The air lay heavy over the ground, almost suffocating. Every breath felt like Alvios had to inhale something thick, as if an invisible weight pressed down on his chest. His sense of time dissolved like dust in the wind. He no longer knew how many Crowns or Ticks had passed since he'd entered this chamber. His insides told him only one thing: too many.
It felt as if he'd been trapped here for an eternity.
An eternity of fighting, pain, and the feeling that he couldn't retreat even a single step.
Even as a child, Alvios had dreamed of seeing the wide world. He wanted to climb mountains with his own feet. He wanted to visit the cities of Aeridor he only knew from stories. And although he had never been the most obedient son – especially not when he'd messed up again and his mother stood in the doorway with her arms crossed – he had always been someone who wanted to move forward.
That urge had always been in him.
And now it was stronger than ever.
Even now, bleeding, missing a hand, facing an opponent who was his own reflection – he stood his ground. He faced him. He held his sword as if the world were hanging from its hilt.
He did not back down.
He never backed down.
With a deep breath, Alvios raised his sword. His gaze hardened, his heart grew quiet. His will was like a rock that stood even against the waves of the Aether.
One step.
The ground cracked beneath him. Dust rose.
And then – Alvios vanished.
He shot forward so fast that only a warped shadow of him remained.
His clone was ready.
The forward slash Alvios unleashed was blocked immediately. A second strike followed – but that was parried as well. The clone moved like a mirror image that had trained alongside Alvios for years. Precise. Merciless. Without hesitation.
Roots shot up from the ground, trying to grab his legs, coiling around him like living shackles.
Alvios leapt over them and even laughed briefly.
"Try and catch me if you can!"
The roots whipped through the air but missed him.
The clone used the opening, swung his sword – close enough to cut a few strands of hair from Alvios' forehead.
Then the kick hit him.
Hard. Precise.
Right in the chest.
Alvios gasped as if someone had punched the air out of his lungs. He rolled over the floor, wiped the blood from the corner of his eye and jumped back to his feet.
"I'm fine… just a little massage…" he muttered, panting.
He raised the blade. His fingers trembled slightly. But his eyes burned with resolve.
"Fulmen Ruptura!"
Lightning shot along the blade, sharp as needles, hot as fire.
The attack crashed forward. The ground split open, a crack running through the stone.
But once again, roots shielded the clone.
Harder, denser, more unnatural than before.
Sanitas pulsed through them like a heartbeat.
Alvios narrowed his eyes.
"I hate gardens."
He went in again.
They rushed at each other once more.
Strike after strike – a dance of light and steel.
Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he blinked it away.
A blow from above – blocked.
A cut from below – deflected.
A kick, a jump, a turn.
At last, Alvios' blade slid diagonally through the clone's torso.
A clean, deep cut. A cut that would have sliced any normal human in half.
But the clone wasn't human.
He didn't know pain.
He didn't know hesitation.
Only the objective.
Then more roots erupted – faster this time, more aggressive.
They formed a cage around the two of them, a tight space of wood and pulsating Aether lines.
"Oh great," Alvios muttered. "Now we're officially in a terrarium."
Suddenly there was no room left for big movements.
The clone attacked.
A deep, brutal swing.
Alvios dodged. And again. And again.
The cage tightened, the air grew thicker.
Then Alvios finally found an opening.
He spun, his blade cutting across the clone's stomach.
Another kick slammed into his chest.
The clone staggered back – but Alvios couldn't follow up.
Because then it happened:
An explosion so violent that earth and Aether shuddered at the same time.
The floor trembled nonstop, stones jumped from their seams, and even the roots, which had seemed utterly unshakable before, became loose and uneven, as if trying to recoil from the force.
It felt as if somewhere nearby, another battle was reaching its peak – a battle in which someone was sacrificing everything.
"What the—?!"
Alvios broke off his assault, heart racing.
He glanced in the direction of the tremor, a shadow of worry crossing his face.
"An explosion… Who was that? Guys, please don't you dare die on me…"
The roots forming the cage began to crack.
Bit by bit, the structure collapsed.
Alvios jumped aside, rolling through dust and splinters.
The clone was buried – but it was only a short-lived victory.
Because then came the light.
Green, glaring, searing.
Alvios threw an arm over his eyes.
The light pierced his eyelids, burning itself into his mind.
When it faded—
the clone was standing again.
Unharmed.
Stronger.
Colder.
"Shall we finish this now?"
Lightning crawled along his blade, twitching across the surface.
Alvios exhaled heavily.
"Fulmen Ruptura!"
"Fulmen Ruptura!"
The blades clashed –
but they didn't touch.
A zone of pure pressure formed between them.
Two forces pushing against each other.
Sparks of lightning were hurled outward like shrapnel, tearing the rock of the ceiling apart.
Chunks of stone fell.
The air shook.
But they kept fighting.
Alvios' sword slid off, a cut landed on the clone's hip.
The clone struck back.
A sharp headbutt.
Alvios dropped, rolled, and lay there gasping.
Then he saw the blade.
Above him.
Raised for the final strike.
That was the moment.
The moment something happened that did not belong to this world.
The clone's sword hung over Alvios like a looming eclipse – powerful, cold, absolutely deadly. Any normal person would have known only fear in that instant. But Alvios instead felt something else: a strange calm.
Or maybe it was just exhaustion smoothing his thoughts.
He saw the blade that was about to crash down on him.
He saw Fulmen sparks dancing along the edge.
He saw the clone's arm tense.
And then…
the world changed.
The temperature dropped and rose at the same time.
A gust of wind swept through the chamber, yet no air moved.
The floor pulsed like a beating heart.
And then Alvios heard her.
The voice.
Soft, clear, warm like light.
"Your time has not yet come… Fight."
His body reacted before his mind did.
Above thought and fear, somewhere deep between Aether flow and muscle memory, he reached out.
He raised his hand.
The hand he had lost.
His fingers closed around the clone's sword – and stopped it.
The clone froze.
Alvios stared at his own hand, disbelieving, as if someone had secretly given it back to him. No scars, no roots crawling over the skin. Just a whole, living hand, restored as if nothing had ever happened.
"…What…?" he whispered, breathless.
But there was no time to think.
The clone tried to wrench himself free.
Lightning hissed along the blade and through Alvios' fingers, but he held on.
"Come on then… if you're going to copy my tricks, copy THIS too!" Alvios panted and swung.
With his other fist, he punched the clone square in the face.
A dull impact echoed through the chamber.
The clone was thrown backward, dropped to his knees, his head lolling, Fulmen sparks dribbling from his chin.
Alvios was breathing hard.
His sword lay a few meters away – he bolted toward it, almost tripping over his own feet, grabbed it and wrapped his fingers around the hilt again.
He looked at his restored hand once more.
"How… how did I do that?" he murmured.
He stared at it, stunned. I've tried to use Sanitas so many times… and it never amounted to more than that stupid tingling. No real healing, nothing that could come even close to something like this. Something like this… is way beyond what I can control.
Could that really have come from him?
Or had someone else intervened?
Or… was it something entirely different?
But he couldn't follow the thought. A groan from the clone dragged him back into the moment.
The clone was standing again.
Unsteady, but alive.
Sanitas crawled over his skin like green threads, closing cracks, solidifying bone, dragging him back into fighting shape.
"You…" the clone forced out hoarsely.
His voice sounded distorted, as if he'd only just learned how to form words.
"You… shall… fall."
Alvios raised his sword, planting his feet wide.
His breathing was heavy, sweat running down his forehead.
But his gaze stayed firm.
"If you're going to copy my voice, pick someone better," he said with a strained but crooked grin.
The clone charged.
So did Alvios.
Their blades met in the middle of the chamber.
Lightning and sparks exploded, root-tips retreated into the walls as if they were afraid of the power building between them.
The clone struck from the right – blocked.
From the left – blocked again.
A stab toward the face – Alvios slipped past it by a hair.
He countered, slashing upward and catching the clone across the chest.
A hot spray of sparks burst forth.
The clone staggered, but his regeneration kicked in at once.
It was like a game against time.
A game Alvios would lose if he didn't find the core.
"Where… in all Aether is your core?!" Alvios thought in frustration.
The clone looked at him as if he knew exactly what Alvios was thinking.
For a moment his gaze became – not human, but… heavy.
Almost sad.
Or angry.
Or both.
He raised his sword, taking a stance Alvios knew from only one person.
His father.
"You are weak," the clone said.
"So unbelievably weak."
Then he vanished.
Alvios' reflexes saved him.
A blurred movement, a Fulmen slash that burned across his cheek and left a glowing line behind.
Pain stabbed deep.
He smelled burned skin.
The clone stared at him.
"How… did you parry that!?"
Alvios sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"When you live long enough, you learn how to dodge."
They clashed again.
Lightning wrapped around their blades.
Their movements grew faster, wilder, more instinctive.
A strike caught Alvios in the side.
He clenched his teeth and fought on.
Another blow followed.
Alvios answered with a kick and drove the clone back.
But then came the moment his body demanded its price.
His knees weakened.
His arm trembled.
His breath burned in his lungs.
He was almost at his limit.
And the clone knew it.
He raised his sword.
For the final strike.
Alvios' vision blurred.
His muscles refused to obey.
Dark edges crept into his awareness.
And then—
The ground pulsed.
A deep, vibrating sound, like the heartbeat of a gigantic creature, filled the grotto.
Beige and black lines flowed out from the cracks in the floor, weaving into a circle that closed around Alvios' feet.
Warm.
Cold.
Alive.
An Aether circle.
One even experienced monks could not explain.
The clone froze.
His gaze shifted from Alvios to the circle – back to Alvios.
Something like fear flickered in his eyes.
Alvios dropped to one knee.
Not from pain – but because an invisible pressure forced him down.
And then he heard it again.
Clearer. Closer.
"Remember… my child."
The walls of the grotto pulsed.
The Aether circle grew brighter and brighter until its glow looked like breathing.
The clone's eyes went wide – a sound escaped his throat.
Alvios lifted his gaze – half-unconscious, half carried by something that wasn't just his own will.
Light burst out from the circle—