They walked up to the grand castle doors, which loomed high overhead. Tyrius hadn’t realized just how massive they were until he stood before them. He had never been this close to the castle, nor had he ever taken the stairs up before. Each door was intricately carved from dark grey stone, framed by a border of black that stood out starkly against the fortress walls.

  He couldn’t help but stare in awe as the doors began to open automatically at Arlac’s approach.

  Tyrius had never taken Arlac for a man of extravagance, but the second they stepped into the tiled entryway, he was stunned.

  Every nook and crevice of the building was intricate—painstakingly so. Statues, vases, paintings, and more lined the hall and stretched deeper within. Arlac had once told him that everything in this Sanctuary had been crafted by his own hand. Tyrius knew this space was somehow an extension of the man's soul—something he could theoretically shape with nothing more than his will. But still, that knowledge hadn’t prepared him for such ornamentation and intricacy from the man.

  Their joined footsteps echoed off the polished light green stone floors. Arlac’s pace pulled ahead as Tyrius slowed, his eyes darting around the foyer.

  Delicately shaped, spiraling light pink pillars rose from the stone below, reaching up into the arcing ceiling. Beneath the surface of the floor and pillars, Tyrius saw swirling motion—like an ocean of color made solid.

  His breath caught in his throat at the sight. His [Spiritual Awareness] activated subconsciously as he was pulled deeper into the brilliance. Looking down, he could feel dense mana beneath his feet, slowly seeping into him.

  Tyrius wasn’t surprised by the mana’s entry—but by its feeling. He had never felt mana carry any form of sensation before. Yet this greenish mana, which made up the floor, felt invigorating. Alive. He assumed it was Arlac’s life mana as the man once said he had an affinity for it.

  His attention drifted to the pillars, which radiated a different kind of strength. Unlike the floor, they felt like impenetrable stalwarts humming with hidden power. He couldn’t place it by feeling alone, but guessed it to be Arlac’s arcane mana.

  It had been a long time since Tyrius was so utterly hypnotized by something so beautiful in this world. He had buried so much under the weight of survival, training, and knowledge—but now, old emotions rose back up. And they refused to be buried.

  His gaze wandered across the chamber—until it landed on a large painting near the far wall, right at the edge of his [Spiritual Awareness].

  Tyrius froze.

  It was a portrait of his mother, dressed in a flowing purple gown, smiling softly from the canvas. Her dazzling blue eyes held his gaze. And wouldn’t let go.

  The longer he looked at the painting, the more he was pulled in. He didn't wonder why Arlac had this painting—not now. He could only look at his mother.

  Tyrius’ focus wrapped around the canvas, and he could feel a different type of energy that created it. It wasn’t mana, but it was powerful—elegant—and seemed to radiate that energy around itself. It almost felt alive to Tyrius.

  A small wet streak traced down his cheek.

  He looked on for a few long moments but was drawn out of his stupor by a hand gripping his shoulder. Tyrius wiped his tear instantly and looked up at Arlac, who gazed back at the painting. Another unreadable expression on his face—but Tyrius could see pain behind his gaze.

  At that moment, Tyrius threw out any ideas he had for a question he wanted to ask. He knew what his question to the man would be.

  “How did you know my mother?” Tyrius asked quietly.

  Arlac tensed at the question, which surprised Tyrius. It seemed he had caught him off guard—something he rarely did.

  Arlac turned his head toward Tyrius. His eyes held a softness to them, one Tyrius had never seen before. They even seemed to be slightly damp. Arlac blinked quickly, and his gaze returned to its usual impartial self. He held Tyrius’ gaze for a few moments in contemplation before carefully answering.

  “...After your ceremony.”

  His hand patted Tyrius on the shoulder twice before he turned on a heel and began descending deeper into the castle.

  Tyrius returned his gaze to the painting for a few moments, trying to understand the strange new energy.

  “What is this painting made of?” Tyrius called to the retreating man, his voice easily catching Arlac’s diminishing figure.

  “Aura. Now keep up, Tyrius. Stop gawking with that dumb expression on your face,” Arlac called back without stopping, his footsteps already echoing in the distance.

  Tyrius shook his head and turned to catch up, his focus slowly tearing from the painting as he did. But then he suddenly froze in place again.

  The Ethereal Words had unexpectedly appeared before him again.

  -

  [Spiritual Awareness lvl. 1] -> [Spiritual Awareness lvl. 2]

  [Spiritual Awareness lvl. 2] -> [Spiritual Awareness lvl. 3]

  -

  Tyrius had learned that skills could level up before, but he hadn’t truly understood what that meant—until now. He was a bit confused about why he suddenly got the level ups now or why he hadn’t received one sooner.

  Tyrius didn’t have time to consider it because he finally took notice of a searing pain in his head. He gasped and almost fell over. Stumbling, he rested a hand on a nearby light purple beam for stability and grabbed his head.

  He had been so enamored with how the architecture molded with mana—and the strange energy from his mother’s portrait—that he hadn’t even noticed his mind was overheating.

  Tyrius leaned against the pillar, his vision bleary. He knew Arlac would get irritated if he didn’t catch up soon. He pushed off the stone column and unevenly began to move forward.

  After a few steps, he remembered how the mana making up the floor had made him feel—and had an idea.

  He stopped once more, took a second to dial in [Spiritual Body], and began to pull mana from the floor. As it flowed in, he tried to redirect the life mana toward his head.

  Tyrius wasn’t tiered yet, so he didn't yet possess a formal control over mana. But that didn’t mean it was impossible to influence it. After all, his willpower had pushed mana into his innate ability and forced the lesser skill to awaken as a proper skill.

  He held his breath as he focused. A few long seconds went by, and to his relief, the piercing pain began to dull rapidly. He felt inward and could feel the familiar warmth of healing magic permeate his brain.

  Tyrius exhaled loudly as the pressure abated. He wasn't allowed to soak in the glow of relief for long though.

  “Tyrius! Let’s. Go.” Arlac shouted from far ahead, the words form his master were edged in caution and warning.

  Tyrius quickly readjusted and looked for Arlac only to find his figure already a speck in the distance. His eyes widened at just how far away the man had gotten.

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  Just how big is this place?!

  “Coming!” Tyrius yelled back and began to jog to catch up.

  After a few moments, Tyrius fell in step next to his briskly walking master.

  “What took you so long? Why were you stumbling around like that?” Arlac questioned, his eyes remaining glued forward.

  Tyrius winced internally. He didn’t want to tell the man what had just happened—he’d almost injured himself again with his own skill. Arlac would only mock him if he found out.

  “I just didn’t take you for such an interior decorator,” he said offhandedly.

  “You’ll understand one day,” Arlac replied with a faint shake of his head.

  “What, when I create a Sanctuary of my own?” Tyrius asked sarcastically, pushing the topic further away from himself.

  “Actually, yes. When you’re able to create a Sanctuary of your own,” Arlac answered, unbothered.

  They walked for several long minutes, passing rooms with unclear purposes. At one point, they even passed a vast library, and Tyrius suddenly understood where Arlac got all his books from.

  “Hey, master?” Tyrius asked.

  “Yes?” Arlac answered as they neared another grand entryway—twin crimson doors framed in ornate archways.

  Their surfaces were dotted with various gemstones, set in housings of unfamiliar metals.

  “You mentioned that skills level up earlier today. I was just curious what that looked or felt like.”

  Arlac glanced back at Tyrius, thinking for a moment.

  “Do you know why I haven't told you much about skills or magic, no matter how much you've begged?”

  Tyrius frowned and thought for a moment before answering.

  “I have no idea why. Some topics you’ll lecture my ear off about, and others you just get vague or evasive. It’s been… frustrating.”

  Arlac couldn’t help but smirk at the honesty.

  “There’s a bit of a tradition from where I’m from.”

  Tyrius immediately perked up. Arlac’s eyes flickered with amusement at the boy before continuing.

  “The Soul Well Ceremony is considered sacred in my country. It marks the moment one is no longer viewed as a child—but recognized as an adult.”

  He paused, as if that alone was enough explanation.

  “Okay? And how does that explain why you never answer my questions about skills, mana, or even magic?”

  That familiar smirk curved Arlac’s lips as he turned away and began to lecture.

  “I had thought your mother would have explained this to you. So let me ask you instead—what are you going to gain when we complete your ceremony?”

  “Well, she explained how special of a moment it was, but never went into detail. I’ll gain my first skills and the ability to use mana. I’ll ascend to Tier 1. But that still doesn’t answer the question.”

  “Exactly. The very first thing someone gains after the Soul Well Ceremony—the first thing they get the moment they become an adult—is mana and skills. This is something precious and unique to everyone. Reaching Tier 1 is a very personal matter and it marks the beginning of one’s path. A path only they can walk.”

  He turned to face Tyrius again.

  “So it has become tradition not to teach our young anything about mana or skills beforehand. We don’t want to influence their path with our biases. Instead, we prepare them—rigorous training, exhaustive lessons, and as much worldly knowledge as possible. That way, they’re ready to forge their own journey.”

  By now, Arlac had stopped pacing. His gaze was lifted slightly, caught in memory.

  “So, you trained me that hard and made me read all those books because of your tradition?” Tyrius asked, incredulously. “Does your country torture all its kids as harshly as you did me? You’re vicious during sword spars!” He complained mockingly.

  Arlac’s gaze snapped back to Tyrius, an insidious smile tugging at his lips.

  “Well, you were just so good at taking punishment that I may have gone a bit overboard. Besides, you seem to enjoy swordsmanship almost as much as that meditation game. So don't blame me that I push you to be better.” he shot back.

  Tyrius rolled his eyes but smiled. He did enjoy their sword sparring sessions, but hadn't realized it was noticed. It just felt so natural for him to wield a blade. Tyrius had long since decided that it was likely going to be his weapon of choice.

  They looked at one another for a few seconds before both broke out into laughter.

  The tension from this morning faded. Moments like this were rare—but they always made Tyrius feel happy.

  He thought back to the time between training, when he was forced to read and study various histories of the world. He’d reviewed everything from bestiaries to academic research journals on fractures. He had learned that there was no consensus on how or why fractures formed—only speculation. Even more speculation surrounded the catastrophic global event known as The Fracturing, when, once every twenty years or so, every fracture on the planet overflowed with monsters and beasts.

  His father had died during the last one, before he was born.

  As Tyrius continued to reflect on everything he'd been taught—and all the things Arlac wouldn't answer—he noticed a discrepancy.

  “I don't fully get it though. You've explained things about fractures and even mana before. Doesn’t that violate your traditions?”

  “That’s a good question,” Arlac said. “The short answer is yes. But the more technical answer is no. You’re a bit of a special case, Tyrius. When I met you, you already possessed an innate ability—one that had opened your eyes to some of the energies of this world. So, in a way, you’d already begun your path.”

  He paused before continuing.

  “The things I explained were always within the realm of what you could naturally understand. I was careful not to overshare—never gave you anything that might push you too far, too soon. Which brings us back to your original question.

  “About level ups?” Tyrius asked, remembering what had prompted the discussion.

  “Yes. You possess a skill now, so it's within your understanding—and within my bounds to explain. I would’ve told you after your ceremony anyway, but since you’ve asked, I’ll answer now.”

  He glanced at Tyrius.

  “Skills are an integral part of your being—tied directly to your soul—and they’re completely unique to the individual. Even if two people possess a skill with the same name, it doesn’t necessarily mean they function the same, though they may be similar. Skills are earned through experience, training, and sometimes even life-or-death battles. These moments shape and refine your skills, altering how they manifest and evolve over time.

  “As you continue to use a skill, you’ll periodically receive notifications from The Ethereal Words indicating it has leveled up. Skills develop alongside you just as much as you improve through them. Each skill has a maximum of twenty levels. The first ten levels are typically gained through consistent use and growing proficiency. The next five, however, are... more difficult. And the final five tend to be even more elusive. They demand deeper insight—something you’ll have to uncover on your own.

  “Most lower-tier skills will be able to evolve once the skill reaches level ten. Typically you will be offered around three options at minimum. Both the quantity and quality of possible evolutions are shaped by how you’ve used the skill—and the choices you’ve made while wielding it.

  “Just know that you’re not required to accept any of them when presented the option. If none of the options appeal to you, you can continue training the skill in pursuit of better evolutions.”

  He paused briefly in thought, then continued.

  “The last thing I can say about skills is their ability to be enhanced. In fact, I believe you’ve already done this once, even if by accident. Occasionally, skills reach hidden milestones or fulfill unique conditions that cause them to shift or evolve on their own. This may lead to a tier evolution—but more often, it results in an advanced version of the skill, marked by a symbol next to the tier. That mark means the skill is of the highest quality for its tier—often standing head and shoulders above other non-advanced abilities.”

  He leaned in slightly, his tone tightening.

  “These advanced skills usually require the skill to reach at least level fifteen before evolution is possible. And in rare cases, I’ve even heard they demand an achi—”

  Arlac suddenly stopped mid-sentence. His gaze unfocused, and his voice fell silent.

  That same deep, uneasy sensation Tyrius had been feeling recently formed in his gut, churning like a coiled knot. He suddenly began to feel gravity shift around him and it felt like he was accelerating rapidly. It was then that he realized the gnawing pressure he'd felt over the past few days hadn’t just been anxiety. It was almost like motion sickness one would experience on a boat.

  “What’s goi—?” Tyrius began, but his words died as his master raised a hand—eyes still glazed, focused on something far beyond.

  The sensation worsened, then faded, only to surge again in waves. It dragged on for several long minutes. Tyrius had to focus on pulling life mana from the floor just to keep himself steady as nausea washed over him. Meanwhile, Arlac remained still—motionless like a statue.

  Then, without warning, Arlac’s trance broke. He turned sharply to Tyrius, urgency flickering behind his eyes.

  “Come. Let’s go, Tyrius,” he commanded, already moving.

  The massive crimson doors parted soundlessly at his aapproach.