Kalon Bloodborn’s POV

The artifact’s hold on me was relentless, binding itself beneath my solar plexus like an unyielding insect. Its connection siphoned mana from my heart, a slow, insidious draw that kept me in constant restraint. Even the faintest attempt to absorb ambient mana would trigger its defense mechanism, draining my reserves further—just enough to weaken, but not enough to end me.

Each effort I made to break free felt like a cruel experiment, each failure compounding my despair.

The first time, I tried to channel mana through my vessels, forcing it against the artifact’s pull. I hoped to build up enough resistance to sever its hold. The mana crept painfully through my veins, sluggish and trapped, but even this small progress was fleeting. The artifact sensed my intent, tightening its grip, and the mana dispersed, swirling futilely within my cells. My focus faltered, leaving me no closer to freedom and twice as drained.

Undeterred, I tried again, this time attempting to capture the mana directly within my cells, bypassing the vessels altogether. It was a delicate process, like trying to trap water with my bare hands. The artifact’s suction weakened slightly with this approach, but it demanded meticulous concentration and left me with even less energy. The trickle of mana I managed to gather was barely enough to sustain me, much less to break free.

Each failed attempt left me feeling more like a prisoner within my own body. And yet, a stubborn part of me refused to give up. The artifact might have its grip, but I was determined to test every boundary, to find even the smallest weakness in its binding.

The struggle to enter the astral realm left my body seized with tremors each time I tried—a painful reminder of the artifact’s relentless control. Each failure chipped away at my resolve until I was forced to relent. This punishment would pass, I reminded myself, even as the cold stone floor numbed my skin and the empty, dusty room seemed to mock my confinement. Master had crafted a torment that appeared almost benign at first but was a torture of its own breed.

There were no chains, no visible restraints, yet my freedom felt more distant than ever. Alone with nothing but silence and the weight of Master’s words reverberating in my mind, I reflected on what lay ahead.

"Kalon, your actions are punishable by death," he’d said, his gaze as piercing as his warning. "The forces within Enoria are beyond your comprehension. To delve into forbidden magic is to risk a fate far worse than the mana shift. Even the boldest would prefer its ravages over falling to such a power."

Cian’s fear was unmistakable, a rare display from a man who seemed impervious to everything. But if he was shaken, then what horror could be lurking beyond Stygia, hidden from even the most powerful of us? I grappled with these fragments, yet my thoughts were hazy, unfocused, perhaps from the gnawing hunger that had grown over my long confinement.

Then, the faint sound of keys broke the silence. The metallic jingling reverberated down the hall, drawing me out of my contemplation. Through the bars, I watched as a series of metal gates swung open, finally revealing Cian. The guard stepped aside, allowing him through, his presence looming as he approached the exit to my confinement.

I forced myself to stay steady under Cian’s scrutinizing gaze, my body betraying me with faint tremors. Even though his expression was composed, almost indifferent, the gravity of his presence washed over me, amplifying the feeling of weakness. His brow furrowed in focus as he signaled the guards, who moved swiftly to detach the artifact from my chest.

As the restraint lifted, a rush of mana surged back into me, filling every fiber of my being with an overwhelming, almost intoxicating sensation. I could feel it tingling in my vessels, lighting my senses in a way that bordered on bliss. I steadied myself, trying to contain the pleasure in a simple breath, but my face must have given something away. The guards took their leave, and I was left alone with Cian.

He placed a finger on my forehead, a faint current of mana infiltrating my cells, awakening every part of me in an oddly invasive, yet invigorating, way. “After a period of mana deprivation, most would be hypersensitive," he observed coolly. "Yet you appear unscathed. Almost as if the artifact had no effect.”

With a swift motion, he extended his hand, producing a finely embroidered robe from his storage pouch. I took it, slipping it over my shoulders. "Yes, well, everyone’s already reminded me how I’m different,” I muttered, barely containing my resentment.

He simply looked on, unamused. “I had you confined for your own good, Kalon. When you come to understand that, you’ll be grateful.” His voice was unreadable, yet the intent behind his actions hung between us, cold and rigid. In his hand, he revealed a simple brown pouch with three engraved lines running through it.

I felt a spark, a quiet resolve taking root. I understood now that if the Oracle and Guardian resisted this path, then true enlightenment would require secrecy. The Patriarch had named individuals, allies whose influence would be critical. The path was clear: to earn merit across Enoria, building the trust I’d need.

Cian’s gaze remained unflinching as he observed my every move, scrutinizing every flicker of mana I poured into the wraith’s form. He had requested this “demonstration” not out of curiosity, but as a command—a test.

The wraith appeared at my call, a spectral figure with darkened flesh and a helmet forged of some ancient, tarnished metal. Its aura was unsettling, a dissonant mix of mana and spirit energy colliding in ways that should not exist, yet somehow did. As I activated my godeyes, my vision sharpened, allowing me to perceive the intricate weave of energies lacing through its body. The wraith's mana was fractured and incomplete, tainted by the invading spirit energy. The entire being seemed to be hiding a void, particularly in the region of its heart, a pitch-black expanse that defied even my enhanced sight.

Under Cian's piercing stare, I continued, willing mana to course through the wraith, reconstituting it as best I could, a trial to force the foreign spirit energy into submission. Each motion was deliberate yet frantic, my manipulation desperate and rough. The wraith responded, if only partially, its essence realigning toward a purer state of mana as I forcibly suppressed the spirit energy contaminating it. But as Cian had expected, my influence was limited. I could control the mana, perhaps even bend it to my will—but spirit energy remained elusive, responding only reluctantly to my attempts.

"Astonishing," he finally said, a faint glint of approval in his eyes. "You’ve managed to cleanse its form—yet only by overpowering spirit energy with mana. Direct control remains beyond you, as it does for anyone. For now, this should be left hidden."

The dismissal in his tone stirred the fury I’d kept contained. I clenched my fists, forcing the thoughts I’d held in for too long to the surface. “So this is your choice?” My voice was bitter, my anger clawing its way out. “You’ve seen what we can accomplish, even by dabbling in spirit energy. With the minds in Stygia, we could achieve so much more. Imagine the potential for healing, for power, for truly understanding these forces. You know this, and yet you’d rather see it suppressed, hidden, discarded. Is there anything you care for beyond yourself?”

He narrowed his eyes, but I pressed on, my voice escalating. “You’re afraid, aren’t you? So afraid you’d rather sacrifice us all than face whatever haunts you. Whatever it is, we could fight it—take it down if you gave us a chance! But instead, you choose to bury this knowledge, bury us along with it.”

My voice cracked, raw from the strain, from words long suppressed. I could feel the tears welling up, hot and angry, my vision blurred by a frustration that had simmered too long. But I couldn’t stop. I had to make him understand.

I could feel my heart pounding, but my anger had ebbed into something quieter, a simmering resolve. The Patriarch’s words held a solemnity that cut deeper than any punishment.

"Yes," he continued, his gaze unwavering. "The Asuras—their mastery over alchemy was unmatched. They delved into forces beyond mana, beyond the bounds of any natural world. Their ambition blinded them, and it destroyed them. Their once-great civilization now lies in ruins, a reminder of what happens when arrogance outweighs caution."

I struggled to keep my voice steady, though my thoughts raced. “You saw their end, but isn’t that all the more reason to continue? To understand what they couldn’t, to overcome their mistakes? Those who are willing—don’t their lives mean something?”

He paused, regarding me with a mix of weariness and something else I couldn’t quite name. “Choices, Damon,” he murmured, his tone soft but firm. “Choices do matter. But this is a choice to walk willingly into peril. And the price may be far steeper than any of you realize.”

He shifted his gaze, glancing at the Sol wraith I had conjured, its eerie form a symbol of my defiance. “You are right about one thing,” he admitted. “I have never seen another manipulate spirit energy as you just did, channeling it through mana to bend its shape. That speaks to your strength, Kalon.”

His words struck an unexpected chord within me. I had expected rejection, scorn, perhaps even another punishment. But in that moment, it seemed like he saw me—a glimmer of understanding, even respect.

The full weight of Master’s words hit me like a stone sinking to the depths. The Asuras had been driven by the same desires that tugged at my own soul—a thirst for understanding, the ambition to wield a force beyond the bounds of Celestial knowledge. Yet, they had failed, consumed by spirit energy until their civilization crumbled to ruin.

Master’s voice cut through my thoughts, steady and cold. “You think their fall was just a failure of skill or restraint, Kalon. It was more than that. The Oracles themselves deemed spirit magic a blight. The energy grew wild, unhinged, and it left their empire in ruins. The wraiths, the twisted remnants of their souls, were left as a reminder, a living lesson that echoes to this day.”

A sense of urgency clawed at me. “But the wraiths—they’re still there, aren’t they? Held back only by the raiders?” The mere thought of their power, the remnants of spirit magic embodied in those lost beings, set my mind ablaze. “Could we not learn from them, unravel what the Asuras failed to see?”

Master shook his head, eyes unwavering. “Only silver-ranked raiders and above can even enter the great ruins, and the Oracle guards those ancient grounds with an unyielding hand. She will not allow anyone to wield such power again.” His gaze softened momentarily, though his voice remained sharp. “To confront her would be a death sentence. Her judgment is swift, and it transcends even the Guardian’s wrath.”

The vision I had—of Celestials immune to the mana-shift, of spirit magic used not for ruin but salvation—now seemed a distant, almost childish dream. The Oracle and the Guardian stood as twin barriers, towering over any ambition I held, their will absolute. It was clear that the cost of defiance, of reaching beyond the limits imposed by those ancient beings, would be nothing short of annihilation.

The idea settled over me quietly, like shadows cast by flame. Through service to Enoria, I could shield my true intentions, experiment in silence. The risks were sharp, but the potential glimmered—change woven from the unseen. Enoria was in for something new, but they wouldn’t see it coming.