Zatiel lay sprawled across his bed, the faint afternoon light spilling through the half-drawn curtains. He could have meditated to recover his depleted energy—meditation was faster, cleaner, and the method most Magi favored—but there was something about sleep that still appealed to him. It was a small indulgence he allowed himself from time to time, a reminder that not every moment had to be sharpened into efficiency.
His eyes were closed, but his mind was far from idle.
In five years, if I don't meet their terms, they'll come for me first. Not just to collect the debt—they'll strip me of everything. That's the sort of "protection" Jhon offers.
The thought didn't trouble him so much as it sharpened his focus.
If I devote myself purely to rune crafting, I can become a Rank 1 Runemaster in less than a year. The problem is—progress that fast will raise eyebrows. No human apprentice should be able to advance so quickly, not with the natural energy limitations of their bodies.
His reasoning was sound. Achieving Rank 1 was no minor accomplishment. For any race, it marked a significant transformation—one that required not only skill but also a deep restructuring of the self. For humans at Rank 0, the leap was monumental, fraught with dangers and bottlenecks.
Better to advance my own rank first. Once I reach Rank 1, increasing my rune mastery will appear more believable. And for that… He thought of the ancient Magus's laboratory Sophia had mentioned. …that place holds the key. But entering it will be no simple matter. If I go unprepared, I might as well dig my own grave.
Morning arrived, crisp and pale. Two figures emerged from the looming shadow of the Sinux Magic Tower: Zatiel and Sophia.
Zatiel set a brisk pace. For him, it was little more than a leisurely trot, but he deliberately reined himself in so she could keep up. Sophia, for her part, moved without complaint.
She was an Elementium apprentice with an affinity for water—a path that usually left one physically fragile. But her unusual condition had given her a hardened constitution, the equivalent of a Rank 3 body-refining apprentice. She could match his pace without straining, though her mind was more preoccupied with where they were headed.
"Zatiel," she began cautiously, "is it truly necessary to go to the Underground Zone? That place is infamous for its… inhabitants." The word was spoken like a warning. Her knowledge of the Underground was stitched together from whispered rumors and the occasional horror story.
Zatiel didn't slow. "It holds materials I need for my runes. And as for dangerous races—humans would rank high on that list." His tone was flat, almost amused.
"You're wrong!" Sophia's voice rose, surprising even herself. "Not everyone is like that. Many people are good—kind even. Villages thrive because people take care of each other."
The words tumbled out faster now, pulled from memories she rarely shared. Back before magic, before the isolation, she had known warmth and mutual care.
But when she looked at him again, the icy stillness in his eyes froze the words on her tongue.
"Are you certain I'm wrong?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge under it—sharp enough to cut.
Sophia felt a prickle of dread. She had thought she was beginning to understand him, to read the subtle shifts in his moods. Now, faced with that cold gaze, she wasn't sure she'd been right at all.
Part of her wanted to back down, to apologize. But something in her resisted. Memories of her past steadied her, and she met his eyes with new resolve.
"Yes," she said firmly. "You're wrong."
Silence stretched between them. She braced herself for a backlash. Instead, Zatiel threw back his head and laughed.
"Well done," he said, the ice in his voice gone. "There's hope for you yet. Intelligence and talent may not be your strengths, but I care little for those. Remember this feeling—and nurture it."
She blinked. "You're… not angry?" His moods were impossible to track. One moment he seemed ready to strike her down, the next he was praising her.
"Do I seem so petty as to attack someone simply for having a different opinion? Think of it as a test—and congratulations, you passed." His smile was almost warm now.
"A test? Why?"
"I was measuring your resolve. Holding to your beliefs in the face of danger is admirable… if reckless. Next time, just lie. Keep your convictions inside and protect yourself first. Words mean little, survival means everything. You passed this time, but you still have much to learn."
Zatiel's reasons for bringing her were layered. She was vulnerable in the tower, and other apprentices might try to pry information from her that they couldn't hope to take from him directly. Keeping her close ensured she stayed under his watch. Beyond that, he'd grown to tolerate—perhaps even like—her presence. If she proved her worth, he would help her.
Ezequiel had crossed his mind as a companion for this journey, but the boy was too absorbed in his own creations to be pulled away.
"Let's move. The entrance to the Underground Zone is far, and we'll only be exploring the first layers. I know my limits."
With that, he started walking again. Sophia hesitated only a moment before following, one hand resting lightly against her chest, her steps steadier now.
A week later, they stood at the foot of a mountain whose shadow swallowed the land around it. A gaping cave yawned from its base, its darkness so complete it seemed to drink the light from the air. This was the gateway to the first layer of the Underground Zone.
Zatiel took a step forward… then stopped. His head tilted upward, his expression sharpening into a look of mild annoyance.
Sophia followed his gaze but saw nothing—only the bright, empty sky.
"Is something wrong?" she asked. His silence only deepened her unease.
"It's nothing," he said finally. But his tone had shifted—colder, more commanding. "Stay within twenty meters of me at all times."
Before she could press the matter, he started forward again, leading her into the cave's shadow. The light dwindled to nothing, the air growing cooler, thicker.
And then, far above, a shadow broke the stillness. A figure descended from the sky, its form taking shape as it neared the mountain's base.