I slumped to the ground with a quiet exhale, my legs folding beneath me like damp parchment. My arms hung limp, my fingers twitching now and then as the last dregs of mana fizzled out inside me. My thoughts felt sluggish, my limbs heavier than they should've been. Not the good kind of tired—no, this was the kind that settled deep into the bones. Mind, body, spirit, mana—everything was wrung out.
Arden didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn't care.
He was pacing a few steps away, as if restlessness had taken root in his spine. Not out of anxiety, I don't think. He didn't look troubled—just... energized. There wasn't a single drop of sweat on him. His breathing was steady. His gaze sharp and distant. Like a creature that had forgotten how to be still.
"You've done great," he said at last, his steps slowing as he came to a stop nearby. "I guess Elisabeth wasn't useless, after all."
I tilted my head just enough to look at him, too drained to muster a proper glare. "What, did you think Elisabeth would be useless? That's sort of rude."
He shook his head, almost amused. "That's not what I meant."
"I know," I murmured, managing a faint smirk. "Just felt like annoying you."
A long breath passed between us, carried by the still, unreal air of this place. The sky above remained a perfect blue—unmoving, endless. There were no shadows. No sun. No moon. Just light that existed without a source, and a floor that shimmered like star-touched glass.
I couldn't tell whether it was morning or evening anymore. Or if days even mattered here.
"…Won't the others start to worry?" I asked, rubbing the stiffness out of my arms. "Feels like we've been in here for hours."
Arden knelt beside me, resting one elbow on his knee. "Time works differently here. Even if we spend days inside this space, only a few hours will pass outside. We were probably gone for an hour or two in the real world, if I'm right. Kind of overpowered," he added, like he was talking about a slightly above-average cooking spell, "but it burns through mana fast."
I blinked at him, nodding slowly. "Huh. That's… neat."
I didn't bother to ask how he still looked fine if it really drained that much mana. I already knew the answer. Someone like him probably had more than enough to waste and then some. A bottomless well.
Still, it made me wonder.
"Hey," I said after a pause, "what are your affinities, anyway?"
He didn't hesitate. "My magic affinities? Light, dark, wind, fire, lightning, and water. I have the highest affinity for dark magic, though."
I let out a small, tired sound—half a scoff, half a sigh. "Six affinities. Of course."
He gave the faintest shrug, still pacing a little. "That's just how it turned out."
"That's not an answer," I muttered.
"Sure it is," he said, not even glancing my way. "Some people are born with one. Some with two. Sometimes the world just breaks its own rules."
I blinked at that. "You're saying it's random?"
"I'm saying… it happens," he said. Calm, unreadable. "Rare, but not impossible."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. There was something too smooth in the way he said it. Like he was skipping past the important parts.
Still, I didn't press.
"But… doesn't that mean you have a lot of cores or something?"
"No. One core." He tapped the center of his chest. "Everyone has just one. Well—everyone except certain monsters."
I leaned back on my palms, frowning lightly. "Then how does that work? Wouldn't the core just… split apart?"
"Think of it more like a mixture," he said. "All the affinities are stirred together inside the same core. But one will always dominate. In my case, it's dark."
I looked down at my own hands, flexing my fingers.
A single core. But his could hold all that. And mine had only just managed to produce a single fragile shield.
All of a sudden, the space around us shook. No — rippled. As if the air itself had been punched.
I jolted upright, my breath catching in my throat as the walls of this strange dimension flickered. The glassy ground beneath me warped like water. Light bent wrong. Arden turned sharply, his movements sudden, precise — for once, lacking his usual lazy grace.
"The hell… that's not supposed to happen," he muttered, more to himself than to me.
His head turned slowly, scanning the surroundings like a wolf scenting blood in the wind. I couldn't see his expression, not with those dark glasses still hiding his eyes, but even I could tell. Whatever was breaking into this space wasn't just inconvenient.
It was dangerous.
Then I heard it.
A sound — jagged and broken, like a voice caught in the throat of the world. Each syllable seemed to stutter through space itself, as if it wasn't just a voice, but something deeper. Something old trying to force itself through cracks in the world's skin.
"F-F-F—found you~…"
A laugh followed. If it could even be called that. Soft, sweet, but twisted. Joyful in a way that made my stomach turn cold.
And then everything changed.
The ground beneath us melted from shimmering glass to grass. Real grass. Damp, green, full of dew and life and wrongness. The endless sky overhead dimmed and shifted, turning into pale blues streaked with drifting clouds. Forests curled at the edge of the horizon, and mountains loomed beyond, their peaks too sharp, too perfect — as if the idea of mountains had been painted into place by something that didn't quite understand what they were meant to be.
It looked like a world, but it didn't feel like one.
I turned to Arden, heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. "What the hell is going on?"
He didn't answer at first. Just pulled a small glass vial from his coat and held it out to me.
A potion. Pale green, fizzing gently. For fatigue.
"You'll need it," he said, his voice suddenly quieter, but heavier. "Because someone strong enough to dominate my spell is here."
I stared at the vial. Then at him.
"You said that last time, too," I muttered. "Right before drugging me."
His expression didn't change. But I saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Regret? Amusement? Hard to say.
"You can trust me this time," he said. "No dampening, no suppression. Just a boost. That's all."
I hesitated. The fizzing looked almost innocent. Still, I remembered the taste of the last one—the way it smothered everything I didn't want to feel.
"You said that before, too."
"I mean it now." His voice didn't waver. "If you don't believe me… then don't drink it. But you'll need your strength. I promise."
That last word hung in the air longer than it should have. A strange kind of weight in it. I didn't know if it was a real promise or just a well-delivered line. But my fingers closed around the vial anyway.
I downed it in one gulp. It tasted like mint and salt and regret.
I already knew. I didn't need to ask more. Anyone who could force this monster—sorry, Arden—into defensive mode was far beyond anything I was ready for.
He raised his hand, and with a gesture like flicking off dust, dark particles began to swirl around his fingers. They condensed, folding in on themselves like shadows made solid — until they sharpened into the shape of a familiar blade. That black sword. The one I'd first seen back when he'd cleaved through those bandits like they were nothing more than bothersome weeds.
"I'm not very good at focusing on both protection and fighting," he said without looking at me, "so don't expect to be fully protected."
I scoffed. "Can't you just use that barrier spell you used on me when we first met?"
I didn't say it because I wanted him to shield me again. I just figured maybe he'd forgotten. In case things went completely, horrifically south.
He paused. Turned to me slightly, head tilting as if remembering something obvious he'd neglected.
"…Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of you doing things on your own?" he replied dryly. "I'll figure something out if it gets too la—"
His words never finished.
Something struck him. Something long and dark and fast — too fast to see properly. It crashed into him from the side with the force of a falling mountain, and his body launched through the trees that had suddenly appeared, wood splintering like glass. He didn't even scream. Just vanished with a sickening series of crashes and the distant thunder of ruined trees.
I couldn't move.
I just stared at the spot where Arden had stood—where he'd been launched—as if my mind needed time to catch up. As if some part of me still believed he'd walk back through the trees, brushing off bark and making some smug comment about how that barely hurt.
But he didn't.
The silence that followed felt stretched, too tight, like a string ready to snap.
Then, slowly, I turned. And there it was.
It floated maybe twenty paces away. Tall. Humanoid—barely. Its shape was carved from dark stone, smooth and seamless, broken only by veins of faintly glowing gold that pulsed through its form. Not quickly. Not rhythmically. Just… deliberately. Like it wasn't a body at all, but a vessel, barely holding something deeper inside.
It had no face. Just an unmarked curve where a head should be. No eyes. No mouth. No features at all.
But it saw me.
Not with sight. With presence. With knowing.
And the moment it did, the world around it began to distort. The grass under its feet didn't rustle. It bent away.
The air wavered, slow and shivering, like heat rising from stone—except the chill that ran through me was sharp and bone-deep. Bark fragments and dust hung motionless in the space around it, as if the laws of motion had simply… stopped trying.
I couldn't breathe.
I didn't need it to speak to understand: whatever it was, whatever force had twisted itself into that shape—it was no illusion. This was real. Too real. And it wasn't supposed to be here. Not in this world. Not in mine.
This thing wasn't strong.
It was inevitable.
Serene. Still. And utterly wrong.
I realized, all at once, how badly Arden had underestimated it. Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd known what was coming and just hadn't bothered to warn me. Typical.
Because that hit—it had flung him like a rag caught in a storm. And if it had been me standing there?
There wouldn't have been anything left to fling.
Not bones. Not ash. Just...gone.
Of course. Of course it had to be me standing here. Why not? Why not throw something like this into my path, too? It wasn't like I'd gotten a break since all this madness started. Bandits and ogres attacking my village. Seeing sandworms for the first time. The whole thing with the cultists. A sudden war declared on the empire we were supposed to aid. And now this—
This... thing, wearing the shape of a god that had never needed a name.
My breath came shallow, uneven. The edges of my vision shimmered faintly, not with light, but with the pressure of existing in the same space as that thing. As if the world was holding its breath.
But it didn't move. Not yet.
Maybe it was waiting. Maybe it was curious. Or maybe the way I shook and stared was entertainment enough for something like it.
So I stood there. Or—I stayed upright, at least. If you could call this posture standing. My knees had locked, my legs trembling so hard I felt each pulse of blood like a quake. My arms didn't respond right. I was too exhausted. Too drained.
And yet, somehow, I was still alive.
For now.
I didn't know how much time passed. Maybe it was seconds. Maybe more. In this place, with that presence smothering the air, time felt... untethered. Like a thread left drifting in water.
Arden was gone. Or maybe just unconscious somewhere behind the trees, buried under the wreckage. I didn't even know if he could be unconscious. Wasn't he supposed to be invincible? Or close enough?
I felt something curl in my chest. Not bravery. Not fear, even. Just the quiet, bitter ache of inevitability.
Of course I'd end up here again. Alone, small, tired. Facing something vast and uncaring.
My first real shield spell—my first spell that hadn't fizzled or failed—was still lingering faintly on my palm. Its golden shimmer dulled now, thin as frost. Fragile.
But it had stayed.
That meant something, didn't it?
I still didn't know how to win. I didn't know what this thing even was, or if Arden would come back, or if I'd survive the next few seconds.
But for once, I didn't feel completely helpless.
I had a spell.
I had something.
And if I had to die here—well.
At least it wouldn't be without trying.