Ares had spent the whole morning wandering aimlessly through the lower corridors. He wasn't thinking about where he was going, only that he couldn't sit still any longer. His thoughts kept circling back to Rodan — the sharp words, the cold silence, and that strange flash of power that had shaken something deep inside him. His chest still felt tight from it.
He turned into the pantry just to get away from his thoughts. The air there was warm and smelled faintly of herbs and iron pots. Beth stood at the counter, sorting jars, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
"You're up early," she said without looking at him.
"I couldn't sleep," Ares muttered, reaching for a piece of bread. "How would you feel if someone could look through your thoughts like reading a book?"
Beth gave him a puzzled glance. "That's not comforting, Ares."
He smiled weakly. "I didn't mean it to be."
She laughed softly, then went back to her work. The sound of jars clinking filled the silence. For a moment, that ordinary noise steadied him — the hum of small life, something to hold onto. But the calm didn't last.
From the corner of the room, a faint shimmer of light appeared — a flickering outline that slowly formed into Astro, his familiar. The small creature blinked at him, tail twitching with concern.
"You look terrible," Astro said, hovering near his shoulder. "Did you even sleep last night or just sulk?"
Ares tore a bite of bread, pretending to ignore him. "You saw what happened."
"I did," Astro said quietly. "I don't condone it in any way. It was a horrendous thing to do. But the old man gets over-enthusiastic sometimes — his urge to learn, to dissect, can be overwhelming."
Ares gave him a look.
"I know it doesn't excuse him," Astro went on, softer. "Believe me, that soul-conduit thing you did was really tempting to him. He lost himself for a moment. For that, he'll pay — in his own way. He'll teach you what he guards most closely."
Ares was intrigued but cautious. "He will?"
"Yes. He broke a vow," Astro said. "He took from someone who didn't deserve it. If you had meant harm, it would be different. But you didn't. That troubles him. He's broken one of his own tenets."
"Tenants?" Ares asked, brow furrowing.
"Tenets," Astro corrected gently. "Don't worry about the word. He'll teach you something useful — something that will stop anyone from peering into your thoughts. Don't waste it." Astro looked at him, expectant.
Ares glanced at Beth, who was busy with a tray. He remembered the helplessness, the shame, the urge to not feel transparent anymore. He set his jaw.
"That's what I thought," Astro grinned. "Now go see him."
Ares braced himself, but before he could move, a voice slipped into his mind — not shouted, but clear and direct.
"Enough talking. We begin now," Rodan's voice spilled into Ares's head.
The pantry blurred. Light dimmed. The jars, the counter, Beth's quick movements — everything faded like a held breath released.
He didn't move. One heartbeat later, the world had folded away.
He found himself standing on black sand. The instant he opened his eyes, long sheets of translucent silk hung in the air and trailed away into a corridor that seemed to stretch forever. On those silk curtains, scenes hovered — fragments of places and faces, moving slowly as if someone dragged fingertips across memory.
Rodan stood a short distance off, his silhouette steady against the pale plain. He did not look like a man ready to apologize. He looked like a man who wanted to teach.
"This is Vraelm," Rodan said, and the words touched Ares's mind like a hand on glass. "The realm of the soul. There is no magic here; nothing leaves here. It is a place where only a soul can enter. There is no time here. So even if you spend an eternity here, only a blink of an eye will have passed in the real world."
Ares swallowed. "No time here?"
Rodan nodded. "Outside, it is a blink. Inside, you may feel a life. That is the rule. There is only one more thing to know — and you shouldn't forget it. You must enter and leave through the same place. If you forget the doorway, you will simply walk the corridors until madness takes you. You cannot die here, but it will stretch your mind thin if you forget how to get out. This place is pretty much useless for a magician, but with the soul-conduit method it can be invaluable training ground."
Ares's throat tightened. He looked toward the silk corridor. The faces on the sheets shifted — some showed him, smaller, younger, raw and ashamed. Others showed places he'd only glimpsed once. The sheets seemed to whisper, tugging at memory.
Rodan stepped forward and moved his fingers through the air. He did not cast a spell; he did not reach for motes. Instead, small white lights came away from him like dust or pollen. They drifted, gathering into thin, graceful streams around his hand. They were not the motes Ares knew; these felt like pieces of presence, the smallest edges of a soul allowed to float free.
"This," Rodan said, "I am trying to replicate mana using my soul. I show you how you can gather them using the soul-conduit method so you can learn how to defend yourself against mind or soul attack. It is much better to show you."
Rodan made a greatly polished soul conduit using his will for the black string weave. It was a smooth, even pipe in the shape of the black string weave, but instead of one entry and exit, it had multiple entries and no exit. The white motes that Rodan had created went through the different openings and formed a complete weave inside the conduit.
"Study this until you can create it in the blink of an eye," Rodan said. "Don't move from here if you don't want to be stuck here for all eternity. I will check on you from time to time. But don't even think of getting out of here if you can't even make this soul-conduit template." Rodan disappeared as he said the words. The conduit was still floating in midair.
Ares stared at the conduit intently.