Two days later, hiding in a small, miserable cave overlooking the distant Archives, Kaelen knew he was running out of time. The aches in his body had intensified, now constant, grinding pain.
He set up the Stabilization Ritual, a final desperate attempt to save himself. He used rare herbs and purified blood, arranging the components in an intricate pattern designed to funnel clean, ordered magic into his core.
"Focus," Kaelen urged himself, sitting down. He concentrated, ignoring the pain, and began to draw the ambient magic, cleaning and filtering it with sheer force of will.
The effort was immense. The array began to glow a steady, calming blue. Kaelen felt a moment of intoxicating peace—the static was gone.
Then, the world betrayed him.
A small, insignificant tremor rippled through the cave. Outside, a tiny, random surge of Chaos Mana—a natural spike in this region—distorted the energy field.
The pure magic Kaelen was channeling instantly twisted.
Instead of stabilizing him, the energy lashed out. A sharp, white-hot agony erupted in his chest, worse than any he'd ever known. The blue light exploded into jagged, blood-red shards that felt like needles piercing his skin. He screamed, falling onto his side, the ritual ruined, his body wracked with convulsions.
Lying there, weak, bleeding, and violently trembling, Kaelen understood: I am fundamentally incompatible with this world. No matter how smart he was, as long as Aethelgard was flooded with Chaos Mana, his body would fail.
He needed the Sunstone Shard. It wasn't about surviving anymore; it was about injecting a foreign, perfect order into his being. It had to be stolen immediately.