"The spell is adapting," Marco said, his voice sharp. "It is learning from your progress, adjusting itself to counteract your growth."

  The forge area of the workshop was a study in contrasts, a place where ancient stone met the cold precision of Marco's technology. Blue-white light, stark and artificial, emanated from recessed panels in the ceiling, casting long, sharp shadows across the cavernous space.

  The heart of the area was the forge itself – a massive structure of dark, time-worn stone, its ancient origins betrayed by the faint carvings that snaked across its surface. It hummed with a low, contained energy, a silent promise of heat and power.

  Beside it, the arc-lance stood sentinel, a sleek, obsidian instrument humming a higher, more insistent note as it waited in standby. The air hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of ozone, layered over the persistent, earthy scent of petrichor that seemed to cling to the very stones of the dungeon.

  Eli moved within this space with a focused intensity that belied his weariness. Sweat slicked his brow, catching the harsh light as he shifted his weight, a rod of dull metal whistling through the air. He practiced the Comet's Trail, a basic form Marco had drilled into him through countless simulations.

  Each strike was meant to be a burst of linear aggression, a fiery dart of motion. But in reality, his movements were still rough, edges unrefined. He pivoted, lunged, and swung, the metal rod a clumsy extension of his arm.

  Focus wavered, then sharpened again as he mentally recited Marco's teachings – Precision is the comet's heart. Speed, its fleeting tail.

  Suddenly, with a soft shimmer that disturbed the dust motes dancing in the artificial light, Marco's hologram materialized beside the forge. His form, always slightly translucent, seemed to ripple against the rough-hewn texture of the ancient stone behind him.

  ?Alert: Tactical Recommendation Engaged,? Marco announced, the familiar synthesized tones echoing in the cavern. It was a voice designed for clarity, optimized for rapid information transfer, yet Eli had begun to discern subtle inflections within its synthesized tones, hints of something… more.

  ?Combat efficiency… suboptimal. Current weapon proficiency: rudimentary. Eli, a designated weapon is advised for optimal dungeon traversal and threat neutralization.?

  Holographic images bloomed into existence around Marco, shimmering projections of potential armaments. A plasma rifle, sleek and deadly, rotated slowly in the air, its stats flashing in teal glyphs beside it. Then, an energy blade, humming with contained power, its form shifting to demonstrate various attack patterns.

  Finally, an Aethel short sword, its ancient design elegant and lethal, its history displayed in concise data streams. Marco's initial projections leaned towards technological solutions, weapons of calculated force.

  Eli lowered his practice rod, his breath coming a little heavier now, though more from concentration than exertion. He wiped his forearm across his brow, smearing sweat and grime.

  "A weapon?" he repeated, glancing at the holographic arsenal with a flicker of something akin to distaste. "I've been focusing on the Forms, like you said."

  ?The Forms are the foundation,? Marco emphasized, the word subtly highlighted in the L.I.S.T. display. ?A weapon is the focus. Think of it as… channeling your Elting through a more efficient conduit than your fists. Though,? a pause, almost imperceptible, ?your fists are… enthusiastic.?

  A flicker, too quick to properly register, seemed to soften the sharp lines of Marco's holographic face, a ghost of something like amusement in the digital construct. The holographic weapons continued to rotate, silent, insistent suggestions hanging in the air.

  A gnawing emptiness echoed in Eli's stomach, a hollow counterpoint to the dull ache of the binding spell around his neck. Hunger, a constant companion in the ruins, pushed at him, a primal urge overriding even the weariness that clung to his bones.

  Marco's suggestion of a weapon still hung in the air, a spark of an idea, but a practical need burned hotter in his gut. Food first, he decided, glancing towards the shadowed passage that Marco had mentioned. Then… weapons.

  —

  Water dripped somewhere in the distance, each drop echoing in the vast chamber's darkness, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence that followed. A faint, rhythmic clicking pulsed from somewhere unseen—steady, patient, unsettling. It was a sound that resonated in the bones, a primal rhythm that spoke of hidden things moving in the dark. Like chitinous legs on stone.

  "Subterranean river system ahead," Marco's voice announced, a familiar presence inside Eli's head, cutting through the cavern's silence. ?Alert: Proximity Warning. Subterranean River System Detected.?

  The L.I.S.T. glyphs shimmered at the edge of his vision. "Elevated energy readings. Possibly organic. Potentially… edible. Exercise extreme caution."

  There was a clinical detachment in Marco's tone, yet Eli sensed a flicker of… something else. Was it curiosity? Or simply the cold calculation of resource assessment?

  ? L.I.S.T. Interface Update ?

  Alert: Subterranean River Ahead

  Elevated Energy Readings

  "Potentially edible. Don't get your hopes up."

  The passage narrowed abruptly, the rough-hewn stone walls closing in, pressing against him. The air grew thick, heavy with the damp, mineral scent of wet rock, overlaid with something else—a cloying, twisted floral perfume that prickled at his nostrils.

  It was an unnatural sweetness, laced with decay, and as it reached him, the binding spell around his neck hummed, a low thrum of warning. Then, strangely, the hum subsided, fading into an unsettling quiet.

  The runes on the binding spell dimmed, their usual faint glow receding as if drawing back in contemplation. The black threads, usually hidden, are more prominent. Almost…listening.

  Eli's hand tightened instinctively around his makeshift spear—sharpened scrap metal scavenged from the workshop's debris, frustratingly dull and inadequate.

  The tunnel abruptly widened, opening into a vast cavern that stole his breath. The air shifted again, becoming cooler, damper, carrying the sound of rushing water.

  A river cut through the heart of the stone, its surface shimmering with a pale, ethereal blue light, reflecting off the cavern ceiling far above. Bioluminescent moss, like ghostly paint, adorned the walls in shifting, otherworldly patterns, casting the cavern in an eerie, gentle glow.

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  It was a beauty born of the dungeon, twisted and strange, yet undeniably captivating.

  He stepped into the frigid water, his worn boots offering scant protection against the biting cold. The shock of it jolted through him, a sharp, physical contrast to the close, mineral-laden air of the passage.

  Just one fish. That's all I need. His gaze scanned the shimmering water, hoping for a sign of life in this subterranean realm. The clicking continued, almost in time with his own heartbeat now, a constant, unnerving pulse in the silence. Closer.

  ?Anomaly detected,? Marco's alert chimed, a soft, mental pulse that resonated in his mind. ?Energy signature unstable. Origin: three meters southwest.? The L.I.S.T. glyphs sharpened, focusing his attention.

  Eli turned, his makeshift spear held ready, scanning the cavern. Nothing but water and moss-covered stone met his gaze. He took another step deeper into the river, the cold seeping into his bones.

  His foot struck something solid beneath the water's surface. The scraping sound echoed strangely against the cavern walls, amplified and distorted by the vast space.

  He reached down, his numb fingers closing around a smooth, water-worn object. Lifting it from the riverbed, he held it up to the faint bioluminescent light.

  It was a stone, palm-sized and perfectly formed, cool and slick in his hand. Pale blue veins pulsed beneath its smooth surface, like captured starlight frozen within the rock. But inside, nestled at its heart, was a crystalline structure, like a fossilized flower.

  A subtle energy thrummed through his palm, spreading a gentle warmth that chased away the river's chill, a vibration that resonated deep within his bones. The fossil wasn't bone, but crystalline—intricate, plant-like structures that echoed the binding spell's own intricate patterns.

  It glowed softly from within, a faint, internal beacon in the surrounding gloom. He felt a pull, a connection, to the stone, but the binding spell, though unusually quiet, blocked a complete merging, leaving him with a frustrating sense of almost, but not quite.

  The corrupted golden threads dimmed even further, as if observing, assessing this new element.

  He turned abruptly, a sense of urgency seizing him, and ran back towards the workshop, the river-stone clutched tightly in his hand.

  —

  The workshop's harsh, blue-white light made his eyes sting after the cavern's gentle, otherworldly glow. He blinked, adjusting to the sudden shift, his boots echoing on the stone floor as he hurried towards the workbench.

  "Marco!" He burst into the forge area, holding out the river-stone, still humming faintly with that strange, captivating energy. "You said unusual energy readings?"

  The moment the stone touched the cold metal surface of the workbench, a crystalline note filled the air, pure like a struck tuning fork vibrating through the metal.

  Marco's scanners, arrayed along the edge of the bench, clicked, whirring and spitting out data streams in a flurry of activity, then abruptly stopped, falling silent. The sudden stillness was more potent than any alarm.

  ?Analysis Paused,? Marco's voice announced, a flat, almost stunned tone replacing its usual clinical detachment. ?Wait.?

  The stone's hum deepened, the subtle vibration intensifying, resonating through the metal of the workbench, through the stone floor beneath, and even, Eli realized with a jolt, through his own bones. The crystalline note lingered, hanging in the air, sharp and clear.

  ?Identification… confirmed,? Marco's voice returned, now laced with careful precision, each word measured. ?It's a fossil. But not of any known organism. The crystalline structures—this is… a naturally occurring mana battery.?

  "A battery?" Eli stared at the stone, mesmerized by the pulsing blue veins beneath its surface. "It stores power?"

  ?More than that,? Marco corrected, his tone shifting again, now touched with a note of something akin to awe. ?It amplifies.?

  Marco paused, processing, the silence stretching for a beat too long. ?And… dating indicates it predates everything—the Krev, the First City. This is truly… ancient.?

  Eli could feel the stone pulsing in his hand, the warmth spreading, and he examined it more closely, tracing the intricate blue veins with a grimy fingertip. Hope, fragile but insistent, began to bloom in his chest.

  "Could it… could it power a staff?" Eli asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the desperate hope rising in his throat. His fingers traced the stone's pulsing veins, seeking an answer in its strange energy. Like Papa's staff. Something to channel the power... to break through the binding spell.

  Marco hesitated again—a rare and unsettling occurrence. ?Yes,? he finally said, the word clipped, devoid of its usual certainty. ?Yes, it could. But…?

  The pause stretched, filled with unspoken calculations, unknown variables.

  ?The energy signature… it's discordant. The binding spell… it reacts, but not in harmony. Like two songs in clashing keys. Powerful, but… unstable.?

  A glitch rippled through Marco's voice, revealing another layer beneath—feminine, whispered, barely audible: ?…Liora always said… some doors are best left unopened…?

  Then, just as quickly, Marco's normal voice returned, too bright, too cheerful, masking whatever had flickered beneath. ?Further analysis required. Place it in the containment lattice. We proceed with utmost caution.?

  The river-stone clinked softly as Eli placed it within the glowing containment lattice on the workbench. As the lattice field enveloped it, the stone's hum intensified, building in resonance, vibrating through the workshop, and through the very stone beneath their feet, resonating with something deep, ancient, and unknowable beneath them.

  "So this is like… what the Krev are doing?" Eli asked again, his voice still barely a whisper, a thread of unease woven through the fragile hope. "With the binding spells?" Trying to harness power they don't understand?

  ?No,? Marco's voice answered, the synthesized tones now holding a rare and unsettling emotion, a distinct hint of… sadness? ?The Krev force magic to submit. This stone… it's something older. Purer. But also…?

  Silence stretched between them, heavy and pregnant with unspoken implications.

  Then—from somewhere in the workshop's depths, beyond the ancient stone walls, beyond the humming of the machinery—the clicking returned. Closer now. More insistent. Following. Waiting. The dungeon is aware. It's sending scouts.

  Eli stared at the river-stone, now cradled within the containment lattice, its blue veins pulsing with an amplified glow. Marco's words, "mana battery," "amplifies," "ancient," echoed in his mind, chasing away some of the gnawing hunger, replacing it with a different kind of anticipation.

  Power. Real power, not just… sparks.

  He turned from the workbench, his gaze drifting around the workshop, taking in the familiar yet alien space. The forge, the arc-lance, the holographic displays – Marco's domain. But then his eyes snagged on the Ironbark logs stacked near the forge, their silver-gray grain catching the light.

  And a memory, faint but insistent, surfaced.

  Not of the dungeon, not of Iron Hold, but of… before. A sun-drenched yard, the scent of Mama's moon lilies heavy in the air, laughter, warmth. And Papa, standing tall, a staff held loosely in his hand, carved from wood the color of… Ironbark.

  A staff not of metal and energy, like Marco's weapons, but of wood and… something else. Something that hummed with a quiet strength, a natural power.

  "My father…" Eli murmured, the words almost lost in the hum of the workshop. He walked towards the Ironbark logs, drawn by an unseen thread of memory. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool, dense wood, the faint constellation patterns familiar beneath his fingertips.

  The scent of petrichor, stronger here near the raw material, filled his senses, pulling at something deep within him.

  "He had a staff," Eli said, louder this time, turning back to Marco's hologram. "Not like those." He gestured dismissively towards the still-projected holographic weapons, a subtle curl of his lip betraying his instinctive rejection of their cold, technological perfection.

  "Something… different." He couldn't articulate it, not yet, but the feeling was strong, a pull towards something more organic, more… him.

  Marco paused in his silent analysis of the river-stone, the L.I.S.T. glyphs around him shifting, swirling as if re-prioritizing data streams. ?Processing… Query: Staff Weaponry…?

  The synthesized voice was momentarily distant, as if Marco were accessing data from a far-off server. Then, the tone sharpened, becoming focused, almost excited. ?Cross-referencing: Aethel Martial Archives… Kilic…?

  A soft, melodic chime resonated from the L.I.S.T. interface, a positive confirmation tone, like crystal struck against crystal.

  Marco's hologram solidified, becoming less translucent, more sharply defined. His posture subtly shifted, straightening, becoming more engaged. He turned his full attention to Eli, the holographic weapon projections fading, replaced by new images.

  Ancient Aethel warriors sprang into existence around them, shimmering figures frozen mid-motion, wielding staves with breathtaking fluidity and power. Diagrams overlaid the warriors, highlighting stances, grips, energy flow patterns, all rendered in intricate detail.

  ?Fascinating,? Marco stated, the synthesized voice now infused with a clear enthusiasm. ?A staff… Yes, Eli, that is… an excellent choice.?