Rhok had never felt this fragile. Every breath felt borrowed, like he was carrying lungs that did not belong to him. The brand carved into his flesh drank at his essence without pause, bleeding him dry every second. His limbs trembled when he tried to rise, his body failing to obey the stubbornness of his will.Yet weakness had never stopped him before. If anything, it sharpened his instincts, like a wounded animal forced to remain twice as alert. And so, when the summons came, he accepted without hesitation.Veyra herself appeared at his door, cloaked in deep violet armor with a spear strapped to her back. Her eyes lingered on him for too long, studying his demeanor, his shaking hands, and the strange gleam in his pupils. She did not ask if he was strong enough to walk. She simply said,“Queen Arlaeth requests you. Now.”He gave a half smile, though his lips cracked with the effort. “Does she always call her guests when they’re half dead?”“Only the important ones I would assume,” Ve

Rhok didn’t know what to say.The Queen’s words clung to his mind like a whisper that shouldn’t exist. He hadn’t expected her to speak. For all he knew, he had dozed off for a breath, a small slip into unconsciousness that his body forced on him after too many sleepless nights. Yet when his eyes opened again, he found the Queen trembling, sweat shining against her pale skin, her gaze fixed directly on him as though she had just witnessed something that should never be seen.The silence was heavy.Veyra stood nearby, mouth slightly open, her expression torn between disbelief and confusion. Of all the years she had served the Queen, all the countless hours standing in silence at her side, she had never once heard her utter a single word. And yet now, the impossible had happened. The Queen had spoken and not in riddles, not in cryptic gestures or with eyes that commanded obedience, but with a clear, sharp voice.The moment cracked reality.Rhok shifted, the weight of her gaze crawling ac

The air was heavy, thick with that metallic stench of burning flesh and the sour taste of dying mana. Rhok’s body trembled under the weight of the brand carved into him. It wasn’t just a mark, it was alive, pulsing like an open wound that drank in everything around it. His skin glowed faintly with faint embers spreading from the symbol, as if the brand itself was a mouth devouring his strength piece by piece.Veyra’s hands shook as she pressed them against his chest. She had already lost count of how much mana she had poured into him. Each time she thought she’d stabilized his breathing, the brand stirred, hungry, cruel, pulling harder, dragging both of them closer to collapse.“Stop being so damn calm,” she snapped at him. Sweat dripped down her brow, her silver hair plastered to her face. “You don’t even realize how bad this is. That thing inside you, it’s not just killing you, Rhok, it’s...”“Devouring me?” he interrupted, his voice quiet, hoarse. His lips curved in a sad half smil

The stone doors groaned as they shifted open, the weight of centuries resisting before finally yielding to Veyra’s touch. Dust and stale air seeped out like a sigh from something long dead. Rhok leaned against her, his body heavy and weak, his skin clammy with sweat. He had no strength left. The brand burned him still, like molten iron pressed into his chest, a cruel reminder of how far he had fallen.Yet even in his pitiful state, as soon as the doors parted, something called to him.The catacombs were silent, too silent. No whispers of rats, no echoes of dripping water, no movement of the air. Just silence... thick and suffocating. Veyra adjusted his weight and carried him deeper, her expression sharp and unreadable, though her hands trembled slightly as if she too felt the wrongness of the place.The corridor stretched downward, carved from blackened stone. Ancient runes scarred the walls, glowing faintly as if they still remembered the one who had carved them. Every step was a des

Rhok’s hands shook. Not with weakness, not even from pain, but from the impossible energy rolling through his body. His veins were no longer channels for mana. They burned with something else, something heavier, brighter, older. It didn’t flow like a river as mana once had. It thundered like molten stone breaking through earth. Divine energy. His veins were fire and yet his chest carried the weight of cold steel, as if the power demanded to own him more than he owned it.He staggered back against the sanctuary wall, his breath coming shallow. The ground beneath his boots hummed, faint cracks spreading like spiderwebs where his heels pressed into the stone. He could see things... flashes of something that shouldn’t belong to mortal eyes. The sky above the sanctuary dome was gone, instead, he glimpsed a lattice of light stretching endlessly. Chains of stars, binding together nothingness and everything.His eyes burned, and when he shut them, he still saw. In the blackness behind his lid