Latto opened his eyes to darkness.
The orb was gone. The white lotus flowers that once filled the chamber with an otherworldly glow were now nothing more than withered husks, curling in on themselves like burnt parchment. The platform beneath him still hummed with faint, residual energy, the ritual completed but not without consequence.
Miria lay crumpled near the edge of the platform, her breathing ragged. Kreto stood between her and Latto, blade drawn and pointed forward, though the point trembled ever so slightly.
And then it happened.
The silence cracked, not with sound, but with force.
A pulse of something—something ancient and vast—exploded outward from Latto's body in an invisible wave. It wasn't mana. It wasn't even spiritual pressure in the traditional sense. It was anima—pure, unfiltered soul force. A soul wave.
Miria's head snapped up. "What is this!?" she gasped, eyes wide in horror as she instinctively activated the magic circle in her heart. A glowing sigil spread across her chest as elemental particles gathered around her. Wind and light formed a protective barrier. Her main circle—a mage's circle—flared with defensive runes.
Kreto grit his teeth, veins bulging as he roared and activated the body circle etched into his limbs and spine. Red light traced across his skin as strength surged through him, bones reinforcing, muscles hardening. He stepped forward to shield Miria fully.
"Focus!" he shouted. "This isn't normal mana pressure—we need full synchronization!"
"I know!" Miria screamed, doubling down and trying to anchor her auxiliary soul circle. It wasn't as developed as her heart circle, but she had trained it enough to act as a last line of defense.
But the pressure just kept building.
Their shields held.
For four seconds.
Then cracks began to spider across Miria's magic dome. Kreto's body glowed with heat as his blood vessels began to rupture internally. The weight pressing down on them wasn't just physical—it was like their very existence was being ground against the stone.
Latto—no, the being within him—watched with detached curiosity.
> How fascinating.
His eyes flicked from one to the other, observing the faint outlines of their soul signatures. The three-circle system had evolved. Where once a mage would devote their life to developing one central mana circle, now these two each had multiple—though one was clearly dominant.
Miria's anima was focused on her heart, forming an intricate web of elemental flows. A pure mage. Her soul circle and body circle were weaker, used as support systems for control and stamina.
Kreto, in contrast, had deeply fortified his body circle, his soul and heart circles acting as conduits for resilience and reinforcement. A true knight.
Yet even with this evolution of technique...
> They break too easily.
Another wave burst forth. Sharper. Deeper.
Miria's shield shattered like glass. She coughed blood and collapsed again, her eyes rolling back, her body twitching violently as her soul buckled under the pressure.
Kreto bellowed, mana roaring around him as he tried to counter with a forward leap. "DIE—!"
But he never finished the attack. His sword turned to ash mid-swing. His knees hit the ground, eyes bloodshot, mouth agape. The body circle fought valiantly to keep him alive, but the soul… the soul had already begun to fracture.
The presence within Latto stood slowly.
A hushed awe took hold of the chamber. As if time itself held its breath.
He took one step forward. Kreto's body trembled violently before collapsing face-first to the ground. Miria had already gone still.
> So this is the world now... the thought came, not with bitterness, but regret. New circles. New techniques. But still so fragile.
He looked down at his own hands. They shimmered with faint traces of the old runes—runes etched into the soul itself. The Soul Mana Circle. The legacy of a forgotten era. Of a family erased by fear.
> No... not erased.
He turned his gaze back to the two corpses, as if in silent apology.
> Feared.
Latto—no, the soul mage who now possessed him—lifted his face to the ceiling. Faint cracks of light shimmered above from where the mountain's roof had thinned over time. Cool wind whispered through them.
"How long... how long was I asleep?" he murmured.
He stumbled a step, still adjusting to the borrowed flesh. Muscles shifted. Bones stretched. The soul flame within Latto's core began to shift.
The transformation began.
His black hair lengthened slightly, darkening further until it seemed to swallow the light. His eyes turned a glowing white—not radiant, but cold, like the final breath before death. His posture straightened, refined, bearing the calm confidence of one who had touched the laws of existence.
The old soul exhaled.
"I dreamed," he whispered hoarsely. "Dreamed for so long I thought I'd become a dream myself."
He placed a hand over his heart. Felt it beat. Felt his soul burn faintly again. Not fully awakened, not yet—but enough to kill. Enough to remember.
"I can still feel them… the voices… the fire… the betrayal…"
His eyes glowed brighter.
The cave was silent now, nothing but the sound of faint wind rustling through the cracks and the quiet hum of a new age.
He began to walk, the corpses of Miria and Kreto already fading behind him. The sealed door to the cave cracked open before him without touch, responding to the ancient key of his presence.
He stepped into the sunlight.
The sky stretched endlessly above—blue, open, unfamiliar. In the distance, floating towers rose from the earth like monuments to a changed world. Airships coasted between them. Creatures he did not recognize flew above the forests. And below it all, a thriving continent teemed with energy, magic, and motion.
His breath hitched.
"So much has changed..."
He stood still for a moment, taking it all in. The beauty. The unknown. The promise of challenge.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly. A smile ghosted his lips.
"Let my soul burn."
His white eyes shimmered. And he walked forward.