The garden of the manor was a pocket of controlled chaos. Neat rows of strange, glowing herbs bordered winding cobblestone paths, and in the center, under the shade of a large, purple-leaved tree, Alice Quartz sat at a wrought-iron table.
She wore simple, dark trousers and a loose linen shirt, her lemon-yellow hair tied in a messy braid. Before her steamed a cup of tea the deep, translucent purple of a witchroot infusion.
She took a slow sip, her sharp gray eyes watching as Nox stumbled onto the patio, sweat-drenched and breathing heavily. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, and his yellow eyes were dull with exhaustion.
"There you are," Alice said, her voice devoid of its usual cutting edge, almost conversational. "Took you long enough. Sit. Catch your breath."
Before Nox could collapse into the chair opposite her, Alexander materialized from the manor's doorway, a silver tray in his hands. On it was a teapot, another cup, and a small, exquisite cake. The cake was a striking shade of violet, dusted with something that glittered like crushed amethyst.
"Witchroot and midnight berry torte, my lady," Alexander intoned, placing the tray down. "And for the young master." He poured a cup of the same purple tea for Nox.
Nox nodded his thanks, too tired for words. He stared at the cake, its color unnatural yet enticing.
"It's made from the same root as the tea," Alice explained, cutting a slice and pushing the plate towards him. "Helps with mana resonance. Eat."
Nox took a bite. The flavor was complex—earthy and slightly sweet, with an unexpected hint of frost and something metallic that lingered on the tongue. It was strange, but not unpleasant. The fatigue in his muscles seemed to recede a fraction.
"Good," Alice said, after watching him eat. She finished her own tea and set the cup down with a decisive click. "Now, rest time is over. On your feet. Let's try the sequence again. From the top."
A groan escaped Nox's lips, but he obeyed, pushing himself up. He moved to the clear area of the lawn, facing a sturdy, magically-reinforced target dummy.
"Focus," Alice commanded, leaning back in her chair. "Channeling, not brute force. Begin."
Nox closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. When he opened them, his yellow irises seemed to glow from within. He raised a hand, fingers splayed.
"Araferi…" he began, the ancient Sin tongue syllables rough but precise.
აანთე პირველი ნაპერწკალი
Small red sparks, like burning cinders, leapt from his fingertips, dancing erratically.
"Control the flow," Alice murmured, her gaze analytical. "Don't let it disperse."
Nox clenched his jaw, his other hand coming up to stabilize the first. The sparks multiplied, forming a crackling, unstable orb of angry red energy in his palm. He grunted, the strain evident on his face.
"Invidia"
"Omnia tua mea sunt".
The orb of sparks convulsed, its internal chaos intensifying. The red light cast sharp shadows across the garden. The air hummed with pent-up power, smelling of ozone and burnt sugar.
"Good. Now the binder. Don't rush it," Alice instructed, her voice calm amidst the gathering storm.
Sweat poured down Nox's temples. He took another shuddering breath, his voice dropping to a guttural chant.
"Anavah…"
הָבֵא מִידָּה לְחַסַר הַמִּידָּה
The wild, scattered sparks began to tremble, then pull inward. They swirled violently before collapsing into a single, pulsing point of brilliant white light, no larger than a coin, hovering just above his palm. It was impossibly bright, yet perfectly contained, humming with a deadly, focused energy.
"More mana," Alice said, her voice tightening with anticipation. "Push more into it. Reach the threshold."
A tremor ran through Nox's arm. A thin, crimson trickle escaped from the corner of his right eye, tracing a path through the sweat and grime on his cheek. He hissed in pain but didn't falter. The white point of light brightened, its hum rising to a piercing whine.
"Alice, I can't—" he gasped.
"You can. Just a little more. Now!"
"NOW!" Nox roared, not with a spell, but with pure effort. He thrust both hands forward and upward, releasing the contained energy.
For a split second, nothing happened. Then, the tiny point of light shot into the sky like a reverse meteor.
Alice calmly reached into her pocket and slipped on a pair of sleek, dark sunglasses.
The light reached its apex and hung there for a heartbeat—a tiny, false star.
Then, it erupted.
The sound was a physical force, a **CRACK-THOOOOOM** that shook the ground and rattled the teacups on the table. A sphere of blinding white fury expanded in the sky, consuming the daylight for a moment before dissipating into rippling waves of heat and light. The concussion wave rustled the leaves of the distant trees and blew Alice's braid over her shoulder.
Slowly, the light faded. The hum vanished, replaced by the returning chirp of startled birds.
Alice took off her sunglasses, a rare, genuine smile touching her lips. "Excellent. Your control over the consolidation phase has improved markedly. The *Anavah* binder is key."
Nox was on his knees, panting, one hand braced on the grass. The other came up to wipe at the blood under his eye. Alexander was already beside him, offering a crisp white towel.
"Thanks," Nox croaked, taking the towel and cleaning his face. The blood flow had already stopped, the supernatural healing already at work. He stumbled back to the table and slumped into his chair, reaching for his now-lukewarm witchroot tea. He drank it in one long gulp, the strange, earthy flavor grounding him.
"The eye-bleeding is annoying every time I overload," he muttered, dabbing at the last traces of red.
"It's a sign of strain on your neural pathways," Alice said, cutting another slice of the violet cake for him. "As you get used to the overload state, it will become less severe. Don't fret over it." She watched him eat, her analytical gaze returning. "What truly astonishes me is your mana regeneration rate. It's… abnormal. It's as if the more you deplete it, the faster it rushes back. Fascinating."
Nox could feel it himself—the deep emptiness after the spell was already being filled by a warm, tingling current from his core. The bleeding had stopped, and some color was returning to his face.
"Well, fascinating or not, I feel like I've been run over by a cart," he grumbled, but there was no real heat in it.
"No time for whining," Alice said, her brief warmth retreating behind her researcher's facade. She pulled a small, cobalt-blue vial from her pocket and placed it on the table. It swirled with a silvery, opalescent liquid. "Drink this. It's a high-potency mana stimulant. We need to move on to the next variation of the spell while your channels are still primed."
Nox picked up the vial, uncorked it, and sniffed. The scent was a pungent mix of medicinal bitterness and sharp mint. "You're a real devil, you know that? This is borderline torture."
"Science requires sacrifice," she replied flatly. "Drink."
With a grimace, Nox downed the potion. It tasted exactly as it smelled—a shocking, acrid bitterness followed by a cold, numbing mint that exploded in his sinuses and rushed down his throat. He coughed, his eyes watering.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, it hit.
A familiar, terrifying yellow electric current erupted under his skin, crawling up his arms and dancing across his knuckles. It wasn't the controlled power of the spell—this was wild, internal feedback.
"Ah…!" Nox gasped, his hands flying to his head. "My head… it's splitting open…"
"Breathe through it," Alice ordered, standing up, her casual demeanor gone. "Focus! Guide it!"
Alexander took a step forward, concern etched on his old face.
But Nox couldn't hear them clearly anymore. The world became muffled, as if he were submerged in water. The beautiful garden, Alice's sharp voice, the scent of witchroot—all were drowned out by a roaring, painful static that filled his skull. The headache intensified, becoming a vise of pure agony crushing his temples from the inside. He saw Alice's lips moving, saw Alexander reaching for him, but their words were distant echoes, swallowed by the rising tide of lightning in his veins and thunder in his mind.
His vision tunneled, the colors of the garden bleaching into a painful white, and the last thing he felt was the cool iron of the table against his cheek as he slumped forward, unconscious.