The root chamber held its breath.
A dense, living green light filled every corner, thick enough that the ancient wooden walls seemed to glow from within. It pulsed slowly, like a second heart beating in time with the great tree above them. At the exact center of that light sat Indura, legs crossed, spine straight, eyes closed. The glow clung to his skin and sank into it, threading through the faint scars left by the Seed of Rebirth. Behind him, Rhelga knelt with both hands pressed against Indura's back, fingers spread wide, face tight with concentration. Sweat already darkened the collar of his robe. Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the soft, wet crackle of the light itself, as if the chamber were slowly digesting the silence.
Minutes stretched. The light did not flicker or thin. It simply remained, heavy and absolute, until the air itself began to taste of green sap and old earth.
Then, without warning, it died.
The chamber snapped back into ordinary dimness. Dust motes drifted again. The roots overhead settled with a low creak.
Rhelga rose on unsteady legs. Sweat ran in clear tracks down his temples and along the sharp line of his jaw. He exhaled once, long and controlled, and wiped nothing away. His voice came out rough.
"It's just as I thought."
Indura opened his eyes. He unfolded his legs, stood, and brushed the front of his clothes into place with slow, deliberate motions. When he looked at Rhelga, his expression was calm, but the question was already there.
"What did you find?"
Rhelga's mouth tightened. He studied Indura for a moment longer than necessary, as though still seeing the green light under the skin.
"Your entire body… and your mana… they're different. Or rather, complicated."
Indura's brow furrowed slightly. "How so?"
Rhelga dragged a cloth from inside his sleeve and wiped his face in three short strokes. The fabric came away dark. He folded it once and held it in one hand, staring at nothing.
"I don't know how to put this."
Indura pulled a low wooden chair from the wall, set it down with a soft scrape, and sat. He rested his forearms on his knees and looked up.
"Please. I can understand."
Rhelga was quiet for several breaths. When he finally spoke, the words came measured, as if each one had to be weighed before it left his mouth.
"The Seed of Rebirth didn't simply heal you. It rebuilt the foundation. Everything that made you… you… was taken apart and put back together under different rules. Your flesh, your bones, the channels that carry mana—none of it follows the old pattern anymore. It's denser. Older. Like something that grew in the dark for centuries and only now decided to surface. The mana inside you isn't circulating the way it used to. It's layered. Nested. Almost like the Seed left pieces of itself behind to keep the new structure stable."
He paused, then continued.
"Your cores are the clearest proof. One still feels close to what you were. The second is colder, heavier—almost like it belongs to something that never needed air. The others… I can't read it cleanly. They keep shifting the moment I try to measure them."
Indura's fingers tightened once against his knees, then relaxed.
"Can I still absorb mana?"
Rhelga's expression darkened. He shook his head once.
"That's the worst part."
He met Indura's eyes directly.
"You can absorb ordinary mana. The channels still open. The cores still take it in. But the amount you need now is… different. Your old rate of absorption won't be enough to keep all six cores fed at once. If you try to fight or recover the way you did before, you'll drain yourself faster than you can refill. The new foundation demands more. Not just more volume—more density. More quality. Something closer to the source."
Indura was silent for a moment. Then, quieter:
"But... Can I still absorb mana normally at all?"
Rhelga nodded, but the motion carried no comfort.
"Yes. You can. But to keep pace with what your body has become… you'll need to absorb something else. Something on a much bigger scale."
Indura lifted one hand and touched his chin, thumb resting lightly against the edge of his jaw. His eyes stayed on the floor between them.
"I didn't expect my body to turn out like this," he said. "I tried absorbing mana a few days ago. Nothing happened. Or rather… I didn't feel anything at all. No pull. No warmth. Just empty."
He looked down farther, as if the answer might be written in the grain of the wood.
"My True self once told me how wild and dense the mana in Chaos could be. I believed him. I just never thought it would be this hard."
Rhelga dragged another chair from the wall and sat opposite him. The wood creaked under his weight. He rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together.
"The mana in Chaos is dense," he said. "That part is true. But taking it in the way your body now requires… it's not like drinking from a river. It's like trying to drink from an ocean while standing on the shore with a broken cup. The water is there. Endless. Heavy. Full of power. But every mouthful you manage to swallow is nothing compared to what the ocean holds, and the waves keep pushing more of it past you before you can close your lips. At your current rate, even if you sat in the densest current Chaos has to offer, it would take years—maybe decades—before all six cores reached any kind of real balance. And that's if nothing tried to kill you in the meantime."
Indura let out a slow breath. The sound was soft, almost lost in the quiet of the chamber.
"Is there anything that could really help?" he asked. "You're the genius here. There has to be something."
Rhelga went still. One hand rose and pulled absently at his chin, fingers worrying the skin. His eyes unfocused, drifting somewhere past Indura's shoulder. The silence stretched long enough that the distant creak of the roots above them became the loudest sound in the room.
At last he lowered his hand and stood.
"Excuse me."
He turned without another word and walked to the narrow archway that led out of the chamber. His footsteps were measured, almost careful, as if he were already carrying something fragile in his mind. The green-tinted shadows of the roots swallowed him one step at a time until only the empty arch remained.
Indura rose from the chair. The quiet of the root chamber pressed against him a moment longer, then he turned and walked toward a side passage he had not yet entered. The archway opened into a wider space, softer than the examination chamber yet no less ancient. Living wood formed the walls in smooth, flowing curves. Shelves grew directly from the grain, holding rows of crystal vials that glowed with trapped starlight, rolled maps sealed in amber resin, and strange tools of bone and root that looked half-grown rather than carved.
In one corner, a shallow basin held water so clear it seemed to float above its stone rim, reflecting the soft green veins that pulsed faintly through the ceiling. The air smelled of old parchment, damp earth, and something faintly metallic, like the memory of deep water.
He moved slowly between the shelves, fingertips brushing a row of sealed jars that held what looked like preserved leaves the size of shields. His gaze drifted, taking in the careful order of the place.
To his left, Sabrel stood close to one wall, head tilted, one hand pressed flat against the living wood as if listening to the structure itself. She did not turn. On the opposite side of the chamber, Shadow leaned against a tall shelf, a thick book open in both hands. The pages turned with soft, deliberate sounds. Neither of them spoke.
Indura exhaled through his nose.
"This place is too quiet. Too normal."
A small smile touched his mouth.
"It's perfect."
Footsteps sounded behind him. Rhelga stepped through the archway and, without warning, tossed something underhanded across the space. Indura caught it against his chest with one arm. The object was heavy, cool, and faintly alive. He lowered it into both hands and stared.
It resembled a fruit only in the loosest sense—a deep blue mass the size of a small boulder, its surface smooth yet veined with glowing lines of brighter azure that pulsed in a steady, swift rhythm, exactly like a heart. Moisture beaded along the veins and slid down in slow trails.
Indura looked up. "What is this?"
"Try it first," Rhelga said.
Indura turned the thing over in his hands. The beat against his palms grew stronger.
"This is a heart."
Rhelga's mouth curved. "Good that you know. Now try it." He paused. "Take a bite."
Indura raised one eyebrow. He looked down at the blue mass again. A low rumble answered from somewhere deep in his gut. Saliva gathered under his tongue before he could stop it. He brought the heart closer, set his teeth against the surface, and bit down with calm precision. The flesh gave way with a soft, wet resistance. Blue liquid welled over his lips and ran down his chin as he chewed at a measured pace, searching for the flavor.
His eyes flashed once—bright, unnatural—then settled. He looked at the heart, then sank his teeth in again, taking a larger piece. Juice streaked his jaw.
"This is—" He chewed, swallowed, took another bite, and spoke around it, voice low with genuine surprise. "This is really good, old elf."
His eyes had begun to glow in earnest now, a steady hunger-light. He lifted the heart higher.
"Where did you get this?"
Rhelga chuckled, the sound brief and warm. "Don't mind that. Tell me how you feel."
Indura licked the blue liquid from his lips and finished the last of the heart in two heavy bites. He swallowed, opened his mouth to speak—
—and the rush hit him.
It came clean and dense, richer than any mana he had ever drawn from the air. Too rich. Power flooded his channels in a single, overwhelming wave. His own mana rose in answer, lifting from his skin in faint, visible threads of light that curled and faded. He looked down at his hands, clenched one fist until the knuckles stood white, and smiled.
Oh... Now this is what I needed.
Rhelga watched him with open satisfaction.
"What you just ate was the heart of a sea beast."
Indura wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Sea beast?"
Rhelga nodded. "Even though drawing mana from the air has become difficult for you, creatures live out there whose bodies hold far denser stores. Some of them carry more pure force in a single organ than most cultivators will gather in a lifetime. Those beasts are rare. You have to go deep—into the black trenches, the lightless currents—or you may never find one at all."
Indura studied him. "How did you find this one?"
Rhelga waved the question away with one hand, then pointed a finger straight at Indura's chest.
"I didn't. Your old self did."
A quiet pride settled across Indura's face. He gave a single nod.
Rhelga continued, voice steady. "The Dragon King captured many such beasts in his time and kept their hearts for nourishment. What you just ate is only one. This… could be a start."
Indura grinned, blue juice still faintly staining the corner of his mouth.
"I didn't expect my old self to carry such taste." He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and looked at Rhelga. "Bring the rest out."
Rhelga sighed, the sound long and faintly exasperated.
"What you just ate was the last one. The others were all consumed years ago, while we prepared for the confrontation with the Light of Dawn."
Indura went quiet. The words settled over him like a weight. After a moment, he asked, voice low,
"That long?!"
"Of course," Rhelga replied. "These hearts do not decay or rot. The pure mana inside them is enough to keep the flesh fresh for decades. Sometimes longer."
Indura's expression softened into something almost appreciative.
"They really are the perfect meal."
"They are." Rhelga studied him for a beat. Something shifted behind his eyes. His gaze drifted across the shelves, the walls, the quiet figures of Sabrel and Shadow, then sharpened again as a thought locked into place.
"There is actually something else you could gain from," he said slowly. "Long ago, this planet created a handful of ancient monsters. Only ten of them ever existed. Four were hunted down by the Sovereigns. Three died during the great war. Two remain."
Indura's smile returned, sharp and knowing.
"I can see where you're getting at."
Rhelga answered with a matching smile.
"The two that are left may not be as powerful—or at least not as dangerous—as the ones that fell. But they still carry the purest concentrations of mana this world has left to offer."
Indura exhaled through his nose.
"Good. Which way is it?"
"Slow down." Rhelga lifted a hand. "They live in two separate places. One in the west. The other between the north and the east. It would be better if we did not cross the central lands to reach the west."
Indura tilted his head. "What's in the central?"
Rhelga's expression closed slightly.
"You do not wish to cross there." He let the words hang, then continued, "Between the east and the north lies a sea. They call it the Red Sea."
Sabrel stepped up beside him, brow faintly furrowed.
"Red Sea?"
Rhelga glanced at her and smiled.
"Yes." He turned back to Indura. "Here's what will happen. The beast of the Red Sea is female—a creature of tentacles and scale armour. Even calamities would find her difficult to bring down. But do not worry." His gaze shifted to Sabrel. "You can take it down."
Sabrel blinked. "Me?"
Rhelga nodded once.
"You will be the one to kill it and bring back its heart." He looked at Indura again. "You will stay behind."
Indura chuckled, low and amused.
"Is that a good idea? I could put it down with a single breath."
"That," Rhelga said evenly, "would be the problem. You might use excessive power—just enough to catch certain attention. Sabrel is different. She can slip through spatial tears if things go badly. Vanish before anyone truly notices."
Indura turned his head toward Sabrel, studying her.
"What's the real difference? Aside from not dumping a ridiculous amount of mana into the sky? I could take it with strength alone."
Rhelga's tone remained firm.
"You're still not going. I'm simply being cautious." Then the usual warmth in his expression changed into something quieter, heavier. "I can't have our most powerful being getting noticed. If you are found… it could put this entire world in great danger."
Indura watched his face for a long moment, eyes narrowed with faint suspicion. Then the suspicion broke into a wide, shameless grin.
"Alright, alright. You don't have to flatter me. I already know I'm the strongest."
Rhelga's mouth twitched.
"Yes. You are."
The two of them chuckled—Indura's deeper, almost cocky, Rhelga's quieter and edged with the dry amusement of someone who had just successfully herded a dragon. The sound bounced lightly off the living wood walls.
Sabrel stood between them, arms folded, staring from one to the other with the flat, unimpressed look of someone who had just watched two grown men congratulate each other on existing.
Rhelga turned fully toward her. His gaze settled on her white eyes and held there for a moment, steady and clear.
"You won't have to worry too much about the beast," he said. He lifted his hand and rested it on her shoulder. The touch was light, almost fatherly. "This is good. This will be your first true battle. Many would dream of facing a creature like that and walking away the victor."
He winked, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Are you up to it?"
Sabrel studied his face for a few breaths. Her eyes flicked past him toward Indura, measuring something unspoken, then returned. A grin spread across her lips.
"Of course."
Rhelga leaned in slightly. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, meant for her alone.
"You must not use your divine power. Not by any means. Fight with your mana alone—and even then, do not use too much."
Sabrel nodded once.
"I understand."
"Good. Good." Rhelga's smile returned, warmer now. "The Red Sea is the place you know best. You used to wander its waters for years." He stepped back, giving her space. "Go. Bring the beast down."
Sabrel turned on her heel. She tossed her hair over one shoulder with a sharp, confident motion, the white strands catching the soft light of the chamber. Her smile was bright and unshaken.
"I will absolutely win."
She walked out through the archway without looking back. Her footsteps faded into the deeper corridors of the roots.
Rhelga watched the empty doorway for a long moment, a quiet pride settling over his features.
"Ah… they grow up so fast."
Indura stepped up beside him, eyes still on the place where Sabrel had disappeared.
"So she has divine power?"
Rhelga moved a half-step away, already turning toward the far shelves as if the question were a minor curiosity.
"Don't mind that," he said lightly. "Focus on your own power for now."
---------------
The cave mouth opened onto the night.
Sabrel stepped out from the root-bound darkness and into open air. Above her, the sky stretched black and endless, scattered with cold stars. A thin wind moved through the high branches, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant salt. She stopped at the edge of the stone, lifted her face, and drew a deep breath. When she exhaled, the tension in her shoulders eased. Calm determination settled into her white eyes like still water.
A voice drifted from the side, low and faintly amused.
"Well, aren't you so happy."
Sabrel turned.
Vespera leaned against a thick tree trunk just beyond the cave's reach. Her golden eyes watched without hurry. The dark crimson dress she wore clung close to her frame; certain panels of the fabric—thin as membrane, edged with something like polished scale—caught the moonlight and threw it back in soft, liquid flashes of deeper red.
Sabrel's mouth curved.
"Where have you been?"
Vespera pushed away from the trunk and walked toward her. The reflective edges of her dress flickered with every step.
"Busy," she said. "Something caught my attention, so I decided to take a stroll."
She stopped directly in front of Sabrel, reached up, and pinched one of her cheeks between two fingers, tugging lightly.
"Did you miss me?"
Sabrel shook her head and pulled free, rubbing the spot with the back of her hand.
"Not at all."
Vespera's smile deepened—not the polite curve she usually wore, but something slower, sharper, the look of someone thoroughly enjoying the game.
"Oh, how cute."
Sabrel stepped back, already turning toward the treeline.
"I have something I need to do. I'm going."
"Would you mind telling me about it?"
Sabrel did not slow.
"It's a long story. But if you can keep up, you can follow."
Vespera sighed.
"Fine."
She watched Sabrel's white figure slip between the first trees, then called after her, voice carrying easily through the night.
"You could at least wait for me."
Sabrel answered by vanishing.
A pure white streak exploded from the forest canopy, punching straight into the sky. Clouds tore apart around her passage. Wind screamed past her ears as she accelerated, the night air turning sharp and thin. Below, the dark land blurred into nothing; above, the stars seemed to stretch and smear.
Then a second voice arrived beside her, calm even against the rush of speed.
"So which way are we headed?"
Vespera flew at her side, body wrapped in a thin sheath of golden mana that cut the wind without effort. No wings. Just controlled force.
Sabrel glanced across at her.
"Why don't you use your wings?"
"This method is best," Vespera replied simply.
Sabrel chuckled, the sound almost lost in the wind.
"We're headed to the Red Sea."
Vespera lifted two fingers to her chin, thoughtful.
"Oh… how interesting. Are you perhaps going for the beast?"
Sabrel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"How did you know?"
Vespera only smiled. Then she shot forward in a sudden golden flare, voice trailing behind her like a challenge.
"Catch me first."
Sabrel's laugh rang out bright and fierce. She surged after her, white light flaring hotter, faster.
Two streaks—one pure white, one deep gold—ripped through the high clouds and raced across the night sky, leaving torn vapor and falling starlight in their wake. From the dark world below, they looked like twin comets cutting open the dark.