Veol leaned closer to the broken statue, his eyes catching a faint mark on its back—Mysteriously similar to his own half sunburn mark. His brow furrowed.

"This can’t be a coincidence… What does this mark mean? Why now?"

"How… how can this be? My parents searched for my mark for nine years. And yet… nothing. Fhiola has no concept of gods. No temples. Nothing," he whispered to himself, stepping back slightly to observe the statue from a distance. His chest tightened, an unfamiliar mixture of curiosity and unease pressing down.

He left the temple in a hurry, noticing Oreq heading toward the royal palace, and sprinted after him, his mind racing. The streets were alive with noise and movement—merchants calling out their wares, carts rattling over cobblestones, and townsfolk weaving through the chaos. Stalls overflowed with colorful fabrics, exotic fruits, and the scent of fried bread. Children darted between the crowds, laughing. Veol dodged a rolling wagon and skidded to a halt, scanning for the palace.

"I hope I can find it before I get completely lost. Where is everyone rushing to?"

Soon, the streets became a maze, and Veol ducked into a shop for directions. It wasn’t any ordinary shop—it was a grimoire bookshop. The air smelled of old paper, ink, and faint incense. Shelves stretched to the ceiling, packed with dusty tomes and scrolls, each one seeming to hum with unseen energy. A small bell chimed as Veol entered.

An old man with a long white beard and a mage’s hat spoke in a soft, low voice:

"Child… what brings you here? Where are your parents? You shouldn’t wander alone."

Veol’s voice was calm, almost emotionless:

"I don’t have parents. I just need directions to the royal palace."

The mage’s eyes narrowed. He asked why Veol wished to go there. Veol stayed silent. Concern softened the old man’s frown.

"What’s your name? Are you interested in magic?"

Veol smiled faintly.

"Yes. Can you… teach me something about magic?"

The mage laughed, a warm, hearty sound that filled the cramped shop.

"Ha! Wonders await you, little one—but first, your name!"

"I am Veol. Nice to meet you, master."

The mage’s laughter echoed again as he rose and rifled through the shelves. Finally, he pulled out a book, its cover a swirl of blue and red, and beckoned Veol over.

"This is Furminzo. Basic fire and water magic. I’ll show you a flame, a water bubble… on your finger."

Veol listened intently as the mage explained the fundamentals of magic. Aken—positive energy—could be drawn from the environment; Echo—negative energy—was volatile and dangerous. Flames born of Aken glowed crimson; Echo flames were black with sparkling white sparks, unstable and difficult to control.

"So it’s not just about color? How else does it matter?" Veol asked, curiosity sharpening his voice.

"Aken is stable, easy to absorb. Echo… chaotic. It affects your emotions and your surroundings. Temperature, air… everything. That’s why you must use Aken first," the mage explained, tilting his head.

Veol, half-asleep, interrupted impatiently:

"Old man, I didn’t come for a lecture. I want to use magic."

The mage chuckled, twirling his long staff.

"Patience, little one. Magic is as much about control as desire. One hasty thought, and… poof!"

Veol raised his hand and focused. Sparks leapt from his fingertips and fizzled out. He frowned and clenched his fists. Again, he tried. Slowly, a tiny flame shaped like a bird danced atop his fingertip. Veol’s eyes widened, breath shallow with excitement.

Next, he attempted a water bubble. It trembled like a jellyfish, wobbled, then stabilized, glowing faintly in the dim shop light. Veol’s lips curved into a triumphant smile.

"I did it," he whispered.

The mage’s eyes gleamed.

"Do you want to become my disciple?"

Veol shook his head.

"No… I forgot the royal palace. Can you take me there?"

The mage’s face flickered with mild disappointment.

"Very well. Come with me."

They mounted brooms and soared toward the palace. Veol’s mind churned with questions about the orb and the Nine Gods’ Realm. He tried to make sense of the broken statue, the half-sun, and the strange marks, searching for connections he couldn’t yet fully understand.

"Only temple workers and select royal blood may enter. The place… is shrouded in darkness, a half-sun shining behind the No Name God. Eight gods bestow powers upon chosen people," the mage said.

Veol’s eyes narrowed.

"No Name God? Why only eight? Aren’t there nine?"

“Yes—behind the glass, where the orb is kept, stands the broken statue representing the ninth god. I don’t know why there are only eight. As I said, darkness and half-sunlight fill the place. The eight shadow statues… by ‘shadow,’ I mean they hover in the darkness, each glowing faintly and filled with stars, like constellations scattered across a vast night sky. Their forms are only partially visible, suggesting humanoid shapes, yet shifting and impossible to fully grasp.”

Veol’s expression darkened. His voice trembled.

"Did you just say… space filled with stars?"

"Has something happened?" the mage asked, puzzled.

Veol fell silent, mind racing—linking the crest, his mark, and the Nine Gods’ Realm. He clenched his fists as fragments of memory and speculation collided.

They reached the royal palace. Guards blocked their path.

"Who are you?"

"This child wishes to enter the palace," the mage said firmly.

"This isn’t a place for children. Go home," the guards barked.

Veol spotted Oreq above and shouted,

"Oreq! Over here!"

The mage asked if Veol knew him.

"Yes. And… thank you for bringing me to the palace," Veol said.

The old mage waved, mounting his broom:

"Take care, Veol."

Oreq landed.

"What were you doing there? Didn’t I tell you to stay in the temple?"

"There was no one, and I was bored. I went looking for you," Veol explained.

Oreq’s face tightened with concern.

"No one? Wasn’t Azec with you?"

Veol recounted everything. Oreq made the decision to bring him to the palace.

Meanwhile, in the Nine Gods’ Realm, where Azec had rushed through the orb, something unusual occurred—the half-sun began to fade, darkness creeping across the realm. A voice echoed, low and chilling:

"Eternal void awaits."

No one present could make sense of the words. Suddenly, Azec and the other priests were violently expelled from the realm, thrown like ragdolls into the unknown. Azec bolted toward the palace.

Upon arriving, he found Oreq and Veol. Oreq quickly ushered Veol into a private chamber, instructing the guards sternly:

"Do not let him leave, under any circumstances."

Turning to Azec, Oreq demanded,

"Where did you go? Veol was left alone!"

Azec recounted the horrors in the Nine Gods’ Realm. Oreq’s face darkened as he shared the events in Fhiola. Without pause, they raced to the King of Elirion to report the escalating crisis. While sprinting, Azec asked,

"Have you told him about Fhiola?"

Oreq only nodded grimly.

Alone, Veol’s mind raced.

"Until Oreq returns… I can practice what I’ve learned today. Maybe even surpass myself."

He began conjuring animals and monsters from fire and water, each form flickering and twisting in the air. Then a dangerous thought crept in—Echo. The old mage’s warnings echoed faintly in his mind, but Veol ignored them. He focused, attempting to gather the volatile energy. Sparks fizzled, shapes collapsed, and exhaustion weighed on him.

A new idea sparked:

"What if… I stabilize Echo with Aken first?"

He absorbed a small amount of Aken, then tried again with Echo. Instantly, blood streamed from his eyes, ears, and nose, coughing erupting violently. Pain clawed at him. He couldn’t even scream. Through the haze, one thought burned brighter than the agony:

"I can’t die… not before I take my revenge on that demonic creature that slaughtered everyone."

Just as his vision blurred and darkness crept in, a voice—deep, resonant, almost alive—whispered from the void within:

"…"