As the world was conquered and all the invaders were slain by the Magnus family, the Supreme Magnus bloodline became both a thorn and a flower at the side of other great families.
One family, thought to be on the same level—or perhaps only slightly above—was revealed to be far more powerful than expected. In the end, they did not just repel the invaders, but annihilated them entirely, leaving no trace. Not only were the enemies destroyed, but even those who dared to raise a hand against Asher Magnus paid the ultimate price.
On that day, when the wrath of the Magnus family was truly unleashed, the world—and even the heavens—grimly learned what it truly meant to face a Magnus.
However, even after scouring entire galaxies, they were unable to find Asher Magnus.
In the house gifted to Asher, everything remained untouched—just as he had left it. And within the Family Life Flame Hall, a single flame still flickered faintly: the Life Flame bound to Asher Magnus. As long as it burned, it meant he was still alive.
Emily, the guardian and maid of Asher, tended the flame faithfully. Standing before it, she sighed softly and whispered, "Young master... wherever you are, I hope you're safe." Then she returned to Asher's residence, keeping it spotless and in perfect order—believing that one day, he would come home.
Word of Asher Magnus's disappearance spread far and wide, becoming a silent scar upon the heart of the Magnus family. Though he was not publicly mourned—his flame still burned—the absence of the young scion who once defied fate left a mark none could erase.
In the deepest chamber of the ancestral garden, where the oldest Magnus meditated among star-forged stones and time-warped bonsai trees, Asher's grandfather sat cross-legged. His long silver hair flowed like mist around him, his eyes closed—but his heart wide open. He had always admired the boy. Asher reminded him of his own youth: fierce, wild, unbreakable. And yet now, silence was all that remained.
"I raised a storm... and now the heavens have stolen it," the old man muttered, his voice lost in the hum of celestial insects. His hands trembled briefly before he composed himself, whispering a prayer to the void. He refused to weep. "Return, my grandson. The roots still remember your name."
Elsewhere in the estate, Asher's uncle stood upon a terrace overlooking the training grounds, arms folded, eyes on the stars. He was a stoic man, known for his cold gaze and sharp blade—but his heart ached whenever he thought of his nephew. What pained him most was not the loss itself, but the cruel irony of it all: Asher, who carried a soul brighter than any sun, was born to a mother whose warmth had long frozen over.
"I pitied the boy," he confessed one night to Emily, who had brought him tea. "He wore strength like armor, but no one taught him how to need." Then, after a pause, "And she... she never even taught him to come home."
In the heart of the family palace, Asher's mother sat on her throne of obsidian glass. Her beauty remained as regal and fearsome as it had ever been. But her eyes—eyes once so keen—now carried a storm. She stared at her son's flickering flame with a clenched jaw.
"He is alive," she said, not to anyone, but to herself. "So why hasn't he returned? Why hasn't he sent word?" Her hands tightened around the arms of her throne. "He defies even me. Still." But no matter her words, she returned to the flame hall every day. Every single day.
In another realm, one far from the Magnus stronghold, Freya stood by a window glazed with spiritual frost, her gaze distant, her fingers gently tracing a soul-bound ring Asher had once given her. Time had not dulled the fire in her heart—it had only shaped it into a deeper, quieter pain.
"They say you're still alive," she whispered into the silence. "Then why... why do I feel like I'm still waiting for you in a dream I can't wake up from?" She held the ring close to her chest, where the warmth of her heartbeat met it. "Come back to me, Asher. Or send me a sign... anything."
Even families that had once stood as rivals to the Magnus lineage came to see the flame. Out of curiosity, envy, or hidden concern. The Supreme Helios family, sworn enemies in an age long past, sent an envoy to inspect it.
"It still flickers," the envoy said. "That boy... even the void hasn't claimed him. What kind of storm is he waiting to unleash?"
To the eyes of the other Supreme Families, Asher Magnus had always been more than a rising star—he was a phenomenon. The greatest talent of his generation. If he was not dead, that meant he was growing stronger in secrecy—and that made him dangerous. Not just to his enemies, but to the very balance of power among the Supremes.
After the last devastating shock delivered by the Magnus family—when their wrath annihilated invaders and silenced challengers—the other families had only just begun to recover. They scrambled to fill the void left in the power structure, to reestablish their position. But now... if Asher were to return?
The gap would widen again.
Unbridgeable. Unstoppable.
One of the hidden Supreme Family heads, a reclusive figure rarely seen even by his own descendants, sat cloaked in void-silk robes, his aura like crushed starlight. After hearing the latest report, his voice cut through the air like a blade sheathed in shadow.
"Keep watch on the Galaxy borders. If even a trace of him is detected... erase it."
Around him, the other elders nodded silently and vanished into shadow, their expressions grim. They understood. This was no longer about balance—it was survival. A single boy, lost to the stars, had become the threat that haunted their future.
Because no one knew what he was becoming.
And no one knew when he would return.