Kaelen slumped against a wall of calcified bone, a faint tremor running through his exhausted frame. Every fiber screamed protest. He had expended everything. Mist affinity, physical endurance—all were bottomed out, leaving him hollowed and raw.
Strength felt a distant memory, a fleeting whisper in the oppressive silence of the subterranean nursery.
Silas, however, moved with an unnerving grace. No hint of fatigue touched him. Not a single labored breath escaped his lips.
Once again, Kaelen recognized Silas’s inhuman resilience. His own desperate efforts against the Mist Stalkers, while potent, seemed a mere flicker against Silas’s sustained power.
Silas continued his methodical search through the remnants of the colossal Elder, undeterred by the lingering threat or the oppressive atmosphere.
Kaelen wondered what Silas sought now, engaging in such meticulous work.
Silas tore away a section of the Elder Mist Stalker’s hardened, ossified carapace. He exposed a pulsating cavity, rich with the creature’s essence.
Hidden within, lodged deep, was a fist-sized orb. It glowed with a dull, phosphorescent light, a sickening green luminescence.
Silas lifted the orb, observing it with a detached curiosity.
Without a word, he tossed the Elder’s Core to Kaelen.
Kaelen, a puzzled expression on his face, caught the still-pulsing mass. A faint heat radiated from it.
“Why give this to me?” Kaelen’s voice was a rasp.
“It is the Elder’s Core,” Silas replied, his voice flat.
“That isn’t what I asked!”
“It’s not just any remnant. It holds the creature’s distilled essence. The heart of its mist affinity resides within.”
“Is this like the lesser essences I’ve absorbed before?” Kaelen remembered a faint jolt, a minor surge of power.
“Far greater. Consume it.”
Kaelen hesitated, the unholy light of the Core reflecting in his eyes. A primal fear coiled in his gut. But the memory of his near-death, the desperate struggle, spurred him on.
He closed his eyes tightly. He brought the pulsing orb to his lips.
Cracking the shell-like exterior, its viscous contents spilled into his mouth. A burning fluid, thick and acrid, slid down his throat.
Fire erupted within Kaelen’s belly. An intense heat, as if his very core had ignited, flared through his body. He screamed, a guttural sound torn from his chest, and writhed on the cold, damp ground.
The pain from previous mist overexertion was child’s play compared to this. It felt as if spectral daggers were continuously tearing through his essence, shredding his being, then reweaving it with strands of pure, searing mist.
His mind threatened to fracture. This was beyond anything one could endure in their right mind.
Silas simply watched Kaelen’s agony, offering no aid. His gaze remained impassive, devoid of pity.
“If you wish to shape this dying world, Kaelen, you must first be shaped by it. Growth often wears the cloak of suffering.”
It was the pain required to become stronger, to forge a deeper connection to the pervasive Veil. This agony, though profound to Kaelen, was perhaps a mere flicker by Silas’s incomprehensible standards.
Leaving Kaelen to his torment, Silas approached the colossal carcass of the Elder Mist Stalker.
With a smooth, precise incision, where the creature’s primary mist glands met its central nerve cluster, the colossal form remained remarkably intact. Harvesting such an unspoiled Elder Mist Stalker was a rare feat.
No part of the Elder was wasted. Its primary antennae, slender and sensitive, were prized for detecting latent mist corruption. Its numerous, chitinous limbs held properties useful for crafting defenses.
Silas reached deep into the Elder’s hollowed torso. He retrieved a dense, fist-sized crystal. It pulsed with a muted, emerald light.
It was a mist-crystal. Not just any mist-crystal, but one of remarkably high purity, imbued with the Elder’s ancient influence.
As the progenitor of its kind, the Elder Mist Stalker naturally housed such a powerful artifact. Mist-crystals were not only found in the deep, vein-like fissures of Aerthos.
Sometimes, within the Elder creatures of the mist, these crystals manifested. Occasionally, they held a far higher purity than those mined, even containing the creature’s very essence, making them incredibly potent and versatile.
The creature’s adamantine-like shell could be refined into the highest quality armor. Its inner organs and glandular sacs also served as invaluable materials for arcane craft.
Silas summoned his spatial void, a shimmering tear in the air, and meticulously stored the entire Elder Mist Stalker’s carcass within.
Kaelen’s agony was far from over. He whimpered, his body curled like a fetal creature, too spent even to scream. It seemed this profound, agonizing transformation would consume him for a long, long time.
Silas drove his Staff of Whispers into the damp ground. He then sat beside it, his posture one of weary vigilance. The ancient, gnarled wood of the Staff hummed faintly, a deep, resonant tone, as if speaking to him.
A faint, ethereal glow emanated from its crystalline tip, a response to Silas’s presence. But such external changes mattered little to Silas. What truly mattered was the Staff’s essence, its ancient counsel.
As if responding, the Staff’s humming intensified, a low, sorrowful thrum.
The hum persisted for a long while. Silas listened, his gaze fixed on the churning gloom of the cavern.
After some time, Silas spoke, his voice low, as if to himself, or to the Staff.
“Yes, old friend. I know. But there is no choice.”
“Weakness is a luxury we cannot afford. Those who cannot adapt, perish. That is the truth of Aerthos.”
“Do you not feel it? The Veil deepens. We don’t have much time left… We absolutely need him.”
“Yes. You are right. Yet…”
The quiet conversation between the ancient man and his Staff continued for what felt like an eternity.
Kaelen sighed, a ragged breath, and slowly opened his eyes. His entire body ached, as if pummeled by unseen forces. A pervasive weakness in his limbs was undoubtedly a repercussion from consuming the Elder’s Core.
Piercing pain had seared his core throughout the endless night. No wonder his limbs lacked vigor. He felt grateful, however, that his form seemed intact, not shattered by the process.
Kaelen reached inward, assessing his mist affinity. Astonishment stole his breath. His connection to the Veil had deepened at least threefold. It pulsed with a vibrant, raw power he’d never known.
“Your mist manipulation, your communion with the Veil, it should be greatly enhanced,” Silas’s voice echoed suddenly.
Turning his head, Kaelen saw Silas rising from his spot, storing the Staff of Whispers at his back.
“The Core… it did this?” Kaelen’s voice was hoarse.
“Precisely. Some Elder creatures, through long communion with the Veil, cultivate such unique essences. Not every Elder possesses one, only those of profound age and power, like the one you consumed.”
“If you’ve recovered enough, rise. How long do you plan to remain prone?”
“Yes. Alright.” Kaelen gritted his teeth, forcing his aching limbs to obey. He knew Silas would not consider his condition. Complaining was futile. Better to stand, despite the lingering pain.
Silas offered no hand, no comfort. The increase in Kaelen’s mist affinity, however, was staggering. Such pain was a small price.
Kaelen followed Silas out of the Elder’s nursery. He emerged into the perpetual mist, the eternal gloom of Aerthos. The chilling vapor felt strangely comforting after the oppressive heat of the lair.
As Kaelen relished the cool, damp air, Silas was already striding into the deeper mist, his form a silent shadow.
Kaelen hastened to follow, employing his enhanced mist-shifting. His body, now imbued with a deeper affinity, glided across the unseen ground, propelled by currents of manipulated vapor.
With such an ample supply of mist essence, he could direct the pervasive vapors freely. He no longer needed to exert his limbs as strenuously. Keeping pace with Silas was no longer such a struggle.
Kaelen adjusted the folds of his mist-woven cloak. During the harrowing battle with the Mist Stalkers, it had been torn and singed, but now, its ethereal fibers had regenerated. The cloak returned to its original, unbroken state.
Its inherent capacity for self-repair, woven from ancient, resilient mist-strands, had restored it. Its ability to shield him from the chill and absorb residual mist corruption remained intact.
As the cloak’s mist-gliding ability combined with his amplified essence, traversing the denser Veil no longer felt so arduous.
Kaelen plucked a hardened nutrient paste from a pouch, chewing it slowly. He looked at Silas’s receding back.
Where was his final destination? In this boundless, mist-choked world, he couldn’t help but wonder what Silas sought, where he was headed.
Had they not shared this perilous journey, he might not have cared. Now, he felt compelled to accompany Silas, to uncover his true purpose.
Then, without warning, a fierce mist-storm swept in. The intense winds carried a deluge of churning vapor, obscuring everything. A blinding wall of grey descended.
Kaelen pressed his cloak tightly around him, squinting into the maelstrom. Ordinary individuals would have lost their way, their senses overwhelmed. For Kaelen, it caused only a slight discomfort, a visceral shift in his perception, but did not hinder his awareness.
His surged mist affinity expanded his perception range significantly. He could sense Silas moving through the tumult, several meters ahead. Each measured step resonated distinctly within Kaelen’s heightened awareness.
It was as if the very currents of the mist were relaying information about Silas, guiding him.
‘This is what true communion felt like,’ Kaelen thought, feeling the subtle shift in his being. His inner strength had blossomed.
The deep, resonant hum within him affirmed his new status. He was no longer merely a conduit but an architect of the Veil. That was merely what was visible on the surface.
In reality, he was far stronger than his previous limits, with a profound, almost boundless reserve of mist essence. It was all thanks to Silas’s brutal, unforgiving methods.
Because of this, Kaelen could progress rapidly, shed the constraints of what was once possible. He could also elevate his abilities without being restricted by conventional understanding or previous limitations.
‘Imagination is the crucible of power.’
He keenly felt this during battles with the Elder Mist Stalker. Fighting solely with predetermined applications of his mist affinity was foolish. Even with the same core abilities, the way they were envisioned and manifested made a significant difference in their effectiveness.
To imagine endlessly and manifest it into reality—this, to Kaelen, was the true essence of strength. The fact that he would have never realized this if not for Silas’s relentless push was undeniably true.
‘Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a damn enigmatic bastard…’
Silas always pushed Kaelen to his limits, expecting him to survive on his own. If he couldn’t meet those expectations, he would be mercilessly discarded.
Although now, the threat of being discarded mattered less than the quest for understanding. Kaelen still wanted to follow through. It was because of his belief that by sticking with Silas, he could become something more, something capable of facing the coming despair.
He didn’t want to struggle with exhaustion or be hunted due to weakness anymore. He didn’t know where this path led, but by following Silas, he believed he could eventually attain a strength akin to his.
Lost in thought, Kaelen walked. Suddenly, the mist-storm passed as abruptly as it began. His vision cleared.
He saw Silas’s back in the distance. Silas remained focused on the path ahead, unburdened. The swirling vapor had left residual moisture on his shoulders, yet he made no move to brush it off.
Then, without warning, Silas, who had been striding forward, stopped. There was still plenty of time before the deepening gloom of Aerthos heralded true night. It was not time for Silas to rest yet.
Kaelen approached Silas’s side. He stood there, but Silas didn’t react, continuing to gaze into the distance. Naturally, Kaelen’s gaze followed, drawn to where Silas looked.
Kaelen’s eyes widened. A massive entity moved on the horizon, where the mist met the unseen ground. A low, resonant thrumming preceded its appearance.
The moment Kaelen confirmed the identity of the colossal entity, approaching with a thunderous, rhythmic pulse, he almost cried out.
It was a gigantic, ancient creature, its form barely discernible through the deepest mist. What set it apart from any other leviathan of Aerthos was its sheer size, thousands of times larger than anything Kaelen had ever imagined, and its shell, shaped like a weathered, almost organic fortress.
Moreover, a faint, ancient luminescence emanated from its scales, hinting at a profound connection to the Veil.
“That’s… what is it?”
“The Ark of Aethel.” Silas’s voice was a low murmur.
“The Ark of Aethel? It’s a leviathan, a creature of the deep mist. But its defensive capabilities… they are legendary. That’s why ancient ones transform its back into a mobile refuge, a living outpost…”
“Are you saying that humans can tame and ride such a monumental creature?”
Kaelen’s face was etched with disbelief. It was an utterly unbelievable tale, a myth come to life. Yet, seeing the colossal creature, bearing a fortress-city upon its back, made it impossible not to believe.
The Ark of Aethel was heading straight toward Kaelen and Silas. Though it seemed to move slowly, its colossal size made it approach with alarming speed.
As Kaelen observed it up close, the Ark of Aethel appeared even more overwhelming. It was almost the size of an entire crumbled outpost. The notion of humans riding such massive creatures, carving a life upon them, defied all reason.
Finally, the Ark of Aethel halted right in front of the two figures. A section of the fortress-city, a massive gate of petrified mist-hide, opened. Someone appeared within the shadowed archway.
It was an old man, his face a canvas of deep wrinkles, his eyes ancient and knowing. He lifted a hand, a gesture of recognition. He looked at Silas, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“Silas. It has been an age.”