Upon finishing the descent, the full scene was revealed to Thiriel's eyes.
He stood motionless.
Not out of fear.
Not out of doubt.
Out of shock, out of fury.
The basement was much larger than he had imagined.
The main room stretched out like an artificial cavern carved into the living rock, lit by magic nodes embedded in the walls emitting a whitish light.
The air was thick, heavy with a metallic, sickly-sweet smell that burned the throat when breathed in.
And then he saw them.
Ten howling youths.
The ten bodies floated suspended slightly above the ground, arranged in two identical formations, five and five, each group forming a five-pointed star perfectly traced on the floor. Beneath each of them, a magic node engraved in the stone shone with constant intensity, absorbing something from their bodies that made them scream in pain.
"Aaaah."
"Please…!"
"Kill us…! Monster!"
The screams overlapped, broken, desperate.
From each of them flowed a crystalline, translucent liquid, like solidified light.
It flowed slowly from the chest, the arms, even from the eyes and mouth, sliding through channels carved into the floor toward the center of each star. There, both streams converged into a vessel, which was filling drop by drop.
Very slowly.
Too slowly.
Thiriel felt a chill run down his spine.
Upon hearing him enter, the youths stirred with what little movement they had left. Panic reflected on their faces when they thought Vexar had returned.
But when they saw him.
"I-it's not the monster…"
"It's not Vexar!"
Their gazes fixed on Thiriel with a mixture of hope and terror.
"Please…" one moaned.
"Kill us…" begged another.
"We feel nothing anymore… only pain…"
Thiriel clenched his fists, overflowing with fury at what he was seeing.
He didn't answer.
He ran.
He ignored the screams for an instant and headed to the back of the room, where there was a long stone table covered in parchments, open books, empty vials, and ritual tools. His eyes moved fast, reading titles, symbols, diagrams.
There it was.
A complete ritual spell.
"Extraction of Vital Essence and Latent Potential."
His hands moved quickly as he turned pages, reading notes written in Vexar's handwriting.
They weren't simple instructions. They were records of experimentation.
"Talent is released best when the core has not yet fully stabilized."
"The vital essence extracted from five subjects with compatible talent allows for extending the lifespan of one's own core."
"Repetition of the ritual periodically delays physical deterioration significantly."
Thiriel kept reading, every line fitting with what he had seen from the beginning.
The puppet servants.
The empty senior apprentices, who were possibly the next to be part of the ritual.
Those who "went out to explore the world" and never returned.
"Damn him…" Thiriel murmured, trembling with fury.
He looked up and observed the suspended youths again.
Then he saw it.
One of them, the third in the left group.
His left hand was incomplete.
He was missing a finger.
The memory hit him all at once.
"Zarek." Thiriel approached slowly.
He recognized him.
He was one of the older orphans from the Oakhaven orphanage. One of those who had left with Vexar two years ago, among the first recruited groups.
Back then he was already missing that finger, lost in an accident at the orphanage.
There was no doubt.
"So they didn't leave," he whispered. "You brought them here."
The young man lifted his head with difficulty. His eyes were dull, but upon recognizing Thiriel, something akin to relief appeared in his expression.
"…Thiriel?" he whispered with a broken voice. "Is that you…?"
That was enough.
Thiriel closed his eyes.
When he opened them, his decision was already made.
He activated his magic.
Not to attack.
Not to destroy.
With absolute control, he cut the flow feeding the magic nodes, one by one, diverting the energy toward himself just enough to destabilize the ritual without provoking a violent reaction. The symbols began to flicker.
The screams died down, replaced by weak gasps.
Looking at the orphans and this time recognizing more of them, and seeing the state they were in, he knew they couldn't survive much longer; they had been drained to the last drop of vitality.
"It won't hurt," he said with a firm voice. "I promise you."
One by one.
With projectiles of pure magic, precise, straight to the heart.
No explosions.
No extra suffering.
Ten shots.
Ten endings.
All of them smiling, feeling the release after so long.
Zarek looked at Thiriel with gratitude and a tear falling from the corner of his eye.
"Thank you, Thiriel…"
The bodies fell slowly to the ground as the magic sustaining them dissipated. The ritual vessel, incomplete, cracked, and the crystalline liquid evaporated into the air.
The basement fell silent.
A heavy silence.
Thiriel remained standing for several seconds, breathing with difficulty.
He hadn't saved anyone.
But he had given them rest.
He stepped away from the table and looked at the place one last time.
Now everything fit.
Vexar wasn't just an ambitious mage.
He was a parasite.
A predator extending his life at the cost of youths with magical talent, repeating the ritual over and over again.
"Escaping…" he murmured. "Escaping isn't enough."
He thought of Kael.
Of his naivety.
Of his honest way of helping without asking for anything.
He thought of the other apprentices.
Of Caethiriel.
No.
He could not allow this to continue.
He went up the stairs with firm steps.
When he left the basement, he found his sister where he had left her. Caethiriel looked at him with concern as soon as she saw his expression; she had never seen him with that terrifying look.
"Brother, what happened?"
Thiriel crouched in front of her and held her by the shoulders.
"Listen to me carefully," he said. "Go to the stable. Hide there. Do not come out for anything. No matter what happens."
"And you…?"
"I will come for you," he replied. "I promise."
Caethiriel hesitated, but nodded.
"I trust you, brother."
He watched her walk away and then returned inside the tower.
Carefully, he checked his surroundings. He rearranged doors. He extinguished obvious traces of magic. He closed the basement as best he could, although he knew Vexar would notice something sooner or later.
He entered his room.
He sat down.
He waited, replenishing and adjusting his state to the maximum.
The Magic Warrior Aura was contained, ready to burst at the right moment.
This time, he wouldn't run.
And when Vexar returned.
There would be no ritual to save him.