"Tell me, little mortal. What brings you to the domain of—"
"Arden Valekrest," he said, his damaged voice rough but steady. "And I come seeking knowledge. And help."
She tilted her head, those impossible carmine eyes studying him with renewed interest.
The moonlight that surrounded her seemed to pulse gently.
"Valekrest..." She repeated the name slowly, as if tasting it. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "That name. It's familiar. Very familiar."
Before Arden could respond, she moved—crossing the distance between them in an instant.
Her pale hand reached out, stopping inches from his face.
Not threatening. Just... examining.
"White hair. Blue eyes. That face..." Her voice had lost its playful edge, replaced by something sharper. More analytical. "No. It can't be. But the resemblance is unmistakable."
She circled him slowly, her overwhelming presence making the air itself feel heavy.
"You're a descendant of him, aren't you? The Starfall Sovereign. Valdren the White Lion."
Arden met her gaze steadily.
"Yes. Valdren Valekrest was my ancestor. Many generations removed."
She let out a long, low whistle.
"The mighty have fallen indeed." Her voice carried both amusement and something like pity. "The Starfall Sovereign's descendant, reduced to third-stage. What happened to that legendary bloodline?"
"Time," Arden said simply. "Thousands of years of dilution. The Valekrest family lost most of its power over the ages."
"Thousands of years." Tinasha shook her head in wonder. "Your ancestor walked the earth during the Age of Gods. When the world was young and magic flowed freely. When beings like him could reshape reality with a thought."
She returned to studying his face.
"Valdren could manipulate space and time itself. Could freeze moments, accelerate others, bend reality to his whims. And you..."
She gestured at him.
"You have ice manipulation. A pale shadow of true spatial-temporal control."
Wait. She's connecting ice to space-time manipulation?
"I don't understand," Arden admitted.
Tinasha smiled—sharp and knowing.
"Of course you don't. You probably think your ice Integration is just elemental magic, don't you? Fire, water, earth, air, ice—just another element in the list."
"Isn't it?"
"No." She said it flatly. "Your ice magic, true ice magic from the Valekrest bloodline, isn't about temperature. It's about stopping. Freezing. Halting motion."
She raised her hand, and frost began forming in the air.
"What is ice but water that has stopped moving? What is freezing but the cessation of energy? And what is the cessation of motion but a localized manipulation of time itself?"
Arden stared at her.
That... that actually makes sense. Ice as time manipulation. Freezing as stopping temporal flow at a molecular level.
"Your ancestor could stop armies in their tracks. Could freeze entire battlefields in temporal stasis. Could accelerate his own time to move faster than perception." Tinasha's voice carried genuine respect. "Valdren. The Starfall Sovereign. The man who held back divine armies single-handedly during the War of Convergence."
She looked at Arden with those ancient eyes.
"And his power has degraded over thousands of years into simple ice manipulation. You can freeze water. Make frost. Create icicles. But the fundamental principle remains—you're stopping motion. Halting movement. Slowing time at the smallest scale. A pale echo of true spatial-temporal control."
"I never knew," Arden said quietly. "The family records don't mention any of this."
"Of course they don't. Knowledge gets lost over millennia. Histories become legends. Legends become myths. Myths become forgotten whispers." She smiled sadly. "I knew of your ancestor, though I never met him. He died long before I was born. But his legend persists among witches. We remember what mortals forget."
She paused, studying him more carefully.
"He had this phrase attributed to him in the old texts. 'I was born a champion's cub, now I am the lion who reigns supreme.' Arrogant beyond measure. And yet, by all accounts, he was right. No one could touch him. No army could stop him. He existed outside normal causality."
"What happened to him?" Arden asked, genuinely curious despite knowing he'd created this backstory.
"He died." She said it simply. "Fighting something that came from beyond the known world. Something that threatened reality itself. He stopped it, but the effort killed him. Burned himself out completely—used so much spatial-temporal manipulation that his body couldn't sustain the strain. They say his final act was to freeze an entire dimension in temporal stasis, trapping the entity forever."
She looked at Arden.
"And now his descendant stands before me, barely able to channel that power to create frost. Time is truly the cruelest force."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Finally, she gestured, and chairs appeared.
"Sit. You've earned a proper conversation. Anyone carrying Valdren's blood deserves at least that much respect."
Arden sat, and she followed suit with fluid grace.
"Now then." Her playful edge returned. "You said you came for knowledge and help. What knowledge? What help? And why should I care about the problems of mortals—even one descended from the Starfall Sovereign?"
Here we go. Time to negotiate.
"First, I should ask—are you Seravelle? The Witch of the Crimson Moon? The former princess of the fallen Kingdom of Melodia?"
Seravelle froze.
Her expression went completely blank.
For a long moment, she didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Just... stared at him with those impossible eyes.
When she finally spoke, her voice was dangerous.
"How do you know that name?"
"Research. Cross-referencing old texts. The Kingdom of Melodia fell three hundred years ago during the Witch Purge. The royal family was executed. But the youngest princess—Seravelle Melodia—disappeared. Most assume she died. But some texts suggest she survived by becoming a witch."
Arden met her gaze steadily.
"You're her, aren't you? The last princess of Melodia. The one who mastered magic to escape her kingdom's destruction."
Seravelle stood abruptly, her chair vanishing.
The moonlight around her pulsed dangerously.
"That name hasn't been spoken in hundreds of years," she said quietly. "I buried it. Buried that identity. Buried that past."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause pain—"
"No." She cut him off. "Don't apologize. You did your research. Thoroughly." A bitter smile. "Yes. I am—was—Seravelle Melodia. Youngest princess of a kingdom that no longer exists. I watched my family executed. Watched my kingdom burn. Survived by making a pact with ancient powers and becoming what they hunted—a witch."
She looked at him with ancient grief in her eyes.
"I've lived for over five hundred years since then. Outlived my kingdom, my family, my name. Seravelle died with Melodia. Only Tinasha remains."
"Why bring this up?" Her voice was sharp. "Why dig into a past that should stay buried?"
"Because I need you to understand that I've done my research," Arden said carefully. "That I know who you are. What you are. And that I respect both your power and your history."
"Respect." Tinasha laughed bitterly. "Is that what you call digging up painful memories?"
"I call it establishing credibility. You asked why you should care about mortal problems. I'm showing you that I'm not a random mortal stumbling into your domain. I'm someone who understands the weight of history. The cost of survival. The burden of carrying a name that no one remembers."
He gestured at himself.
"I'm the descendant of the Starfall Sovereign—a man whose legend has faded into obscurity over thousands of years. You're the last princess of a fallen kingdom from centuries ago. We both carry the weight of forgotten greatness."
Tinasha stared at him for a long moment.
Then sat back down, her chair reappearing.
"You're either very clever or very foolish." She sipped tea that had appeared in her hand. "Possibly both. But you have my attention. Complete attention. Now tell me what you want."
Finally. The negotiation.
"I need three things," Arden said. "First: an artifact called the Ring of Restraint. It allows the user to impose restraints on themselves in exchange for power."
Tinasha's eyebrows rose.
"The Ring of Restraint. Now that's interesting." She leaned forward. "How do you know I have it?"
"Do you?"
"Yes. I obtained it centuries ago from ruins dating back to the Age of Gods. Never found a use for it—the cost seemed too high for the reward." She studied him. "But you know what it does. Specifically."
"I know it allows someone to impose limitations on themselves in exchange for greater power. Self-imposed constraints that the ring enforces absolutely."
"Correct." Tinasha's eyes gleamed. "But why do you want it? You're already weak. Imposing further constraints would only make you weaker."
"Not if the constraints lead to greater understanding," Arden said.
"Interesting philosophy. What's the second thing?"
"A Harmony Dual Integration Core. An artifact that can stabilize dual souls within a single body."
Tinasha's eyes widened.
"A dual soul constitution? You're traveling with someone suffering from that?" Her voice turned serious. "That condition is invariably fatal. The souls tear the body apart from the inside."
"I know. That's why I came here. You're one of the few people in the world with the knowledge to fix it."
"One of five," Tinasha corrected absently. "There are only five witches remaining in this world. We're a dying breed, you see. Most witches were killed during the Purge three hundred years ago—the same Purge that destroyed Melodia. Those of us who survived went into hiding."
She gestured, and images appeared in the air—silhouettes of four other figures.
"The Witch of Silence. The Witch of Dawn. The Witch of Thorns. The Witch of Depths. And me, the Witch of Moonlight—or Crimson Moon, if you prefer the old title. Five witches for an entire continent. We rarely interact. We certainly don't share knowledge freely."
She looked at him seriously.
"Which makes you even more impressive for finding me. The others don't even know where I am."
"Can you make the Harmony Dual Integration Core?" Arden asked.
Tinasha was quiet for a long moment.
"I can make one. It would take time—maybe a week. Soul-based artifacts are delicate. Dangerous to create. One mistake and the artifact could shatter both souls completely, killing your companion instantly."
"But you can do it."
"Yes. I can do it." She studied him. "What's the third thing?"
"A contract. Between you and me. Fifteen years of mutual assistance and knowledge sharing."
The room went very, very quiet.
Tinasha set down her teacup slowly.
"A contract," she said softly. "You want to bind a five-hundred-year-old witch to a formal magical contract for fifteen years?"
"Yes."
"You're insane. Absolutely insane." But she was smiling. "Tell me the terms. This should be entertaining."
Arden took a deep breath.
"For fifteen years, you assist me in tasks related to strengthening the north and combating existential threats. In exchange, I teach you a complete magical system you've never encountered—one that touches on something fundamental about magic itself. Something that hints at True Magic."
Tinasha went very still.
"True Magic," she repeated quietly. "You're claiming to know techniques that touch True Magic? The theoretical foundation that gods supposedly guard?"
"I'm claiming to know techniques that hint at it. That gesture toward principles underlying all magical systems."
"Prove it."
"I will. But I need the Ring of Restraint first. The demonstration requires it."
Tinasha studied him for a long moment.
Then stood.
"Wait here."
She vanished—not walking, just ceasing to exist in one location and appearing elsewhere.
Arden sat alone in the moonlit chamber, heart pounding.
Minutes passed.
Then Tinasha reappeared, holding a simple silver ring.
No ornamentation.
No gems.
Just a band of silver that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
"The Ring of Restraint," she said, holding it out. "Obtained from the Temple of Azareth in the ruins of the First City. It contains a fragment of divine will—enough to enforce absolute contracts between user and self."
She didn't give it to him yet.
Just held it.
"This ring is dangerous. Use it wrong, and it will destroy you. The constraints it enforces are absolute. Break them, and the consequences range from loss of power to death."
"I understand."
"Do you? Really?" Her eyes bored into him. "Because I've seen people use this ring. Seen them impose constraints they couldn't maintain. Watched them die when they broke their own rules."
"I understand the risks," Arden said firmly. "And I know exactly what constraints I'm going to impose. I've thought about this extensively."
Tinasha studied him.
Then handed him the ring.
"Show me. Demonstrate these techniques that supposedly hint at True Magic. Convince me that you're worth binding myself to for fifteen years."
Arden took the ring.
It was cold.
So cold it burned.
He slipped it onto his right index finger.
The moment the ring settled into place, he felt it.
A presence.
Ancient. Divine. Watching.
[A fragment inheriting the great will of Azareth, express the two Restraints you wish to impose.]
The voice shook his mind.
Sounded like man and woman, child and elder, all at once.
Arden forced himself to breathe steadily.
Just like in the game. Exactly like I designed it.
"One," he said aloud, knowing Tinasha was listening.
[State your restraint.]
"The use of magic requires the absolute execution of Azareth hand signs."
Tinasha's eyes widened slightly.
Azareth hand signs. He's naming them after the god whose temple I found this ring in. Curious.
[What do you wish to gain from this?]
"Power that can touch the edges of True Magic. The ability to slightly bend the fundamental laws."
[Granted.]
Arden felt something settle into his soul.
A weight.
A rule that couldn't be broken.
"And one more," he continued.
[State your restraint.]
"The use of magic requires the execution of the great Azareth incantations."
[What do you wish to gain from this?]
"The same as before. Power that touches True Magic principles."
Silence.
Long silence.
Tinasha watched, fascinated, as Arden seemed to commune with something invisible.
But she was also doing something else.
Analyzing.
Her senses—honed over five hundred years—reached out carefully.
Trying to perceive what Arden was communicating with.
And then she felt it.
Just for a moment.
Just a glimpse.
Something was there.
Tinasha's breath caught.
Her analysis spells flickered and died as her instincts screamed at her to stop looking.
Because what she'd glimpsed—what she'd barely, barely perceived—was vast.
Incomprehensibly vast.
Not in size.
In concept.
Like staring at an ocean and realizing it was just a drop compared to what lay beyond.
Like touching infinity and understanding you were less than nothing in comparison.
What... what IS that?
Her hands trembled slightly—the first time in decades she'd shown such a reaction.
That's not just divine will. That's something else. Something older. Something that makes gods look small.
She forced herself to stop analyzing.
To pull back her senses before whatever was there noticed her more fully.
If I keep looking, if I try to understand it completely...
She didn't finish the thought.
Didn't need to.
Her instincts—the same instincts that had kept her alive for five hundred years—were absolutely clear:
Understanding that thing completely would destroy me.
Not might.
Would.
So she pulled back.
Stopped analyzing.
And simply watched as Arden completed whatever communion he was having with that... entity.
[...]
The presence in Arden's mind seemed to pause.
Considering.
Analyzing.
[I accept.]
The voice carried weight that made Arden's head spin.
[To you, who remember the hand signs and mysteries of a forgotten great god, I offer my gratitude for inheriting the will.]
Arden's eyes widened slightly.
Inheriting the will? What does that mean?
But he didn't have time to puzzle over it.
The ring flared with cold light.
The constraints settled into place.
Absolute. Unbreakable.
When the light faded, Arden looked up at Tinasha.
"It's done. I can't use magic anymore without hand signs and incantations. The ring enforces it absolutely."
Tinasha was quiet for a moment.
Still processing what she'd glimpsed.
Finally, she spoke, her voice more careful than before.
"You just crippled yourself. Most mages would consider that insane." She paused. "And you're communicating with something... significant. Something I couldn't fully perceive without risking my own destruction."
Arden looked at her sharply.
"You tried to analyze it?"
"Briefly. Very briefly." She smiled, but it was strained. "I'm five hundred years old. I know when to stop looking. Whatever that entity is—whatever Azareth truly represents—it's beyond even my understanding."
"Will that be a problem?" Arden asked.
"A problem? No." Tinasha's smile became more genuine. "If anything, it makes this more interesting. You're not just some random boy with ancient texts. You're genuinely connected to something profound."
She gestured at him.
"Now show me. Demonstrate what those restraints gave you in exchange."
"Watch."
Arden raised his hand.
Formed the dharma wheel gesture—thumb covering middle finger, hand flipped.
Then spoke: "Refraction."
He channeled mana—the tiny amount his third-stage Integration provided.
A small orb of frost formed at his fingertips.
But it was different.
More stable.
More real.
"Rebound."
The orb split into multiple fragments, each one impossibly precise despite his weak mana control.
"Crystalline Convergence."
He snapped his fingers.
The fragments converged, then dispersed with surprising force—creating patterns of frost that spread across the floor.
Patterns that looked almost like magical formulas.
Patterns that implied geometry in four dimensions.
Patterns that hurt to look at because they suggested spaces that shouldn't exist.
Tinasha let out a sound between a gasp and a laugh.
"That's... that's impossible."
"You're third-stage," she continued, staring at the patterns. "You shouldn't be able to maintain that level of mana coherence. The efficiency is wrong. The structure is too stable. The patterns suggest relationships that require fifth-stage understanding at minimum."
She looked at him with new eyes.
"Unless..."
"Unless the hand signs and incantations aren't just techniques," Arden finished. "Unless they're touching something fundamental. Something about the underlying structure of reality itself."
"True Magic," Tinasha whispered. "You're actually touching True Magic principles. Not fully—that's impossible for mortals. But enough to bend the rules. Enough to make third-stage power perform like fourth or fifth stage."
She circled him slowly, analysis spells appearing and disappearing around her hands.
"The hand signs are acting as conceptual anchors. Giving your magic structure it shouldn't have. And the incantations are defining parameters that shouldn't be definable at your level."
She stopped in front of him.
"Where did you learn this? Really? Because this shouldn't exist. Gods guard True Magic principles jealously. No mortal should have access to techniques that touch it. And whatever you communicated with through that ring... that's connected to all of this, isn't it?"
"I found texts," Arden said carefully. "Ancient materials from the Age of Gods. Fragments that had survived hidden. I've been studying them for years."
"You found texts on True Magic principles. From the Age of Gods. That somehow survived millennia."
"Yes."
"You're lying."
"Yup."
The honesty seemed to surprise her.
"At least you admit it." She smiled slightly. "But it doesn't matter. The results speak for themselves. Whatever the truth is about where you learned this, the techniques are real. They genuinely touch True Magic principles."
She gestured, and the frost patterns vanished.
"Show me another technique. Something more complex."
Arden formed a different hand sign—fingers interlaced in an intricate pattern.
"Refraction," he spoke. "Rebound. Prismatic Convergence. Crystalline Manifestation. Temporal Anchor."
The air around them began to shimmer.
Not with heat.
With something else.
Frost formed in patterns that moved.
Not spreading.
Not melting.
Just... rearranging themselves into impossible geometries.
Three-dimensional structures that somehow implied four dimensions.
Spaces that bent back on themselves.
Angles that suggested time as well as space.
"You're creating localized spatial distortions," Tinasha breathed. "Using your degraded Valekrest bloodline—your ice manipulation that's actually time-stopping at molecular scale—and guiding it with hand signs that provide structure. Making it stable. Making it real."
She reached out, fingers stopping just short of the patterns.
"This is genuine. This is actually real. You have techniques that touch True Magic."
The patterns dissolved as Arden lowered his hands.
"That's what I'm offering. Complete knowledge transfer. Every hand sign, every incantation, every technique I know. All the principles I understand about touching True Magic."
He met her eyes.
"In exchange for fifteen years. Fifteen years of helping me strengthen the north. Protect it from what's coming. Build something that can withstand the threats ahead."
Tinasha was quiet for a very long time.
Just stood there, staring at the space where the impossible patterns had been.
Finally, she spoke.
"You realize what you're offering me? This isn't just magical knowledge. This is a glimpse of something witches have been searching for since the beginning. Something that could revolutionize how magic works."
"I know."
"And you're willing to trade it for fifteen years of my help? Fifteen years of following you around, assisting with whatever problems you face?"
"Yes."
"Why?" Her eyes narrowed. "What could possibly be worth giving up this knowledge?"
Arden met her gaze steadily.
"Because I need allies who can face what's coming. The Overlord I just killed? That was nothing. A warm-up. What's ahead will make that look insignificant."
"What's coming?"
"The Abyssal Flame. The Serpent. Other threats that don't even have names yet. Things that will threaten not just the north, but reality itself."
Because I wrote them. Because I know what's coming. And I need allies strong enough to face it.
Tinasha studied him for a long moment.
Then smiled—sharp and dangerous and excited.
"You're either insane or brilliant. Possibly both." She extended her hand. "Fine. I accept. Fifteen years. You teach me everything you know about touching True Magic. I assist you with your impossible task of saving the north from unnamed catastrophes."
"There are conditions," Arden said.
"Of course there are. State them."
He laid out the terms—genuine help, no malicious compliance, creating the Harmony Dual Integration Core, providing the Ring of Restraint as a gift now that he'd demonstrated its use, staying present rather than disappearing, protecting his companions.
Tinasha agreed to each one.
Then stated her own conditions—complete knowledge transfer, eventual truth about his sources, interesting experiences, right to refuse genuinely impossible requests, acceptance that she wasn't nice.
Arden agreed to each one.
"Shall we make it official?" Tinasha asked, extending her hand properly.
Arden took it.
The moment their skin touched, moonlight exploded around them.
Power beyond comprehension flowing into a structured pattern.
Binding. Connecting. Establishing rules that couldn't be broken.
Tinasha spoke in an ancient language—words carving themselves into reality.
Into both their souls.
A contract written in the fundamental fabric of existence.
Arden felt it settle into place.
Felt the weight of fifteen years press against his consciousness.
Felt Tinasha's presence connect to his in a way that was intimate without being invasive.
When the light faded, they were both breathing hard.
"There," Tinasha said, releasing his hand. "Fifteen years. Mutually binding. Break the terms, and the consequences will be soul-shredding agony, loss of magical abilities, and likely death."
"Comforting."
"I'm five hundred years old. My idea of comfort is very different from yours."
Despite everything, Arden smiled.
Tinasha stretched, her voluptuous figure making the gesture somehow both elegant and distracting.
"Well then, Arden Valekrest, descendant of the Starfall Sovereign, bearer of impossible knowledge, and my contractor for the next fifteen years." She grinned. "Let's begin."