The weariness of battle had settled deep into their bones, but Friedrich—restless as ever—refused to let silence linger.

His eyes gleamed with renewed curiosity as he turned toward Alioth, gesturing animatedly toward the blade that had just moments ago cleaved through an abomination.

“Alright, Alioth,” he began, an eager grin spreading across his face. “You’ve got to explain that. Pulling your sword out of thin air like that—it’s absurd. What’s the trick?”

Alioth chuckled softly. With effortless ease, he twirled the blade once before it dissolved into a shimmer of light. He tapped his temple, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“No trick,” he replied. “It’s the Gnosis. Think of it as… a personal armory housed somewhere beyond reach. A space only I can access. Whatever I call upon with intent, the Gnosis manifests. Sword, shield, armor—tools shaped by will.”

Klara raised a brow, folding her arms thoughtfully.

“Anything?” she asked. “So, theoretically, you could conjure up a feast?”

Alioth laughed, shaking his head.

“Not quite. The Gnosis responds best to purpose. It manifests what aligns with focus and necessity. If I started summoning pastries mid-battle, I’d look like an idiot.”

A faint smile tugged at Seth’s lips, but Star remained intent, her gaze steady.

“But why does it work like that?” she asked quietly. “And why can’t anyone else do it the way you can?”

Alioth’s expression shifted—playfulness giving way to reflection. He glanced toward the fractured ceiling where fragments of night sky shimmered beyond the tower’s broken stone.

“That,” he said softly, “is because of my mother.”

His voice carried something deeper now—reverence layered with memory.

“She created the Gnosis to help mortals reach their potential. To give you a way to shape your own paths. But she understood something critical—your bodies and souls weren’t meant to channel limitless power. So she embedded a safeguard within it.”

Friedrich tilted his head. “A safeguard?”

Alioth nodded. “The Limiter Protocol.”

“The what?” Friedrich echoed.

Alioth gestured lightly in the air, as if outlining invisible architecture.

“Think of it as a restraint woven into the system. The Gnosis amplifies thought and desire. Without the Protocol, that amplification would consume you. It would burn through your soul like wildfire through dry timber. Humans can touch it—but never fully wield it. Not without consequence.”

Klara’s curiosity sharpened. “Has anyone tried?”

Alioth’s gaze lowered slightly.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“They die.”

The words were simple. Unadorned.

“The Gnosis drains their life force until nothing remains. The Protocol wasn’t created to limit humanity—it was designed to protect it.”

The weight of that settled over them.

Friedrich, stubbornly irreverent even in somber moments, nudged Alioth’s arm.

“But not you, right? Being an Aeon must come with privileges.”

Alioth laughed softly, the heaviness easing.

“Something like that,” he replied, tapping his chest. “My existence isn’t bound the same way. But don’t misunderstand—control still requires discipline. Focus. Precision. You don’t simply wish something into existence. You shape it.”

Friedrich’s grin widened. “So there’s a chance I could learn?”

Alioth clapped a hand on his shoulder, teasing but sincere.

“Master yourself first. The Gnosis doesn’t reward ego—it answers purpose. When you understand that, perhaps.”

Seth, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke.

“Wait. If you can summon your own weapon… then whose sword is Star holding? Boreas said it was yours.”

Alioth paused.

“Oh,” he said lightly. “That one? It’s a replica.”

Star froze. “A… replica?”

The others turned toward him sharply.

“Hold on,” Siegfried said, frowning. “Star nearly died for that blade.”

“Exactly,” Friedrich added. “Boreas said it was yours.”

Alioth’s smirk returned, faint but unmistakable.

“He didn’t lie. Not entirely. Boreas asked me to forge a replica—a trial weapon. Then he designed those challenges specifically for adventurers like you, Star.”

Star’s grip tightened around the sword, her shoulders dipping slightly.

“So… it was never really yours,” she murmured.

Alioth stepped closer and rested a hand gently on her shoulder.

“That’s not the point,” he said quietly. “Boreas didn’t create those trials to pass down my weapon. He created them to test you. That blade isn’t mine. It’s yours. It reflects what you’ve earned—not something you borrowed.”

Klara stepped forward, analytical curiosity overriding hesitation.

“But you forged it,” she said. “Which means you can create weapons with your Gnosis. Could we… do the same?”

The air shifted.

Alioth’s expression darkened subtly, a weight settling into his features. In the dim glow of the ruined chamber, his crimson eyes seemed to flicker.

“Yes,” he admitted at last. “I forged my weapon by drawing upon the Gnosis in its truest form.”

His voice lowered.

“But forging something bound to your soul is not the same as summoning steel. It requires sacrifice. Alignment. And absolute clarity of purpose.”

A faint tremor passed through the floor beneath their feet.

Far beyond the tower—deep beneath forgotten stone—

something ancient stirred.

A chain quivered.

And in the suffocating dark,

a single eye opened.