendary firstborn son of the great founder. In modern times, Patriarch Uslan had achieved 95, while Elder Topang held an impressive 93. Raman, a youth, was seen as talented but untested. For him to approach the stone so boldly was audacious.

As he pressed his hand against the black, polished surface of the stone, it began to tremble, faintly at first, then with increasing intensity. All eyes were fixed on the artifact, waiting for it to settle and reveal Raman's score. When the vibrations ceased, a number shimmered into view, glowing faintly red: 98.

The hall fell silent. Then, a collective gasp rang out.

"Is that… real?" one elder finally exclaimed, breaking the silence. "Has the stone malfunctioned?"

"Impossible!" added another elder, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"QUIET!" barked Elder Renata, her voice cutting through the commotion like a blade. The hall fell silent once more as her authority reasserted itself. "Tradition demands that those who touch the Stone of Ages and receive their percentage must undergo the rites," she declared firmly. "And remember—potential does not equal strength."

Her words were a pointed reminder, ostensibly directed at the younger clan members. However, the more politically savvy elders in the room noted the nuance. Elder Renata, a powerful figure in the clan, had often been rumored to align herself with Patriarch Uslan. This seemed a calculated attempt to downplay Raman's unprecedented result. Elder Topang, sharp as ever, noticed immediately.

Ah, she's trying to diminish the significance, he mused. So the rumors of her allegiance are true. His sharp gaze flickered toward his younger brother, whose expression betrayed no trace of anxiety or discontent. Instead, the patriarch's face bore an uncharacteristic smile.

What a monster, thought Uslan, the pride he felt difficult to conceal. With such a talent, we might truly contend for the final throne. His thoughts turned briefly to the Oracle's cryptic predictions of a new age filled with unprecedented geniuses. If Raman's result was any indication, perhaps the prophecy was true.

Meanwhile, Raman kept his hand on the stone, his expression inscrutable. Inside, however, his consciousness was being drawn into an entirely different reality.

He found himself standing in what appeared to be a cavern. The air was heavy with warmth, and the faint glow of firelight emanated from deeper within. Shadows danced along the jagged walls as though alive. His instincts sharpened as he moved cautiously toward the source of the light.

When he entered the central chamber, he froze. Before him stood a towering, muscular figure—an imposing man in his prime. His aura radiated sheer dominance, and his piercing gaze seemed to bore into Raman's soul. The man's hair was fiery red, flowing like molten lava, and his skin was bronze, as if forged in fire itself.

"HO HO HO HO!" The deep laugh echoed throughout the cavern. "Another one. Truly, how long has it been since I've seen someone worthy?"

Raman's muscles tensed, his instincts urging him to stay alert. "Who are you?" he asked cautiously, his voice steady despite his racing thoughts.

The man grinned, revealing a row of perfect teeth that glinted in the firelight. "Is that any way to speak to your ancestor, boy?"

Raman stiffened. Ancestor? The revelation struck him like a bolt of lightning. Was this the legendary Matuck, the founder's eldest son and the greatest genius in the clan's history? But before he could gather his thoughts, the man's grin vanished, replaced by an intense focus.

In a flash, a massive flaming great sword materialized in the ancestor's hand. The sheer heat of the weapon was overwhelming, and the cavern seemed to grow hotter with each passing second. Without warning, Matuck swung the blade toward Raman, the fiery edge streaking through the air like a comet.

Back in the ceremonial hall, Raman's body tensed, his hand still on the stone. The elders observed this change with keen interest.

"He's been in contact with the ancestral flame," whispered one elder. "To linger so long in its presence… He must have drawn its attention."

"What does that mean for him?" a younger clan member asked, his tone nervous.

"It means," Elder Renata said, her voice grim, "that his journey has already begun."

Elder Topang appeared on stage, his figure imposing yet brimming with pride as he swept his son into his arms. The joy radiating from him was unmistakable as he locked eyes with his younger brother, Uslan.

"I'll be taking him back to rest now," he said firmly, not waiting for a response. Before anyone could react, he vanished in a blur, his son cradled securely in his arms.

Elder Renata, ever composed, stepped forward and raised her voice to regain control of the ceremony. "Let the ceremony continue. Who's next?" she called, her tone commanding yet steady.

Her sharp gaze fell on a young girl stepping onto the stage—Elder Marama's daughter. Without hesitation, the girl approached the stone, her expression calm as she placed her hand against its surface.