Kael and Gorvath had just reached Master Tier Two, their auras subtly shifting as a sign of their breakthrough.
Suddenly, from the left side of the cavern, Mordek appeared, carrying the unconscious Ronan on his back. Kael's smile vanished as worry overtook him. He rushed to them.
"What happened? Is Ronan okay?" he asked, eyes scanning Ronan's face.
Mordek gently laid Ronan on the stone floor. "He's fine," he assured, though his expression was serious.
Vexara stepped forward, brow furrowed. "What happened in there?"
"Nothing too dramatic," Mordek replied, brushing dust off his cloak. "We ran into a pair of hollowed spirits. Took care of them. But... Kael, was Ronan already injured before we got here?"
Kael nodded slowly. "Yes. He burned his hand trying to destroy the seal on those Doomscale Lizards. And there's more... He said he can't use Void Overdrive at full power. Every time he tries, it disrupts his mana flow. Leaves him weak for days."
Mordek placed a hand over Ronan's chest, feeling the uneven mana pulse. "That explains why his mana is fluctuating like this."
After settling, Ronan. Kael stepped forward, said, "We need to prepare for the next battle and leave this place."
With that, Kael pulled out an old, worn leather book that Ronan's clone gave him a few hours ago. "This book has some information about what lies ahead."
Before he could say more, Gorvath darted forward with surprising speed, snatched the book, and smirked. "No need for you to lead everything."
As Gorvath flipped through the pages, Kael turned and drew out a sword brought back by another of Ronan's clones. It was unsheathed—its hilt grey, likely forged from a heat-resistant material. The guard glowed crimson, shaped like flame, and the blade gleamed like polished steel. A thin mist of steam floated around it, hinting at the power within.
"According to the records," said Kael, "This sword is an ancient artefact called Enmu, or Flame Mist. They tried to bond with it before, but even after giving it blood, it didn't respond."
Vexara blinked. "Isn't that how artefacts recognise their master? With blood?"
"Normally, yes," Kael replied. "But this one might be different."
Mordek stepped in. "Some rare artefacts won't bond just from blood. They must recognise the wielder's Inner World. Their soul. Let's wait for Ronan to wake up; then he can try to bond with it." Ronan coughed, weakly making a hand sign, and one clone materialised. Which looks very tired. Ronan again closed his eyes.
Ronan's clone looked at Kael with quiet intensity. "Try it. Drop your blood on the blade."
Kael stepped back, shaking his head. "No way. You found it. You should be the one to try."
The clone looked at Ronan. "He's in no shape to use it, and this sword's element mist matches yours. Don't waste the opportunity."
Kael hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. I'll try."
He pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the blade. It was instantly absorbed.
Nothing happened.
Gorvath snorted. "Figures."
Then, the blade began to glow. The sword lifted on its own, pointing downward. Kael's feet rose from the ground as he was pulled toward it by an unseen force.
The sword and its sheath dissolved into steam, wrapping around Kael before disappearing into his body. His eyes flashed red for a moment before his feet touched the ground again.
Everyone stared in silence.
Ronan's clone took a cautious step forward. "Kael... you feel different."
Kael clenched his fists, feeling the new power pulsing within him. "I can tell... I am near to advancing to Master Tier Three from Tier Two."
Ronan's clone gave a low whistle. "Just like that. Artefacts... They really are something else. Okay, I am out." With a thick cloud of smoke, the clone is gone.
At the same time, in the grand hall of the Flamecrest family estate, tension hung thick in the air. Elenor stood in the centre, flanked by her father and mother, her arms wrapped tightly around a sword—Ronan's gift. She was tightly holding the sheathed blade to her chest, and her eyes darted nervously between the seated elders and the imposing figure on the family throne.
The family head sat tall and stern, his presence commanding silence. A few elders occupied the chairs lining the sides of the hall, their expressions unreadable—some cold, others contemplative.
One of the elders, a sharp-eyed man with a grating voice, broke the silence. "Elenor, have you forgotten the family rules?"
She clutched the sword tightly, her breath shallow.
The elder leaned forward, his tone colder. "Anything a family member obtains must be submitted to the treasury for evaluation. If deemed suitable, it will be returned. If not, you will receive compensation based on its worth. That is the rule."
Elenor's voice trembled. "But... this is a gift. That rule doesn't apply to gifts."
Another elder scoffed, his voice laced with disdain. "A gift? Again with this story. From Ronan? An orphan boy? How could he possibly possess something as rare as amberstone? Clearly, he has hidden motives."
A hush fell over the hall. Elenor's grip on the sword faltered slightly.
The family head raised a hand, silencing further murmurs. His voice was calm but carried weight. "Enough. We will discuss Ronan's intentions later. First, we must resolve the issue of the sword. Elenor, your explanation is inconsistent. If you do not surrender the sword, we will have no choice but to interrogate Ronan."
Another elder, softer-spoken, interjected, his brows furrowed. "Sir, please consider. If this is truly a gift, then seizing it would be unjust. We would be punishing a young one without cause."
The family head nodded slowly. "Then let us decide this by vote. All in favour of submitting the sword to the treasury, raise your hands."
Hands rose—some instantly, others after a moment of hesitation. Only two elders refrained, their eyes filled with quiet regret.
Elenor fell to her knees. Tears streamed silently down her face as she looked around the hall. What she saw broke her—smirks of satisfaction on some faces, pity on others, and only two expressions that mirrored her sorrow. Darkness welled inside her.
Her mother knelt beside her, wrapping trembling arms around her daughter. Elenor clung to the sword as if it were her last anchor.
The family head's voice was final. "Then it is decided. The sword will go to the treasury."
"No... Please... It was a gift," Elenor repeated, almost whispering. Her eyes were glazed, lifeless.
An elder suggested, "If that's the case, we will extract the sword spirit and return the empty vessel to her."
The hall was quiet.
Slowly, Elenor placed the sword on the red carpet, bowing low before the throne. Without a word, she turned and began walking away. Her parents bowed in unison and followed her silently, their backs heavy with grief.
Far away, at the entrance to the Voidedge mine, the wind whistled across the rocky path. Sylphie, Darius, and Garrick stood near the gate, their eyes occasionally glancing at the entrance of the mine.
Mr. Alaric and Mr. Valmire arrived shortly after, their cloaks fluttering behind them. Mr. Alaric stepped forward, his gaze sharp. "Good evening. What are you three doing here?"
The trio turned and bowed respectfully. "Good evening, sir," Sylphie said. "We're here for the material collection mission. Ronan and Kael were with us, but... they got trapped in the teleportation circle. They told us to wait. If they don't return by tomorrow evening, we plan to follow."
Mr. Alaric's eyes narrowed. "Trapped? Did you see anyone else go into the mine?"
"No, sir," Sylphie replied. "No one else entered after us."
Mr. Valmire exchanged a glance with Mr. Alaric. The older man folded his arms. "Then we'll wait here with you. If they're still missing by tomorrow, we'll join your search."
Relief flashed in Sylphie's eyes. "Thank you, sir."
The group settled near the entrance as the sun dipped below the horizon, the faint hum of the teleportation circle their only company. In the stillness, a sense of unease lingered, like the calm before a storm.