The slightly deeper levels of the dungeon hummed with a primal energy, a vibrant contrast to the muffled chorus of dripping water and the distant, hungry cries of unseen beasts that filled the oppressive air. Lux and Agnellus walked beneath trees so vast their gnarled trunks pierced the cavern ceiling like titanic, ancient pillars—silent, brooding guardians of an ancient, petrified jungle that seemed to have forgotten the very concept of time. Bioluminescent fungi pulsed softly, casting an ethereal, green glow on their path, illuminating swirling motes of dust in the heavy air.
For a long while, they said nothing, letting the pervasive hum of raw mana in the air speak instead, a resonant thrum that vibrated in Lux's bones, a constant reminder of the world's hidden power.
Then Lux, her patience wearing thin in the suffocating quiet, broke the silence, her voice flat, cutting through the humid stillness.
"What exactly do you want?" she asked, a challenge in her tone. Her gaze narrowed. "You're clearly not here for rainforest fruit, and you're certainly not acting like a lost adventurer hoping for rescue."
A sly, almost predatory smile played on her lips, but her eyes remained hard, sharp, vigilantly watching the pale-haired man ahead, assessing his every subtle movement, trying to find the tell, the crack in his unsettling composure.
Agnellus chuckled, a dry, almost rusty sound, without bothering to turn around. He moved with an unnerving, weightless grace, his footsteps eerily silent on the damp ground.
"Ah, don't you just love a little mystery, Dragonling?" he mused, his voice laced with an archaic charm that grated on Lux's nerves. "But before I satisfy your impatient curiosity… tell me something. How many people, truly, do you think can effectively use mana in this world?"
Lux tilted her head, a thoughtful hum escaping her lips as she considered. The answer seemed obvious, taught in every elementary lesson about magic.
"Isn't it... everyone? In varying degrees, of course. Some can barely light a candle, others can tear down walls."
That earned a real laugh from him—light, sharp, and tinged with a deep, unsettling irony. It echoed eerily off the massive tree trunks, a sound ill-suited to the solemnity of the dungeon.
"If that were truly the case, my dear, the world would already be in spectacular flames, wouldn't it?" He paused, a strange, wistful note entering his voice, almost as if he envisioned the chaos with a morbid appreciation. "Not a bad sight, really—everyone with the raw power to defend themselves, no kings or nobles to blame for the suffering, no Church to dictate morality. Just nature unfiltered, a brutal, beautiful chaos. And when everything burns, when the ashes settle, you'd find it significantly harder to point fingers. After all, you'd be holding the torch yourself, wouldn't you?"
He turned slightly, his pitch-black eyes meeting hers, holding her gaze, the corners of his mouth curled in an expression of detached amusement, almost a dare for her to deny it.
Lux scoffed, a dismissive sound, bristling at his implication.
"And the profound point of that was…?"
They stopped near a broad, moss-covered rock formation, an ancient outcrop worn smooth by eons of dripping water. Agnellus crouched beside a freshly downed beast—a simian creature with two pairs of sinewy, powerful arms and wickedly sickle-like claws, its fur matted with dark blood. Calmly, with an unsettling detachment, he drew a small, obsidian-bladed knife from within his bronze-hued coat and, with precise cuts, drained its still-warm blood into a dark, ornate vial. The metallic scent hung heavy in the air.
"Let me tell you a story," he said without looking up, his voice taking on a narrative quality, smooth as polished stone. "A story of profound, unyielding revenge."
Lux folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the cool, damp stone, more out of a bored skepticism than any genuine interest. The last thing she wanted was a morality tale from a man whose very existence felt like a warning.
"Oh, great. A bedtime tale from the man missing an arm. Should I fetch a blanket?" she muttered dryly, her tone dripping with sarcasm, a sharp counterpoint to his unnerving calm.
Ignoring her biting sarcasm, Agnellus meticulously plucked a few sprigs of dried lavender, rosemary, and sage from his satchel, their earthy scents momentarily masking the metallic tang of blood. He sprinkled them precisely into the still-warm, dark fluid in the vial, the ancient herbs infusing the fresh sacrifice.
"To answer your earlier question, the one you think you know the answer to—around twenty percent of the human population can, in fact, manipulate mana. Like you."
He stood up, wiping his hands fastidiously on a discarded leaf, then looked her directly in the eyes, his black gaze piercing through her sarcasm.
"Now, tell me... would you take the devil's hand to exact your revenge, even knowing the crushing, irreversible cost? Even if it meant shattering your own soul for retribution?"
His voice held no judgment, no moralizing tone. Just pure, unadulterated curiosity, like a seasoned player pondering a chess move already made, studying its inevitable, brutal consequences.
Lux didn't answer right away. Her dragon eyes, usually so expressive, narrowed to slits, her mind sifting through the layers of her own experiences, her own buried angers, the whispers of her tormented past. The question struck too close to home.
"I'm level-headed enough to wait for a better chance," she finally said, her voice measured, revealing nothing of the storm within, a carefully constructed façade.
"A wise choice," he nodded slowly, a thin smile on his lips. "But remember—waiting patiently might fatten the catch, make your target richer, more powerful… or it might give it time to grow fangs of its own, to become a monster far beyond your reckoning."
He tucked the sealed vial away into a hidden pouch, its dark contents now infused with herbs. He began walking again, his light, almost ethereal steps making no sound on the damp ground, leaving Lux to ponder his chilling words.
"I know you're proud, Lux. Dragon blood always is. It burns with conviction." His voice was softer now, almost empathetic, a chilling contrast to his earlier detached tone, as if he spoke from intimate, painful experience. "But take this from someone who did take the devil's hand, who walked that path to its bitter end—don't exist only for revenge. Don't let it be the sole fuel for your existence. You'll forget how to live. You'll become just another ghost in the world, haunted by what was lost, unable to forge a future."
"Touching," Lux muttered dryly, falling into step behind him, the sarcasm a shield against his unnerving insight. "Truly. My heart bleeds."
"We've got what we came for," he added, tossing her a look over his shoulder, ignoring her cutting remark entirely. "Let's go. I've a contract to uphold, and time, unlike mana, is a finite resource."
They walked in silence again, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps the only intrusion on the dungeon's ancient hum. Lux brooded behind him like a storm cloud, his words unsettling her far more than the tarantula's ambush or the vastness of the dungeon. His insights into vengeance felt too personal, too real.
Then, just before they reached the vine-choked threshold of the next, higher level, Agnellus threw another casual dagger into the air, his voice light, almost conversational, as if they were discussing the weather.
"Oh, right—if twenty percent of the populace can use mana… how many do you think are true wielders of power? The ones who grasp the world's essence, who can truly bend reality to their will, no matter the source?"
Lux stopped walking abruptly, her exasperation boiling over, his relentless riddles grating on her nerves.
"You're joking—that was the whole reason for this cryptic lecture? To ask me another riddle?" she demanded.
"I like to educate," Agnellus grinned, a flash of white teeth against his bronze skin, clearly enjoying her frustration.
She let out an exasperated sigh, a sound that conveyed volumes of annoyance, her fists clenched tight by her sides.
"You're the absolute worst."
"But charming," he winked, floating smoothly through the threshold, leaving her to follow, still fuming, into the lighter, less oppressive air of the upper dungeon.