Elara let out a long breath, her voice sharp—like a blade freshly pulled from flesh.
“Enerma.”
Her weapon pulsed faintly, then reverted to its default form—a compact rod that fit neatly in her palm. She slid it back into the holster at her waist with practiced ease.
“A regular Platinum would’ve died the moment they faced this thing,” she continued, her eyes still fixed on the unmoving figure on the ground. Her tone wasn’t boastful. It was bitter—frustrated by how the world above kept underestimating this depth.
Louis let out a low chuckle, though a lingering weight dragged at the sound.
“Well, that’s how it always is,” he said, voice calm. “But we survived. We won.”
He stepped closer to the creature’s body—cautiously, as if still unsure whether it had truly fallen. His gloved fingers reached out to touch the upper chest scales of Sthevrha. The surface was cold, yet beneath the chill, there was a faint flicker of lingering vis—like embers clinging to life.
His eyes swept across every detail. The bluish scales coating its body. The faint spiral engravings on the surface. The hybrid form—lower body that of a serpent, upper torso humanoid… if “humanoid” could still describe such a grotesque form.
“White, unfocused eyes. No nose. A mouth far too wide.” He muttered under his breath. “This body… it's bigger than the King Cave Wolf we fought before.”
He knelt briefly, fingers measuring the width of the spine scales.
“Elara, I’m taking a few scales from this thing,” he said without looking up—his tone clinical, like a scholar documenting a forgotten relic.
Sthevrha’s Scale.
Carefully, Louis selected a handful of the creature’s scales—choosing only those that remained intact and structurally stable. Each was roughly the size of a human hand, faintly shimmering under the ambient glow of residual vis in the air.
He stored them inside the Vispouch strapped at his side—an Arcanum artifact that looked deceptively mundane, yet contained a storage capacity far beyond its physical size.
Thank the stars these things exist, Louis thought, tapping the side of the pouch. Bones, crystal fragments, and now… relics from a fallen ancient.
Despite its humble appearance—just a small leather pouch etched with unfamiliar runes—the Vispouch held a secret that made it one of the most revolutionary creations in applied vis magic. It didn’t store items physically. Instead, it deconstructed them into raw vis signatures and sealed them within a memory field. Upon command, it reconstructed the object with flawless precision, as though it had never left the physical plane.
Objects stored within didn’t lose mass or meaning, because the Vispouch didn't carry "matter"—it carried "form" and "presence." A concept born from decades of arcane research in the province of Meddylbran. Only non-living materials could be stored, and each pouch had its own compression limit, tied to the strength of its core crystal and the vis capacity of its user.
With the final piece tucked away, Louis closed the latch. The faint pulses of arcane metal around the pouch glimmered gently—reacting to the remnants of the primal creature’s energy.
Elara approached, her gaze still locked on Sthevrha’s lifeless form, which now seemed to be losing its glow.
“Louis... that substance earlier—the one that forced people to vomit—what was it really?”
Louis turned slowly, then shook his head.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “But from what I’ve heard in guild meetings… each of the Gorg?n Sisters has an innate trait. That might’ve been some kind of vis-active compound affecting the nervous system. It still needs further research.”
He paused, eyes drifting to the cracked earth beneath their feet.
“As far as I know... creatures of this caliber usually only appear below the third layer. Honestly, even I’m surprised. The King Cave Wolf was supposed to be the strongest in this tier.”
Elara nodded slowly. She walked toward the left edge of the spiraling path, peering into the chasm still veiled in mist. The breeze carried with it the scent of iron and damp moss.
“Maybe we were meant to face her,” she whispered. “I don’t know… but it feels like something that had to happen.”
She added, still watching the abyss, “Has anyone from our guild ever made it to the bottom?”
Louis drew in a quiet breath, then gave a faint smile.
“Rumor has it... the Guildmaster once descended beyond. But when I asked directly, he just went silent. Changed the subject like it was something best left buried.”
He snapped his fingers once—an oddly final gesture.
“Maybe it’s time we saw it for ourselves. With our own eyes. No half-told stories.”
Elara nodded again. Her voice was soft, but clear. “Understood. I think… we’ve been down here nearly three hours.”
Louis glanced at the rocky ceiling above them, then grinned at her with mock offense.
“Who do you think I am, Elara?”
Then, more calmly, “Still… once we enter the second layer proper, we’ll rest. I want us sane when we continue deeper.”
“What do we do with Sthevrha’s body?” Elara asked, eyeing the creature—still unmoving, though its aura hadn’t completely faded from the air.
“I want to throw it into the depths. It won’t die, will it?”
Louis looked back at the Gorg?n’s corpse—its scaled, bluish skin still reflecting soft light from the bioluminescent roots nearby. His eyes then drifted toward the yawning edge of the chasm—dark, endless, unknowable.
He gave a slow nod.
“If you want. In a place like this, it’ll never truly disappear… but at least it won’t be in anyone’s way again.”
Without a word, Elara stepped toward Sthevrha’s corpse and dropped to one knee. Enerma remained at her waist, still in its compact rod form—but this time, she relied solely on her raw strength.
With a single deep breath, she hoisted the creature’s massive, ton-heavy body—slowly, but with certainty. Muscles along her arms flexed. Her posture tilted slightly forward, and the ground beneath her cracked under the pressure she exerted to hold its weight.
Louis stood just a few steps behind her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Few could pull off such a feat without offensive vis or physical enhancement spells. But Elara, as always, made it look routine.
With measured steps, she approached the edge of the spiraling path and peered downward. The mist below shifted gently, as if breathing—waiting. Then, without ceremony or farewell, she cast the Gorg?n’s body into the void.
A rush of air followed. The massive shape vanished into the bottomless dark.
Elara clapped her hands softly, brushing dust from her palms and fingers. The quiet sound of skin against skin stood in stark contrast to the abyss that had just devoured a monster. Her gaze drifted, unfocused—not from exhaustion, but from a mind still catching up to the reality of what they’d just faced.
“It’s done,” she said curtly, turning to walk back toward Louis. There was no triumphant smile, no sense of glory. Just the steady stride of someone who knew the journey was far from over.
“Let’s go. The second layer awaits.”
“Alright,” Louis replied, eyes scanning the area around them. The battlefield was still. No signs of movement—lesser creatures had vanished, and the spiral path was quiet again.
But then, as he stepped to the edge and tilted his head slightly upward, he spotted something—motion on the upper loop of the spiral path.
A group was entering.
Louis ducked instinctively, lowering his presence.
“Elara,” he whispered, “another party’s coming down the path.”
Elara crouched as well, her eyes narrowing as she tracked the newcomers.
“They’ll be busy soon,” she murmured. “If they’re not hostile, we’re safe—for now.”
But her tone darkened. “Still... I fear they’re from another city’s guild.”
And sure enough, only seconds after they appeared, the monsters descended. Cave Krawlen, Cave Wolves, Spined Echobats, and bloated horned grubs swarmed the area around the party.
Clashing steel and magic erupted above, the sound echoing downward through the spiral walls like the opening notes of a distant war.
“Should we leave them?” Louis asked, still low, eyes following the figures now being pushed back by the surge of beasts.
“As long as they don’t interact with us... not even eye contact,” Elara answered, calm but resolute. “They are not our concern.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Without another word, the two slipped away, leaving the sounds of battle to fade behind them.
Ahead lay a natural tunnel sloping downward—narrow, stable, shaped by time and pressure beyond human reckoning. The walls were more than just earth and stone. Veins of ancient roots curled through them like arteries, some pulsing with a faint yellow glow. They looked alive—breathing—casting a soft light like lumium lanterns grown straight from the soil.
The ground beneath their boots felt almost soft, untouched by human steps. Wild grass sprouted between the rocks, brushing against Elara’s heels with every movement—and with each step, the blades shimmered faintly, glowing in hues of bluish green, as if recognizing them as foreign presences and offering a quiet greeting.
Tiny flowers bloomed in soft blues and pale purples, scattered without pattern. Untouched by the carnage above, they grew freely, unbothered by blood and ruin. Elara slowed her pace, eyes roaming across the strange landscape—plants that felt too pure, too serene for a place this unforgiving.
“I didn’t think… anything could grow in a place like this,” she murmured, more to herself than to Louis. Her fingers brushed one of the blossoms in passing, then quickly withdrew. She knew better—this beauty could just as easily be a snare.
Louis gave her a glance, then turned his gaze back to the walls alive with tendrils and light. Something like this, he thought. If I could… I’d bring it back. Plant it near home. Let it glow quietly at night, when the world feels too still.
But he didn’t say it aloud. He sensed it instinctively—too much noise here would break the harmony. This tunnel demanded silence, not words.
Their steps continued downward, curving deeper. The air grew damper. The temperature dropped. Yet there was no stench, no rot—only the clean scent of moist earth and unopened blossoms.
A new world was unfolding… welcoming them not with noise, but with a silence too perfect to be natural.
Less than fifty meters ahead, the tunnel opened. Their feet passed from root-lined earth into open air once more—and the scene before them shifted, as if they had stepped into a dream—or a nightmare.
The Deep Forest greeted them not with sound, but with breath—a thick, quiet presence, as though this place had waited… for a long, long time.
Elara and Louis stood atop a natural ridge sloping downward. Behind them, the tunnel’s mouth gaped wide—like the jaws of some ancient beast birthing travelers into the unknown.
Ahead stretched a vast living biome—nearly three kilometers tall from canopy to stone ceiling, and perhaps ten kilometers wide.
This was no mere cave. This was a world.
The stony path beneath their feet was overgrown with thick underbrush and bioluminescent moss, glowing faintly green. Gnarled roots jutted from the ground like bones growing outward, casting a golden-yellow shimmer—silent torches that gave no heat. Mist blanketed the forest floor, thin but suffocating. Visibility dropped sharply—twenty or thirty meters at most, even less in the damper pockets of air. Towering trees sprouted from the ground, the walls, and even the cavern ceiling—twisting, coiling, and radiating light from the tips of their branches, like living fibers spun from the underworld itself.
Elara said nothing for several seconds. Her eyes remained fixed on the descending landscape before them, wide open—not from fear, but awe. She slowly exhaled.
“This… it’s more alive than I expected,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the glowing leaves of a nearby bush. “And more beautiful than the world above.”
Standing beside her, Louis didn’t answer. His gaze was turned left—toward the center of the biome. There, still gaping wide, lay a colossal hole that pierced straight into the ground. It sat at the very heart of the Deep Forest. No railing. No border. Just a vortex of mist and the soft light that pulsed from its unseen depths.
It’s still there, he thought. Waiting.
He stayed silent for a moment longer, then murmured softly,
Something like this… if only I could take it home. Not the whole thing. Just a fragment of this strange peace.
To the right of the ridge, they found a massive tree with a thick trunk and roots that arched from the earth like sculpted bridges. Light shimmered gently from the tips of its branches—just enough to illuminate the area without making them visible from afar. It was quiet. No growls. No tracks. Just the soft rustle of fog drifting through the leaves.
A perfect place to rest.
Louis stepped closer to the arching roots, scanning the surroundings with a flat, measured look.
“From the perspective of anyone exiting the tunnel...” he muttered, pointing back up the slope, “we’d be completely visible from here. Too exposed.” His eyes narrowed, calculating angles and lines of sight in his head.
Elara didn’t respond. Instead, she turned and moved several dozen meters down the side of the hill, weaving between the undergrowth and ancient roots. A few minutes passed before she found a spot—another enormous tree, its roots spreading wide along the ground to form a kind of natural canopy. Beneath it sat a tilted boulder, partially hidden by leaves and moss. She crouched, then glanced over her shoulder.
“What about here?”
Louis followed the narrow path she’d taken, coming to a stop behind her. He surveyed their position from several angles before nodding.
“Looks good,” he said, giving her a thumbs-up and a slight smile. “Actually, really good. Could pass for a proper emergency camp.”
They slipped beneath the roots and sat in the hollow, shielded by the large rock to the right and a thick curtain of tree roots at their backs. Above them, the softly glowing leaves swayed gently, casting a muted golden light—like a waning moon filtering through foliage. The space felt like a natural sanctuary. Hidden just enough, but with a narrow gap between roots and stone—just wide enough for Elara to keep watch over the quiet forest beyond.
Louis sat down slowly, leaning his back against the cool stone. He unclipped the vispouch at his side, touched its surface with a glowing fingertip—an encoded signal only the artifact could recognize.
In an instant, several items materialized: two packs of dried rations, two bottles of water, two bottles of electrolyte mix, and a neatly rolled cloth.
He slid them out onto the flat patch of earth between them.
“I’ve still got dry bread and some sweet stuff,” he offered, handing one packet to Elara. “And don’t worry, this one doesn’t taste like swamp mud like last time in the village forest.”
Elara accepted it with a slight nod.
“As long as it doesn’t foam when I bite into it, I won’t complain,” she muttered, sitting cross-legged beneath the arch of the tree’s root. The leaves above reflected softly in her eyes, making her gaze appear warmer than usual—even if her alertness never fully faded.
They ate in silence for a while.
Only the faint rustle of fog and the occasional drip of water from the roots above accompanied them. Louis took a sip of his water and glanced upward—toward the cavern ceiling high above, almost invisible.
“You know,” he said finally, “if this place wasn’t filled with man-eating beasts and the scent of death… I might actually settle here.”
Elara gave a faint smile but didn’t answer right away. Then, with a flat, unreadable tone, she replied,
“If I could, I’d build a home here too… This place is beautiful—like your eyes, Louis.”
Louis looked down, a flush creeping across his cheeks despite his best efforts to maintain composure. His shoulders tensed for a split second, and he averted his gaze, suddenly finding the glowing bush beside him far more fascinating than before.
“Stop teasing me,” he muttered softly—barely audible, but clear enough.
Elara let out a quiet laugh—a rare sound, like warm wind drifting through the stillness. Her cheeks turned pink too, though she tried to hide it with one hand.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said quickly, though the smile never left her lips.
“I didn’t expect the champion of the Academy Magic Festival to say something like that,” Louis added with a small grin, attempting to steer the conversation back to safer waters.
But the grin faded as he noticed Elara lowering her head. The calm in her eyes darkened slightly, pulled into a memory she clearly didn’t want to revisit. Down here, even a shift that subtle echoed like thunder. Louis immediately recognized the mistake.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, voice quieter now. “I know… what happened back then.”
He paused, leaving the silence open—if she wanted to speak. He wouldn’t push.
Seconds passed.
Then, with quiet strength, he added,
“Still, everyone knows you're not who the rumors said you were. You won. No lie, no gossip can erase that.”
“It’s alright,” Elara finally said, her voice soft. “I’ve accepted what happened. And the truth is… I’ve made peace with it.”
She took a breath, eyes settling on the moss-covered ground in front of her.
“I was just... remembering how it felt back then. That’s all.”
Louis turned slightly, watching her for a moment—but said nothing more. He knew not all wounds required words. Sometimes, silence was enough.
He looked down, fingers gently gripping his water bottle.
“Thanks for telling me,” he said quietly.
Simple words—but from someone like Louis, they carried weight.
Damn. I ruined the moment, he thought, sipping from the bottle.
Though Elara showed no anger, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d pulled them both back into a chapter better left buried.
And yet… part of him felt relieved.
At least now, he knew a little more about what lay behind Elara’s quiet.
Several minutes passed. The atmosphere softened.
The mist still rolled below, but beneath this root-covered canopy… the world felt a little lighter.
Still leaning against the stone, Louis reopened his vispouch.
With calm fingers, he drew out a small pouch—its contents wrapped in a soft wax cloth. He opened it to reveal bright red strawberry skewers, glistening under a thin layer of crystal sugar.
“Still like these?” he asked, without looking her way.
Elara raised an eyebrow, her eyes widening as she recognized the shape and color of the treat.
“Strawberry candy?” she whispered, half in disbelief. “You remembered…”
Louis gave a quiet shrug.
“Hard to forget. You never spoke much... except when eating these.”
He held one skewer out toward her.
Elara accepted it wordlessly, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She bit into the end slowly—sour-sweet and sugary crispness flooding her tongue, slapping her with memories from a childhood now buried too far beneath time… except in places like this.
Louis spoke again, voice steady but thoughtful,
“Why do you think most people stop at Gold or Platinum?”
Even his tone held curiosity now—rare for him.
“Because the ranking system was designed to give people something tangible to chase,” Elara replied without hesitation.
“Stamina, control, efficiency, vis capacity—it’s all measurable.”
She glanced at the cavern ceiling, then back down at the candy in her hand.
“But still, I don’t get why so many never push beyond. We’re turning sixteen this year, and honestly… we’re faster, more stable. More gifted than most.”
She bit off another piece of the candied strawberry, breaking the sugary tip before continuing.
“But it’s not just talent. I believe everyone has potential. The issue is how they’re raised. Training methods. When they start. And most of all… whether someone even sees that potential early enough.”
She stared ahead—into the haze between the colossal trees.
“Too many give up too easily. Too reliant on comfort. And while emotion is important—it’s what makes us human—it can’t fix everything.”
“If you’re too entangled in your own feelings,” she went on, voice firm now, “you’ll make foolish decisions. And foolishness, when left unchecked, dulls the mind. Anyone who never sharpens their thoughts... will stop before they ever truly begin to grow.”
She fell silent again, her eyes lingering on the massive trees growing upside-down from the cavern ceiling—searching for answers in roots and light.
The mist crept deeper, wrapping the world in gentle silence.
No wind. No footsteps. Just breath and the pulse of something unseen.
In the distance, droplets of water echoed from the roots above.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence again.
Louis placed his empty bottle beside the stone, then leaned his head back against the roots.
“We’re too young to talk like this,” he murmured, almost like a joke. “Aren’t we?”
Adulescentes nimis cito senescimus.
We who are young, grow old too fast.