Fire Mage

The room Myl chose was modest but untouched. A circular window overlooked the lava lake. She sat cross-legged on the cold floor and summoned the Keeper's Watch.

The device pulsed in her palm.

[Storage Library – Accessing…]

A suction force spiraled outward, enveloping her consciousness like a whirlpool. Myl didn't resist.

Her body slumped into stillness as her mind soared.

…

The world blurred.

When her awareness returned, she stood in a vast stone hall lit by gentle white-blue luminescence. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with dusty tomes and bound scrolls.

The Storage Library.

She walked forward calmly, boots clicking against polished tiles. As she passed the first row, her hand drifted toward a thick crimson-bound book.

"Flame Lotus Meditation."

The moment her fingers brushed it, knowledge flowed into her mind—images of flaming lotuses blooming across a dark sky, white spiritual clouds drawn inward and refined, and fire made pure.

This was a Legend Rank Spirit Technique designed for fire practitioners who had attained the Pseudo-Legend Realm.

'Before, I was too weak to withstand the soul pressure,' she thought, flipping through the pages mentally. 'But now… I can begin.'

She memorized every rune, every diagram, every line.

When she finished, she closed the book and whispered, "Exit."

The world vanished.

…

Her eyes opened.

Back in Isla's room, Myl let out a slow breath and placed a faint protection circle around her.

She closed her eyes again—but this time, her soul slipped into the Astral Realm.

…

The darkness there was serene. Fog shimmered in red and white clouds, drifting like stardust. Her own soul appeared in a foggy, ethereal form, calm, centered, watching.

Myl sat in lotus position, reciting the Flame Lotus Mantra.

A golden lotus bloomed in front of her soul-form, spinning slowly.

It exhaled warmth, gentle and sacred.

Soon, white essence clouds were drawn to it from the surrounding darkness, while the red, impure clouds were repelled. The white clouds spiraled around the lotus, merging, purifying, transforming into golden energy.

The golden streams flowed into her soul, strengthening her Wisdom Power, sharpening her perception, and clearing her thoughts.

Each cycle of absorption refined her further—her senses, her instincts, her control over flame itself.

Time passed unnoticed.

Perhaps hours. Perhaps more.

When she opened her eyes in the physical world again, her body glowed faintly with inner warmth.

…

May 29th, Year 0001, Chaos Era. (May 19th, Year 6420, Second Arcane Era.)

A breeze rustled the trees of the Crazy Woodlands, carrying with it the scent of wet moss, distant blood, and the howl of an unseen beast.

Zephyr stood on the edge of a small cliff near a cave, golden sunlight filtering through the thick canopy. The dense forest sprawled endlessly ahead, its dark green veil hiding dangers both magical and mundane. His gaze slowly fell toward a shimmering lake tucked beneath the eastern hills—its surface glinting like the eye of a giant beast lying in wait.

In his palm, he held a strange, smooth white orb—Sacred Light Orb. It pulsed with a faint warmth, reacting subtly to something unseen.

The Keeper's Watch on his wrist vibrated.

…

[Main Quest 7: Forbidden Trial of the Three Paths]

Objective: Enter the Hidden Dungeon at the Eye Lake using the 'Sacred Light Orb' and complete any one of the three ancient elemental trials hidden in it.

Requirement: None

Failure Penalty: Death

Reward: Sunrise Divine Potion]

…

Zephyr clicked his tongue, then opened his status window for reassurance.

…

[Name: Zephyr Silvercrest]

[Class: Blood Swordsman (Rank-3)]

[Sub-Class: Light Mage (Rank-2)]

[Strength: 16 | Dexterity: 17 | Constitution: 17 | Wisdom: 21]

[Class Skills: Moonlit Split (15%), Swift Slash (18%), Advanced Sword Aura (20%)]

[Subclass Spells: Radiant Lance, Holy Aegis, Flash Step, Healing Light, Cure Curse, Holy Wings]

[Affinities: Sword – Average, Light – High]

…

Five months of running, hiding, and growing. It felt like a lifetime had passed since that first encounter with Christine in the ruins of Veritas Pass.

And now… a death trial?

Zephyr's fingers tightened around the orb. "This mission looks tough," he muttered.

The lake below was no ordinary one. He could spot the ripple of movement beneath the water's surface—Rank-2 Magical Beasts… maybe even Rank-3s. And this wasn't a place where humans belonged.

He could solo a Rank-2 beast on good terrain, but a swarm? Or worse, a Rank-3 aquatic beast? That was suicide.

Footsteps crunched softly behind him.

"I can help you," came a gentle voice.

Zephyr turned. From the cave behind him stepped a young girl with soft blonde hair and a flute case strapped to her back—Christine. Her eyes sparkled faintly with unnatural light.

Zephyr's tension eased slightly.

She was a Rank-3 Bard now—her Foresight skill had saved them dozens of times. Not to mention the unexpected Druid legacy she stumbled into last season. Rank-2 Nature's Child. Divine affinity in music. Godlike luck.

Sometimes, Zephyr wondered if she was secretly a chosen one of some forgotten deity.

Still, he shook his head.

"This time's different, Your Highness." His voice was quiet but firm. "I'm entering a legacy dungeon… alone. If you follow me, you might get caught by the beasts around the lake."

Christine frowned. "I can fight—"

"I know. But it's not about power. This orb," he held it up, "it resonates with me. Only me."

Silence stretched between them.

Christine finally nodded, eyes lingering on his face a little too long.

"Then I'll wait here. Be careful, Zephyr."

He gave a faint smile and turned toward the lake.

…

It took him thirty minutes to reach the lake's shore.

The lake, circular and unnaturally still, reflected the overcast sky. At its center, a faint swirl of silver mist hovered, and Zephyr felt a tug from the Sacred Light Orb.

He waded into the water, the cold biting into his bones.

"Here goes nothing."

The moment he stepped into the center of the swirl, the orb shone brilliantly, and the water beneath his feet turned solid, crystalline, and glowing. A pillar of light shot upward from the lake, then curved downward, enveloping him.

The next second, Zephyr noticed that the whole surrounding space started to twist before pulling his body somewhere.

Then, he vanished from the lake.

…

Zephyr suddenly crashed onto the floor, groaning. But there was nothing but darkness that blinded his vision.

He hurriedly touched his Keeper's Watch and activated it.

A blue, dim light flashed, enough for him to see his own hands.

He slowly stood up, took a lantern from the storage, and lit it with a matchstick. The next instant, a bright light illuminated the surroundings, and he noticed that he was in an underground chamber.

"Where is this place?" He grabbed the white orb and started walking towards the wall, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor. Dust hung in the air like a forgotten memory. The walls were lined with faded murals and inscriptions—old, far older than anything he'd seen in the Arane era records.

No, not Arane. Older. Much older.

'Ancient Era?'

His eyes narrowed.

These characters... they look like Arcane script, but warped. Evolved.

Thanks to his time in the Rebirth Tower, he could now read Arcane fluently—Lark, Ruth, Naan, even most of Edhen's languages traced back to it. This was... a precursor. Primitive and sharp-edged, but legible.

Zephyr ran his fingers along the wall, brushing aside layers of grime and time. He muttered under his breath as the inscriptions began to make sense.

They spoke of an ancient people. Elves, unmistakable with their elongated ears, were painted in vibrant pigment. They danced around a massive, world-piercing tree, their faces uplifted in reverence. But the celebration twisted into something darker.

Sacrifices.

Humans. Fish-bodied beings. Piled at the roots of the tree like offerings at a butcher's altar.

"They offered souls to the Tree of Myth… and were blessed in return?" Zephyr frowned. "What even is the Tree of Myth?"

He turned to the next mural.

This one was different—mermaid-like humanoids, their eyes devoid of light, surrounding a towering statue of a woman. At the base of the altar, bodies—human and elven—lay limp and lifeless. The mer-creatures were in the middle of a ritual.

Blood glistened in red streaks.

"So… the Syreni practiced blood sacrifice too?" Zephyr muttered. "Was that normal back then?"

He moved on, unease growing with each step.

The third mural struck like a blow to the gut. Humans in war-paint battled a human figure bathed in its own gore. When it finally fell, they tore into its body. They feasted—devouring flesh, drinking blood, faces alight with savage joy.

And worse, it wasn't an isolated depiction. The entire wall was filled with variations of the same thing.

Slaughter. Elves. Syreni. Carnage… and celebration.

"Disgusting."

He could taste bile on his tongue. Yet he couldn't look away.

More murals followed, each showing how these primitive tribes evolved. They formed groups. Appointed rulers. Established hierarchies. Civilization... born from butchery.

The murals also showed that they practiced shaman-like magic and also devoured magical beasts to gain monstrous power.

These weren't just stories.

This was history.

Inscribed by a hand that had lived through it.

Zephyr's gaze shifted toward the heart of the chamber.

Stone statues loomed in rows, most worn down by time. But three at the center were pristine, as if the years had refused to touch them.

The central figure was a regal elf. Long hair like a silver river, crown resting on his brow, and a face carved with the serenity of kings.

Beneath it, a name.

"Raphael Mithilis, the Last Elven Emperor."

Zephyr's eyes moved right.

A Syreni woman stood there, half-fish, half-human. Her mouth split with an eerie jawline, scales trailing down her arms and face. Even in stone, her presence was unsettling.

"Asher Rath Syreni… Blood Queen."

Then left.

And his breath caught.

A young woman, her skirt frozen in motion, hair like ink spun into curls. Her eyes—two real, sapphire-like gems—seemed to gleam even in the gloom.

He knew that face. Had seen it in Life Church and also in books. But not like this.

"Nira Kar… Queen of the Radiance Empire."

Nira... Goddess of Life?

Why is her statue here? Was she once a ruler—an actual queen?

The revelation hit like a hammer to the chest.

Zephyr looked around. The other statues—dozens more—were warlocks, shamans, scholars from a time long before the Arcane Era.

Pre-Arcane... between thirteen and nine thousand years ago.

Ancient history hiding in plain sight.

Then, his eyes locked on the iron door at the far end of the chamber.

It had no handle. No lock. No seams.

A sealed path?

As he stepped forward, the white orb in his palm began to tremble. Before he could react, it darted out of his hand, slamming into the door with a soft hum and dissolving into it like mist into water.

A deep rumble followed.

The chamber trembled. Stone scraped against stone.

And then... the door split open.

Not into a single path, but three.