The silence in Vraelm was still deep — too deep. Even after a thousand years, it pressed against Ares's skin like weight.
He stood before the black-string conduit, the same twisting pattern Rodan had left him to master. Each channel shimmered faintly in the dark, alive but unmoving. No matter how hard he tried, Ares couldn't bring it down to under thirty seconds. The formation was simple, but it was a test of soul strength — and his wasn't enough.
Here, in this dead place, he could only move his will. His soul could neither grow stronger nor weaker. There was no mana, no life, no warmth— only the painful lessons of failure after failure. Staying here any longer was pointless. Yet, unwilling to give up, Ares kept trying.
A hundred more years passed like a blink. He knew it was a dead end, but he couldn't stop. He helplessly stared at the two identical black-string conduits now floating in silence. It was strange progress, not in mastery but in obsession. Finally, exhausted, Ares dissolved the one he had created. The conduit melted into mist and sank into him.
He turned toward the exit and stepped through.
Time resumed instantly.
The faint simmering of the pot reached his ears — the same pot that had been cooking when he entered. The same aroma of herbs and steam drifted through the air. His heart beat again. His hands felt warm. The wooden counter felt real beneath his fingertips.
He looked down at his soup — still half finished, still golden.
He felt young again. Yet deep inside, he had lived through a thousand years. It was a strange dissonance, like waking from a dream that had lasted a millennium.
"Beth," he called softly.
She looked up from the far counter, eyebrows raised. Ares said nothing — only smiled. Beth smiled back, weary but kind, and returned to her work.
He lifted the bowl and took a sip. The taste was richer now, sharper — like everything around him had more meaning.
After finishing, he set the bowl aside and raised his hand. A single thought — and motes of green light began to drift in the air.
A soul conduit, woven from soul-strings, appeared in front of him, the pattern taking thirty seconds exactly. One hundred fifty motes of light arranged themselves into place. For a brief moment, the pattern held, delicate and perfect. Then he tried to connect them all in a single stroke.
It failed.
The motes strained, flickering with static, and his conduit shuddered. He felt the pressure on his soul and dissolved it before it tore apart.
He sighed and let the motes scatter.
"Even after so much time," he murmured, "I still can't do it."
He felt sad — a simple, quiet sadness that came from deep within. He finished eating in silence, then made small talk with Beth, asking her to make the silver soup again — the shining brew he believed could help him grow faster. She laughed softly and chastised him with feigned anger, but she agreed to feed him the soup before he left for his first year.
Later, he walked over to his room. It was exactly as he remembered — not a single thing had changed. His bed, an empty cupboard and silent stones. It felt like he had just left yesterday.
He lay down and closed his eyes. For the first time in what felt like centuries, he slept.
Morning came gently.
Ares rushed out and found Rodan sitting where he always had — on the porch of a makeshift wooden shack, fishing rod in hand. A small pond shimmered below, the same scene as the first day he'd met him with Emma.
But this time, Ares activated his true sight.
And saw it.
A faint green string hovered around Rodan's fishing line. At its end, translucent squirrels floated, fighting to get a bite of the string. "So he really was fishing something," Ares thought.
Rodan looked up and gave a slow nod.
"So," he said. "How long did it take you?"
Ares hesitated. He almost said a thousand years, but the words felt meaningless here. "I… don't know," he said instead. "But I was able to finish it."
Rodan's expression didn't change. "Show me."
Ares raised his hand and formed the conduit. It appeared in exactly thirty seconds — stable, clean, but slow. He explained that no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't improve.
Rodan exhaled through his nose, half a sigh, half a scoff. "Your soul is weak," he said. "Too small. Too weak. You can't refine something your soul can't support. You need to strengthen it first."
Ares frowned. "How?"
Rodan looked away. "That's not something I can guide you through. But I can give you a way to return — to enter and exit the realm freely."
He tapped his cane on the porch once. The world rippled. The next moment, Ares was standing again on the black sands of Vraelm.
Rodan was there too, his form glowing faintly violet.
"Watch carefully," he said.
A thousand conduits appeared around them — floating in perfect symmetry. Each one glowed a different hue, humming softly, lighting the endless dark. It was overwhelming — a library of soul patterns, each representing a spell, a memory, a fragment of understanding.
"This," Rodan said, "is my life's work."
He turned to Ares, his voice sharp. "Before you exit, master the first weave. If you leave before that, you'll lose your right to return. Remember that."
Ares stared at the endless conduits. "You're giving me all of this?"
Rodan's jaw tightened. "A debt must be paid."
He raised his hand — and suddenly, another figure appeared beside him.
Astro.
The half-human, half-hedgehog. His body shimmered faintly, as if barely contained within the shape of a man. His eyes burned with quiet authority.
Astro looked at Rodan with disappointment. "Don't be petty — tell him what each one does."
Rodan flinched, looking away. "He doesn't need to know that."
Astro's gaze hardened. "Don't be a sore loser."
Rodan said nothing. His silence was answer enough.
Astro sighed and lifted his hand. Seven complex new conduit strings appeared above the thousand, each brighter and purer than the rest. "Then at least finish what you started. Explain these to him."
Rodan clenched his fist. "No. My debt is paid. He'll figure it out himself."
With that, he flicked his hand, and all the conduits shifted — aligning into a great formation. Ares could see the structure now: fifty distinct categories of spells — some tied to stone, others to fire, water, portals, and one that pulsed faintly in resonance with him — the spell that allowed entry and exit from Vraelm itself.
Rodan's voice trembled with anger. "This is enough. My debt is cleared. I will not explain them further. My life's work… damn it all!"
And with that, Rodan vanished.
The vast black plain fell silent again, save for the low hum of the conduits.
Astro remained behind. He watched where Rodan had disappeared and sighed. "Don't mind him," he said softly. "He gave up more than you can imagine. This is everything he ever learned — and the price of the mistake he made."
Ares frowned. "Why give it to me?"
Astro turned to him, his expression unreadable. "Because he had to. We, the beings of energy, are bound by law — by karma. Each of us has a single, unique feature that defines our existence. When we make a pact, the balance must be kept. Rodan broke his — he used what I gave him on you; he was not allowed to. To keep his knowledge, he had to give something equal in return."
"So he gave me his life's work," Ares said quietly.
"Yes and No, most of here is garbage at best. You don't need to worry about that. but these" Astro pointed at the seven floating conduits. "These are a gold mine. He would have never given this up if he didn't violate his pact with me."
"So it was due to his pact with you?"
Arstro nodded slightly.
"Are you strong? Why did he form a bond with you?"
Astro paused, then smiled faintly. "Beings like us can provide great benefits to the magicians but there can be one bond in a lifetime. Once made, it cannot be broken and it must be honored. Choose carefully whom you tie your soul to. As the one you bond to can help you see the word through its unique perspective. You are too weak now. I would recommend waiting until you are as strong as Rodan; that would be much more helpful to you."
Ares looked up at the glowing conduits around him — an ocean of spells and memories — and felt the faint pulse of the green strings resonating with his own.
Astro stepped closer. "Before you leave, learn the spell of entry. If you go without it, you'll lose this place forever. And that," he said, "would be the most foolish thing in the world."
Ares nodded slowly. "I understand."
"Good," Astro said, and smiled — the kind of smile that held both pity and pride. "Now go on. Your real work begins."
The conduits shimmered once, as if breathing.
Ares sighed and got to work.