After weeks of relentless travel—trudging through mist-shrouded forests, scaling jagged hills that clawed at the sky, and skirting rivers that whispered secrets of forgotten paths—Raiking and Ezmelral had finally arrived north of Dawnfall's gleaming borders. The journey had been mercifully quiet, devoid of the gray-skinned horrors that haunted her nightmares. No Praexars emerged from the shadows, no villages fell to sudden madness, and that small mercy eased the knot in Ezmelral's chest, a fragile balm against the ache of her losses. At least no one else has suffered like I did, she thought, clinging to the silence like a lifeline.
Along the way, they'd glimpsed patrols of Dawnfall guards marching eastward, their armor glinting under the sun, banners snapping in the wind like accusations. "They're heading toward my village... and that town," she'd realized, her heart twisting. "Why not tell the royal family?" she'd asked Raiking, her voice laced with hope. "The queen and king—they're known for their righteousness. Surely they'll help cleanse this... filth."
He'd shaken his head, his crimson eyes distant, as if peering into storms she couldn't see. "They can't do anything," he'd replied flatly, refusing to elaborate no matter how she pressed.
And now, here they were: a serene haven that felt like a dream woven from forgotten joys. Surrounded by gentle lakes that mirrored the sky like polished glass, animals darted playfully—deer sipping at the water's edge, birds flitting through branches heavy with blooming cherry blossoms, petals drifting like soft pink snow. The air hummed with life, a stark contrast to the ruins they'd left behind, and for a moment, Ezmelral allowed herself to breathe it in, the beauty a tentative spark against her grief.
Just moments ago, she'd watched Raiking weave a formation around their makeshift camp—intricate patterns of glowing runes etched into the earth, pulsing with an electric hum. "Formations... that's Lightning Essence territory," she'd thought, puzzlement knitting her brow. "Does he wield two Essences? Impossible—books say it's unheard of." But then memories flooded back: his time-bending magic, the colossal ethereal arms of Eidolon, and those root-based attacks that defied the five elements. The more she pondered, the more plausible it seemed—he might be a dual wielder, a legend stepping from the pages of myth.
Her reverie shattered as Raiking returned from the formation's perimeter, his presence pulling her back to the present like a tether. "What do you know about Essence?" he asked, settling cross-legged on the grass, his voice calm but probing.
Ezmelral's eyes lit up, excitement bubbling over as she puffed out her chest with a smug, confident grin. "I've read every book there is!" she boasted, her small hands gesturing wildly. "Ask me anything—I'm ready!"
"Oh?" Raiking arched a brow, a faint flicker of amusement crossing his otherwise stoic face. "Then tell me about them."
Ezmelral sprang to her feet with a burst of energy, her small frame buzzing with excitement as she launched into her demonstration, gesturing dramatically like a storyteller weaving spells from thin air.
"First," she announced, waving her hand in a fluid, sweeping motion as if conjuring a wave from the lake nearby, "there's Water Essence. They specialize in healing and protection—like a gentle river mending wounds or shielding against storms."
Raiking inclined his head slightly, then channeled his Essence with effortless grace. From his fingertip emerged a shimmering blue bubble, rising like a raindrop in reverse, floating delicately above his elongated digit. It drifted toward her, drawn to the fresh scrape on her arm from an earlier tumble on the mountain path. As it touched her skin, a soothing coolness spread through her veins, the wound knitting closed in a whisper of azure light, leaving only smooth, unmarred flesh behind.
Ezmelral's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in awe. "You... you can use multiple Essences?! That's impossible!"
Raiking's lips quirked in a rare, faint smile, amusement glinting in his crimson depths. "Carry on," he said simply, waving off her outburst.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her overreaction, and she straightened her posture, composing herself like a performer shaking off a stumble. "Next," she said, drawing an imaginary circle in the air with exaggerated flair, "Lightning Essence users—the masters of entrapment and summoning electrical beast mimics through formations. Like trapping foes in a web of thunder!"
Raiking didn't need to demonstrate; the concealment formation he'd etched around their camp earlier hummed faintly in the background, a web of invisible electric threads masking their presence and warding off any prying eyes or beasts. Ezmelral, sensing the subtle buzz, nodded to herself and moved on without missing a beat.
She shifted into a mock archery stance, pretending to nock an invisible arrow as she grinned. "Then Fire Essence users—the experts at long-range combat, the most destructive force around!" She "released" the string toward a distant tree, mimicking the twang with her voice.
In that instant, the tree erupted in a blaze of flames, bark cracking and splintering as it combusted from within, embers showering the ground like falling stars. Ezmelral blinked, stunned—for a wild second, she wondered if she had somehow manifested Fire Essence, her dream of a hybrid swordsman style flashing before her eyes.
But then she turned to Raiking, who stood with seven fireballs orbiting him in a perfect ring, spinning like captive suns, their heat warming the air without scorching a leaf. Disappointment slapped her like a cold gust; she slumped, arms dangling limp at her sides. Not me after all.
Raiking noticed the sag in her shoulders, his gaze softening just a fraction. "Don't fret," he said. "Lady Luck may yet favor you."
The words sank in, their hidden promise igniting a spark in her eyes. With a master like him... dual styles might not be a dream after all. She stared at him with the gleam of a thief spotting unguarded treasure, possibilities swirling in her mind.
Raiking cleared his throat pointedly—a subtle "cough" that snapped her back. The imagined gold vanished; she straightened, cheeks heating again, and crouched low, her hands splaying against the earth as if drawing power from its depths. "Fourth is Earth Essence users," she declared, raising her right hand dramatically, "masters of shields and mid-range support!" She slammed her palm down with all her might.
The ground trembled in response, a mound of earth and stone erupting upward like a loyal guardian, hovering protectively before her—a small boulder suspended in mid-air, quivering with latent power.
She knew it was Raiking's doing this time, no illusions of her own talent. Undeterred, she shifted into an attack stance, her palm slicing forward like a sharpened blade. "And last—Air Essence, the best for close combat! They manipulate the wind around them to amplify strikes and propel themselves, boosting speed like a storm unleashed." Mid-chop, she felt it—a rush of invisible wind coiling around her hand, guiding her motion with ethereal force. Her palm connected with the floating boulder, slicing it clean in half with a crisp crack, the pieces tumbling to the grass in stunned silence.
Ezmelral stared at the bisected boulder, her palm still tingling from the rush of wind that had guided her strike—the raw pulse of Essence coursing through her veins for the first time, electric and alive. "If Essence users are this strong," she blurted, her voice laced with awe and confusion, "then why couldn't they stop the Praexers? Why did my father's Earth shield fail... fail to protect us?"
Raiking regarded her quietly, the fading hum of the demonstration lingering in the air like an unspoken regret. "No mortal tool, no Essence wielder—however mighty—can avert what befell that night."
Her eyes widened, frustration sparking like embers. "Then how did you do it?"
"My... Essence is unique," he replied, his tone measured, as if weighing each word. "Its roots are the only force that can truly wound a Praexar—severing the corruption at its core."
She swallowed hard, the weight of it all pressing down like an invisible storm. "Are we truly doomed, then?"
"Not exactly," he said, his crimson eyes narrowing as the ground beneath them began to tremble—a low, resonant quake that rustled the cherry blossoms and sent ripples across the lake. From the earth erupted a thick root, coiling upward like a serpent roused from slumber.
With a swift motion, Raiking channeled Air Essence through his palm, slicing horizontally in a blur of wind. The root halved cleanly, the severed piece levitating in mid-air, suspended by invisible gusts that hummed like whispered secrets. A crackling energy surged then—a grand formation igniting around it, electric runes etching into the grass in a glowing circle, sparks dancing along the perimeter like captive lightning.
Ezmelral watched, transfixed, as he summoned earth from the soil below, a clump of rich loam rising to latch onto one end of the floating root, molding itself into a rudimentary hilt under unseen pressure. The seven fireballs he'd conjured earlier spiraled into the formation, orbiting the root like a blazing furnace, their flames licking hungrily at the bark, tempering it with searing heat.
In a fluid shift, Raiking gestured again—drawing water from the lake in a shimmering stream that arced into the circle, droplets cascading over the root in a cooling mist. Ezmelral gasped; how could fire and water coexist in such harmony, one devouring while the other soothed? The elements intertwined without clash, a unity that defied everything she'd read.
A rumble built overhead, the serene clouds darkening to bruised thunderheads, swirling with pent-up fury. Lightning cracked down—bolt after bolt hammering the root like a divine blacksmith's forge, each strike illuminating the clearing in blinding flashes. Slowly, with every thunderous blow, the root's outer layers peeled away, unraveling like shed skin to reveal a gleaming silver core beneath—sharper, purer, forged anew in the storm's relentless crucible.
The earth hilt solidified, etched with faint runes that glowed briefly before fading. The water stream receded back to the lake, the dark clouds parting to reveal the tranquil sky once more, and the flames dissolved into harmless sparks, vanishing as if they'd never been. The formation fizzled out with a final crackle, its runes sinking into the grass like forgotten whispers.
All that remained was a sword—unlike any forged by mortal hands—hovering in the air, its blade a flawless silver edge that hummed with latent power, the hilt a seamless fusion of earth and root, pulsing faintly with the essence of all five elements.