Elian hurried downstairs, the tension of the day finally breaking at the sight of Mara. She looked worn down; her tactical jacket was dusted with fine, crystalline sand from the Realm, and a small smudge of dried sap—likely from her Verdant Steel—was visible on her cheek. Despite the fatigue, she gave him a tired grin and dropped two containers of steaming noodles on the table.
"Eat," she said, leaning back in her chair with a groan of relief. "I missed the taste of real salt. Realm rations taste like compressed cardboard."
Elian dug in, but his mind was still spinning from his research. "The gateway location shifted? Mr. Kaelen said that only happens in high-density ether zones. Was the raid that deep, Mara?"
Mara paused, a chopstick halfway to her mouth. She waved it dismissively. "Just a minor tectonic shift in the terrain, Elian. Nothing to worry about. The guild leader just wanted to be extra cautious. Tell me about school—did Kaelen bore you to tears today?"
"He talked about the Realm's telepathic gateway. He said we can enter with a mere thought after twenty-four hours," Elian said, leaning forward. "Mara, did you see any High-Rank Beasts? I read that the fringes are getting more unstable."
Mara's expression flickered, a shadow of genuine worry passing through her eyes before she masked it with a sharp, playful roll of her eyes. "You spend too much time on the forums. The fringes are fine. Focus on your own Bloom. Have you thought about what kind of Lord or Traveler you want to be?"
"I just want to be strong enough to help," Elian said quietly.
Mara's gaze softened. She reached into the heavy pocket of her tactical vest and pulled out a long, narrow bundle wrapped in treated leather. She laid it on the table between them.
"I wasn't going to give you this until tomorrow night," she whispered, "but you're too high-strung. Open it."
Elian carefully unwound the leather. Inside lay a short sword, but it looked less like a weapon and more like a captured fragment of a nebula. The hilt was carved from a dark, matte obsidian, but the blade itself was a Five-Star Artifact. It shimmered with an internal, liquid light, shifting from deep violet to a pale, ghostly blue as the light hit it. The edge didn't seem to be sharpened metal; instead, it looked as if the air itself was being parted by a thin, humming line of energy. It felt alive, pulsing faintly against Elian's palm like a sleeping heart.
"It's a Phase-Shard," Mara explained, her voice serious. "It's a 5-Star weapon. It ignores the physical density of anything below a 3-Star rank. It'll cut through iron as if it were water."
Elian gasped, reaching out to touch the flat of the blade. "Mara, this must have cost a fortune in resources. You shouldn't have—"
"Listen to me, Elian," she interrupted, her hand snapping out to grip his wrist. Her voice was lower now, stripped of its playful edge. "When you Bloom tonight, and when you take that exam tomorrow... do not tell anyone your Star Rank."
Elian blinked. "What? Why? If I'm high-ranked, the Academy will give me better resources."
"And the rival guilds will mark you as a threat," Mara countered sharply. "In this world, a 7-Star or 8-Star talent is a treasure, but a Level 1 8-Star is a target. Powerful families and Lord-factions would rather kill a rising sun than let it shine on someone else's territory. Unless someone outranks you—someone who has nothing to gain from your fall—you keep your potential hidden. You grow in the shadows until you are powerful enough to defend the light. Understand?"
Elian nodded slowly, the weight of the sword suddenly feeling much heavier. They spent the next hour in a low-toned conversation, Mara giving him practical advice: how to breathe through the initial ether-burn of the Bloom, how to steady his thoughts to keep his territory's coordinates private, and how to feel the 'tug' of the telepathic gateway.
As the hour grew late, the house fell into a heavy, expectant silence. They sat together on the sofa, the Phase-Shard resting on the coffee table between them. The only sound was the rhythmic thump-thump of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
Elian's heart began to race. He felt a strange, prickly heat starting to crawl beneath his skin. It wasn't painful yet, but it was insistent, like a thousand tiny needles of light trying to stitch their way out.
The clock began its chimes.
One. Two. Three...
Mara gripped his hand, her eyes locked on his. "Don't fight it, Elian. Let the ether in."
Ten. Eleven.
The final chime rang out, echoing through the dark house. Midnight.
On the back of Elian's right hand, a blinding, searing heat erupted. A spark of Luminous Silver tore through the darkness of the room, and the Bloom began.