The vast corridors of the Awakening Legacy Library grew quieter as Aamon ventured deeper. The light dimmed, the crystal sconces casting long, flickering shadows on the polished obsidian walls. Before him loomed a large archway sealed by interlocking golden chains, each link inscribed with radiant runes that pulsed in slow rhythm—guarding what lay beyond.
A plaque above the arch read in ancient script:
"Here lie the paths walked in desperation. Strength earned in sacrifice. Knowledge sealed not by taboo, but by consequence."
Aamon's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, drawn by the faint energy leaking through the sealed threshold. There was no malice in the aura—only immense, overwhelming power. And pain. He could feel it, buried in the vibrations. His soul ached with curiosity.
"I need to be stronger…" he muttered. "If there's knowledge here that can help me protect my people, my team—why should it remain locked away?"
He raised a hand to touch the chains.
"Don't," a cool voice said behind him.
Aamon turned sharply. Isolde Thorne stood at the entrance of the corridor, silver hair catching the glint of the dim light, storm-gray eyes fixed on him with unwavering calm. Her presence was quiet, but the weight of her warning was unmistakable.
"These aren't sealed because they're evil," she continued, stepping closer. "They're sealed because they cost too much."
Aamon frowned. "What do you mean?"
Isolde's gaze didn't waver. "The skills inside that chamber—yes, they grant power. But each one was forged for someone who had nothing left to lose. They ignore the body's limits. Using them doesn't make you mad… it just breaks you."
She moved beside him and gently placed a hand on the golden chains.
"I've seen what happens to people who rely on those techniques. The first time, maybe it's just strain. The second, internal damage. By the third, you start losing what can't be healed—bone marrow, spirit veins, your foundation. Your future."
Aamon clenched his fists. "But what if I don't have a future unless I take that risk?"
Isolde looked at him, and for a moment her expression softened—not pity, but understanding.
"You do have a future. That's why this place chose you. But if you go in there before exhausting every other path… you'll be burning your potential just to win a single fight."
Her words hit him like a hammer.
He looked back at the sealed arch, then at the scrolls he'd already collected—Wind Edge, Ember Pulse, Phantom Step, Echo Cleave. There was still so much to learn. So much he hadn't even tried yet.
The temptation receded, replaced by a quiet resolve.
"I get it," he said at last. "I'll wait."
Isolde nodded once. "Good. When you're ready… if ever you truly have no other choice—then, and only then, come back. But not before."
Without another word, she turned and walked back into the main chamber, her silhouette fading into the light.
Aamon lingered a moment longer, then turned away from the forbidden gate. The echo of chains rattling gently behind him sounded almost like approval.
After returning from the haunted villa, Aamon stood alone on a flat stone platform suspended above a tranquil lake in his territory. The sky shimmered with shifting auroras—an effect of the realm's spiritual energy. Below the calm surface of the lake, runic patterns pulsed softly, responding to his presence.
The battle with the corrupted spirits had shaken him. He had seen the gap between raw strength and refined ability. Now, with three days before they returned to the villa, he needed to evolve—not just in power, but in purpose.
Day One: Elemental Arts – Control, Understanding, and Application
Aamon stood in the training field within his territory, the runes of the elemental techniques glowing faintly in his memory. He decided to begin with Wind Edge, needing something to complement his existing physical style with reach and fluidity.
He conjured a light breeze with focused breath control, visualizing his energy coiling around his arms like tendrils. He slashed the air with a short blade, and the wind followed the motion, elongating the strike.
"Faster… sharper…"
Dozens of slashes carved lines in the air, but only a few carried the cutting force he wanted. He spent hours refining the channeling technique, learning to adjust the intensity and direction like a sculptor with wind as his chisel.
Next came Ember Pulse. He spread his stance and circulated his energy through his core, focusing on ignition and expansion.
A wave of flame exploded outward in a flash, too wild at first—he was knocked back by his own technique. He adjusted his stance and breathing. Gradually, he learned to control the radius and intensity, turning the chaotic burst into a defensive ring of controlled heat.
By late evening, he approached Aqua Lance. This required precision and density.
He held out his hand, compressing moisture in the air. It took several failed attempts—splashes and sprays—but finally, a narrow, high-pressure jet blasted forward with a hiss, piercing through a training dummy's chest.
"Good. It cuts clean."
Before ending the day, he grounded himself with Stone Grasp. He placed his hand on the ground, feeling the pulse of earth below.
A stony gauntlet erupted from the soil, grabbing onto a target dummy's leg. Over time, he practiced summoning it at different distances and angles, refining control to trap faster enemies.
Day Two: Physical Arts – Foundations of Movement and Defense
He began with Iron Body Flow, running his energy through his muscles. At first, it hurt—his body rejecting the density. But with each repetition, his muscles began to adapt.
He layered energy in flows: first his arms, then legs, then full-body coating. He tested it against falling stones and blunt weapons, feeling the resistance improve as he synchronized breath and energy control.