The night stretched long under the mountain's unyielding vigil, stars wheeling overhead in silent procession while the valley below slumbered in frost-kissed hush.
Noirette and Blanchette had immersed themselves in Marqe's teachings from the moment the portal's arch had stabilized, its opalescent swirl a gateway taunting them with glimpses of uncharted voids.
They did not step through—not yet. That would be dumb, because the portal that Marqe created as of now was merely a dummy portal that led to nowhere.
Instead, they turned inward into themselves, essence coiling at their call like threads pulled from the night's own fabric, practicing the weave of Chaos World Travel until fingers cramped and breaths came ragged.
Hours blurred into a rhythm of trial and error.
Marqe guided without impatience, his gnarled hands demonstrating the balance—focus not as a hammer's strike, but a river's patient carve.
