Pale brilliance illuminated Cyrus' palm as he prepared an attack. Quickly, he sprang forth his palm as he watched the puppet illuminate under his rays. And, well, nothing happened. Frowning, Cyrus channeled his mana again. And again. Once it was over and there was nothing left to show save for the puppet's mocking glance at him, Cyrus crossed his arms, lost in thought.

Soon, his lips pursed into a thin line. Wait. Don't tell me that the answer is so simple. Cyrus' hand soon cindered in vermilion. It can't just be flammable, right?

Another explosion was heard in the far distance. By now, the flames had begun to spread unchecked while a thick smog of heated and toxic miasma hung above the forest. Watching this sight, Cyrus shook his head. It was clear that staying here for a week was too generous.

"Fuck it."

His flame shifted to hunger, and without any more hesitation, Cyrus tossed it forward and ran back for cover, mainly behind charred rubble.

"Really, it's working?!" The sight took Cyrus aback.

Indeed. What was swathed in runes, possibly thousands of times stronger in affinity, was currently crackling under a simple flame. The puppet glowed in red fires as it lay there. Yet even under the fires of its demise, that creepy smile and those mocking, dark eyes never faltered.

Soon, cracks appeared, and the timber charred until the puppet was no more than indistinguishable from firewood.

"That's i—" The puppet exploded with a myriad of colors and magical essence, shattering into a thousand splinters. The resulting explosion forced Cyrus to hide behind his cover as pieces of wood flew in his direction.

"Shit," he muttered, pressing his back to the shielding rubble.

Slowly, carefully, Cyrus raised his head above the ruined wood. The sight before him brought him into a statued stillness. Where once the puppet lay was now that cobweb-like fractured glass once revealed by the power of insight.

A thousand runes floated around the broken reality. They shifted and churned, reminiscent of static on old television screens or a swarm of insects, until finally finding some semblance of order. Then, they lined up inside the fracture. More and more runes clung to each other as they shaped into a circle of arcane power. It pulsed with energies that brought goosebumps to Cyrus' sweat-sleeked skin.

A second later, they began to spin and spin into an indistinct blur. And within the circle, the fractals shattered.

Cyrus gasped at the sight of a prismatic film ripping itself into existence. The tear beckoned with pulses that rippled through reality. And what was that beyond the veil? Cyrus could vaguely perceive the image of an untouched forest.

It called to him. And Cyrus answered it. Slowly, he stood up, mesmerized by the sight. It had to be a portal—one that would take him back to Avalorn. One step. Two. Only when he appeared before the kaleidoscopic membrane did Cyrus remember a crucial importance.

Quickly, he reached into his pocket and brandished his flare gun. Arm reaching for the skies, Cyrus then pulled the trigger—a flare shot into the air. Moments later, a crimson hue illuminated the hamlet.

And with it came a sudden, drastic change. The earth began to quake, bringing Cyrus to the ground. Behind him rang the bubbling of something. But his attention was first drawn to the quaking ground as he struggled to get up.

The sounding dirt and rubble trembled and crumbled as a crack in the earth shaped around him, a platform. It began rising higher and higher until both Cyrus and the portal disconnected from the land beneath him.

Struggling to regain his footing, Cyrus crawled near the platform's edge. There were no words that could describe his shock. The dark font that acted as the pond on the stage, called Hamlet, was now the size of a small lake. It spread outwards like a corrosive plague, melting everything it touched. Or was it better to say that it was vacuuming everything in sight like a black hole?

Hands digging into the grass and mouth agape, Cyrus watched the earth slowly liquefy like rushing water, forcing the trees and stones into the ever-growing abyss. Meanwhile, the flames, smog, and flare—the very air—plunged into the black ocean, swirling inwards like vortexes. The following deafening cacophony of destruction forced Cyrus to cover his ears.

As this occurred, the platform ascended higher and higher, utterly unaffected by the obliteration around it. Only then did Cyrus have a clearer view of the scene.

It was as if he floated before a swirling vortex of torn landscapes, debris, fog—everything, with the dark font as its center. Beyond the limits of his vision, a yawning void stretched out into the horizon until there was nothing but darkness and floating debris the size of mountains.

Escape!

Quickly, Cyrus stumbled to his feet. His vision swerved toward the portal that remained despite the chaos around him. But as he made it before the nebulous veil, a scarlet red covering the dark font baited his attention. There was a meteor streaking through the chaos, weaving around the flying debris and earth, moving farther from the central black mass.

"Latriaen!" Cyrus shouted.

Quickly, he scrambled toward the platform's edge again and called once more, but it was impossible for his voice to reach his mentor. But yet, Cyrus wasted no time. Desperately, he reloaded his flare and shot it into the air. Only for it to immediately fall under the vortex's suction the moment it escaped the platform's barrier.

"Damn it." Cyrus gritted his teeth.

The flare was a dud. But he still had one last trick to play. And so, Cyrus outstretched his arms and drained all of his reserves. Then, like a shining lighthouse, the platform transformed into a beacon of safety. And it was enough, for the meteor veered directly upwards against the swirling vortex.

Against all odds, the meteor gradually distanced itself from the pull. Yet, as if it weren't enough, it then exploded with unimaginable power, shooting upward. It swerved around mountain-sized mounds and tore through trees.

But then came the largest piece—a mountain shrouded by fog that came crashing downwards. Having canceled his light show, Cyrus knelt before the platform's edge. Mouth agape, He watched the meteor skid around it, almost consumed by the falling debris.

"Wait." Heart clenching, Cyrus' gaze narrowed. "What is that?"

Fog and froth were bubbling on top of the massive shard of earth. And as the flaming meteor flew past it, a hundred shadowy limbs exploded out and latched onto it. With it sprang forth a maw large enough to swallow a three-story building whole. Out then came a horrifyingly enormous mass of fog and corpse-like flesh, flying upwards in tow of the meteor. The mountain behind The Maw soon smashed into the vortex, crumbling into pieces.

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Nothing else remained in the endless void and swirling vortex except these two powerful beings hurtling themselves closer to the platform, minute after minute, mile after mile. Not until the meteor was tens of meters away could Cyrus barely perceive a humanoid figure entangled by dark claws and limbs within.

But that was as far as Latriaen could fly. The Maw was like a parasite, clinging onto him despite the fiery attacks flung back at it, forcing Cyrus' mentor's speed into a frustrating crawl. The teacher and student then locked eyes. And to Cyrus' horror, Latriaen lost all momentum and slowly drifted backward as more and more shadowy limbs clung to the ladder.

Despair flooded both of them. Abruptly standing, Cyrus paced around the platform as he frantically thought of a plan. Without thinking, he knelt before the platform and shot radiance toward the fog-wreathed abomination. But it was useless. His weak attack only elicited a silent roar from the creature as it dragged Latriaen closer to the abyss.

Damn it. What was he suppo—the sound of breaking glass came from behind. Head snapping toward the portal, Cyrus' heart leaped to his throat at the sight of cracks forming around it. Its edges fracture, slowly heading toward the center of the prismatic membrane. And with it, the platform came to shudder.

At that moment, Cyrus froze still.

You can't save him. An intrusive thought whispered in the depths of his mind. Just leave. Cyrus gritted his teeth. No hope.

It would be so easy—just step through and never look back. And no one would blame him. After all, he was just an apprentice mage.

Pathetic. It's always going to be like this. The thought made Cyrus take a step away from the platforms and toward the fractured reality. Slowly, surely, Cyrus strove before the fracturing portal. His legs faltered into a kneel as another shake came from the platform.

Just go. And he wanted to. All Cyrus needed was to take that final step.

But all Cyrus did was kneel there as he watched the fractures slowly spread toward the center.

"Fffffff-uck!" A breath passed, and Cyrus snapped into a stand. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

His attention snapped onto the shovel he dropped on the platform long ago. Kneeling before it, Cyrus then allocated his light and fire runes into separate arms and began to channel. Soon, both blazing and radiant tension emanated from his palms, draining all of his mana.

Cyrus growled. "Not enough!"

Without hesitation, he dumped the remainder of his mana crystals and began converting them into his own with his mana sense. Seconds felt like an eternity as more energy poured into his palms. Every shudder of fracture felt like the last as more and more pressure built up in his arms.

And the pain. It was as if something was slowly crushing his hands, breaking all of his bones in the process. But Cyrus kept at it. Even when all he could do was scream from the pain. Yet, thankfully, he wasn't alone in this. Despite being frightened of the situation, Bird squawked as it nuzzled against him in his pocket.

"Now!" Cyrus gritted his teeth and pressed his palms forward onto the shovelhead. They shone with deep saffron as he poured both domains into it.

Two seconds—that's all Cyrus had. Before he knew it, the trembling Cyrus, overcharged with mana, stood before the shaking platform's edge and readied his shovel-turned-javelin. He then sprang back his arm, gaze never leaving the open maw of the abomination.

In the vastness of the void, Cyrus only had one chance to succeed. And so, he took it. His arm sprang forth, letting go of the silvery orichalcum shovel branded by two domains. It blazed with orange light, tearing through the void, past the lagging meteor, and into the gaping maw.

And for a moment, nothing happened. Before Cyrus realized what had happened, a blinding light erupted from The Maw and engulfed it in flames. And despite his weakness, it was enough.

All it took was a brief moment for Latriaen to seize the opportunity. In a burst of volcanic eruption, he tore through the shadows, instantly appeared before the dazed Cyrus, and grabbed onto him. Less than a second later, the two blasted through the portal before it shattered into thousands of pieces under the silent roars of The Maw.

What came next was a blur. All Cyrus noticed was fire before a violent crash. And just like that, he was unconscious. After what felt like an eternity, he floated in the void. There were no troubles or worries—just peace. Along came a myriad of voices. Some familiar and some unknown murmured around him, their words unintelligible but soothing.

I should stay like this, Cyrus thought.

But no, that felt somehow wrong. Why drift in the void when he was still in search of meaning? Why lose all his dreams to the darkness? That realization unlocked something within him.

In his vision, a single point of light pierced the darkness. It soon grew and grew, gradually flooding his vision until all that remained was a familiar warmth he hadn't felt in such a long time. It felt like it had been centuries, really.

Then, Cyrus gasped. Life surging in his body, he sat up to the sight of both Latriaen and Bird watching over him.

"It's about time," Latriaen gruffed.

Gone was the man shaped by the domains; now, he remained a familiar yet battered and bruised Ork with shredded clothes.

Chirp! Bird happily fluttered around Cyrus. It landed on his head and nestled there.

"Where are we?"

It only took a moment to notice the cliff's edge before him. And beyond the thin fog, Cyrus could see the glowing pylons that crowned Avalorn's walls.

"We're back? And alive?!"

He could hardly believe it. Yet those walls were proof enough that the three had escaped whatever that hellish place was.

"We did." Latriaen gazed at the city-state, keeping his voice low. "Thanks to you."

His gaze flickered onto the dazed Cyrus. A mix of confusion and appreciation was hidden between those searing red eyes. Soon, another brief silence came.

"Should we head back?" Cyrus finally asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I could do with a nice vacation—warm food and a bath..."

Slowly, he edged to the cliff and dangled his feet over it.

But the snort from Latriaen felt like a rock had dropped into the pit of his stomach. "What? Of course not. There are still more weeks of training left."

Cyrus almost tumbled over the cliff there and then.

"Really?" He weakly asked, almost with enough energy to match his feelings. Almost. "Look at us—I mean—we nearly died—I don't even have my pack anymore."

Another breath of silence. One that Cyrus took full advantage of in search of another excuse.

"Don't we need to report this to Lord Dílis?" he eventually said. At that moment, the grasses around them seemed to sway as if in agreement. But it's probably just the wind.

Latriaen snorted.

"The Steward can wait. What you really need is more training." The two turned to face each other. "And it's a good thing your stuff is gone, for in the coming weeks, I'll teach you not how to survive but thrive."

Another beat of silence. Hands covering his face, Cyrus groaned. Yet he still nodded in the end. More than ever before, Cyrus realized he needed strength. Strength to protect himself. Strength to protect Bird. And the strength to follow his dreams of finding purpose.

Again, another silence fell upon the five. Meanwhile, Cyrus' steel-blue gaze grew distant from the experience he had gone through—from his arrival in this world to his escape.

The world awaited him, be it the most lively city-state or the most decrepit ruin, waiting for discovery. All he needed was the strength to begin again.

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