The old man raised his head slowly, as though the motion itself carried weight. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, not quite warm, not quite distant—something measured.
"Because your characters are different," he said, voice soft but certain. "Unlike the others, I believe you will help—if given a reason worth accepting."
His gaze shifted, settling on Alden first, then drifting toward Ronan. "When you first entered this domain, I took a brief glimpse into your memories."
Ronan felt Alden stiffen beside him, just a fraction. Subtle—but unmistakable.
The old man continued, unbothered. "But Ronan's mind…" A quiet chuckle slipped from him, almost impressed. "Sealed. Layer upon layer. Each one shifting, reforming—like a living thing. I chose not to push further. No need to alert him."
Ronan's jaw tightened slightly. He hadn't felt anything… but hearing it now left a faint unease crawling under his skin.
"He's a good soul," the old man added, tilting his head, studying Ronan as though weighing something invisible. "But also a fool." His smile widened, amused now. "Ghost Flame disguised as Ice Flame? What were you thinking?"
Ronan exhaled slowly through his nose.
"That was reckless," the old man went on. "The other fire users felt it—something alien. Something wrong. Had even one of them encountered Ghost Flame before…" He let the thought hang, unfinished.
The silence stretched just long enough to make the implication sink in.
"And then," the old man said, voice lowering, "you handed over the Fulgurion's legacy without hesitation."
Ronan didn't respond, but Alden shot him a sharp glance—brief, cutting. A warning without words.
"That alone told me enough," the old man concluded. "You are not driven by greed. Either of you." His eyes softened, just slightly. "That is why I trust you. That is why I am asking for your help."
Ronan's shoulders tensed.
Alden's gaze flicked toward him again, sharper this time. We'll talk about this later.
The old man's expression dimmed, the lightness draining from it as though it had never been there. "If you are still willing… then understand who we stand against."
The air seemed to grow heavier.
"The enemy we face is not afraid of Ghost Flame," he said quietly. "To them… it is child's play."
Alden's brows drew together.
Unless they're one of the ancient hidden clans…
The thought surfaced unbidden, sharp and immediate.
"I advise you," the old man continued, his voice almost a warning whispered through time itself, "do not dig too deep. The truth will surface on its own."
Alden stepped forward slightly, grounding himself. "What exactly are you asking us to do?"
The old man didn't hesitate.
"I want to destroy the fragment."
Alden blinked once. "Destroy?"
"Yes." The old man's gaze hardened. "This fragment holds the core essence of the Keen Eye skill. The others… are merely extensions. Destroy this one, and the rest lose their meaning. They may form something new—but never Keen Eye again."
Alden narrowed his eyes, thoughts moving quickly. "And how do we destroy it?"
For the first time, something like frustration crossed the old man's face.
"That," he said slowly, "is the problem."
The faint smile vanished entirely.
"When certain clans learned that this town housed a fragment, they slaughtered everyone." His voice did not rise, but the words landed with a quiet brutality. "Yet even then… they failed to claim it."
He paused, as though the memory lingered somewhere far behind his eyes.
"The key to unlocking it… is the Keen Eye skill itself."
Ronan's thoughts stirred uneasily.
"So they tried another method," the old man continued. "They embedded a spell within a goddess's statue—a failsafe. A destruction trigger."
His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it.
"The man who cast it… was not of the Threadwatchers clan. He sought only one thing—to erase Keen Eye entirely."
Ronan studied him carefully now.
He's hiding something.
The feeling settled, quiet but persistent. Still, he said nothing. Instead, he glanced at Alden.
For now… I'll follow his lead.
"Whatever happens," the old man said, voice sharpening again, "do not attack anything. Defend yourselves if you must—but no counter magic. No aggression."
Alden gave a short, firm nod. "Understood."
The old man exhaled, some of the tension leaving him. "As for your reward… You will receive the foundational essence of Keen Eye. What you build from it will be your own."
His hand lifted slightly, pointing somewhere unseen beyond the room. "And take the monolithic stone totem in the west wing."
Without another word, he rose—no, floated—into a cross-legged position midair. His hands moved, fingers weaving intricate patterns faster than the eye could follow.
Golden symbols bloomed into existence around him.
Ancient. Heavy. Alive.
They drifted slowly, then purposefully, toward Ronan and Alden.
Ronan felt the first one touch his skin—a faint warmth, then a sudden weight as it pressed into his forehead.
Alden inhaled sharply beside him as the symbols embedded themselves, one after another, sinking deep.
—
In the west wing of the mansion, Kael and the others were abruptly displaced.
The world twisted—and then they stood outside the monolithic stone.
Kael blinked, scanning the area. "Where's Alaric? And Aira's team? Jaxom?"
Before anyone could answer, space rippled again.
Alaric and the others reappeared, relaxed, faint smiles lingering.
Aira lifted a map with a playful tilt of her lips. "We went treasure hunting."
Jaxom stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the group. "There's a daily limit to training under the monolith. Push beyond it…" He shrugged slightly. "Permanent damage."
Kael tilted his head, eyeing the massive structure. "Can we take it with us?"
Jaxom's lips curved faintly. "That depends on someone's answers."
The cryptic tone settled over them, silencing further questions.
Nearby, Aira, Selena, Eryk, Leon, Lyra, and Dorian took their places around the monolith. They sat, closed their eyes, and sank into meditation.
Time passed.
An hour later, the air shimmered—and they were gone.
Then came Roderick, Sophia, Felix, Alaric, and Oliver.
The rotation continued.
—
Back in the illusion realm, the last of the golden symbols sank into place.
The old man opened his eyes.
"It's time."
His gaze was fixed on Ronan. "Do not use Keen Eye. Not yet."
Then to Alden. "I'm counting on you."
—
Outside, Samantha stood nearby, her arms folded tightly across herself, tension visible in every line of her posture.
Hours.
He hadn't moved for hours.
Just as she shifted, about to act—
Ronan stirred.
Relief hit her before she could stop it.
He turned toward her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine. Don't worry."
His touch was warm. Grounded.
Real.
Before she could respond—
"Both of you—step back."
Alden's voice cut cleanly through the air.
Ronan and Samantha moved instinctively, retreating as something in his tone pressed against them—firm, unyielding.
The chamber seemed different now.
The golden glow from the pedestal spread across the stone walls, soft and radiant… yet it carried a weight that settled into the chest, heavy and suffocating.
Samantha's fingers tightened slightly. "What just happened?" she whispered, glancing at Ronan. "Why does it feel like… something's watching us?"
Ronan's gaze remained forward, fixed. "Long story," he murmured. "Stay close."
Alden stepped toward the centre.
Above the pedestal floated a small sphere, no larger than a child's toy. It pulsed with golden light, layers of translucent barriers wrapped around it—each inscribed with intricate runes that seemed to shift if looked at too long.
Without hesitation, Alden activated Keen Eye.
The change was immediate.
Pressure filled the room—subtle at first, then suffocating, as though something vast had opened its gaze.
Ronan felt it press against his skin, crawl along his spine.
Alden's eyes glowed faintly.
One by one—
Crack.
The first barrier fractured.
The sound didn't reach their ears. It resonated deeper, like something breaking inside the soul.
Then another.
And another.
Each layer shattered, collapsing inward under an unseen force.
The chamber trembled faintly with each rupture.
Until—
The final barrier broke.
The sphere quivered violently… then shot forward in a streak of golden light.
It struck Alden's chest.
And vanished inside him.
There was no time to react.
The pedestal erupted in blinding brilliance.
Light poured outward, thick and overwhelming, distorting the air itself.
From within it—
A figure formed.
Graceful. Radiant. Terrible.
A woman, half-translucent, sculpted from golden light.
The Light Goddess.
Samantha staggered back, breath catching.
Ronan moved instantly, stepping in front of her, hand flying toward his sword—
And stopping.
His body refused.
No fear.
Something greater.
Something absolute.
The goddess raised her hand.
A sword appeared beside her—long, elegant, shimmering like condensed sunlight. It hummed softly, the sound vibrating through bone and marrow alike.
It hovered… then angled forward.
Pointing directly at Alden's chest.
Ronan lunged.
Or tried to.
His movement halted mid-step, as though the world itself denied him.
In that frozen moment, his hand brushed against another.
The old man.
His grip was firm—unyielding.
Ronan turned—
But the old man's eyes were distant, locked onto something far beyond this moment, far beyond this place.
And before Ronan could act again—
The Light Goddess moved.
A single, simple motion.
Final.