Warm breath brushes against my ear, followed by a playful whisper.
"Guess who, gloomy knight?"
I don't even need to open my eyes. That mischievous tone is too familiar.
I release a quiet sigh. "Mia, please… let me eat my food in peace."
A soft chuckle escapes her lips before she pulls her hand back and skips around to the other side of the table. She leans forward, placing her elbows on the wood, and exaggerates a pout that is clearly fake.
"Tch. Spoilsport. You could've at least pretended to be surprised."
I shake my head and go back to my bowl, letting the warm aroma of broth rise with the steam. A thick slice of bread rests at the side, soaking in the smell. I pick up my spoon, determined to ignore her antics, but her presence has a way of filling the room no matter how quiet I try to stay.
Mia plops into the chair across from me, her own bowl of soup clattering against the table. It's the same meal as mine — hearty stew with chunks of meat and vegetables, a big bowl, and bread on the side. She tears into it with no hesitation, lively as ever.
Her name is Mia, the daughter of Anna — the chef who practically keeps this fortress alive with her food. It isn't just her cooking that draws people in; she has a warmth about her, the same warmth Mia carries.
I find myself glancing at her more than once. The resemblance is uncanny. She has the same chestnut hair, the same amber-brown eyes as her mother. If Anna were younger, she and Mia would be indistinguishable. A younger version of the chef, brimming with the same vitality, the same light.
She is also Liana's friend. Liana used to talk about her often — little stories, small details, the kind of things only close friends share. And now, sitting here across from me, Mia feels like a small piece of Liana herself… only louder, brighter, impossible to ignore.
She taps her spoon against the bowl, eyes narrowing as if pondering the secrets of the universe. Then she declares,
"If food is love, then soup is marriage. And Kael—" she points the spoon at me, "you look like a man who just got divorced three times in one day."
I blink. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," she leans in, whispering conspiratorially, "your face looks like a half-baked pie. Crusty on the outside, but gooey and collapsing on the inside."
Despite myself, a chuckle escapes. "That's… the worst metaphor I've ever heard."
Her grin widens, victorious. "But you laughed. That's the goal."
She rests her chin on her palm, watching me. "See? Much better. You should laugh more, Kael. Otherwise you'll wrinkle early, and then where will you be?"
"Probably still fighting for my life," I say dryly.
"Exactly," she replies with a wink.
And for the first time in a while, I let myself laugh again.
I glance at her bowl, still half-full. The steam curls lazily, as if even the soup itself has given up.
"You should finish your soup, Mia," I say, nodding toward it.
She pulls a face, spoon dangling from her fingers like it's a weapon she's long grown tired of. "I am finishing it. Slowly. Strategically. This is a battle, Kael."
"A battle?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Yes," she says solemnly, tapping the spoon against the rim. "This soup and I… we've been at war since the first sip. It's winning."
I stare at her, deadpan. "It's soup."
"It's evil soup." She leans closer, lowering her voice like she's sharing state secrets. "It pretends to be warm and friendly, but underneath? Treachery. Betrayal. Mushy carrots."
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. "Mushy carrots are your great nemesis?"
"They're everyone's nemesis," she shoots back. "Some of us are just brave enough to admit it."
I shake my head, fighting a smile. "You realize you're losing to a bowl of vegetables."
"Correction," she says with a mock glare, raising her spoon like a knight with a dented blade. "I am surviving against a bowl of vegetables. There's a difference."
"Right," my lips twitch. "A heroic struggle, no doubt."
"Exactly!" she beams, before poking at the soup like it has personally wronged her. "When history remembers me, it will be as the girl who fought valiantly… and maybe lost… to carrot-infested broth."
And despite myself, I laugh again.
I finished my meal while exchanging light banter with Mia.
Once done, I returned to my room.
With my stomach full, it is time to begin the next phase of my training.
The room is unnaturally dark. I know it's because of Noctharion doing something, so I walk to the center and sit down.
I can feel a familiar presence around me. It's as if I have always belonged here—a strangely calming sensation.
I will rewrite your text while incorporating the details you've provided. The goal is to maintain the narrative flow and present the new information smoothly within the dialogue.
"Can you feel it, Kael?" Noctharion asks.
"Yes," I reply, my voice a quiet whisper. "It's very calming."
Noctharion's voice is deep as he explains, "What you're feeling is your resonance with your element. When a person is in a place where their element is potent, they feel a sense of calm and familiarity, as if they belong there."
"Resonance," I mutter, a new understanding dawning on me.
"Yes, resonance," he confirms. "It's the effect that happens when a person enters a place called an Elemental Sanctum."
Elemental Sanctum… I muttered in shock.
I knew about these. They were mentioned in the novel, and I even knew where to find them in this world.
An Elemental Sanctum is a secret domain, hidden from ordinary eyes, said to be shaped by the Primordial Spirits themselves.
A place where only those aligned with its element could step inside without being torn apart by its raw, untamed power.
Primordial spirit—the being that forges sanctums—
isn't just a mere elemental.
It is the very essence of a fundamental law, older than the first whispers of myth.This isn't just magic; it's a conscious, archetypal will bound to the raw fabric of reality.Only one such spirit exists for each element, the sole ruler of that force.
They are the only ones who can birth a sanctum,
and only within those sacred domains can resonance truly occur.And now, Noctharion, in his deep voice, claimed he could create one.
The sheer audacity of the thought was a physical blow.
It struck me like thunder, leaving me speechless and stunned.
"Doesn't… doesn't an Elemental Sanctum only form through the power of Primordial Spirits?"
My voice came out unsteady, trembling with disbelief.
A deep, amused chuckle echoed within my mind, reverberating like thunder in a hollow cave.
"Oh? So you know about the Primordial Spirits…" Noctharion's voice drawled, laced with curiosity and a dangerous sort of amusement.