Aslam sensed the weight of the silence and the dread on the faces before him. He relaxed his shoulders, letting the combat tension vanish, and ran a hand through his hair with a sheepish grin, looking like someone explaining a prank that went too far. — Stop with those faces; you look like you've seen a ghost — he said with a conversational calm that stood apart from his milky eyes. — I haven't destroyed my life, Marcus. This blindness is merely a side effect, something temporary. My ocular channels became overloaded by the transition's speed, so my body shut down biological sight to focus on meridian reconstruction. In a few days, I shall see the clouds once more.
— You already know the mechanics of Expansion since you occupy this very level. You know that upon reaching the Third Ring, mana flows through every sense, connecting the user to the six fundamental branches: fire, water, earth, air, light, and shadow. Affinity with these branches varies between practitioners, and it is at this stage that the Singular Essence finally blooms.
— I used the flow convergence technique you always practice, accelerating the opening of nodes all at once. My meridians are intact and handled the process well. — Actually, I believe my singularity awakened at the exact moment of pressure — he continued, maintaining a soft tone while taking a confident step toward the slope, despite his inability to see the ground.
— It is geared toward Vital Regeneration. That is why my body withstood the load without collapsing; my cells reconstructed themselves at the same speed the energy wore them down. "I am lying; this is necessary for now to maintain their sanity. The truth is that I have yet to feel this boy's true singularity vibrate under my command, a bizarre phenomenon for someone who reached such mana density."
— So, you can relax — he concluded, turning his face toward Marcus with frightening precision. — I am likely the most whole of the three of us right now. Let us descend. Marcus froze, extending his arm horizontally to stop the youth from moving another inch toward the precipice. His face was twisted in a mixture of disbelief and a fury held back by shock.
Cordelia stepped sideways, surrounding her brother to stare at his profile, her hand still gripping the dagger hilt so hard her knuckles were white. — If your singularity is truly regenerative, why do your eyes remain in this state? If your cells are rebuilding, the first thing to be restored should be your vision.
Aslam let out a low sigh and tilted his head slightly, keeping the calm little smile that was beginning to grate on Cordelia's martial patience. — Regeneration prioritizes the survival of the core and the main meridians, Cordelia. Vision is a complex sense requiring fine recalibration after a mana flood of this magnitude.
Marcus looked at Cordelia, seeking confirmation for his hesitation within her gaze. — He speaks as if he lived a century in a single night — the commander whispered to his sister, his eyes never leaving Aslam. — He speaks as if he were superior to us — Cordelia countered, though an involuntary note of respect colored her tone. — Let us descend. If he falls, Marcus, I shall not be the only one saying 'I told you so'.
The descent down the steep slopes and the ivory castle foundations continued in a tense silence. Marcus and Cordelia led the way, clearing a path through the rubble, while Aslam followed in the rear, maintaining the tactical distance the siblings had imposed to protect him. Danger arrived via a sudden fluctuation in the ambient mana right behind them. An enemy scout, hidden by Shadow attribute camouflage, detached from a rock crevice with the intent to eliminate the link that appeared weakest.
Marcus and Cordelia, whose Expansion senses were sharp, caught the air displacement in the same millisecond. Their bodies began to spin, muscles tensing for a defensive response that any other warrior would consider swift. For Aslam, perception of the Third Ring and his own millennial consciousness operated on a frequency where time seemed to stagnate. Before the siblings finished turning or the aggressor could even complete the first movement of his strike, Aslam acted. — Ether Thrust. — The whisper was almost inaudible.
Without even turning fully, Aslam merely moved his right arm in a short angle. A spear of translucent air, condensed to the point of becoming solid, tore through space. The projectile traveled so fast that human vision would see only a trail of light distortion. The sound of the impact — a sharp, violent snap — occurred exactly as Marcus and Cordelia finished drawing their weapons. The enemy competitor was hit in the chest with the force of a battering ram, being hurled back against the wall with such brutality that the structure's ivory cracked. He collapsed unconscious and was promptly ejected from the simulation.
Aslam brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulder and flashed that lopsided smile, far too relaxed for someone who almost crossed death's line. He acted with an irritating naturalness, ignoring the fact that the wall behind him still vibrated with the energy of the shock. — Stay calm — he said, his voice soft and measured. — I told you my senses were... sharp. If I knew you would be so impressed, I would have struck a more heroic pose. Now, shall we?
Marcus and Cordelia remained static for a few seconds, hands still firm on their weapon grips. The commander exhaled all at once, feeling the adrenaline drop abruptly, while the sister merely sheathed her dagger with a sharp, noisy motion. They exchanged quick glances, seeking some logical explanation for that absurd display of power. — Your perception... — Marcus began, then stopped to clear his throat. — The human body is a tool full of surprises, Marcus — Aslam replied, already turning his back and resuming the walk down the narrow trail.
The downward path became steep and treacherous. They needed to leap between stone beams that resembled the spines of colossal fish, projecting from the wall straight into the deep void. Every meter they descended, the heat of the artificial sun vanished, replaced by a cold breeze rising from the rift's floor. The sound of water became deafening, coming from all sides, as if the air itself were saturated with moisture.
Marcus and Cordelia took the lead, yet their pace was uncertain, marked by brief pauses and rigid shoulders. The previous silence weighed like lead until Marcus cleared his throat, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the roar of the waterfalls. — Kaelus... — Marcus began, his voice faltering for a microsecond before finding firmness. He pointed to a lateral crevice where lights pulsed rhythmically. — To your right... there are Silver Scarabs. They glow in constant waves of mana. It is a curious phenomenon to behold.
He fumbled for words, seeking normalcy amidst the mental chaos the "Ether Thrust" had left behind. Cordelia quickened her pace to stand beside him, her breath still a bit short, betraying the adrenaline that insisted on coursing through her veins. — There is more than that — the warrior added, her voice slightly shaky yet striving to sound helpful. — Just below, on the edges of the beams, Mana Lilies grow. Their petals are violet and... well, they possess the sharpness of a razor.
Both acted with exaggerated caution, painting the scene with detailed descriptions to hide the shock that still clouded their reasoning. They described the four-winged birds crossing the abyss as silvery blurs and the way the bioluminescent moss created emerald carpets over the ivory ruins. Each sentence was spoken with a subtle hesitation, as if testing if the "new" Kaelus was still the same brother they knew.
Aslam observed the energy signatures of every being mentioned, finding amusement in the veterans' effort. To him, the world was a radiant map of arcane flows. The scarabs were small pulsing cores, and the flowers were focuses of raw, sharp mana. The flora became increasingly exotic as the depth increased. Trees with translucent roots wound through the pillars, pulsing in a bluish rhythm that recalled heartbeats. Small lizards with glassy skin leaped between the foliage, leaving trails of luminous dust behind. The scenery was a masterpiece of magical ecology, a perfect balance between the beautiful and the lethal that kept Aslam in a state of silent fascination.
— That high-pitched sound... — Marcus commented, hesitating for a moment upon seeing a creature resembling a flying ray glide through the moist air. — It is a Mist Ray. They are harmless, merely filtering the suspended mana. — The Mirror Sea must be just ahead — Cordelia said, her voice gaining a note of urgency as the silver and blue glow from the rift's floor began to reflect on their armor.
They continued their descent, immersed in that careful and tense narration, while the abyss revealed its deepest secrets before the great transition. The trio reached a final plateau where the canyon opened into a colossal basin. From afar, the Mirror Sea resembled a perfectly static turquoise gem, surrounded by concentric rings of vibrant vegetation that seemed to embrace the water. The light emanating from the center was pure, conveying a sense of absolute order and cleanliness. It seemed the ideal sanctuary for the weary.
As they reached the edge of the last ivory platform, the illusion of serenity shattered. What previously seemed a static surface revealed itself as a massive disturbance of reality; the sea's center was a river of liquid mana piercing the world's heart and vanishing into an abyss of white and blue light. The sound was a constant thunder, a low note that made bones vibrate.
Cordelia stopped abruptly, leaning against a pillar to stabilize her body as the water spray bathed her face. She pointed to the center of the vortex with wide eyes. — In the past, explorers descended the abyss through infinite paths, facing a darkness that seemed eternal — Marcus commented, his voice carrying a practical solemnity. — However, the discovery of this rupture point changed history. The Mirror Sea functions as a magnificent portal, a dimensional bridge that condenses space and hurls us directly to the second stratum.
— It is frightening to think the real path would be even longer — she said, maintaining her precarious balance on the rock. — If we were outside this simulation, the slopes would be teeming with merchants and adventurer camps, while the Guild chose to maintain the emptiness up here.
Cordelia extended her palm, allowing her fingertips to graze the Mirror Sea's surface. The silver substance reacted to physical contact, enveloping her skin with a viscous and warm texture, similar to molten mercury, while vibrating with an energy that seemed to whisper secrets directly into her nerves.
— Reports mention warriors who sought the shortcut by jumping from the rift's highest peaks, believing gravity would facilitate entry — the warrior added, her voice carrying a serious warning. — Even today, there are stubborn souls who try to throw themselves from the top of the rift's edges, can you believe it? — Marcus pointed to the dark heights where the rock silhouettes vanished into the mist. — The Guild spread warnings and physical restrictions throughout the journey, as raw free-fall ends life even before contact with the mana. Those who defy luck and survive the initial impact find healers and expensive potions being offered by clever merchants right on the lower shore.
Aslam felt the vibration of the silver water calling to him. It was a dense, pulsing energy that seemed to recognize his own essence. — Any form of entry works, Kaelus. You merely need to surrender to the void — Cordelia encouraged, already preparing for the leap.
They jumped in unison. The dive was a blur of bluish light and a comforting pressure that enveloped every inch of their skin. For a brief moment, consciousness floated in a state of pure ecstasy where time seemed to stagnate. Gravity gently inverted its axis. The trio emerged on the other side, stepping onto firm ground within an impossible architecture. They were in the Cathedral of Reverse Roots. Above them, the Mirror Sea was now a liquid and glowing ceiling, reflecting the light of torches and crystals. Roots as thick as castle towers descended from this silver sky, serving as foundations for rope bridges and white marble buildings carved into the cave walls. The environment was a giant Central Hub, a subterranean metropolis teeming with overwhelming diversity.
Aslam observed the movement with renewed interest. It had been eons since he had seen so many lineages coexisting in one space. Fine-robed elves discussed scroll prices, while robust dwarves tested the temper of newly forged blades on noisy anvils. Hybrids of all species carried loads of supplies, and the scent of roasted meat with rare herbs filled the damp air. Right in the center of the plaza, where the flow of people was greatest, an imposing golden hologram floated over the crowd. The projection of a Guild elder gestured calmly, his voice echoing in every corner. — Congratulations to the survivors of the first stage! — the ethereal image announced. — Remain safe in this sanctuary. The tournament awaits the remaining participants still crossing the rift trails. Until the group is complete.
Aslam let out a short laugh, feeling the energy of the place recharge his own senses. "The Guild invested a fortune to keep these merchants and healers ready for immediate consumption." Cordelia thought. — The invitation was made clearly — the sorcerer remarked, turning to his siblings with his usual glow of confidence.
Aslam moved toward the heart of the market with an energy Marcus and Cordelia readily recognized. His steps were quick, driven by a latent curiosity that seemed to overflow in every fiber of his being. He turned his face from side to side, capturing the vibrant auras crossing the plaza, acting as if every new presence were a discovery. The smile on his lips was wide, revealing a pure satisfaction that stood apart from the coldness maintained during the abyss's descent.
Pointing with his chin toward a workshop where a dwarf with a braided red beard shaped a bluish metal alloy. — The density of that steel is fascinating! It is magnificent work. Marcus exchanged a look filled with relief with Cordelia. A discreet laugh appeared on the commander's lips upon seeing the youngest acting with such liveliness, reminding him of the boy who used to get lost among the stalls of their hometown before the dark times. Cordelia nodded silently, keeping her eyes fixed on the energetic silhouette of her brother, who now seemed small again before such wonder.
The commander interrupted Aslam's step, placing his hand on his shoulder with a firm and affectionate gesture. He signaled to Cordelia, indicating an isolated nook behind a carved marble column, away from the curious gaze of other merchants. — Wait a moment, Kaelus — Marcus said, withdrawing from his interdimensional bag—a runic leather artifact that seemed to contain the infinite—a package sealed by a mana lock.
The commander broke the seal with a brief touch, revealing a fabric that seemed to capture the room's sparse light and return it with a satiny glow. It was a piece of clothing folded with precision. Cordelia approached, helping her brother undress the worn and heavy travel cloak he had carried since the surface. Then he signaled for them to enter a small lateral annex of the cathedral, a sort of locker room carved directly into the ivory rock, where the silence was interrupted only by the rhythmic dripping of a nearby mana fountain.
He pushed the narrow ivory door with his shoulder and guided the youngest inside the side annex. The small chamber seemed to have been carved directly from a single white mineral mass, smooth and silent, polished until it acquired a pearly luster under the warm light of a crystal suspended in the vaulted ceiling. In the center of the space stood only a low stone bench, an empty chest against the wall, and a circular basin where translucent water received continuous streams of mana from the nearby fountain. The environment isolated the market noise with almost sacred efficiency, transforming the external bustle into a distant, reverent hum.
The House Silvarys attire opened completely; its base was a deep, metallic gray with a texture reminiscent of silk scales, extremely resistant and light. What truly caught the eye, however, were the embroideries. Threads of pure gold wound through the sleeves and collar, forming complex patterns that converged to reveal elegant lines, noble cuts, and an internal geometry of fine stitching converging on the chest, shoulders, waist, and wrists. Every fold had been designed to combine mobility, imposition, and resistance without sacrificing the piece's visual lightness.
The First Sorcerer's fingers slid across the fabric's surface, and the analysis came instantly. Under the touch, that metallic silk revealed an entire engineering of intent. Runic microchannels ran between the fibers like hidden veins, distributing mana to the garment's vital regions. The gold embroideries operated as conduction tracks, flow stabilizers, and kinetic dissipation meshes. A direct impact on the chest would be redistributed by the lateral seams, and an abrupt overload would find an outlet in the golden filaments before pressing against the user's meridians. That work had been conceived by someone who understood combat, anatomy, nobility, and arcana as parts of a single science.
Ancient memories crossed his mind for an instant. In the old elven courts, he had witnessed war garments woven with moon silver, celestial spider silk, and living threads extracted from ancestral trees—magnificent, organic, almost liturgical pieces created to dialogue with mana as leaves dialogue with the wind of the highest canopies.
The attire before him was born of something different, though it rested upon principles his gaze recognized immediately. The base remained familiar, while the execution carried another form of Magic. As he slid his fingers across the metallic gray fabric, Aslam remembered something he had observed many eons ago on a distant plain where small black ants worked in absolute silence around a fallen log.
Each of them carried microscopic fragments of leaves, earth, and sap, moving in invisible trails that to human eyes appeared chaotic, but in reality obeyed a perfect order—a living network where each individual fulfilled a precise function within a larger architecture. The internal silver lines wound through the edges of the breastplate and sleeves with a hypnotic regularity, sometimes approaching, sometimes moving away in gentle curves that recalled the sinuous trails those black ants drew around the ancient log.
It was a stitching designed to distribute tension through the fabric in the same way a bridge distributes weight through the cables that support it. There was no apprentice's haste here, nor the improvisation of a mediocre craftsman. Each curve of the line, each crossing of threads, each hidden reinforcement at the base of the collar revealed the presence of someone who deeply understood the matter they manipulated.