Arcane Warfare: From the Ashes of a Disposable Soldier

 The words echoed through the chamber, breaking the suffocating silence.

 "1917 AMW," Cedar managed to whisper, his voice barely breaking free of the oppressive force that held him and Ivan frozen in place.

 The silence that followed was palpable, a heavy pause as if the air itself were waiting.

 Then, from the shadows, the voice returned, curious but still imbued with that ancient resonance that sent chills down their spines.

"AMW?" it repeated, the question hanging heavily in the air, its tone carrying an unsettling kind of innocence, as if the entity truly didn't understand. "What is AMW?"

 Cedar felt the question pierce through him, a shiver running down his spine.

 He could sense the confusion in the enemy riders nearby as their wide, terrified eyes mirrored his own.

 The term AMW, or After the Mage Wars, marked the era the world had known for centuries. It was the defining point in history, a reference to the great conflict that reshaped nations, redrew borders, and created the fragile balance of power that now teetered in a world war.

 And yet, this thing, whatever it was, seemed utterly ignorant of it.

 The presence in the cave felt older than anything Cedar had ever encountered, ancient beyond comprehension.

 It wasn't just old; it felt like it belonged to a forgotten age, one that predated even the Mage War, before humanity had begun to understand the full potential of magic.

 The sheer ignorance of AMW seemed… wrong, like it had been severed from the flow of time itself.

 As the entity contemplated Cedar's words, the oppressive weight surrounding them loosened slightly. Cedar and Ivan could finally draw full breaths, though their limbs remained frozen.

 The voice returned, now tinged with curiosity and perhaps amusement. "After the Mage Wars... How interesting. So much time has passed since us."

 It paused for a few seconds, the last words seeming to carry emotion.

 Without warning, the cave began to tremble.

 The ground beneath their feet shook violently, and the air thickened with raw magical energy.

 Cedar felt mana from the air rushing back into his body, but it was overwhelming, with more power than he could control.

 The magical surge coursed through the chamber, an unstoppable tidal wave that overpowered their senses.

 Suddenly, the freezing grip released them.

 Cedar stumbled, gasping for air, as did Ivan. But neither dared to move. The enemy riders, once as immobilized as they were, began to stir, their surfboards wobbling unsteadily in the charged air.

 Terror was etched on their faces as they struggled to regain control.

 It was too late; the unleashed magic was too powerful and possibly aimed at them.

 One by one, they were hurled against the jagged stone walls, their bodies crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

 The cavern fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of residual magic. Cedar didn't need to guess why the riders had been killed.

 They had resisted—defied the force that held them.

 In short, they dared to disobey.

 And for that, they had been crushed like insects.

 Cedar and Ivan stepped back, their legs trembling beneath them as the cave shuddered under the awakening of this ancient power.

 The glowing pool of water at the chamber's center pulsed brighter now, casting eerie, flickering shadows on the walls.

 Before they could react, the voice called out again, reverberating through the remains of the cave. "Wait," it commanded, its tone sharp and unyielding. "I sense something familiar from you."

 The oppressive pressure was gone, replaced by an unsettling stillness. They could move freely now, but neither dared to.

 The voice emerged from the shadows, more controlled this time but tinged with curiosity. "Silver hair," it addressed Ivan directly. "What is your full name?"

 Ivan hesitated, his throat dry. Finally, he stammered, "Ivan K. Asterius."

 The chamber pulsed with energy, the air thickening as the voice echoed its reaction.

 Then came laughter.

 It was loud, bitter, and mocking.

 The walls themselves seemed to vibrate with the sound, as though the entity found some dark amusement in Ivan's words.

"So you're his descendant, then?" the voice sneered. "Ha ha ha! The bastard! Disgusted everyone else but himself and 'L'? So, he died before me? Ha! Not only that… he married a human and had mixed-blood descendants! Oh, this is rich." The laughter faded, leaving a chilling silence in its wake.

 Cedar and Ivan exchanged uneasy glances, their minds racing with questions.

 Who was this 'he' the voice spoke of?

 And what connection did Ivan have to this ancient entity?

"Descendant?" Ivan muttered, his voice shaky. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

 The laughter ceased, replaced by a cold, calculating tone. "Who am I?" the voice repeated, pausing as if savoring the weight of its words. "I was once a part of the Old Magic, before your Mage Wars, before humans began to grasp even a fraction of the power they now wield."

 Cedar felt the weight of those words settles over him like a stone.

 The Old Magic—a time spoken of only in legends, an era of raw, untamed power that made even the Mage Wars pale in comparison.

 The stories told of beings who could reshape reality itself, wielding magic so volatile it could destroy entire civilizations.

 The voice continued, quieter now but no less ominous. "And Asterius… he was one of the fools who thought he could control it. Your bloodline, boy, is tainted with his arrogance though I'm no better…we're no better."

 Once again, it paused for a few seconds, the weight of the last words conveying a sense of emotion.

"Of course not," the entity interjected, its tone sharp with mockery. "They buried it—buried it so deep that even they began to forget. A lineage so pitifully diluted, so riddled with shame, they dared not speak of it. Do you think they wanted anyone to know? To acknowledge what they had become? No, boy. They hid it, cloaked it in lies and ignorance, so you could grow up blissfully unaware of the truth to the point that no one remembers anymore."

 The voice deepened, thick with contempt. "And yet, blood remembers. Even when poisoned by mediocrity and weakened beyond recognition, it still carries the echo of what once was. Faint, pathetic, but unmistakable. You are an abomination, yes—but one your ancestors tried desperately to erase."

 Ivan swallowed hard, his mind spinning. Cedar placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, though his own heart was racing.

 Whatever this entity was, it knew more about Ivan's lineage than Ivan himself. And the implications of that knowledge were terrifying.

 Ivan stood frozen, his face pale and his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. He was visibly shaken, struggling to process the enormity of what had just been revealed.

 His family... connected to this ancient force? And not just any connection but a direct descendant of someone tied to Old Magic.

 Then why! Why did we have to endure all of that! Ivan clenched his fist tighter, feeling frustration boil inside him as memories flooded back.

 The voice shifted its attention back to Cedar, and he could feel the gaze, whatever it was, fixing on him.

"And you," it said, its tone less amused and more thoughtful. "You don't carry his blood, but you've been touched by something... something recent. War, survival, death... your hands are stained with it."

 The voice fell silent for a few seconds, deep in thought.

"There's something unusual. A mere insect like you couldn't have caused this much bloodshed, yet I sense a lot of blood on your hands."

 Cedar tensed, unsure of how to respond. Whatever this entity was, it seemed to see through him, down to his very core.

"Interesting," the voice mused. "Very interesting. Perhaps there is more to the current state of this world than I imagined."

 Cedar swallowed hard, his throat dry. The air around him hummed with magic, the cave glowing faintly from the runes around the pool.

 Despite the momentary ease, he knew that this was no ordinary encounter. There was more going on here than just the war outside.

"What do you want?" Cedar finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

 The entity fell silent for a moment, as though considering the question. Then, the voice returned, colder this time. "What do I want? To see what this world has become. To remind it of the power it once feared. But first..."

 It paused, then spoke with unsettling calmness. "You, Asterius boy, and your companion. Both of you will help me."

 Ivan stepped back, shaking his head, fear creeping into his voice. "Help you? What do you mean? We don't even know what you are!"

 The entity's laughter returned, a deep, echoing sound. "What I am... you'll learn soon enough. But for now, you'll serve as my eyes. My agents in this new world. It's time to remind the mages and soldiers of what true power looks like."

 The ground beneath them trembled again, the runes glowing brighter. Cedar could feel the weight of a new, dangerous path unfolding before him, one he didn't choose but had no way to avoid.

"Now," the voice commanded, colder and more insistent, "swear your loyalty to me or be consumed like the others."

 The instant the entity's voice demanded loyalty, something deep within Cedar stirred.

 Something primal and dark.

 Bloodthirst.

 The overwhelming desire to fight, to tear apart the source of the voice and consume its very essence, filled his mind.

 He didn't even notice the change at first, but deep inside, his magic core began to pulse, responding to the ancient pressure around him.