Ronan staggered, his breath catching halfway through his chest as something brushed against his mind.
I wish I could see my hometown again… A shame it was all destroyed… I'm an illusion master, yet I can't even recreate it…
The voice wasn't his.
It carried a weight that didn't belong to him—aged, worn thin by years of regret. The words slid through his thoughts like a blade through water, leaving ripples that refused to settle.
His hand shot to his face. Pain flared behind his left eye, sharp and sudden, as though something inside him had been forced open.
"…What—" His voice came out uneven. He squeezed his eye shut, fingers digging into his temple. "Are these… his thoughts? Can Keen Eye… read thoughts now…?"
The air shifted.
Unseen by Samantha and the others, Alden stiffened. His breath hitched for the briefest moment. His gaze flickered—not toward Ronan, but toward the fading old man.
He had heard it too.
For a heartbeat, something raw surfaced in Alden's eyes—surprise, yes, but also something heavier. Recognition.
Then it was gone.
His shoulders eased. His breathing steadied. The mask of calm returned, as if it had never slipped at all.
But it was too late to change what was happening.
The old man's lower body had already begun to crumble.
Glowing dust peeled away from him in soft, drifting strands, dissolving into the air like embers carried by a dying wind. The light that made up his form flickered, thinning with every passing second.
Ronan lowered his hand slowly.
Samantha bowed first, her movements quiet but deliberate. Alden followed. Ronan hesitated only a fraction before bending forward as well, his expression unreadable.
The old man chuckled, the sound light, almost amused despite his unravelling form. "No need for that," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Come now. You'll make me feel important."
But his voice carried something else beneath it—something softer. Something grateful.
Ronan stepped forward.
The old man hovered just above eye level now, his form wavering like a reflection on disturbed water. The closer Ronan got, the more unstable the light became, flickering in uneven pulses.
Trying to ease the tension, the old man forced a grin. "What now? Still unsatisfied? I have no more gifts to hand out. Shoo, shoo."
No one laughed.
Ronan's gaze didn't shift.
He reached out.
His fingers closed around the old man's shoulder.
For a moment, the illusion flickered violently—as if the contact itself shouldn't have been possible.
The old man blinked, startled. "Ronan…?"
A faint warmth spread from Ronan's palm.
Then—
A gentle purple flame bloomed to life.
It didn't burn.
It didn't consume.
It embraced.
The moment it ignited, the world folded in on itself.
Alden and Samantha moved instinctively, stepping forward—but the flame surged outward, swallowing them before they could interfere. It wrapped around their bodies like a second skin, soft yet absolute.
The light deepened.
Reality broke.
They stood in the middle of a bustling marketplace.
Sound rushed in first.
Vendors shouting over one another. The rhythmic clatter of wooden carts rolling over uneven stone. Laughter—bright, unrestrained—cutting through the noise like sunlight through leaves.
Then came the smells.
Fresh bread, still warm from the oven. Spices sharp enough to sting the nose. Smoke curls from skewers of sizzling meat. The faint sweetness of fruit piled high in woven baskets.
The buildings were simple—weathered stone and timber—but alive. Colourful cloth banners swayed overhead, casting shifting shadows across the streets. People brushed past them without noticing, their movements fluid, natural, real.
The old man didn't move.
His entire body had gone still.
His lips trembled.
Tears slipped down his face silently, one after another, catching the golden light before falling into nothingness.
He didn't speak.
Didn't try to explain.
He simply stood there… and listened.
To the world, he had lost.
A child darted past, laughing. A woman called out from a stall. Somewhere nearby, someone argued over prices, their voices rising and falling in a familiar rhythm.
The old man closed his eyes.
For a brief, fragile moment… he was home.
Time stretched.
Then, slowly, he turned.
His hand lifted, resting gently on Ronan's shoulder.
The touch was light—but it carried everything he couldn't say.
The world shifted again.
They stood atop a mountain.
Wind rushed past them, cool and clean, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. A massive tree stretched its branches overhead, leaves whispering softly as they swayed.
Below is a small town nestled in the valley.
Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Tiny figures moved along narrow paths. The world felt quiet here—peaceful in a way that didn't need to announce itself.
The old man broke.
A soft sound escaped him—half laugh, half sob.
This time, he didn't hide it.
Tears fell freely as he looked out over the valley, his shoulders trembling, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
"…I…" His voice faltered.
He turned to them, eyes bright, face open in a way it hadn't been before.
"I have nothing to give you in return."
Ronan didn't answer.
He stepped forward and helped steady him. Samantha followed, her hand hovering just behind his back as if afraid he might vanish if she touched him too firmly.
The old man let out a breath that seemed to carry years with it.
Then he laughed—soft, genuine—and tilted his head back to look at the sky.
"No… I wasn't wrong." His voice steadied. "When I met you… I said I would share something good."
He lowered his gaze.
"Let me offer you something now."
His form flickered again, edges dissolving faster now.
"But understand this—what you take from it… will depend entirely on you."
The three of them watched him in silence.
"What limits magic?" he asked.
The wind whispered through the leaves above them.
"Your skills? Your Aether pool? Elemental affinity? Blessings from the gods?"
He shook his head.
"No."
A pause.
"The real limitation… is your imagination."
The words lingered.
They didn't fade. They settled.
Deep.
He turned to Ronan, studying him with a quiet, knowing look. "You're not as cold as you pretend to be," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Sometimes… drop the act."
Ronan's jaw tightened, almost imperceptible.
"Facades are for strangers, not loved ones," the old man continued. "If you don't let them see your pain… how can they help carry it?"
Ronan didn't respond.
But his fingers curled slightly at his side.
Then—
Silence.
Not spoken, but heard.
A voice echoed directly into Alden's mind.
You have a brilliant apprentice. Nurture him well. He's clever—but too curious, and he hides too many things. Sometimes… less is more. Keep him grounded.
Alden's gaze lowered.
His response came without sound, shaped by respect rather than words.
Thank you, sir.
The old man shifted his attention.
To Samantha.
Samantha… even if he keeps something hidden, don't let his silence fool you. He listens to you. More than you think.
Her breath caught.
If he falls into darkness… reason won't reach him. Only a few can pull him back.
A pause.
Also—his flame. The Ghost Flame will resist him. No matter how skilled he becomes. But there is time. It is still young… fifty, perhaps sixty years old.
Samantha's thoughts stumbled.
Flames… have an age?
A gentle warmth brushed her mind.
Ask your brother. He won't be able to avoid your question.
The faintest trace of amusement lingered.
I don't have time to explain more.
His presence softened.
Take care of your little brother. He is a gem in his own right.
In her mind, Samantha bowed.
Thank you…
The connection faded.
The old man drew in one last breath—though he no longer needed one.
Then he laughed, louder this time.
"Time for me to go," he said. "Take care, all of you."
His gaze lingered on Ronan.
"And thank you."
His body unravelled.
Light scattered, drifting upward like fireflies caught in a rising wind.
But his voice remained—clear, unwavering.
"What limits magic? Skills? Aether pool? Elemental affinity? Blessings of the gods?"
The world cracked.
Shattered.
"No."
Darkness swallowed everything.
"The only limit… is your imagination."
Ronan gasped.
The three of them stood in a dark, empty room.
No warmth.
No sound.
Just silence pressing in from all sides.
There was no time to process it.
Three magic circles flared beneath their feet—intricate, ancient, humming with power.
Light surged.
They vanished.
The west wing courtyard stood wrapped in stillness.
Ancient magic hummed faintly in the air, a low vibration that settled into the bones. Aira, Selena, Eryk, Leon, Lyra, Dorian, Kael, Darius, Sylphie, Orin, Linaxi, and Lady Ishulane formed a wide semicircle, their attention fixed on the stone platform at the centre.
Seated around the towering monolithic totem were Roderick, Sophia, Felix, Alaric, and Oliver.
Jaxom stood before them.
Cracks spread across his body like fractured glass, faint light leaking through each fissure. Yet his lips curved upward, a quiet, unwavering smile resting there as if nothing was wrong.
Linaxi's voice cut sharply through the stillness. "What is happening to you, Jaxom?"
No answer.
He didn't even look at her.
A shimmer passed through the air.
The five seated figures vanished from the platform, reappearing just beyond it.
Jaxom turned slowly to Kael. "You once asked if you could take this monolithic stone totem with you," he said, his tone calm, almost casual. "Now I can finally answer you."
His hands moved.
The massive structure trembled.
Light spread across its surface, pulsing outward as it lifted from the ground. The stone compressed, folding inward with a deep, resonant hum until it shrank—smaller, smaller—until it hovered in his palm like a relic.
"But this should be handed to Alden," Jaxom added, his gaze steady. "How can I be sure you'll deliver it to him?"
Lady Ishulane stepped forward. "It's okay," she said gently. "You can trust him."
Jaxom studied her for a moment.
Then nodded. "If you trust him… then I will too."
The totem drifted toward Kael.
He accepted it with both hands, careful, reverent.
A faint sadness touched Lady Ishulane's voice. "If I recall… You never acknowledged me as the true lord of this mansion."
Jaxom gave a small shrug, gesturing toward Linaxi. "Someone killed me," he said plainly. "Then someone sealed my soul inside an object. You're too young to be my master. And we see the world too differently."
"What changed now?" she asked.
Jaxom's gaze softened—distant, reflective.
"Time," he said.
A pause.
"I learned… everyone holds their own perspective. And not all are worth changing. As long as they don't defy morals or righteousness… why force them?"
His smile dimmed slightly.
"I just learned it too late."
Linaxi stared at him, something unsettled flickering in her eyes.
Three magic circles ignited across the courtyard.
Jaxom bowed deeply to Lady Ishulane. "This is goodbye. My lady."
Before anyone could respond, he drifted forward.
At the centre—
Alden and Ronan sat cross-legged beneath a blazing golden glow.
Their bodies trembled violently. Sweat soaked through their clothes. The pressure around them was suffocating, warping the air itself.
Jaxom settled behind them, mirroring their posture.
The moment he did, the pressure latched onto him as well.
His expression didn't change.
He placed one hand on each of their backs.
"I'll guide you," he said quietly. "Follow me. Endure."
The others rushed closer, drawn by the surge of power.
Lyra reached Samantha first. "Are you okay? What's happening?"
Samantha exhaled, steadying herself. "I'm fine."
Her gaze flicked to Ronan—his shoulders shaking, breath uneven.
"They said… It's related to their Keen Eye."
Linaxi stepped forward, anger sharp in her voice. "Jaxom, don't you dare—"
He turned.
Just slightly.
The look he gave her was enough.
Cold.
Absolute.
Her words died in her throat.
Jaxom refocused.
"Ronan. Alden. That old man gave you something blue, didn't he?"
A faint nod from both.
"Good."
His voice sharpened.
"Pour every bit of Aether into the blue thread."
Light formed.
Two thin strands—blue, luminous—emerged within their bodies, weaving themselves into existence like threads pulled from nothing.
They burrowed inward.
Deeper.
Forming.
"Now," Jaxom continued, "leave everything to me. Don't resist."
Time stretched.
Their breathing grew ragged.
Then—
It clicked.
Both of them succeeded.
Jaxom exhaled slowly. "That's all I can do."
The cracks across his body widened.
Light poured out.
"The rest… is yours."
His voice softened.
"Endure. Once I vanish… the fake cores will collapse within two minutes."
A pulse of energy surged from him—everything he had left—driven into their forming cores.
His body began to come apart.
Alden's teeth clenched.
He had felt this before.
He could endure.
But Ronan—
Ronan's body convulsed.
His eyes snapped wide.
A sharp, ragged scream tore from his throat.
Veins rose across his skin, pulsing violently. His hands clawed at his chest as if trying to tear something out.
Samantha rushed forward, hands glowing, magic pouring from her—
It vanished.
The golden light swallowed it whole.
Minutes dragged.
Their cores forced themselves outward, half-emerged, glowing with unstable brilliance.
Then—
A flash.
Blinding.
Luminastra descended.
In one clean motion—it sliced through both cores.
Silence.
Both bodies collapsed.
Samantha dropped to her knees beside Ronan, her hands trembling as she tried again. "He has no Aether… I can't—"
Alaric checked Alden. "Same here. We can't stabilise them like this."
Above them—
The sky cracked.
Like glass under pressure.
Beyond it—nothing.
A vast, endless void.
Luminastra rose, carving a glowing portal into existence.
Linaxi stepped forward, studying it. "It leads outside."
Kael moved without hesitation. "I'll carry Ronan."
He lifted him carefully.
Felix and Alaric supported Alden.
One by one, they stepped through.
Leaving the collapsing Dimensional Rift behind.