The hallway was lined with servants who crossed themselves as he passed. They saw a ghost in a boy's body.
Alaric didn't look at them. He kept his eyes on the heavy front doors, where the white-and-gold banners of the Church Inquisition were already visible through the glass.
Inside his chest, the hunger grew. It wasn't his own—it belonged to the Seed. The seed in his soul was excited, pulsing with a dark, rhythmic thrum that matched his heartbeat. It could smell the "Life" of the Church Inquisition.
To the Seed, the holy life energy wasn't a threat; it was a delicacy. It wanted to see if the Life tasted better than mana he had been feeding it in secret.
________________
The Great Hall of the Silverlane Manor, usually a place displays of wealth and warmth, had been transformed into a cold, clinical court.
The towering stained-glass windows, which typically bathed the marble floors in vibrant hues of emerald and gold, now seemed to filter the storm-light into threatening shapes. The air felt heavy, charged with the scent of ozone from the storm and the cloying, metallic scent of high-tier holy magic.
At the center of the hall stood High seer Marcus.
His hair was a startling, unnatural red—the color of a dying ember—and his eyes were pits of absolute black that seemed to absorb any light that touched them. He was a master (early) rank warrior.
He looked as though he had been carved from the very cathedral stone he served. His robes were a blinding, pristine white, trimmed with gold thread that shimmered with an unnatural luminescence, as if the fabric itself were woven from sunlight.
Around his neck hung the Sun-Disk of the Eternal Life Church, a heavy gold medallion that seemed to draw in the dim light of the room, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic glow. Behind him stood two Paladins, their silver armor clanking softly with every breath, their faces hidden by helmets and the gaze that hold impartial gaze of Justice.
Silas stood at the foot of the grand staircase, his back straighter than Alaric had ever seen it. Elara stood a step behind him, her fingers griping into the stairs so hard her knuckles were white. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the distant, muffled roar of the thunder.
High seer," Silas said, his voice a masterpiece of forced calm. "You honor my house with your presence, though the hour is grim."
The hour is always grim when the darkness stirs, Lord Silverlane," Marcus replied. His voice was like a heavy bell resonant, deep, and utterly devoid of human warmth.
He turned his head slowly, his gaze sweeping over the room until it landed on the small, pale figure standing beside Silas. So this is the boy Silas isolated for five years.
Alaric felt the seer gaze like a physical weight pressing against his chest. It wasn't just a look, it was a probe, a spiritual invasive procedure.
He felt a faint, golden pressure beginning to lap at the edges of his mind, searching of corruption that the Church believed to needed to purge for sake of the Church of Eternal Life.
Alaric reminded himself to control and hide his aura so he would not get caught.
He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, mimicking the weakness of a child recovering from a illness. He looked up at the seer, his eyes wide and vacant—the dull maroon of a average mana core.
He made sure his hands trembled just enough to look like fear, though in reality. they were shaking from the sheer effort of suppressing back the aura.
"Alaric Silverlane," the Seer marcus said, stepping closer.
The scent of frankincense and old parchment rolled off him in waves, thick and suffocating. He reached into a velvet pouch at his side and pulled out a white jewel Stone.
It was a jagged shard of pure, translucent crystal that glowed with a soft, milky light.
This stone, called a resonance stone speaks only the truth.
Marcus said, his eyes locked on Alaric. "If the soul is pure, the light remains white. If the soul is gifted, it turns gold. But if the soul is tainted it turns the color of a black candle before it cracks under the weight of its sin.
Elara let out a small, stifled breath a sound of pure maternal terror. Silas didn't move a muscle, but Alaric could see the vein in his father face pulsing.
"Hold it, boy, the seer marcus said to Alaric.
Alaric reached out. His small hand was steady, but internally he was screaming.
The moment his skin touched the crystal, a jolt of "Holy Light" surged into his palm. To Alaric, it felt like salt poured into an open wound. The Light was aggressive, it was a hunter. It felt the "wrongness" in Alaric's blood and began to dive deep, seeking the Seed of Destruction to burn it out of existence.
[ Warning: Holy Interference Detected ]
[ Mana Veil is wavering ]
[ Due to host Emergency condition Active skill mana veil (Novice) upgraded to Mana Veil (intermediate) ]
Alaric gritted his teeth, a sharp, white-hot pain rising behind his eyes. He felt the Seed stir in the depths of his soul. It didn't like being oppressed; it didn't like the "sting" of the Life. It wanted to lash out, to expand and swallow the Resonance Stone, the Seer, and the very air in the room.
Shut down, Alaric roared mentally, tightening his grip and poured more mana in mana Veil skill with a ferocity that made his nose begin to bleed.
He flooded his palm with "Stagnant" mana the grey, useless sludge he had practiced creating. He made the Light of the stone feel unwelcome, not because of evil, but because there was simply "nothing" for it to interact with. He projected the image of a empty shell.
The crystal flickered. It turned pale gray, the color similar to winter fog.
The High seer leaned in, his brows knitting together in confusion. He took Alaric's hand, holding the stone against the boy's pulse. The grey remained. No gold. No white. Just a empty neutral.
"Stagnation, Marcus whispered, a hint of pity.
softening his voice. "The core is there, but it is hollow. A vessel with average mana capacity Lord Silverlane."
Silas let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for five years. The tension in his shoulders dropped an inch. "As we told you, Seer. He is a sickly boy. High intelligence in books, perhaps, but his spirit is fragile. He is no threat to the life.
The Church does not rely on stones alone," Marcus said sharply, his pity vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.The Stone measures the potential. Now, I will measure the essence. I will see what lies in the depths of his soul.
He dipped his thumb into a vial of holy water and moved it toward Alaric forehead. This was the Taste of Light a direct soul to soul connection. If Alaric was hiding something, this would tear the mask off his very existence.
As the seer thumb touched Alaric skin, the world vanished.
Alaric found himself in a white void. Standing before him was a towering figure made of pure, blinding radiance the projection of the seer power. It was a terrifying entity of judgment, eyes like twin suns.
SHOW ME YOUR SOUL, ALARIC SILVERLANE, the giant entity commanded, the sound vibrating through Alaric soul.
Alaric stood his ground. In this mental space, he didn't look like a five-year-old. He looked like Daniel, the man who had survived a lifetime of corporate coldness and existential dread.
He looked at the giant entity and did something He didn't hide his soul. He filtered with system help.
He showed the seer a memory. Not of the Seed, but of his past life—the crushing boredom of the supermarket employee, the feeling of being a small, insignificant gear in a machine that didn't care about him, the gray rain against a window of a life that had ended without meaning.
( Note: A seer cannot see memories, they can only feel the emotions behind them. )
He showed the seer the "emptiness" of a man who had already tired of his life.
The giant entity recoiled in confusion. It expected to find a monster, a shadow, or a beast. Instead, It found a soul that felt old, tired, holding a weak, tiny amount of mana, he found a boy who seemed to have been born old and weary.
So much suffering for young one, the giant entity whispered, its light softening into a pitiful glow.
The white void shattered.