The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

The first thing Aodhán did when he returned to his room was review the runes he had perfected so far. There were fourteen in total, with HJORVIK—the impact rune—being the most recent. He had come a long way in the past four months since he began studying runes. While he had hoped to have mastered all twenty-four initiate runes by now, he couldn't say he was disappointed with his progress either.

His journey had taught him a great deal, but after witnessing Geneva In action over the past two weeks, his entire approach to runes had shifted. Perfecting them was no longer enough. No, he wanted to understand them the way she did.

From the advice she had given him, her deep grasp of runic intricacies had shone through, offering him a large amount of insight and clarity—two things he couldn't wait to start unraveling. He had already begun the unraveling process in Sector 4, activating a series of runes to study their energy patterns and their response to his intent.

In just two days, he had gained remarkable understanding of the runic language. It wasn't nearly enough to place him on Geneva's level, but it had undeniably advanced his proficiency. More importantly, he now knew what excellence looked like. Watching Geneva had set a new standard in his mind. All that remained was to reach for it.

Taking out Geneva's practice notes, Aodhán began going through her earliest runes, watching in fascination as their structure slowly evolved. Over time, they became less complex yet more profound. He could see the changes, even identify them—but understanding why those changes had been made was where the real challenge lay.

For instance, the first iteration of FEHU—the rune of strength and vitality—in Geneva's notes was clunky, packed with far more connecting lines than the version Professor Caldwell had taught them. The added complexity didn't detract from its beauty, but when compared to the version she had drawn nearly a year later, it felt less real. And even that earlier refinement paled in comparison to the rune she could inscribe now.

Maybe that was the problem. He was trying to leap before he could even crawl. But if that were the case, why hadn't Geneva said so?

Chuckling, he answered his own question. Because she's a champion. The impossible is simply a challenge for her—as it should be for me.

The thought steadied him, and Aodhán smiled. He just needed to practice until he got it right.b

Grabbing his inscriber, he began drawing out the FEHU rune, questioning every line and curve as he worked. Why was this line necessary? What would happen if I removed this stroke? It was a meticulous process, one that would certainly cost him a great deal of paper, but he was determined to see it through.

Trying to determine the significance of each element of the rune was far from easy. It felt like deciphering the inflections of a foreign language—where a slight change in pronunciation or context could be the difference between a compliment and an insult. The same applied to runes.

A normal rune was like a word with countless possible interpretations. But true understanding of runes narrowed those possibilities, stripping away the unnecessary. Those extra lines and curves represented the myriad ways a rune could function, but with mastery, he could eliminate the excess, reducing the energy cost while nearly doubling its activation speed.

It could also be likened to emphasizing a particular word in a statement. Stressing different words in a sentence almost always changed its meaning, and the same principle applied to runes. Take ANSUZ, for instance—the rune of fire. At its core, it simply created fire, but what kind of fire? What color? What intensity?

These aspects were determined by the intent channeled during the rune's activation—whether it conjured black fire instead of blue, conceptual flames rather than elemental ones, a mere flicker, or a raging pyre.

Intent flowed through the extra strokes and whorls of a rune, guiding its function. Understanding these embellishments—what they did and why—was the key to cutting away unnecessary complexity, refining a rune's efficiency while preserving its power.

It was a convoluted mess, undoubtedly too advanced for him at the moment. But Aodhán wasn't thinking with logic right now. It might have been beyond his current level, but he felt like he could do it if he just kept at it—and so he did.

For hours, he worked on the FEHU rune, trying to unravel the function of each extra curve and connector. It was a painstaking process, but despite the difficulty, Aodhán was enjoying himself. He lost himself in the swirling etchings, the rhythmic scratch of his inscriber against paper. He tried and failed, then failed again—but with every mistake, he gained a small fragment of understanding.

Each error teased his mind with hints of deeper truths, leaving a trail of ideas for him to follow—and Aodhán followed eagerly. He tested every theory that came to him, most of which led to dead ends or outright failures, but even so, he could feel himself making progress—small, yet significant.

Then, as he inscribed FEHU for what felt like the hundredth time, something caught his attention. Near the end of the rune's structure, there was a small loop—one that didn't seem to serve any functional purpose aside from making it look more distinct and decorative.

The loop reminded him of the flowing script he had seen etched into the hammer he had chosen during Professor Alaric's weapons training class. Was it possible that this flourish was nothing more than ornamentation?

Aodhán studied the rune in silence for a few minutes, hesitant to remove the loop in case it was actually vital. But then he exhaled sharply, muttered fuck it, and erased it.

Channeling a burst of willpower into the modified rune, he immediately stepped back, half-expecting an explosion. Instead, the rune absorbed the energy without issue, activating as if nothing had changed.

A slow grin spread across Aodhán's face, and he quickly rushed back to his seat.

Flipping through his practice note, he scanned the other initiate runes for the same decorative flourish. Sure enough, it was present in all of them. That gave him pause. If the loop was only aesthetic, why then did it appear in every rune? Perhaps it wasn't just ornamentation but a signature that had become widely adopted over time?

His theory gained weight when he checked Geneva's final iteration of FEHU in her practice notes and found the loop missing. Of course, other elements had changed as well, so it wasn't definitive proof—but Aodhán was certain he was onto something.

Wanting to test his discovery, he inscribed ANSUZ—the rune of fire—without the loop in his practice note and hastily stepped back.

Just in case, he summoned a pregnant storm cloud overhead, ready to douse the room if things went wrong. With that in place, he stretched a hand towards the rune and activated it.

Essence surged into the rune, and a few seconds later, a ball of reddish flame, nearly the size of his palm, flickered into existence.

No explosion. No instability.

Relaxing, Aodhán dismissed the storm cloud and observed the flame carefully, watching as the rune continued siphoning energy from the air to keep it burning. He studied the rune for almost ten minutes before deactivating it.

The rune had worked perfectly without the loop, but Aodhán still wasn't completely convinced. To be sure, he tested the rune of water next. Then ice. Then light.

They all worked flawlessly without the loop!

Aodhán's chest swelled with exhilaration, and before he could stop himself, he burst into laughter, his voice booming out of him like a clap of thunder. He had done it. He had identified his first redundant loop!

Now utterly certain that the loop was unnecessary, he threw himself back into his work, modifying the remaining runes and activating them one by one. Time blurred as he lost himself in the process, his focus so intense that he barely noticed the golden clouds of the Nexus rolling in. It wasn't until then that he finally set down his inscriber, exhaling as he surveyed the mess of ink and paper spread across his desk and floor.

His fingers were cramped from nearly ten hours of relentless writing, but he didn't care. It had been a while since he had felt this productive. He flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles, then his fingers, savoring the satisfying pops as he stretched them.

The small victory filled him with a rare sense of hope and determination. He could do this. He had already uncovered one redundant loop—there had to be more waiting to be found. It was only a matter of time before he unraveled them.

All of this would have been so much easier if an actual guidebook on runic language existed. The thought amused him, but then he realized—there probably was one. And even if there wasn't, surely some renowned runic engineers or scholars had compiled their findings into research texts.

He made a mental note to ask the principal about it once he returned to the academy.

With that thought settled, Aodhán turned his attention to his room, which now looked like a battlefield of discarded notes. Sighing, he began gathering the scattered papers, stacking some into neat piles while tossing away the ones too smudged with ink to be useful

Just as he bent to pick up the last stray sheet from the floor, a knock sounded at the door, and Synové's voice came through. "Aodhán, are you in there?".

"I am," he called back, walking over to open the door. Peeking out, he offered an apologetic shrug. "Sorry I missed lunch."

"It's fine. As long as you won't miss dinner too." She paused, then added, "We have guests."

Aodhán frowned. "What guests?"

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Synové shrugged a little too guiltily. "I may have invited the Johnsons and the Patmores for dinner.

Aodhán closed his eyes and exhaled, already regretting opening the door. "Synové, I'm not doing the whole charade tonight. I have work to do."

"Just dinner. That's all I ask. Besides, these people are good practice for when we eventually become a noble house. We need to start learning the ways of nobility now, not then."

Aodhán arched an eyebrow, scoffing. "Eventually? We are not becoming a noble house. We're fine as we are."

Synové shot him a sharp look before shaking her head in exasperation. "Sometimes I wonder if anyone in this house thinks about anything outside of their advancement—except Daruk." She tapped a finger against his forehead as if trying to knock some sense into him. "We have two potential champions in this house. You're already a candidate, and Daruk is gearing up to be one soon. Do you really think the family name of two champions is going to remain a common name for long? By then, you both will be so rich that a barony—or even a county—would be within reach if you wanted it."

"So?"

"So, you're going to get it. Why else do you think I'm doing all this practice?" Synové shook her head and turned away, heading downstairs. "Please, be down in ten minutes."

Aodhán sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fine, but I won't stay long."

Synové didn't answer, already disappearing down the staircase. With a resigned shake of his head, Aodhán stepped back into his room and changed into something more presentable. He glanced at his practice notes one last time, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Then, wrapping a storm scarf snugly around his neck, he exhaled and made his way out of the room.

Rather than heading down the stairs, though, he climbed up—onto the roof and summoned Varéc from his spirit. As usual, Varéc rushed out of his spirit with a resounding roar, the sound reverberating through the neighborhood and drawing startled gasps from anyone nearby.

Before their curious neighbors could even step outside for a glimpse, Varéc had already taken off, soaring straight into the sky with a burst of speed that left crackling arcs of static electricity in his wake.

Aodhán grinned as the wind roared past him and wondered if perhaps it was time to grant Varéc a little more freedom. Varéc was growing larger by the day, and the lack of space was a major constraint for him. But for the next five days, until they returned to the academy, maybe Varéc could simply be what he craved to be—an untethered force of nature.

Still mulling it over, Aodhán climbed back down the stairs and found Kieran in the living room, sorting through a pile of folded clothes. At the sound of footsteps, Kieran looked up and smiled, smoothing out a fancy, dark blue coat with silver embroidery. "Your mother commissioned some exquisite outfits for you using your old measurements. Hopefully, they still fit. Not an issue if they don't—I can always make adjustments."

Aodhán chuckled. "She really shouldn't have bothered. I already have too many clothes as it is."

Kieran eyed the gray sweatshirt and black pants Aodhán was currently wearing and made a face. "Perhaps you misheard me. I don't sew clothes, Aodhán. I design exquisite outfits. Masterpieces. And you only have a few of those."

Aodhán shook his head with a smirk. "Right, forgot about your artistry." He gestured to the pile of clothes. "So, can I see them now? Hopefully, they aren't too gaudy."

Before Kieran could take any offense to his statement, Synové stepped out of the kitchen, balancing a tray of small, heart-shaped cakes, and said,. "You can check the clothes out later. I need your help right now." She turned her gaze to Kieran. "I hope you'll be staying for dinner."

"If you'll have me," Kieran replied, and Synové scoffed as if the thought was ridiculous.

"Of course, we'll have you. I keep telling you, you're always welcome."

Aodhán followed Synové into the kitchen to help, and five minutes later, the guests arrived. Mrs. Patmore and her husband were first, followed closely by Mrs. Johnson, who apologized for her husband's absence with a neatly wrapped gift box. Soon after, Daruk, Aldric, and Unrid joined them at the dining table.

Synové had outdone herself. A lavish spread covered the table—freshly baked cakes, marinated olives, roasted herb chicken, and a large bowl of creamy mashed potatoes. The scent alone made Aodhán's stomach growl, though he hadn't been hungry moments ago.

Synové said the prayers, and the moment she finished, Aodhán wasted no time digging in. The first bite was heavenly, and hums of approval echoed around the table.

"This is incredible, Synové," Mr. Patmore praised. "What did you put in this meat?"

"I can't figure it out myself." Mrs. Patmore agreed, eyes closed in concentration as she tried to decipher a particular ingredient in the meat. "There's something familiar here. I just can't place it."

"I think it's smoked paprika or some kind of pepper." Kieran guessed, cutting into his meat for another taste.

Mrs. Johnson nodded. "I can definitely taste smoked paprika here, but I think she did a little something with chipotle powder too."

Synové laughed, clearly pleased. "You're all correct, but I'm no chef, to be honest. I just threw together a blend of spices and hoped for the best."

"Well, it worked," Aldric said, taking another bite. "I wonder if I could get the recipe. Good food is a rarity when you're in the middle of the… uh… academy."

Aodhán hid his smirk and feigned curiosity. "Oh? They don't serve good food at the Twelfth Academy?"

Aldric recovered smoothly. "Not as good as the Fifth Academy's."

"That's just sad," Mrs. Johnson sighed. "At least you're almost done. One more semester, and you'll be a graduate."

Daruk grinned maliciously. "Yeah, Aldric. I can't wait to see your certificate." He turned to their mother. "Mom, where do you think we should hang it?"

Aldric stiffened. "It's a certificate. There's no need to hang it."

But Synové was already looking around the room, humming in thought.

To be honest, Aodhán was both amused and terrified. It was all fun and games now, but if Synové ever found out Aldric had spent the last two years on a pirate ship rather than at the academy, it would not be pretty. And it would be even worse when she learned that they had known about it the whole time.

Luckily, the conversation soon shifted. Unrid and Mr. Patmore talked about their work, while the women discussed something Aodhán only half-listened to—until Mrs. Johnson suddenly turned to him with a question that made him instantly regret his inattention.

"Aodhán, do you plan on getting married soon?"

The entire table turned to look at him, and Aodhán nearly choked on the meat he was chewing. He looked around the room at all the expectant faces and then back at Mrs. Johnson before clearing his throat. "No, not yet. I don't think—"

"Why not?" Mrs. Patmore interrupted, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

Aodhán took a deep breath, forcing a patient smile. "I was just about to tell you why, Mrs. Patmore. If you just listen—"

"We are listening," Synové said, her expression far too entertained. "Why don't you tell us why you don't plan on getting married anytime soon?"

Aodhán sputtered, scanning the table for someone to back him up, but the men—traitors, all of them—suddenly found their plates incredibly interesting.

Fine. Steeling himself against this planned assault, Aodhán replied. "I don't plan on getting married anytime soon because I'm not ready for it."

"But you're seventeen," Mrs. Patmore said, as if that explained everything.

"And practically a man," Synové added. She turned to Unrid. "Don't you agree?"

Unrid froze mid-bite, his gaze darting around like a man cornered. Swallowing his mashed potatoes, he cleared his throat and, without making eye contact, said, "Definitely. You're right, love. Hundred percent."

Wow. I see how it is. Aodhán thought dryly as Mrs. Johnson gestured emphatically and said, "See?" as if there was some obvious logic he was supposed to grasp in this conversation.

Surprisingly, it was Kieran who spoke in his defense.

"Perhaps Aodhán simply feels he's too young for marriage. There's nothing wrong with that."

"But he's seventeen," Mrs. Patmore repeated, shaking her head as if the idea was beyond comprehension. "Enrique and I were married long before that."

That raised some eyebrows, and Daruk asked. "What, like fifteen?"

"Uh… yes," Enrique admitted a bit awkwardly. "It was our parents' decision."

Silence settled over the room after that—until Synové cut through it before it could become too uncomfortable. "So, what about dating?" she asked. "If you're not considering marriage, surely you're at least open to courtship?"

Aodhán shrugged. "I'm not averse to the idea of courtship if—"

"Oh, wonderful news!" Mrs. Patmore interrupted, her previous distress vanishing as she turned her full attention to Aodhán. "Did you know Sybil will be sixteen soon? Next month, in fact."

"That's wonderful news." Unrid nodded, commenting on the topic only because he deemed it harmless.

"It is," Mrs. Patmore nearly giggled. "She'll awaken an affinity. I can feel it—something grand, something electric."

"You're describing a storm," Aodhán said flatly.

"Of course," she chuckled. "You two would make such a wonderful pair. Two storm awakeneds, championing their way through the kingdom."

Aodhán would be lying if he said the idea didn't hold some appeal—if Sybil did awaken a storm affinity. But until that happened (if it ever did), his answer was a firm no. Still, there was no need for a direct rejection just yet. Not when he could shift the focus elsewhere.

Smirking, he nodded and said, "That actually sounds nice… But I think Sybil fits better with Daruk here. Can't you picture it?"

As one, the entire table turned to Daruk, who had frozen with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He shot Aodhán a glare, but Aodhán just smiled, unbothered. It's a man-eat-man world, after all.

While Daruk tried to convince Mrs. Patmore that he and Sybil were definitely not a good match, Synové leaned toward Aodhán with a knowing smile.

"Isn't this game just wonderful?"

---

Dinner ended an hour later, and after their guests left, Aodhán slumped in his chair and shook his head. "Six more days. Six more days and it'll be all over."

Synové chuckled and wrapped her arms around Unrid. "Oh, come on, you guys can't deny that it's fun—all that awkward tension."

"I think it's fun," Aldric admitted with a mischievous grin, then proceeded to expose how everyone else felt about it. "Daruk thinks it's stupid, Dad's happy that you're having fun, and Aodhán is… kind of enjoying it, but not really."

"Great, I'm the odd man out," Daruk snorted.

Their conversation soon shifted to other topics, like selling the cores that Daruk and Aldric had gathered, and after some discussion, they decided to divide them up—giving the larger portion to Unrid and Synové to sell, while they split the rest among themselves.

They also discussed constructing a seal chamber in the basement. With everyone—except Synové—advancing at such a rapid pace, they needed to be safety conscious, and a seal chamber was the first step toward ensuring that.

Building one wouldn't be easy, nor would it be cheap, but it was a necessary investment, and in the end, they all agreed to sell all the cores and funnel the money into its construction.

Aodhán retired to his room after that, but sleep didn't come easily. Instead, he spent the night meditating, taming his willpower, and refining his control by weaving energized strands of willpower within his spirit.

This became his routine for the next three days: tireless runic study during the day, dinner, a short nap, spirit cultivation at night, another short nap, then breakfast.

It was an exhausting schedule, but incredibly productive. He was running on just a few short hours of sleep, yet he barely noticed. He would need a proper sleep soon, but for now, the short naps were enough.

Things were going smoothly. Aodhán was even proud of himself for not causing any trouble. There were no major developments, no drastic events. News of the war remained sparse, with newspapers mostly reporting on efforts to repair the devastation and prevent such disasters in the future.

Between study and meditation, he found time to chat with Yurin and Andrew, though not often. Sometimes, he even skipped dinner just to keep his schedule uninterrupted.

Then, on the morning of the fourth day, an unexpected visitor arrived.

---

They were in the middle of breakfast when the knock came. Aodhán volunteered to open the door—not out of concern for reporters, but because of the core glowing faintly behind it.

It was weak, but he wasn't taking chances. Arcs of electricity danced around his fingers as he pushed the door open, but his mind couldn't have prepared him for the sight that greeted him.

Standing before him was a girl he vaguely recognized, and when she saw him, her entire face lit up with an expression he couldn't quite name. She took a step forward, her hands reaching up—

Aodhán reacted on instinct.

Electricity surged from his fingertips, crackling through the air before striking her. Her muscles seized up, and for a fleeting moment, she stood rigid—then her legs buckled, and she collapsed to the ground in a heap.

"What's going on?" Synové called from the dining room, concern evident in her tone.

Aodhán grimaced.

"It seems we have another guest," he replied as he bent down, lifted the unconscious girl into his arms, and carried her inside. He placed her gently on a couch and turned to look at his family.

"We have a changeling on our hands," he said grimly. "And I have no idea if she's a friend or an enemy."