The leader of the white-clad stood before me, his fury sharp enough to cut the air itself. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade, the steel whispering against its sheath as it slid free. His gaze was not simply anger—it was judgment, final and unyielding.
Behind him, the other leaders—scarlet, black, and steel-blue—did not move.Not a step. Not a word. Not even a twitch.
"Why do you just stand there?!" the white one roared, his voice cracking through the arena like a struck bell. "Dark mages are heretics!"
The words dripped venom, and yet I merely watched—still, unshaken.
It was the black-clad leader who finally broke the silence.His voice was deep, deliberate, and each word carried the weight of centuries.
"Dark magic," he said slowly, "is not evil, Avarion."The name hung in the air like a challenge.
Then, heavier:"Since when have you been so open with your hatred… even with one of them standing right before you?"
As he spoke, the air around him thickened.Black energy seeped from his form, curling and writhing like ink in water.It pulsed—slow and rhythmic—like a colossal heart buried beneath the stone, sending out shockwaves of raw, oppressive presence.I knew it was only for show.Still… it was impressive.
Avarion exhaled sharply, lowering his blade an inch. His voice, now low, carried a promise rather than a threat."This is not over."
He stepped back, his gaze never leaving mine.Then he turned, retreating into the white-robed ranks.
Aedric drifted to my side."You overdid it," he muttered—though there was no conviction in his voice.He saw that my mind was already elsewhere, and let the comment die.
Elairen's presence approached like a shadow wrapping around my back."I've decided to follow you," she said quietly. "Tonight, we'll find you a place to stay. There's something I must tell you."
I glanced at her.Will she finally show herself? I wondered.
We left the arena, stepping into streets that mirrored a medieval city—stone roads, timber-framed houses, market stalls spilling over with trinkets and goods.During the walk, I unrolled a slip of parchment the black-clad leader—Aedric's brother—had given us.It was an invitation.If we needed him, his guild would be waiting.
Hours later, we found shelter in a modest tavern-inn.Aedric paid for the rooms—a gesture I acknowledged only with the faintest nod.Once the pleasantries were done, I retreated to my quarters.
There, I sank into meditation.
For me, crafting a conscious realm within my mind was never difficult.In moments, I stood within it—among rolling green hills beneath a sky locked in eternal spring.I walked the familiar path to my home, stepping into the quiet comfort of its library.
Each book upon the shelves was a fragment of myself—an echo of who I had been.Every spell.Every martial discipline.The faces of those who had once followed me.The gods I had bargained with… and those I had destroyed.Not the gods of other realms, no.The goddesses of my own creation.Ah… how I missed them.What does that make me, to admit it so openly?
The memories bled deeper.My empire.Twenty realms, united beneath a single will—my will.Each designed so that every race could live in comfort and order…Under my absolute dominion.
The weight of it pressed on me—nostalgia, sorrow, rage.And at the center of it all: the Eye.The thing that had taken it from me.I want my revenge more than breath itself.But I know now… if I am to face it, I must return to the old ways.
Incantations.Spoken authority.Command magic.
In the past, I had abandoned self-strengthening, devoting all my focus to refining spells and unraveling mana itself.I was a tenth-ring archmage—star-marked.The one who birthed mana itself… was fifteenth.That is the level I must reach.Only then will I stand as a being who commands the laws of reality itself.Only then will facing the Eye become more than a dream.
I stepped out of my mind-realm, awareness flooding back into my true body.I could feel the black mana within me—thick and alive.And… there was mana here, in this Fifth Chamber.Not pure, no.But enough.
I drew it inward.This time, not into my skeletal frame as I had before.That had been my mistake.No—this time I fed it into my heart.
The first ring formed with ease.It spread, its shape warping, stretching through me—into my organs, my bones, my veins, my nerves, my mind.Upon my soul, ancient runes etched themselves in burning script, binding flesh and essence into a single will.The ring solidified, twisting into a rune itself.
I opened my eyes.My fingers rose.
Snap.
"Serpens Ignis."
The air in front of me shimmered.A thread of fire uncoiled from my palm, twisting upon itself—scales of molten gold and ember-black forming along its length.Its head reared, tongue flicking out in a hiss of living flame.It swayed once, twice, before slithering forward, the ground beneath it searing to glass in its wake.
The serpent looked back at me once, its ember-eyes gleaming with predatory hunger—then lunged toward the far wall, coiling upon itself, vanishing in a final plume of sparks.