Ronan sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, his breathing slow and ragged. The chamber was silent now—the souls were gone, and the chains were shattered—but the cost lingered.
A dull, throbbing ache echoed deep within his chest, not physical, but spiritual. The pressure from the Goddess's Will had been immense.
He exhaled a long breath, pushing himself to his feet. His legs felt heavy. He looked around the empty chamber, his gaze inevitably drawn back to the statue of the Light Goddess.
Now that the chains were gone, it looked mundane. Just a piece of carved stone.
He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. He searched for runes, for magical conduits, for anything that explained the crushing pressure he had felt moments ago.
There was nothing. Smooth, cold stone.
"No runes... no formations," Ronan muttered, a chill creeping up his neck. "Then how did it project that kind of will? Does she... does she really see everything in this mortal realm? Is she watching right now?"
He shook his head, forcing the paranoia down. "If she could stop me, she would have done more than just pressure me."
Turning away from the statue, Ronan spotted a heavy stone door set into the far wall. It wasn't sealed with magic, just heavy mechanics. With a grunt of exertion, he pushed it open.
The air that rushed out was stale but rich with a strange, humming energy.
Ronan stepped inside and froze.
The room was a treasure trove. Piles of glowing, light-blue crystals were stacked against the walls, their soft radiance illuminating the darkness. The energy radiating from them was pure, dense, and ancient.
"Soul Crystals," Ronan whispered, his eyes widening. "This many... It's a fortune."
Suddenly, his chest grew hot. Without his command, two wisps of fire surged out of his body—one Crimson, one Silver.
"Hey!" Ronan yelped.
The flames didn't listen. Like starving beasts let off a leash, the Crimson Flame and the Silver Flame zipped toward the nearest pile of crystals. They latched onto the stones, pulsing rhythmically as they began to greedily devour the Soul Energy stored within.
Ronan tried to recall them, mentally tugging at their connection. "Stop! We need to save those!"
The flames ignored him, vibrating with what could only be described as gluttonous joy.
Ronan sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine. Eat. Just... leave some for me, you gluttons."
While his flames feasted, Ronan explored the rest of the room. At the far end, he found another door. This one was different—dark metal, etched with shifting shadows.
"Another secret room?"
He raised his hand, conjuring a standard fireball. "Let's see if brute force works."
Boom.
The fireball struck the metal—and vanished. There was no explosion, no heat. The door seemed to drink the fire, the metal rippling like water before settling back into stillness.
"It absorbed it?" Ronan frowned.
He activated Keen Eye.
Immediately, the world shifted. The dark metal door lit up with blinding complexity. Not just one, but layers upon layers of intricate magical arrays were woven into the metal. They shifted and rotated in a pattern so complex it made Ronan's head spin.
"What is this?" Ronan muttered, sitting down in front of it. He stared at the lines, trying to find a starting point, a flaw, a node—anything.
Minutes turned into half an hour. His headache from the soul injury began to throb harder.
"I don't understand a single variable," he admitted, frustrated. "This is way beyond my level."
He didn't give up, though. He pulled a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick from his storage ring.
"If I can't break it, I'll copy it. Mr. Alden might know what this is."
He spent the next few minutes meticulously copying the visible layer of the array, his hand moving swiftly. Once he was done, he stashed the drawing safely away.
By now, the Crimson and Silver flames had seemingly had their fill. They floated back to Ronan, looking slightly larger and brighter than before, and lazily drifted back into his chest.
"Done stuffing your faces?" Ronan grumbled.
He turned his attention to the remaining Soul Crystals. He swept his hand over the piles, storing them rapidly into his ring. One by one, the glowing mounds vanished.
He reached for the very last crystal sitting alone on a pedestal.
His fingers closed around it.
The floor beneath him didn't just open—it vanished.
"AAAAAaaa!"
Ronan plummeted into the darkness, his scream fading as space warped around him.
Deep within the bowels of the ruins, far below where Ronan had been, a presence stirred in the shadows. It did not move, but its consciousness expanded, lingering on the place where the boy had just stood.
A voice, heavy with melancholy and ancient dust, whispered into the silence. Ronan did not hear it. No one did.
"Keen Eye... a lost legacy found in a boy who knows nothing of its weight."
The presence seemed to shift, sensing the lingering traces of silver energy in the air.
"And the Ghost Flame."
The voice paused, recalling the boy's defiant words to the statue.
"'A punishment that lasts eternity is not justice.' Is that what you believe, Ronan Greystone?"
A sigh echoed through the cavern, sounding like the wind mourning the dead.
"I will meet you soon, boy. In every era, there are fools who oppose the gods. History is paved with their bones. Nothing good ever comes of it."
The presence withdrew, retreating back into the slumber of the earth.
"Will you be like the others? Or will you be something else?"
Outside the Ruins.
The sun was high in the sky. Aria, Sylphie, Darius, and the others were gathered near the rune-marked entrance, waiting.
"Look here," Leon said, pointing at the stairs leading down. "Ronan must be inside."
Amelia crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. "I didn't say it before, but I'll say it now—he is good for nothing. Probably got lost."
Before anyone could respond, the air above them rippled violently. A portal of unstable magic burst open about ten feet in the air.
"AAAAAaaa!"
Ronan was spat out of the void, flailing wildly.
THUD.
A portal burst open, swirling with unstable magic. Without warning, Ronan was spat out of it, tumoring to the ground with an ungraceful thud.
"Ahu... Oahu! This hurts!" Ronan groaned.
Silence held the group for a second. Then, Darius burst into laughter.
"BWAHAHA!" Darius doubled over, pointing a shaking finger at Ronan. "That landing! That was absolutely priceless! 10 out of 10!"
Sylphie hurried to kneel beside him, worry etched on her face. "Ronan! Are you hurt? What happened?"
Ronan winced, sitting up and rubbing his lower back. He gave a shaky thumbs-up. "I'm okay. Just... found some loot, triggered a trap, fell through the world. The usual."
"You flew out like a sack of potatoes!" Darius wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye.
Ronan shot him a glare, spitting out a bit of grass. "Oh, you think that's funny, huh?"
"Hilarious," Darius replied, grinning. "Best thing I've seen all day."
"We'll see about that!"
Ronan scrambled to his feet and lunged. Darius dodged with ease, laughing maniacally.
"Too slow! Is that all the 'Hero of the Ruins' has got?"
"Come here, you little—!"
They chased each other in a circle, throwing playful punches. Sylphie stood up, brushing off her dress, her expression hardening.
"Okay, that's enough," she said.
They ignored her. Ronan tried to trip Darius; Darius hopped over his leg.
"Enough!" she repeated, her voice rising.
They kept going, bickering like toddlers.
Sylphie's eyes narrowed. The air around her seemed to drop in temperature. Without a word, she stepped forward—fast.
BONK. BONK.
She delivered a swift, perfectly controlled knuckle-knock to the top of both their heads.
"Ohu! Ohu!"
Ronan and Darius froze, clutching their foreheads in unison, tears instantly springing to their eyes.
Garrick, watching from the side, chuckled softly. "Some things never change."
"You think this is funny, Garrick?" Sylphie whipped her head toward him, raising a fist that was still smoking slightly. "Want to join them?"
Garrick's grin vanished. He held up his hands in surrender, stepping back. "No, no. I'm perfectly fine right here. Please, spare me."
"Oni..." Ronan and Darius whimpered together, rubbing the red bumps forming on their foreheads.
Sylphie growled, a dark aura flaring behind her. "What did you just say?"
Darius went pale, waving his hands frantically. "Nothing! Nothing! I said you are... Holy! Holy as a saint!"
Ronan wisely changed the subject. "Wait! Wait! Look what I found!"
Ronan didn't just show off the loot. He separated a generous pile of the glowing blue stones—about eight of them—and extended his hand toward Aria.
"Here," Ronan said, his voice calm. "Distribute these among your team. We cleared the ruins together, so the loot should be shared."
Aria looked surprised, but accepted them with a nod of respect. "Thank you, Ronan."
As Ronan lowered his hand, he swayed slightly. It was barely noticeable, but Sylphie saw it. Her eyes narrowed, focusing not on his physical body but on the energy fluctuating around him.
She grabbed his wrist, her grip firm. "Ronan."
"I'm fine," he said instinctively, trying to pull away.
"You are not fine," Sylphie said, her voice dropping to a whisper so the others wouldn't hear. "Your soul is trembling. Since when do physical traps cause spiritual injuries? Hmm?"
Ronan froze. He looked at her, then averted his gaze, staring at the dusty ground. He didn't speak. He didn't come up with a lie.
Sylphie watched his reaction—the avoidance, the tight jaw. She realised immediately that whatever happened down there was not something he wanted to relive.
She loosened her grip, letting out a soft sigh. "We'll talk later."
Ronan nodded, relieved she didn't push. He turned to Leon. "Leon, do you have that magical flying boat?"
"Anyway," Ronan looked at Leon. "We're done here. Leon, do you have that magical flying boat?"
Leon nodded, eyeing the crystals with curiosity but asking no questions. "I have one big enough to carry us all."
"Good," Ronan said, dusting off his pants. "Then let's go to the academy as soon as possible. My back is killing me, and I need a nap."
"Okay," Leon agreed. "Let's head back."
He raised his hand, and a large, sleek vessel shimmered into existence from his storage ring. As the group began to board, Ronan glanced back at the ruins one last time.
The boat took flight, soaring above the canopy of the forest. The wind rushed past, cool and refreshing.
Ronan sat near the stern, sitting cross-legged, his eyes closed. Behind him, Sylphie sat in the same position. She placed her hands gently on his back.
A soft, warm green glow radiated from her palms, sinking into Ronan's body. It was nature magic—soothing, restorative, and gentle.
"Better?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," Ronan breathed out, his shoulders dropping an inch. "The ache is fading. Thanks, Sylphie."
"Do you want to tell me what really happened?" she asked. "That wasn't a trap."
Ronan remained silent for a long time, listening to the wind. Finally, he spoke, his voice low.
"I found prisoners. Souls from the ancient war... trapped for thousands of years. They were suffering."
He paused, omitting the details of the Silver Flame or the Goddess.
"They want to be free, and I freed them," he whispered. "But to free them... I had to erase them. They didn't go to the afterlife. They just ceased to exist. I killed them to save them. Yet they thanked me."
Sylphie's hands faltered slightly, but she didn't pull away. She wanted to tell him it was okay, that he did the right thing, but she knew those words were empty. The weight of erasing a soul was something she couldn't comprehend.
She realised she had no right to judge him, nor the wisdom to absolve him. All she could be was a witness.
"Thank you for telling me," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Ronan nodded slowly.
Sylphie continues to pour her healing magic into him. "You know... You are like my little brother. You can always talk to me. I'm here."
She waited.
Usually, this was the part where Ronan would snap back, annoyed. He would grumble, 'Who are you calling little? I'm a man!' or throw a tantrum about being treated like a child.
But today, he said nothing.
He just sat there, accepting the comfort, accepting the title of 'little brother' without a fight.
Sylphie stared at the back of his head, a bitter taste rising in her mouth. She had always insisted on treating him like a younger sibling, but now that he was actually acting like one—silent, hurt, and needing care—she felt powerless.
She closed her eyes, letting the green light glow brighter, promising herself she would get strong enough to share his burdens next time.