Nova York
United Continent of America
Terra, Tellus solar system
Milky Way Galaxy
January 2019
Rex moved through the hospital corridors like a shadow no one could perceive.
The Grey clung to him—thin, absolute—rendering him untouchable to the mundane world. Orderlies rushed past, shoulders brushing the space he occupied, yet never quite reaching him. Their footsteps echoed in a rhythm of urgency, their voices low and strained, swallowed by the weight pressing down on the building.
The atmosphere was wrong.
Too heavy.
Too saturated.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting pale streaks across polished floors stained with the quiet evidence of panic—hurried footprints, overturned carts, the faint smear of something that hadn't been cleaned in time. Doctors barked instructions. Nurses moved with practiced speed, but there was tension in their movements—too sharp, too frantic.
Something was slipping beyond their control.
Rex's gaze shifted briefly as he passed a waiting area.
A television mounted high on the wall flickered with static before stabilizing. The broadcast cut through the chaos—too calm, too composed for what it was describing.
"This is News Channel G-1, bringing you breaking coverage on the ongoing global anomalies. Cities such as Lakefront, Nuevo Cielo, Volgrad City, Rheinstandt, and several others have reported identical phenomena. According to our sources, the pillars of light seen across these regions—"
The audio distorted for a moment.
Rex didn't stop.
He already knew.
He had felt it.
Those pillars weren't isolated events. They were markers—anchors—something piercing through Terra's fabric from the outside… or perhaps from something long buried within it.
He turned down another corridor, adjusting his path instinctively, avoiding a team rushing past with a gurney. Even within the Grey, he moved with precision—habit, not necessity.
Beyond a glass partition, the emergency wing unfolded.
Patients lined the halls.
Some convulsing.
Some unconscious.
Some simply… still.
The smell hit him a second later.
Antiseptic—overwhelmed by something metallic. Rot threaded beneath it, subtle but growing.
A disease.
But not one born of nature.
Rex's eyes narrowed slightly.
—
At the far end of the corridor, standing before a wide observation window, was a solitary figure.
Aria Delos
She hadn't changed.
Dark golden cassock draped over her form, its fabric catching faint light like dull sunlight through stained glass. A white veil obscured her face entirely, leaving nothing visible beneath it—no eyes, no expression.
And yet—
Her presence filled the space.
She didn't turn as Rex approached.
Didn't acknowledge him.
Not outwardly.
"The Beast King has begun to move," Aria said.
Her voice was quiet.
Certain.
Rex came to a stop beside her, his gaze drifting through the glass to the chaos below.
"Looks like it," he replied.
Ambulances flooded the entrance outside—sirens cutting through the city, doors slamming open as more bodies were rushed in. Some walked. Some were carried. Some didn't move at all.
Above them, through the Grey, doves circled—silent carriers used by the hidden world, their white forms ghostlike against the fractured sky.
"A viral outbreak?" Rex murmured.
But even as he said it, he knew.
This wasn't a virus.
Not in the mundane sense.
It spread like one.
But it felt like something else entirely.
Something invasive.
Something deliberate.
"I take it Golden Dawn is handling containment," Rex said.
Aria tilted her head slightly.
"Who do you think owns this hospital?"
Rex huffed faintly under his breath.
Of course.
Even here.
Golden Dawn's reach threaded deeper than most realized—hidden institutions, silent control, entire infrastructures masked beneath the Grey.
His gaze hardened.
"If this is the Beast King's doing… then where are Fallen Stars?" he asked. "They've been quiet for too long."
Too quiet.
For an organization built on upheaval, silence was never a good sign.
"They're not absent," Aria said.
A pause.
"They're watching."
Rex's expression didn't change—but something in his eyes sharpened.
"Then why are you here?"
This time, Aria turned—just slightly.
Not enough to reveal her face.
Just enough to acknowledge him.
"That," she said, "is precisely why."
Rex stilled.
"Don't tell me…"
"They want to speak with you."
A beat.
Then—
"Sophia Sinclair has called for you."
The name lingered.
Rex's gaze drifted, thoughtful now.
"…Sinclair."
Of all names.
Of all people.
A faint, humorless smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"So the Sinclairs are involved," he muttered.
That complicated things.
His history with Fallen Stars wasn't distant.
It was personal.
The uprising twenty years ago—the fracture that nearly tore the Divine Federation apart—he had been there. Seen what they were capable of. Fought against it.
He didn't forget things like that.
Didn't forgive them either.
But—
Mission first.
Always.
Rex straightened, the hesitation vanishing as quickly as it had come.
"Alright," he said, voice steady.
"Let's go."
Behind the veil, Aria said nothing.
But the air shifted.
And somewhere beyond the Grey—
Something was already waiting.
****
Golden Dawn
Luna, Terra
Gaea Solar System
Milky Way Galaxy, Charlie Sector
Neutral Free Zone
The clearing lay cradled within the ring of nine Menhirs—ancient stone pillars that rose from the earth like remnants of a forgotten will. Their surfaces were scarred with time, etched in weathered grooves that faintly shimmered when mana stirred too close, as if the stones themselves were listening.
This was where Emani had trained her.
Where Sam had been broken down, corrected, and rebuilt.
And today, she wasn't alone.
Emily stood a few paces away, her posture relaxed, almost careless, yet the space around her felt… deliberate. Like, even stillness obeyed her. The Pleiadian girl had begun accompanying Sam here regularly, offering guidance in a way that contrasted Emani's forceful precision. Where Emani struck, Emily observed. Where Emani demanded, Emily adjusted.
Between them, Sam was being shaped from two directions.
The first time Sam had come to the Menhir circle alone, it had been out of desperation. The energy inside her mindscape had been growing—expanding, pressing against the edges of her thoughts like something searching for form. It wasn't wild, not exactly… but it wasn't controlled either. It lingered in that dangerous space between potential and collapse.
She hadn't known what to do with it.
She had wanted to ask Emani.
But Emani hadn't been available.
Terra was unraveling.
Anomalies had begun appearing across the world—fractures in reality marked by the emergence of those pillars of light. Golden Dawn had been stretched thin, its forces deployed across continents, managing crises that the Mundane world couldn't even begin to comprehend.
And still—
The illusion held.
For now.
Officially, nothing was wrong.
No disappearances. No mass incidents. No fractures in reality.
The Grey had seen to that.
Across the affected cities, it layered perception over truth, replacing absence with imitation. Streets remained crowded. Voices filled spaces that should have been silent. People who were no longer there still appeared to be—echoes stitched together to preserve the lie.
A seamless deception.
Almost.
Because for a brief moment—
it had faltered.
Just long enough for the Mundanes to see the pillars.
Not understand them.
But perceive them.
And that alone had been enough to fracture certainty.
Golden Dawn had moved quickly after that. Containment. Redirection. Narrative control. The Grey reinforced, stabilized, rewritten.
But Sam could still feel it.
That slight instability.
Like reality itself had… slipped.
She stood now at the center of the Menhir circle, the memory of that first visit lingering at the edges of her thoughts. Back then, she had stood here unsure, overwhelmed, reaching for something she couldn't name.
When Sam stepped into the clearing, the scene greeted her exactly as it had the first time.
Emily was already there.
She lay stretched across the grass between two of the Menhirs, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other holding a book suspended above her face. The artificial sunlight filtered softly through the inner sky of Golden Dawn's hidden world, catching in the strands of her hair and setting them aglow like threads of burnished copper.
She looked… untouched.
As if the weight of this place—the pressure of the Menhirs, the quiet hum of restrained power—simply didn't reach her.
The first time Sam had seen her like this, she had tried to keep her distance. It had felt intrusive, stepping into someone else's stillness.
Emily hadn't allowed it.
She had insisted Sam stay.
Not forcefully—never that—but with a quiet certainty that made refusal feel unnecessary.
And so, for four days, this had become routine.
Sam would sit at the center of the Menhir circle, wrestling with the storm inside her mindscape—trying to still it, shape it, understand it.
And Emily would read.
Always reading.
—
Sam exhaled slowly, then opened her eyes again.
Failure.
The energy within her refused to settle, coiling just beneath the surface of her awareness, restless and waiting. It wasn't resisting her anymore—it simply wasn't responding.
Her gaze drifted.
To Emily.
Today, she wore magenta.
Not a loud magenta, but something refined—deep, saturated, tailored into a sleek suit that fit her form with effortless precision. Beneath it, a white lace blouse softened the sharpness, its delicate patterns catching the light when she shifted. Black heels rested loosely at her feet, one half-slipped off, as if even they couldn't quite command her attention.
Her hair—reddish-orange, almost ember-like—was intricately braided along the crown before cascading into loose, wavy strands that spilled across the grass.
Everything about her felt… curated.
Intentional.
Effortless in a way that shouldn't be possible.
Sam found herself staring.
Since stepping into the Hidden World, she had seen beauty—impossible, refined, otherworldly. People who carried power in their presence alone, whose appearances seemed sculpted by cultivation itself.
But Emily…
Emily was different.
There was something quiet about her beauty. Something restrained. It didn't demand attention—it simply existed, waiting to be noticed.
And because of that—
most people didn't.
The deadpan expression she wore dulled it, flattened it into something easily overlooked.
But Sam saw it.
And once she saw it, she couldn't unsee it.
A strange itch stirred in her mind.
I could draw her, Sam thought. Paint her. Capture this…
Her fingers twitched slightly at the thought, imagination already beginning to shape lines and color.
She could be a model.
No—
She'd ruin the entire industry.
Sam almost snorted quietly to herself.
Every model on the planet would lose their job.
The image amused her for a moment before she shook it off, glancing down at herself instead—plain crème shirt, blue jeans, a simplicity that suddenly felt… lacking.
"Are you done comparing us?"
Sam froze.
Emily hadn't moved. The book was still held above her face.
But her voice cut cleanly through the space.
Sam blinked. "Are you reading my mind?"
Emily lowered the book just enough for her eyes to peek over the edge.
They slid over Sam—slowly, deliberately, from head to toe.
Not judgmental.
Just… assessing.
A flicker of something unreadable passed through her gaze before she lowered the book completely.
"If I were," Emily said calmly, "you wouldn't have noticed."
Sam shifted, brushing her left arm unconsciously. "It feels weird," she admitted. "Being the one getting read. I've never… thought about what it's like to have your thoughts just… open like that."
"It's unpleasant," Emily said, sitting up now, closing her book with a soft thud.
"No kidding," Sam muttered.
Emily studied her for a moment, then gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. "That's why we're here."
She gestured lightly toward the circle—the Menhirs, the space, the pressure in the air that seemed to press inward on Sam's awareness.
"Your mind is vulnerable," she continued. "A seasoned Mage learns to guard it as naturally as breathing. You're an Ascendant now—you don't get the luxury of being unaware anymore."
Sam exhaled, running a hand through her hair.
Emily tilted her head slightly, observing her—not critically, but precisely.
"From what I've seen of your training with Emani," she said, "you've improved."
A pause.
Then, more pointedly—
"But your foundation is unstable."
Sam looked up.
"You skipped two realms to reach Adept," Emily continued, her tone even. "That kind of acceleration leaves gaps—structural ones. Your control is improving, but the base it rests on…" She tapped her temple lightly.
"…is still catching up."
Sam swallowed.
"You're adjusting," Emily added after a moment, her voice softening just slightly. "Better than most would."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the center of the circle.
"Thanks," Sam said softly.
The words felt small compared to what she was experiencing.
Her control was still uneven—mana slipping, catching, resisting her intent—but it was no longer chaos. There was structure now. A rhythm she could almost follow. Each attempt brought her closer, each failure no longer a wall but a step.
She could feel it.
The growth.
It thrummed through her like a quiet current, strengthening her from within. For the first time since stepping into the Hidden World, the path ahead didn't feel overwhelming.
It felt… exhilarating.
She wanted more.
—
"Telepathy," Emily began, her tone shifting into something more clinical, "and empathic perception both fall under internal sense manipulation. That, in turn, is a branch of mental manipulation."
She spoke as if reciting something ingrained—knowledge not memorized, but understood.
"Every Ascendant is capable of it," she continued. "It isn't taught in the traditional sense. As you ascend, your mind… expands. Certain functions become intuitive."
Her gaze flicked toward Sam.
"But there are exceptions."
A pause.
"You."
Sam blinked.
"You possess empathic abilities without having cultivated them," Emily said. "That means it isn't learned—it's intrinsic. A natural expression of your… essence."
Essence.
The word stirred something in Sam's memory. Her status window. The fragments she had barely understood at the time. Things like Ability Factor. Unique Technique. Her expression shifted slightly as the realization surfaced.
"I think I've figured something out about my ability," Sam murmured.
Emily's attention sharpened instantly.
Sam hesitated for only a moment before continuing.
"It's called Música Conductor," she said. "It lets me… see things. Not physically, but—like wavelengths. Emotional wavelengths. Of a person's soul."
Silence followed.
Then—
Emily's expression changed.
It was subtle.
But unmistakable.
For the first time since Sam had met her, something broke through the stillness of her face. Her eyes widened just slightly, her composure fracturing for a heartbeat.
And somehow—
that made her even more striking.
"You can perceive the wavelength of a soul?" Emily said quietly.
There was no dismissal in her voice.
No skepticism.
Only astonishment.
She leaned forward slightly. "Explain it to me. Your empathic perception—how does it function?"
Sam faltered.
"I… don't know how to explain it."
She closed her eyes briefly, searching for something concrete.
A memory surfaced.
The Echo Field.
The chaos. The pressure. The suffocating emotional storm that had threatened to tear everything apart.
And then—
her voice.
"I… sang," Sam said slowly.
Emily didn't interrupt.
"I didn't think about it," Sam continued. "I just… did it. A song my dad and Aunt Stella used to sing to me. A nursery rhyme."
Her fingers curled slightly as she recalled it.
"It calmed me down. And then… it started affecting everyone else. Their emotions—they shifted. Stabilized."
She opened her eyes again.
"Music has always done that for me," she admitted. "Whenever I'm close to breaking… it pulls me back."
Emily was quiet for a moment, processing.
Then—
"So you use music as a medium," she said, "to interpret and influence emotional frequencies."
Her gaze sharpened again.
"That's… remarkable."
A brief pause.
"But incomplete."
Sam frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
Emily straightened, her tone returning to that measured clarity.
"What you're describing isn't the entirety of your ability," she said. "It's an expression of it."
She tapped lightly against her own temple.
"Ability Factors are innate. They define how an Ascendant interacts with reality at its most fundamental level. Many may share similar factors—but their application differs. Perspective shapes execution."
Her eyes met Sam's.
"The way an Ability Factor manifests is through what we call a Unique Technique."
Sam listened, the pieces beginning to align.
"In your case," Emily continued, "Música Conductor appears to function partially as a passive perception ability. You interpret soul-level information—emotions—as sensory input."
She gestured subtly toward Sam.
"Color. Sound. Resonance."
Sam's breath hitched slightly.
"That information," Emily said, "you then influence—through music."
A faint pause.
"A translation. Then a manipulation."
She leaned back slightly, studying her.
"…A dangerous skill."
Sam stiffened. "Dangerous?"
Emily didn't soften it.
"Yes."
The word landed cleanly.
"This is why you need this lesson," she said. "Soul-related abilities are among the most volatile forms of power. Mishandled, they don't just harm others…"
Her gaze sharpened.
"They can destroy you."
"What?" Sam's voice rose, caught between confusion and alarm.
"Relax," Emily said flatly. "If you learn proper control, you won't be in danger."
Not comforting.
But certain.
She shifted slightly, her tone turning instructive again.
"Mental energy—Odic force—is the foundation," she said. "It is the energy of the mind itself. The substance that forms your Soul Realm—the internal landscape of your consciousness."
As she spoke, the air around them seemed to settle, the hum of the Menhirs deepening in response.
"By utilizing Odic force," Emily continued, "you can extend your awareness beyond your body."
Her eyes met Sam's once more.
"Internal sense."
A faint pause.
"And once you master that…"
There was a glint in her gaze now—sharp, precise.
"You'll stop being the one who gets read."
And start being the one who sees.
"Watch. And observe."
Emily didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
The moment she spoke, something shifted.
A subtle pressure gathered around her—quiet, precise—as she stimulated her Odic force. It didn't flare outward like mana. It folded inward, condensing into something finer, sharper… more invasive.
Her Internal Sight opened.
The world narrowed.
Sam stood at the center of it.
Emily's perception tunneled through layers—not physically, but conceptually, slipping past the surface of Sam's body as if it were no more than a thin veil. What revealed itself beneath was not flesh, but structure.
Flow.
She saw Sam's mana pathways first—luminous threads weaving through her form, carrying energy in smooth, continuous currents. The flow was no longer erratic. It had stabilized, moving with a rhythm that spoke of recent growth.
But it wasn't perfect.
There were inconsistencies—subtle fluctuations where the current thickened or thinned, revealing the instability Emily had already noted.
Her focus deepened.
She observed the mana nodes—points of regulation where energy pooled, compressed, and redirected. Each one pulsed faintly, like miniature hearts sustaining the system.
Then deeper still.
Blood.
Circulation.
Vitality.
Emily perceived the interplay between systems—the way mana intertwined with biological function. Cells dividing, regenerating, sustaining life through a delicate balance of energy and matter. Vitality flowed not just as biology, but as an energetic constant—the foundation upon which everything else was built.
And then—
her perception brushed against something else.
Sam.
Not her body.
Not her mana.
Her presence.
—
Sam stiffened.
It wasn't pain.
It wasn't even pressure.
It was… exposure.
Something unseen slid across her awareness, like fingers grazing the edges of her mind. Not forceful. Not violent.
Just there.
And in that moment, Sam felt stripped of every layer she didn't know she had—like standing in a space where nothing could be hidden.
Her breath hitched.
"Did you feel that?" Emily asked, her voice cutting cleanly through the sensation as she withdrew her Internal Sight.
"Yeah," Sam muttered, rubbing her arm as if she could shake the feeling off. "That was… not a good feeling."
Emily nodded once. "It shouldn't be."
She stepped closer, her gaze steady.
"If I wanted to," she continued, "I could have extended that connection further—projected my senses directly into your mind."
Sam's expression tightened.
"I would be able to perceive your thoughts," Emily said. "Your memories. Your emotional imprints. Everything you've ever experienced."
A beat.
"However…"
Her tone shifted slightly.
"…doing so would expose me as well."
Sam frowned. "Expose you how?"
Emily crossed her arms loosely. "When you enter someone's mind using Internal Sense, you're not just observing—you're establishing a link. A pathway formed by Odic force."
She tilted her head slightly.
"And pathways go both ways."
Sam's eyes widened slightly as understanding began to form.
"If you were able to overwhelm the Odic force I used to enter your mind," Emily said, "you could trace that connection back to its origin."
Sam inhaled sharply. "…And take control."
Emily gave a small, approving nod. "Exactly."
The air seemed to grow heavier with the implication.
"I've encountered Mystic Beasts and Abominations that specialize in this," Emily continued. "They don't attack the body—they bypass it. They enter through the mind, inflict mental damage, or overwrite consciousness entirely."
Her gaze hardened slightly.
"That's why mental defense isn't optional."
Sam swallowed.
"So how do I protect myself?"
There was no hesitation in her voice now—only urgency.
Emily studied her for a moment, then answered.
"A mental ward."
She raised a hand slightly, as if outlining something invisible in the air.
"A barrier constructed within your mind. It shields your internal stimuli—your thoughts, emotions, and perception—from external interference."
Sam frowned slightly. "A barrier… made of what?"
"Odic force and mana," Emily replied. "Structured together into a cohesive system that rejects foreign signals."
She lowered her hand.
"And to build that system…"
A pause.
"…you'll need Counterflow."
Sam repeated the word quietly. "Counterflow…"
Emily nodded. "Remember, it's the reversal of mana flow within your pathways. Instead of allowing it to follow its natural circulation, you redirect it—force it to move against its intended direction."
Sam's brow furrowed. "That sounds… dangerous."
"It is," Emily said plainly.
She stepped closer, her voice lowering slightly.
"You won't be reversing your entire system. Only a localized region."
Her gaze flicked upward, indicating the head.
"The cerebral cortex."
Sam instinctively tensed.
"The mana pathways extend through your nervous system," Emily continued. "They intertwine with your neural structure. That means mana flows through your brain just as it does through the rest of your body."
She paused, letting that settle.
"By controlling that flow—by reversing it in specific patterns—you create interference. A disruption field."
"A… shield," Sam murmured.
"Exactly."
Emily's eyes sharpened slightly.
"But precision is everything. You're manipulating energy inside the most sensitive structure in your body. One mistake…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Sam felt it anyway.
The weight of it.
"This isn't something Novices or Acolytes can usually do," Emily added. "Even most Adepts struggle with it."
Her gaze locked onto Sam's.
"But you're not most Adepts."
A faint challenge lingered in her tone.
"I want to see if you can handle it."
The Menhirs hummed softly around them.
And for the first time since the lesson began—
Sam understood.
This wasn't just training.
This was a test.
"Observe me with your Internal Sight."
Emily didn't move as she said it, yet something in the air sharpened—like the world itself had been pared down to a finer edge.
Sam nodded, steadying her breath before reaching inward.
Her awareness shifted.
The external world dulled, fading into a distant backdrop as her Internal Sight unfolded. Threads of mana came into focus—Emily's form no longer defined by flesh, but by structure and flow.
Luminous pathways ran through her like constellations given shape. Her mana moved with impossible precision—clean, controlled, unbroken. No turbulence. No hesitation.
Perfect.
Sam focused deeper, narrowing her perception toward Emily's head.
The cerebral cortex.
There, the mana flow changed.
It thinned—became finer, more intricate. Instead of rushing currents, it moved in delicate streams, weaving through neural structures like threads through fabric. Each pulse of mana reinforced something unseen—strengthening the neurons, sharpening pathways of thought and perception.
It was… beautiful.
Engineered.
"Try to feel my emotions," Emily said.
Sam reached.
She extended her empathic sense—searching for color, for tone, for anything that would define Emily's inner state. Nothing. Not silence. Not suppression. Just—
Absence. A blank space where something should have been. That same feeling threw her off.
"I… can't feel anything," Sam admitted quietly.
"Good," Emily said.
The word carried weight.
"Now," she continued, "I'll guide you. I'll stimulate the mana flow in your cortex—show you the process. After that, you'll replicate it."
A brief pause.
"Do you mind?"
Sam shook her head. "Go ahead."
The moment she gave permission, Emily moved.
Not physically—
but internally.
A current of mana slipped into Sam's system, subtle and controlled. It didn't force its way in—it merged, threading itself into her pathways with surgical precision.
Sam felt it immediately.
Cold.
Not painfully so—but distinctly. Emily's mana carried an icy quality, calm and distant, like still water beneath winter frost. It brushed against Sam's own mana and—
pressed.
Gently.
Firmly.
Reversing it.
Sam's breath caught.
Her natural flow resisted at first, pushing forward as it always had—but Emily's influence guided it, coaxing it into a new direction. Slowly, the current shifted.
Counterclockwise.
Opposite.
Sam focused, locking onto the sensation—the subtle pull, the redirection, the way her mana bent without breaking. She memorized it, imprinting the feeling into her awareness.
Then—
Emily withdrew.
The cold presence vanished, leaving Sam alone within her own system.
"Now," Emily said.
Sam swallowed and took control.
She reached inward again, guiding her mana toward her brain—toward the delicate network she had just observed.
At first, it faltered.
The flow stuttered, slipping between directions as she struggled to maintain consistency. Too fast, and it collapsed. Too slow, and it lost cohesion.
But she didn't stop.
She adjusted.
Refined.
Listened.
And gradually—
it stabilized.
The reversal took hold.
From the outside, Emily watched in silence.
There was a flicker in her expression—brief, almost imperceptible. A crack in her usual stillness.
Surprise.
Sam didn't see it.
Her eyes were closed, her entire awareness turned inward as her mana began to circulate in controlled opposition. As it flowed, something else responded.
Her Odic force.
It stirred—then aligned.
Mana and mind, moving together.
The reversed current created friction—not destructive, but structured. A distortion field forming within the neural pathways, subtle at first… then growing more defined.
A boundary.
A beginning.
Sam felt it as pressure—not external, but internal. Like walls rising within her consciousness, shaping space where there had only been openness before. Emily's gaze sharpened. For a first attempt—this was far beyond expectation.
It wasn't clean. Not yet. The flow wavered at points, the structure uneven.
But it held.
And then—
something else emerged.
Within Sam's consciousness, faint light flickered.
Emerald.
Runes.
They formed without her intent, drifting through the inner landscape of her mind like fragments of something ancient awakening. Their shapes shifted, fluid and unfamiliar—until they settled, translating themselves into something she could understand.
Words.
Enlightened has gained a new level of mana comprehension.Mental Manipulation and Internal Sense Manipulation have advanced.
The message burned briefly—then faded.
But the feeling remained.
That presence.
Deep within her subconscious.
Watching.
Waiting.
Connected to something greater—something tied to the Gaea spell system.
Sam reached for it instinctively—
—and it vanished.
Gone.
Like it had never been there.
Her focus wavered for only a second before she forced herself back into control, reinforcing the structure she had built.
Time passed.
Minutes stretched.
Nineteen in total before she exhaled sharply, the strain finally catching up to her.
Sweat clung to her skin. Her breathing grew uneven.
But the structure—
held.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
"I'm ready," she said.
Emily stepped forward without hesitation.
Her Internal Sight activated again—sharp, precise.
She probed.
A controlled intrusion of Odic force pressed against Sam's mental barrier, searching for weaknesses, testing the integrity of the structure.
For a moment—
It held.
A single second stretched into something larger, the resistance pushing back against Emily's intrusion with surprising force.
Then—
it broke.
Cleanly.
Emily withdrew immediately.
Silence settled between them.
"Truly impressive," she said at last.
Her expression had returned to its usual neutrality, but there was something in her eyes now—a faint glint she didn't seem to notice herself.
"For a first attempt," she added.
Sam let out a breathless laugh, dropping slightly where she stood, exhaustion finally overtaking her.
"Just glad I managed to try at the first attempt," she muttered.
Emily tilted her head slightly.
"You'll figure it out," she said.
There was no doubt in her voice.
She stepped back, giving Sam space to recover.
"Rest for a moment," she added. "Then we'll do it again."
The Menhirs hummed softly around them.
And this time—
Sam didn't feel overwhelmed.
She felt ready.