The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

One lie. One twist of fate. Yet bearing such devastating impact that it unmade the destinies of countless others.

The news of Aodhán's new status as a double inheritor tore through the kingdom like wildfire, blazing from the lowest sectors to the capital's highest towers. Reporters swarmed the academy in frenzied masses, desperate for even a glimpse of him, but the academy gates were shut tight, making it impossible for them to ask the questions they were dying to ask.

Perhaps, had it been any other person, the chaos wouldn't have reached such a fever pitch. But Aodhán was no ordinary student. He was the phenomenon who had dominated headlines for months, the prodigy whose affinity defied comprehension at every turn. And now that he'd proclaimed himself a double inheritor—bearing the path and willpower of two ascendants—everyone was dying of curiosity. What new facet of his power would he reveal now? Just how vast was his willpower? Just how terrifyingly strong was Aodhán Brystion?

Judging from all the commotion, it was safe to say that about eighty percent of the population believed Zatya's words. It tracked with all of Aodhán's miraculous feats after all, and it made sense.

But it was the twenty percent who remained unconvinced or, worse, uncaring that truly mattered. And unfortunately for Aodhán, those were the people with the power to destroy him.

The Crimson Judge was one such person.

She had been on her way to the 5th Academy when Jeffery finally confessed. The news had reached her almost immediately through her mental connection with the other judges, and now, she streaked through the air, a dozen agents flying behind her as they made their way to uproot the cultists within the academy. Where there was one, there were bound to be others.

Aodhán would be coming back with her to the Council, whether Zatya Malakov liked it or not. He had run free for far too long, and if he was truly a transmigrant, then it meant Zatya had been hiding him for herself—a crime in itself, but not one grievous enough to demand her execution. For shame.

The crimson judge was determined not to leave the academy empty-handed, but she underestimated Zatya's insubordination and the fact that she wasn't the only one searching for the boy.

More than a dozen people were heading toward the 5th academy at the same time. Among them were members of the Council of Lords, agents of the 1st and 2nd academies, and several other awakened bodies hell-bent on making an appearance for their selfish reasons.

All these pieces moved toward the academy, converging together just as fate had planned. But while they raced through the skies, one particular piece was already inside the academy, racing through the hallways, panicked as her father's message thundered in her mind.

"The boy is a transmigrant. Agents are on their way. Get the boy and get out now!"

It wasn't even coded, as was their usual practice, but that only made it more terrifying. However, as scary as it was, it wasn't quite as scary as leaving the academy without Aodhán. If what her father said was true, then his life was in grave danger. She had to find him quickly, before any of the agents arrived or before news of her involvement with the cultists spread.

And so, Ayisha raced through the hallways, her feet hastily tapping against the tiled floor as she moved from one person to the next. "Have you seen Aodhán? Have you seen Aodhán?"

Foresight revealed their responses before they even opened their mouths, and so without waiting for any of them to speak, she raced from one person to the other, asking the same question over and over again.

Fear churned deep in her gut, causing her stomach to clench so tightly it hurt. She had five minutes at most before the agents arrived, and she had made no progress on Aodhán's whereabouts.

Cursing under her breath, she texted Aodhán again, asking about his location, but just like the half dozen messages she had sent so far, she received no reply. She wasn't even sure he was reading them at all.

Her panic rising, she grabbed the next student she found, eyes widening in hope as Meredith revealed herself, but as the question left her lips, her hope crashed into disappointment.

"I haven't seen him since the arena either, and I need to speak to him about making things between us official. I have been shagging a double inheritor without realizing it. My mother will kill me if I let him slip away from—

Ayisha didn't wait for Meredith to finish before running off, heart thudding like war drums within her chest. For the next two minutes, all she received were disappointing responses until she finally came across Yurin, who seemed to be in almost the same predicament as she was.

"Do you have any idea where he could be?" she asked breathlessly as soon as she reached him.

"I'm looking for him too." Yurin frowned. "I've been texting him and Daruk, but they're not replying. Do you think they're still in Zatya's office?"

"No!" Ayisha snapped, feeling the hallway begin to close in on her. "He's no longer in her office. Kaelith said he and Daruk stepped out a while ago. They must be somewhere in the academy."

Yurin's frown deepened, and he ran a hand through his hair. "This is a mess. They're not at home, they're not in Zatya's office, and they're not in the gym. Where could they be?"

"You're asking me? You're their friend."

"I know that," Yurin snapped back, "but I truly don't—"

"Think, Yurin!" Ayisha practically shook him, desperation rising within her. She only had three minutes left. If she didn't find Aodhán soon, she would have to leave without him, and then she would have to face the disappointment on her father's face after failing the one assignment he had given her. She couldn't let that happen.

Sensing her desperation, Yurin hazarded a guess, jerking his shoulders out of her clutch. "I don't know, Ayisha. He could be anywhere. The serenity garden, he took Lupin out on dates, or perhaps the training halls."

Ayisha's eyes lit up as she connected the dots, and she immediately dashed off, shouting. "Thank you, Yurin. I will miss you greatly."

"Where are you going?" Yurin shouted back, but Ayisha had already vanished down the corridor, certainty churning through her. It was possible that she had judged Aodhán wrongly and that he was in the serenity garden instead, but Aodhán hadn't been to the garden ever since his breakup with Lupin. She doubted he would go there now, especially not with Daruk. The training hall was the most viable option.

With that thought driving her forward, she raced toward the training hall, aware of how fast time was running. She had a minute left at most before the agents arrived or the academy threw out a search party for her, and if she hadn't found Aodhán by then, she would have failed a monumental task.

She reached the training hall with barely a minute to spare and quickly rushed to Aodhán and Daruk's usual hall, praying to the watchers that she had chosen right and that they would be in the room. Daruk's presence would undoubtedly complicate matters, but she would handle it. She just had to find them first.

She burst into the room a moment later, time essence churning around her fist, but stopped short as she found not just two but three boys in the room. Fighting.

An explosion of spatial essence and lightning rocked the hall, and she cursed once again, wondering how she was supposed to kidnap Aodhán away with two other powerhouses in the room.

***

Six minutes ago.

Cyrus sat on the wooden floor beside Lilith Bloodmoon, legs crossed and eyes closed in what should have been meditation. To any casual observer, he appeared the picture of noble composure—back straight, breathing measured, the very image of disciplined cultivation that his tutors had drilled into him since childhood.

But when one looked beneath the carefully constructed façade, signs of agitation and anger became obvious. The slight but consistent clenching of his wrists, the subtle furrow of his brows, the tension in his jaws, and, most obvious of all, the deep downturn of his lips that spoke of a rage so consuming it had become his default expression.

The truth was that Cyrus couldn't meditate. Couldn't focus. Couldn't do anything but replay the same maddening thoughts over and over again, each repetition stoking the fire higher.

That damned commoner.

Just an hour ago, he had stormed out of the arena with such righteous determination. He had been determined to put in the work, ready to spit in Aodhán's face—double inheritor or not—and show him that he was still better despite all his advantages. He had felt so certain then. So ready to prove that Aodhán Brystion was nothing more than a lucky fraud who had stumbled into power he didn't deserve.

But here, in the suffocating quiet of the meditation chamber, with only his own thoughts for company, the weight of reality pressed down on him like a mountain.

Double inheritor. The words tasted like poison in his mind. Double inheritor.

Just how did he expect to match up to a double inheritor in power? The only extraordinary thing he had going for him was his control, praised by every tutor and peer as completely extraordinary. Even Artemis had once said so.

But what was control compared to seemingly infinite willpower? What was his control compared to a spiritual weight so heavy it shattered a spiritual artifact? What were the years of the finest training, the most expensive resources, and the most carefully crafted advancement plans compared to whatever cosmic joke had handed that commoner the condensed paths of two ascendants?

Cyrus's breathing hitched, and for a moment, the mask slipped entirely. His shoulders sagged. His hands trembled.

I can't do this.

The thought crept in like a thief, stealing away the last vestiges of his bravado. All his grand proclamations to Lilith, all his sneering dismissals of Grendar's warnings, all his desperate rallying cries about being geniuses—they were hollow. Empty. The desperate gasps of a drowning child.

Oh, how cruel fate was.

He wasn't going to catch up. He wasn't going to surpass Aodhán. He was going to spend the rest of his life in the shadow of some commoner who had been handed everything Cyrus had spent his entire existence trying to earn.

The realization should have broken him. Should have sent him crawling back to his dormitory to hide from the world. Instead, it ignited something uglier. Something that had been festering in the depths of his privileged soul since the moment he'd first laid eyes on Aodhán's power.

It's not fair.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The thought came with such vicious intensity that purple wisps of spatial essence began to curl around his clenched fists. It's not fair. It's not fair. IT'S NOT FAIR.

Why should Aodhán be handed the keys to greatness when he had toiled for it all his life? Why did Aodhán keep winning while he kept failing?

To make things worse, his father's voice chose that moment to resurface, laced thickly with disappointment and veiled in faux concern. "Give it up, nine," he had said. "You'll never be a champion." You should focus more on political studies, for when you eventually inherit all my hard work."

The memory stoked his anger further, and Cyrus jerked to his feet, abandoning all pretense of meditation. Lilith's eyes snapped open at the disturbance, but he was already striding toward the door.

"Cyrus—" she began, but he cut her off with a gesture.

"I need air," he growled, his voice tight with barely contained fury.

The hallway beyond was mercifully empty, allowing him to pace without having to maintain the facade of noble composure. His mind raced, cycling through the same poisonous thoughts that had been plaguing him since the arena.

Only one trial left. The trial of luck. The name alone made his lip curl in disgust.

Even if he won—if—what would that prove? That he had gotten lucky? That he had scraped into the tournament by the skin of his teeth while others had earned their places through demonstrated superiority? It would be a consolation prize, a participation trophy, a constant reminder that he wasn't quite good enough to stand with the real talents.

But the alternative was worse. The alternative was admitting defeat and accepting that his father was right.

Cyrus couldn't accept that. Not in a million years.

He might not be able to match Aodhán's raw power. He might not be able to compete with whatever cosmic favoritism had made the commoner a double inheritor. But he was still a genius in his own right. He was still powerful, and if he couldn't win through strength alone… There were other ways to win.

He could do it. He could do this.

The thought occupied his mind so thoroughly that he almost missed the two students entering a training room down the hallway, but the moment he caught sight of them, his emotions roared, the anger he'd almost buried erupting within him like a volcano.

Logic fled his mind, and his emotions took over, clouding his senses.

Why were they still training? Weren't they strong enough yet?

Here he was, struggling just to maintain his sanity, and that commoner was still training. Still pushing forward, growing stronger, and widening the gap between them.

The unfairness of it all crashed over him like a tidal wave. His vision went red at the edges, and with a low growl, he stalked after them, purple essence swirling violently around his clenched fists.

He teleported into the training room an instant later and pointed a furious finger at Aodhán. "Fight me, commoner. I challenge you to a duel right this minute; you cannot refuse me."

But Aodhán barely expressed any surprise at his presence, too tired from the day's events to do more than raise an unimpressed eyebrow as he muttered. "I refuse. What are you going to do about it?"

Cyrus's anger surged, and he gritted his teeth. "This is an official request for a duel. I am the heir to the dukedom of the 5th sector. You cannot—"

"Go away, Cyrus." Aodhán cut him off with a sigh as he slid against the opposite wall and hit his head with a thud. "I have neither the will nor the mental strength to engage in your foolishness."

"Okay, Cyrus, calm down." Daruk stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation, but Cyrus was no longer listening. He stalked forward, purple essence surging around him with each step he took.

"You are so rude," he growled low. "So dismissive of nobility and ranking. You think yourself better than the rest of us just because you're a double inheritor."

Aodhán exhaled deeply. "I never said that."

"You don't have to!" Cyrus snapped. "Your actions say it loud enough. Even now, you disrespect me."

Aodhán scowled then. "You have not earned my respect—"

"Calm down, both of you," Daruk shouted, stepping forward to stand between both boys. He fixed his gaze on Cyrus and whispered gently. "Something has upset you, Cyrus, but you need to go and deal with that somewhere else. We are dealing with some big issues right now, and trust me, whatever is going on with you is at the very bottom of our priority—"

The words hit Cyrus like a physical blow.

Bottom of our priority.

For a moment, he went completely still. The purple essence around his fists flickered and died. His face drained of all color, leaving him looking almost corpse-like in the training room's harsh lighting.

Bottom. Of. Our. Priority.

The phrase echoed in his mind, each word a dagger twisting deeper. They were the same words his father always used whenever he'd approached in his younger years. He'd always been too busy to attend to him, and so, despite being the heir, he had been cast aside. Dismissed. And treated like an inconvenience.

He had taken it from his father, but from a commoner!

He stuttered. Words failed him. And his hands began to shake—not with fear, but with a rage so pure and consuming that it threatened to tear him apart from the inside out.

What remained of his composure snapped entirely, and he roared. "LOW PRIORITY?! DO YOU REALIZE WHO YOU'RE SPEAKING TO?"

Daruk took a careful step back, but Cyrus was too far gone for reason. He stalked forward, his entire body shuddering from the force of his fury. Purple essence exploded from him like a supernova as he unleashed his aura, filling the entire training room with crackling spatial energy."

"Cyrus, calm down—" Daruk whispered, trying to de-escalate the situation, but Cyrus wasn't listening.

He wasn't even staring at Daruk. Instead, his furious gaze was locked on Aodhán as he roared. I am NOT low priority. I am NOT at the bottom of anyone's list. I refuse to be dismissed!"

The last words came out as a primal scream, and with it, he teleported, completely bypassing Daruk as he tore his way through space and appeared before Aodhán, a purple fist charging toward his jaw.

Aodhán clenched his jaw in anger, watching as the fist closed in on him. He could have dodged the attack if he'd wanted to, but he did nothing at all, completely content to let Cyrus have this one punch.

The punch smashed into his face, and pain exploded through his jaw as the force of the attack spread. His neck snapped to the right, and blood pooled within his mouth. Anger surged within him, but Aodhán pushed it down and looked up at Cyrus with a sneer. "Are you quite done?"

His words only served to anger Cyrus more, and with another primal growl, Cyrus attacked again.

Aodhán felt anger rise within him once again, hot and fierce, but before the emotion could take hold, it was snuffed out by a sense of calm so thorough and absolute that he suddenly felt cold and empty.

That was the true power of {Eye of the Storm}, a complete detachment from any chaotic emotions. Aodhán felt empty, unfeeling, and cold even as Cyrus's fist smashed against his jaw once more, so hard that his jaw vibrated from the impact.

"Get a fucking grip, Cyrus!" Daruk shouted as he pulled Cyrus off Aodhán angrily, but Cyrus was like a feral cat, completely overtaken by his anger and desperate need to prove his strength. He teleported out of Daruk's grasp and moved to attack Aodhán once again.

But Aodhán had finally had enough.

The past hour had been an emotional roller coaster for him, and he'd given Cyrus a chance to come to his senses, but he would not sit here and let Cyrus take out his fury on him just because he was having a psychological breakdown.

With a quick motion, he surged forward, fingers seamlessly shifting into long, dark claws aimed at Cyrus's neck. Cyrus teleported before his claws could strike, but that wasn't his intent anyway.

Swiveling, he unleashed a condensed beam of red electricity into the air, his core sense tracking Cyrus's essence even before he emerged. The beam struck true, and Cyrus yelped, teleporting away just before it exploded. Still, with the amount of willpower Aodhán had packed into the beam, Cyrus didn't escape unharmed.

He stumbled out of a small portal several meters away, twitching as lightning raced across his skin. Any other person would have taken that as a sign to back down, but not Cyrus.

With a roar, he attacked again, a jagged blade of chaotic space materializing in his hand as he teleported forward, but Aodhán was unfazed.

He met Cyrus with another beam of lightning, one even more powerful than the last, but Cyrus was ready this time. Slashing forward, he bent space itself, showing off an impressive amount of control over his affinity as space rippled violently around them.

The beam of electricity curved away from him as space warped, but Aodhán refused to let up. With an unfeeling gaze, he redirected the beam and then split it into three separate strikes, forcing Cyrus to manipulate three points of space all at once.

Surprisingly, Cyrus managed it, stretching and bending the three points of space away from himself with impeccable precision, his spatial mastery evident even in his frenzied state.

That, however, left him open for a physical attack, and Aodhán capitalized immediately. He blinked forward, claws poised to grasp Cyrus by the neck, but the space between them suddenly expanded, stretching so much that what should have been a couple of meters at most stretched nearly a kilometer.

And then the stretched space shattered, exploding into a thousand jagged, glass-like fragments that shot toward Aodhán like arrows. A wave of deathly chill froze the space shards midair, but Aodhán didn't need the help one bit.

He shot through the maze of frozen blades, black scales rippling across his skin as lightning and willpower enhanced his natural armor. Clawed hands grabbed Cyrus before he could teleport away, clenching so tightly that his claws pierced Cyrus's neck and drew blood. Varéc growled within him, animal instincts trying to take over, but with {Eye of the Storm} active, Aodhán barely felt anything as he raised Cyrus into the air, black wings unfurling from his back malevolently.

Cyrus bucked frantically, eyes wide with panic as Aodhán's claws dug deeper into his neck. He pulled desperately on the space around him, twisting its fabric into a chaotic mess that made it hard to tell up from down. Space heaved and rippled, but Aodhán refused to be moved, expelling a river of willpower to keep himself rooted in place.

All the while, Daruk watched them tiredly from below, wanting both of them to beat the shit out of themselves. Cyrus might need the reminder, and well, Aodhán needed to expel some of the tension from the last hour.

And so, he watched with folded arms as Cyrus bucked and fought weakly, not wanting to make any sudden movements lest Aodhán's claws bury themselves in his neck or tear an artery.

It was almost amusing to watch. Daruk knew Aodhán wouldn't kill Cyrus, but he doubted beating him this thoroughly would help matters either. Cyrus was like a wounded animal, lashing out. Kicking him while he was down would undoubtedly not solve the problem.

But Daruk had done his best to speak some sense to the classist noble. This was the consequence of his actions.

And so even when Aodhán's claws dug deeper into Cyrus's neck, Daruk did nothing, content to only step in if things took a really serious turn.

However, he never got the chance, because it was in that moment that Ayisha barged in, eyes wide as she took in the battle above them. Her entire body churned with time essence so dense it was like a cloud around her, and the moment their gazes locked, Daruk realized that something was wrong.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he never got the words out before time froze, slowing so infinitesimally that Daruk felt his mind stutter to a halt. Thoughts came slowly, and movement seemed completely impossible.

But Daruk didn't need to move to act. Willpower exploded from within him, spreading outward to counter the time bubble, but Ayisha came prepared.

She raised a golden watch into the air, her expression strained as she channeled energy into it. The watch shone with ancient power, its golden surface rippling with temporal runes, and then it pulsed once, a deep resonance that reinforced the time bubble around them and solidified it into something far more formidable.

Daruk's willpower, which had been steadily pushing against the temporal barrier, suddenly met resistance like hitting a brick wall. His eyes widened in fear as he pressed harder, pushing against the slowed time with all that he had.

In the distance, an alarm blared, and a voice echoed. "Find Ayisha Helsarin immediately. She is a cultist. Find Ayisha Helsarin…"

***

Ayisha paled as the alarm echoed out so loudly that it reverberated in her bones. Yet that second of utter panic was all she allowed herself before racing toward Aodhán's frozen form, heart pounding like a war drum.

She was running on borrowed time, and even with the Aeon Clock, she could still feel the power of all three boys fighting against her time bubble. Willpower drained from her core like water through a broken vessel as she fought to hold the bubble in place.

Her skills were willpower and energy-intensive, but with three powerhouses contesting her authority, Ayisha was certain she only had seconds left before her core was completely drained dry.

Not wanting that to happen, she pulled out the synced talisman her father had given her from her spatial space and smashed it together with a small jar of his blood. The two items exploded with a burst of blinding light, followed by an agonized scream as a swirling portal ruptured into existence at the center of the room.

And in that moment, the time bubble cracked.

Aodhán and Cyrus dropped midair as the stillness of the world shattered into motion, and everything around them lurched violently. The frozen shards of space, the crackling beams of lightning, even Daruk's open mouth—all resumed motion in a chaotic flurry.

The unfeeling coldness of Aodhán's expression was ripped away as his eyes widened in shock, but Ayisha didn't give him time to speak or process anything. Panting, she grabbed him and swung him toward the swirling portal.

But that was where things began going wrong.

Aodhán, still latched onto Cyrus, pulled the noble in as well—his grip never loosening from Cyrus's neck. Ayisha didn't bother separating them as she jumped in after them, but then an explosion of willpower, so powerful it rocked the entire room to its foundations, slammed into her with a force so strong she coughed up blood.

The Aeon Clock slipped from her grasp, and her eyes widened as Daruk rushed toward her, fury burning in his gaze.

She rushed back toward the portal, but just as she jumped in, Daruk unleashed another explosion of willpower and screamed. "FREEZE."

Reality rippled violently, and time froze—only for a moment, but it was enough for Daruk to cross the distance. He yanked her by the hair, cold fingers spreading a deadly chill down her spine as he tried to pull her out of the portal, but the suction of the swirling vortex overwhelmed them both, and despite Daruk's strength, it pulled him in as well.

The portal snapped shut an instant later, and as the world spun around her, Ayisha cursed herself. She had been tasked with kidnapping one boy, yet she would be arriving with three, one of whom was heir to the most powerful family in the 5th Sector.

This was a disaster.

***

Somewhere far away, in a dimension cut off from the streams of fate, time, and karma, a swirling portal spat out four unconscious individuals…