Noctus woke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through crimson curtains. His body felt heavy, every muscle aching, his skin still carrying the faint sting of burns. When he tried to sit up, a sharp lance of pain forced him back down, breath hissing through clenched teeth. For a moment, he thought he was still under his father's aura, still drowning in that suffocating fire. But no… this was different. Softer. Bearable.
The air smelled faintly of herbs and sanctified oil. He turned his head slightly and saw a robed figure standing nearby, hands raised, faint golden threads of light streaming from their palms. A healer. The glow seeped into his wounds, mending skin and knitting broken vessels. The pain dulled, not gone, but enough for him to breathe.
"Don't move yet," the healer murmured, their tone professional and detached. "Your injuries were severe. It will take time before you fully recover. We can only stabilize you."
Noctus nodded faintly. He understood. They weren't healing him out of kindness. Healers of the Light element were expensive resources, reserved for nobles and those deemed worth the investment. The fact that he was even alive after yesterday's trial was not mercy—it was because his father had granted him ten months in the chamber. If Noctus died before then, the Duke's decision would look like folly.
He closed his eyes, letting the healer's light wash over him. His mind drifted back to the hall, to the suffocating flames that had pressed him to the brink of death. His demand had been reckless, a child daring to grasp at fire with bare hands. Yet, he felt no regret. The chamber was the only place he could find safety, a safe heaven hidden within the Ignisar estate where prying eyes could not follow.
Without it, he would have no chance.
Noctus tightened his fists beneath the blanket. He was too weak. Much too weak. Yesterday had made that painfully clear. Before his father's aura, he was no more than an insect. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to fulfill even a fragment of his vow, then he needed a place where he could grow in silence. The chamber was his only hope.
The healer finished their work and stepped back, exhaustion evident in the faint pallor of their face. "You will live," they said simply, bowing before retreating from the room.
Silence fell. Only the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth remained.
Noctus sat up slowly, ignoring the ache that coursed through his body. His gaze settled on the faint flicker of flames in the fireplace. Fire—his bloodline, his inheritance, and yet something he had never truly grasped. His Fire Core was weak, no more than the beginning of the Elemental Realm, a mere spark compared to the inferno his father commanded. And beyond that lay his second core. Time. The cursed path.
He recalled how it had stirred yesterday, an unconscious ripple that dulled the crushing weight of the Duke's aura. Without it, he might have died outright. It had saved him, but not without risk. That core was unstable, locked, its power a blade that cut both ways. He could not afford to rely on it carelessly.
Which left only one option—grow stronger through the path of fire.
His thoughts turned toward the chamber. The legends of the Ignisar family spoke of its design, a sanctum left behind by their ancestors to cultivate heirs strong enough to uphold their legacy. It was said that natural Aura there was so dense that even standing within its halls felt like carrying a mountain upon one's shoulders. Most could not last an hour without losing consciousness.
The chamber had two sections.
The first was the library, a vast hall lined with towering shelves of ancient tomes. Within lay the collected knowledge of the Ignisar line—histories, philosophies, the chronicles of battles fought and won. But more importantly, it contained the family's arsenal of skill books. To the untrained eye, they were only ink on paper. But to those who could feel Aura, each page was a living imprint of the creator's imagination, their mastery carved into words and diagrams.
Skills in this world were not simply techniques to be copied. They were the crystallized expression of will, born of how one perceived and molded their element. A fireball, for instance, was not merely about gathering Aura and igniting it. At Tier 1, it was a crude spark thrown outward, weak and unstable. But a Tier 2 fireball wasn't just stronger—it was different in nature. Its flames compressed tighter, its ignition sharper, born from deeper understanding. The gap between tiers was not one of quantity but of concept.
That was why skills were divided into seven tiers. Each leap marked a qualitative shift, a refinement of essence. No matter how much Aura one poured into a Tier 1 fireball, it would never become Tier 2. Without the proper insight, the flame would remain crude, incomplete.
The Ignisar family possessed skill books from Tier 1 to Tier 6. The lower tiers were accessible to most, simple enough to be learned with time and effort. But the higher ones required talent, perception, and a resonance with the element. The most prized among them was the Tier 6 skill created by Phoenix Ignisar, the first head of their line. A flame technique so profound it was said to rival the power of domains themselves.
Tier 7, however, was beyond even them. Such skills existed only in myths, born from those who had touched the divine. The royal family alone possessed a collection of Tier 6 skills, forged by the King himself, but even they had no true Tier 7. That level belonged to legends, to beings who had surpassed mortality altogether.
Noctus exhaled softly, his breath shaking. He had never been allowed into the library before. Even thinking about it felt unreal. For years, he had been a shadow within his own home, the weak son no one expected anything from. Yet now, the doors were open to him. Not from kindness, but from his own defiance.
The second section of the chamber was more dangerous. The training hall. Unlike the open grounds where one could freely unleash Aura, this place was designed for precision. Weapons of every kind lined the walls—swords, spears, axes, even exotic tools of war. But the true test was not the steel. It was the natural Aura that saturated the room, pressing down on anyone who entered.
Training there was not about unleashing power, but about mastering control. To swing a blade while your Aura was suppressed, to channel flame without losing balance, to refine your will until every movement was deliberate. Those who trained there either emerged stronger… or not at all.
That was why the old Noctus had never entered. Fear. He had doubted his ability to withstand the chamber's crushing weight, and more than that, he had been too timid to ask. Rejection had terrified him more than weakness.
But this Noctus had no such luxury. His path had already been chosen for him. The system's quest, the cursed whispers of his Time Core, and his own vow demanded it. If he did not enter that chamber, he would die. It was that simple.
He rose slowly, each step unsteady but firm. The pain in his body was sharp, but it grounded him. He had faced death once already. Compared to that, this was nothing.
For the first time since arriving in this world, a faint spark of hope flickered in his chest. The chamber was not just a trial. It was a chance. A chance to grow, to learn, to prepare for what lay ahead.
His mind wandered briefly to whispers he had heard in passing, stories of a place called the Sanctuary. The greatest academy in the empire, where heroes and legends were forged. Only the worthy could enter, those who had proven themselves through blood and strength. Even if his family allowed it, he would have to fight for his place there.
And he would. He had to.
Noctus clenched his fists tighter, his resolve hardening. The old him would have faltered. The old him would have hesitated. But not this time. He had already burned once beneath his father's gaze and survived. The chamber was his next step.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. Beyond it lay the world that doubted him, mocked him, wished him gone. But beyond that also lay the chamber.
His heart steadied. His fear did not vanish, but it no longer ruled him.
Ten months. Ten months to grow strong enough to survive. To prepare for the path that lay before him.
And with that thought, Noctus rose fully, ready to face the chamber that would either forge him into steel… or shatter him completely.