The moment he opened his eyes and sat up beneath the Bondtree a new pair of notifications appeared in front of Jack.

  The first was Vishura’s gift and it looked surprisingly helpful

  [Shadow Box

  Rank: Basic

  Type: Utility

  Requirements: At least level 1 in Psychic Magic

  Description: The caster conjures illusory enemies within a confined area, replicating the appearance, fighting style, and combat abilities of actual opponents based on their own memories. These illusions can attack, defend, and react with lifelike precision, making them valuable for training or tactical preparation. The intensity and realism of the illusions increase with the caster’s mastery over Illusion Magic.

  Duration: Up to 5 Minutes

  Casting Time: Instant

  Cost: 1 Mana per second

  Cooldown: 3 Hours

  Note: Psychic spells must be cast mentally. With increased mastery, the host can lift heavier objects, levitate for longer durations, and control more precise movements]

  His excitement at the new spell was dimmed by the price.

  [You have accepted a Quest:

  Acquire a Body

  Objective: Within 6 months obtain a suitable body for the being known as Vishura to inhabit.

  Penalty for failure: Vishuras wrath

  Rewards: Experience and the temporary service and tutelage of Vishura

  ]

  “Six months,” Jack murmured, his voice tight. The time limit was generous compared to what he expected, but the threat looming over his head was undeniable. Vishura’s wrath was something he doubted he could survive, let alone defend against. And yet, if he succeeded…

  His fingers clenched, and he pushed the thought aside. There would be time to worry about that later. Right now, he needed to rejoin the others.

  He rose to his feet and made his way toward where Cael, Lyla,Tanner and the wolves had been waiting. Their figures stood out against the leafy greenery of the forest, with Lyla leaning casually against a jagged stone and Cael pacing restlessly, his impatience obvious.

  “Did you find what you needed?” Lyla asked, her voice cool and expectant.

  Jack nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got the information I was looking for.” He hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Cael. “But before we do anything else, we need to head back to the Pool of Purity. Cael, you should brew more healing potions while we have the chance.”

  Cael’s expression twisted, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Oh, of course. Let’s just have me do more of your dirty work.” His tone dripped with resentment. “Why not? It’s not like my life means much compared to whatever grand scheme you’re cooking up.”

  “It’s not about that,” Jack said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re the only one who can make those potions. And we’re all going to need them. Especially after what just happened.”

  Cael’s jaw clenched, his glare flickering between Jack and Lyla before finally settling. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  With the decision made, they began the trek toward the Pool of Purity. Lyla led the way, her strides confident and unhurried, while the wolves padded along with watchful eyes. Cael kept his distance from Jack, his resentment simmering but no longer boiling over.

  As they walked, Jack’s thoughts drifted back to [Shadow Box]. The spell was fascinating. The ability to conjure realistic illusions of enemies would be invaluable for training. He could spar against the Celia, anticipate her scorching flames and unpredictable strikes. He could test himself against the jaguar-beast dwarf’s ferocity, or even Faraun’s necromantic prowess.

  But the spell’s potential went beyond simple training. What if he could use it to deceive his enemies in real combat? Project a false image of himself or his allies, force their foes to attack shadows while they struck from the darkness? He wasn’t sure if the spell could be used that way but he was eager to find out.

  And then there was the obvious benefit — learning. Fighting against illusions of his enemies would allow him to pick apart their techniques, spot flaws and openings he’d missed during the heat of real combat. The more he fought them, the sharper his instincts would become.

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  Jack’s fingers itched with anticipation. He could already see himself using [Shadow Box] to refine his combat skills, pushing himself beyond his limits.

  The road ahead felt a little less daunting with something like that in his arsenal.

  But the thought of the quest Vishura had forced upon him still gnawed at his mind like a festering wound. Six months to find a suitable body. And the moment he failed, he would face the consequences.

  He glanced at Lyla’s back, her stride as calm and controlled as ever.

  Her aunt had told him Vishura wouldn’t harm him as long as she needed him. But what about when the time came to collect her due?

  A chill ran down his spine, and he forced his thoughts back to the spell. If he was going to survive whatever madness he’d been dragged into, he’d need every advantage he could get.

  By the time they reached the Pool, night had fallen. Jack had worried about telling Tanner he would have to sleep on the ground but the former slave didn’t seem to mind. As he put it “I’d sleep on a bed of nails if that means I don’t have to be a slave again”.

  As he settled down for the night, he began to piece together his next course of action. The night was deep, the only sounds the gentle rustle of leaves and his own steady breathing. In the cool air, the distant shimmer of the Pool of Purity provided him with an almost otherworldly sense of calm, even as his thoughts churned like a storm within him.

  Celia lay still nearby—unconscious and bound in conjured vines —her features peaceful but her mind marred by the scars of trauma. Jack’s mind raced with conflicting emotions: concern for her wellbeing, anger at her attack on him, and guilt for killing her friend . He recalled the information he had learned about her past. The Light Attunement, he believed, was the key.

  Tucked away safely in his pouch was his leverage—a small, radiant shard that pulsed with an inner light. The crystal, a rare artifact he had acquired for completing his last Quest, now took on a new significance. It wasn’t just a tool or a useful trinket; it represented hope, the promise of transformation. In his mind, Jack envisioned it as a conduit—a means to bestow upon Celia the Light Attunement that seemed so elusive to her. Such a gift could be used to extract whatever concessions he needed from the elf.

  He had considered using it on himself but the description of his race had said it was easier for him to acquire Attunements. His experience so far had born that out. It probably wouldn’t be that hard for him to acquire the Light Attunement on his own. He could always offer to one of his companions of course. Perhaps he should ask them if any of them wanted it first.

  His gaze drifted back to Celia’s peaceful, unconscious face. Even bound and helpless, there was something fierce about her. A stubbornness that made him believe she would never truly be broken. Perhaps that was why he felt the urge to help her. Or perhaps it was simply his own guilt, desperate for some form of redemption.

  Jack’s thoughts swirled like the eddies of the Pool, chaotic and impossible to untangle. But exhaustion began to dull his mind’s frantic pace, his eyelids growing heavy despite his attempts to stay alert.

  He barely noticed when he slumped sideways against the rough bark of a tree. Sleep claimed him before he could even process that he was falling into it. His breathing steadied, his consciousness drifting into darkness.

  The darkness pulled him under, a heavy, enveloping void that swirled with fragmented memories and half-formed thoughts. Jack’s mind, worn thin by exhaustion and stress, surrendered to the chaotic storm of his dreams.

  He found himself standing at the edge of the Pool of Purity, its waters rippling with unnatural light that twisted into intricate, shifting patterns. But the glow was wrong—its serene brilliance marred by swirls of shadow, like ink poured into crystal-clear water. The Pool’s light seeped into the ground, turning the earth beneath his feet soft and unstable, as if threatening to swallow him whole.

  Celia stood across the Pool, her eyes open but devoid of recognition. Her gaze was hollow, her expression twisted by pain and anger. The vines that had bound her were now part of her, their dark tendrils coiled around her limbs, writhing and pulsing as if feeding off her suffering. She spoke, but her voice was fractured, like shattered glass scraping against stone.

  “Why did you kill him?” she rasped, her voice echoing across the distorted landscape. “You had a choice.”

  The words hit Jack like a physical blow, his chest tightening with guilt and defensiveness. “He was trying to kill me,” he shouted back, but his voice sounded distant, muted by the oppressive darkness pressing in from all sides.

  “Justify it however you want.” Celia’s lips twisted into something between a sneer and a sob.

  Suddenly, the forest around him shifted. Trees rose from the ground, twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The Pool of Purity vanished, replaced by a charred battlefield littered with broken weapons and scorched earth. The air stank of blood and ash, the acrid taste clinging to the back of his throat.

  Before him stood the jaguar-beast dwarf he’d seen earlier. The creature’s eyes gleamed with rage, its fangs bared in a furious snarl. Behind the beast, hovering in the air, loomed Faraun, the necromancer’s robes drifting like shadows in the air, his gaze cold and empty. Their eyes locked onto Jack, promising pain and vengeance.

  He stumbled backward, his feet sinking into the charred ground as if it had turned to quicksand. His heart pounded, the sensation more real than the madness surrounding him. He tried to summon his magic, to defend himself, but the power refused to answer his call.

  The frantic howl of a wolf jolted him awake, his eyes snapping open to find Cael standing over him, dagger in hand. Moonlight glinted off the blade’s edge as it hovered over his body.

  Jack’s mind screamed at him to move, but his body remained sluggish, weighed down by the remnants of sleep. He tried to twist away, but the attempt was feeble and clumsy.

  Cael’s eyes were wild, the hatred in them raw and unfiltered. And then, without hesitation, the dagger came down.