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The ruins of the Forgotten Watchtower stood as broken teeth jutting from the earth, a solemn reminder of ages long since passed. Lucian Vale stood at its base, cloak fluttering against the chilled dusk wind. The horizon blazed with the final embers of sunlight, casting the landscape in hues of violet and blood-orange.
It was here, in the no-man's-land beyond Arkaris, that Lucian had chosen to begin testing the most volatile force he had ever touched—Creation.
Not conjuration. Not illusion. True genesis, summoned from the recesses of thought, forged from will and bound by essence. The Arcane Framework had no natural space for such a force, which made it all the more dangerous—and alluring.
Lucian raised his hand. Raw energy trembled beneath his skin like restrained thunder. He focused, envisioning a structure—a simple column of stone. Functional. Harmless.
The energy flared.
Reality buckled.
With a muffled groan, a narrow stone pillar erupted from the earth before him. Crude. Jagged. But real.
It lasted four seconds before imploding in a sharp burst of gray dust.
He exhaled sharply.
It was progress.
Weeks ago, he couldn't summon a flicker of Creation without losing control. Now? He could form structure, brief as it was. But every success underscored how fragile his grasp truly remained.
Creation wasn't just energy. It was intent. Precision. Understanding. Each attempt taxed his mind like solving an unsolvable equation—dozens of variables shifting every second, and one misstep meant failure.
Lucian stepped forward and touched the lingering dust on the ground. It shimmered faintly, crackling with residual magic.
"Too unstable," he muttered. "Still too much chaos."
He paced the shattered clearing, circling the ruins. His mind drifted—not to the failures, but the implications. This was just a spark of the power he would one day wield. The ability to reshape the world. Forge tools of revolution. Rewrite the rules that bound mortals to mediocrity.
The Circle of the Silent Hand thought they had contained him, subdued him with contracts and curses. But their games had only delayed the inevitable. Lucian Vale was not theirs to manipulate.
He halted.
Another attempt.
This time, he envisioned something useful—a dagger. Elegant. Balanced. Steel-like in form but forged of pure will. A weapon sharp enough to cut through reinforced sigils.
The wind around him stilled. Mana pooled in the air, thick as oil. The very strands of the world seemed to hold their breath.
A shape flickered into existence. Metallic and ghostly, hovering above his outstretched palm.
Then it shattered.
Lucian staggered, clutching his head as a flash of mental strain clawed across his thoughts. It was like trying to balance fire on a thread.
"Too much," he hissed, steadying himself against a broken wall. "It's not just power. It's comprehension."
His abilities—Knowledge Comprehension and Skill Lending—had always allowed him to borrow, to learn, to imitate. But this… Creation was different. It demanded originality. There were no blueprints to steal. No spells to copy.
He had to become the source.
A sigh escaped his lips. Then a chuckle. The frustration didn't anger him—it fueled him. He could feel the path opening. Slow, treacherous, but undeniable.
Lucian lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs, closing his eyes. He needed to rethink his approach. Shape something smaller. Simpler.
He focused on a vial. A small glass container. Something he had used countless times. Something familiar. The mind anchored better to the known than to abstraction.
His breathing slowed.
Focus.
Purpose.
Form.
The air shimmered. A soft pulse of energy rippled from his chest, invisible to all but the most sensitive mages. The world bent, twisted—and something clicked.
When he opened his eyes, the vial floated before him.
Smooth. Transparent. Half-filled with simulated Null Essence.
He reached for it carefully, one finger brushing the glass. It was solid.
And it remained.
Lucian's chest rose slowly. This was no illusion. No trick of the mind. He had created it, and it endured.
He let out a soft laugh—quiet, but sharp with triumph.
"It's not about strength," he said aloud. "It's about clarity."
He examined the vial carefully. The liquid within was inert. It lacked the true magical suppression of real Null Essence. That meant he hadn't created the full function—just the form.
But that too was progress.
If he could master function as well as form… he could craft anything.
Weapons. Tools. Constructs. Realities.
Even life?
The thought struck him unexpectedly—and he dismissed it just as fast. Not yet. He could barely hold a dagger. To attempt life… that would be madness.
Still, the seed was planted.
He stood and pocketed the vial, locking it into a pouch inside his cloak. His gaze turned back toward the city's distant silhouette. Lights flickered across the skyline. Somewhere within those walls, the Circle of the Silent Hand plotted their next move.
Let them.
He would not move blindly. Not anymore.
He would strike when they least expected—prepared, patient, and with power they could never hope to match.
Creation was only beginning.
Suddenly, a tremor in the air pulled at his senses. Lucian turned sharply.
A pulse of magic—distant, but unmistakable.
A ritual had begun somewhere in Arkaris. Large-scale. Powerful. And unregistered. That could only mean one thing: the Circle was moving again.
Lucian narrowed his eyes. A test? A trap? Or a desperate grab for influence?
Did they know he was watching?
He didn't care.
He would answer them—soon.
But on his terms.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a thin strip of parchment, engraved with ancient runes. A contract. But not one meant to bind or control.
This was his own creation.
A contract of silence.
When placed upon the door of a target's residence, it would render the area immune to all sound-based surveillance and magical detection for ten minutes.
Temporary, yes—but invaluable for infiltration.
He had crafted it using a fusion of Knowledge Comprehension and experimental Creation. Its structure was unstable, and it could only be used once.
But it was real.
And it was his.
Lucian smiled, rolling the scroll tight and slipping it back into place.
"Soon," he whispered. "You'll see what true power looks like."
And with that, he stepped into the shadows—Arkaris waiting for him, unaware that its fate now rested in the hands of a man no longer bound by the laws of the world.
A man becoming something far more.
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End of Chapter 15