The Jagged Wastes loomed like shattered teeth against the horizon, floating isles of Skyend's fractured legacy drifting on Aetheric currents. Kirael anchored the Shadow's Grin at a precarious ledge, the air thick with mana haze that warped sounds into eerie echoes.
"End of the line," the smuggler said, handing Elarion a satchel of supplies. "The Well's down that ravine. Watch for time slips—one wrong step, and you're aged to dust."
Elarion nodded, the map etched into his memory via the system. As he descended, the ground hummed, Veins pulsing beneath cracked earth. Ruins dotted the path: crumbled temples where Starborn glyphs flickered faintly, warning of hubris.
Deeper in, the Well of Sypherion yawned—a cavernous maw ringed by unstable Aetheric crystals. Whispers slithered from the dark: Netherkin chants, promising power.
[System Alert: Hostile Entities Detected. Prepare for Engagement.]
Shadows detached from walls, coalescing into wraiths—Netherkin cultists, their forms twisted by planar corruption. "The Key is ours, intruder," one hissed, unleashing tendrils of void energy.
Elarion dodged, his robe's runes flaring. Infinite mana flowed, conjuring barriers and counterstrikes. He wove spells seamlessly: a shadow wing to evade, an Aetheric pulse to disrupt. One cultist fell, dissolving into smoke; another summoned a rift, pulling abyssal horrors through.
In the fray, Elarion spotted it—the Key, a crystalline orb atop a pedestal, humming with dimensional potential. But as he reached for it, a temporal wave hit, slowing time around him.
The system intervened:
[Override: Temporal Resistance Activated. Mana Cost: Negligible.]
Time normalized, and Elarion snatched the relic. Power surged—visions of pocket realms, safe havens. But the cult leader emerged, a hulking Netherkin lord. "You wield infinity, but at what cost? The system binds you!"
Elarion paused, doubt flickering. Was the system a master? He blasted the lord back, securing the Key. As he ascended, Arcanum airships dotted the sky—reinforcements.
Escape was imminent, but questions burned: the system's origin, the cults' knowledge. The ruins held more secrets, and Elarion's path deepened into peril.
Teleporting back aboard the Shadow's Grin, Elarion attuned to the Key of Sypherion. With a thought, he opened a rift—a shimmering portal to a pocket dimension: a vast, empty void he could shape into a fortress, library, or escape. Infinite mana accelerated the process; walls of starlit stone materialized, shelves filling with phantom tomes from his memories.
Kirael eyed the portal warily. "That's no mere trinket. Arcanum will hunt you to the ends of Terra."
"Let them," Elarion replied, stepping out. But as they sailed toward safer shores, the system glitched—a rare anomaly:
[Anomaly Detected: External Query. Source: Unknown. Query: "Who wields the infinite?"]
Elarion's blood chilled. The system wasn't autonomous; something—or someone—watched. Was it the Starborn, returned? A Netherkin trap? Or the Arcanum's hidden experiments?
Docking at a Freeholds outpost, Elarion parted ways with Kirael, richer and wiser. Rumors swirled: Iron Dominion forces massing near Skyend citadels, seeking Elderglow weapons. Netherkin incursions rising. And whispers of a "Bound One"—a figure with endless power, prophesied to tip the balance.
In a secluded inn, Elarion delved deeper. Using the Key's dimension as a lab, he probed the system. Code-like runes appeared in his vision, hinting at origins beyond Terra—perhaps cosmic, from the Starborn's vanished realm.
But danger loomed. An elven envoy approached, bearing a sealed letter: "The Enclaves seek alliance. The Silence ends; the Starborn stir. Join us, or fall alone."
Elarion crumpled the note. Hubris had doomed the Covenant; he wouldn't repeat it. Yet, with infinite mana and relics in hand, temptation beckoned. The path forked: lie low in his dimension, or unravel the system's leash and reshape Terra?
As night fell, shadows lengthened— and so did the mysteries.