2024-08-12 22:47:52
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Chapter 351
The first knock was not loud. It did not need to be. Caster felt it through the floor before the sound reached his ears. A measured pressure against the warded stone door. Two beats. A pause. One more. He did not turn.The Skell Dust in the containment rings pulsed in slow rhythm. The Baptism vial hovered above the workbench, locked in three nested sigils. Thin threads of light stretched from it to the stabilizer rods planted in the floor. Another knock. Caster adjusted a dial. The pulse steadied. “Enter,” he said.The door slid open with a grind of stone. Solon stepped inside. He did not comment on the scorch marks. He did not ask about the collapsed shelf or the faint black stains that had not fully faded from the floor. He closed the door behind him and stood still until the silence settled.His eyes went to the vial. Then to Caster’s arm. The faint discoloration along the veins had not fully receded.Solon removed his gloves one finger at a time and placed them on a clean slab.
Chapter 350
The air in the underground lab was thick with residual mana. Lanterns flickered, suspended from iron beams, their light uneven and wavering. Dust motes moved slowly through the shafts of illumination, but the shadows felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were absorbing sound.Caster crouched over the workbench, hands steady despite the tension threading through his veins. Several vials of Skell Dust sat in front of him, each labeled with careful precision. He had refined the measurements, controlled the doses. Each particle was deadly, but necessary.He inhaled sharply, traced the first line of a containment sigil over the largest vial, and whispered the calibration sequence. The dust pulsed inside the glass. Fine motes lifted, swirled, and shimmered like microstars, responding to his aura.Caster tipped the vial slightly, allowing a tiny fraction of the dust to fall onto the palm of his hand. The particles hovered, suspended by his Skell-tuned aura. A faint shimmer traced the
Chapter 349
Caster crouched over the low workbench in the sealed laboratory beneath the Lime archives. Lanterns hung from exposed iron beams, their light steady but faint, illuminating rows of glass vials, metal instruments, and carefully stacked notebooks. Each surface bore residue from past experiments, burn marks, faint mana traces, and the occasional smudge of a previous failure.He traced a finger along the edge of a polished vial. Inside, a thin liquid shimmered faintly, almost as if aware of his presence. The Skell essence pulsed in tandem with his heartbeat, restrained beneath multiple containment sigils he had carefully reinforced over hours.He set the vial down and scribbled notes on a thin slate. Symbols layered over older equations. Each line measured, precise, deliberate. He was refining his earlier theory, pushing beyond the flawed applications that had nearly destroyed him.Mana Baptism. The words burned themselves into the edges of his mind. A potion, a ritual, a process capa
Chapter 348
The door sealed without sound. Stone slid into stone. Dust fell in a thin line across the floor. The last lantern above the stairwell dimmed and went dark.Caster stood still until the echo died. The underground library lay beneath the old academy, forgotten by decree and neglect. Rows of shelves cut through the chamber like ribs. Most were empty. Some held warped books wrapped in chain wire. Sigils burned low along the floor, not for light, but for silence.A figure waited at the long table near the center. Solon did not rise. He sat with his hands flat on the wood, fingers spread, as if feeling for tremors. His hair had thinned. Gray traced the edges. His robe hung looser than it once had. The academy ring still circled his finger, dulled from years without polish.Behind him stood Sikoa. Her mask was gone. Her hair was tied back. She wore a trader’s coat, patched and reinforced. One hand rested near her belt. The other hovered near Solon’s shoulder without touching him.Caster st
Chapter 347
The vault door sealed behind Caster with a sound like stone grinding on bone.The noise faded, swallowed by the dark. For three breaths, nothing moved.Then the mana lamps along the walls flickered awake one by one, casting pale light across rows of metal shelves and sealed stone cabinets. Dust hung in the air, unmoving, as if the space itself resisted disturbance.Caster stood still. The vault felt smaller than he remembered. The ceiling pressed lower. The air carried a dry, metallic taste. Old wards lay embedded in the walls, stripped of polish, some cracked, some crudely reinforced with newer sigils that did not belong.He took one step forward. The floor sigil beneath his boot flared weakly, then dimmed. “Still recognizes me,” he murmured.He moved deeper. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, each marked with faded identifiers. Many had been disturbed. Some seals were broken. Others had been burned shut, edges blackened.Caster stopped at the first shelf. A stack of no
Chapter 346
The Lime Division intake hall smelled of dust, ink, and old stone. Caster stood at the end of a short line, shoulders squared, hands folded behind his back. His coat was clean but plain. His hair was tied back. His face carried the careful adjustments of his illusion sigil, older lines at the eyes, a narrower jaw, and a faint scar along the left cheek.Dr. Alven Cray. The name rested lightly on his tongue. A brass placard hung above the counter: LOWER ACADEMIC REINSTATEMENT, SPECTRAL LIME DIVISION (PROVISIONAL)The word provisional had been etched deeper than the rest. A clerk behind the counter flipped through paper forms with slow, deliberate movements. She did not look up. “Next,” she said.Caster stepped forward. She slid a form across the counter without meeting his eyes. “Name.”“Dr. Alven Cray,” he said.She paused, then finally looked at him. Her gaze lingered a fraction too long. “Division?” she asked.“Applied Skell Containment,” Caster replied.Her brow twitched. “That di
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