Chương 124: Solas'vera

The energy flow began to recede and the three streams thinned, their vibrant colors fading to translucent wisps as the conduits' automated systems detected the approach of full saturation. The spiritual pressure eased, and the influx sensation that had driven his hours of sorting gradually settled into something stable; a foundation that felt solid and complete in his spirit. Cal opened his eyes to the soft white light of the chamber.

His body seemed strangely heavy and light simultaneously, as if every cell had been replaced with something more alive. The door opened. The attendant entered, her composure as flawless as when she had departed. She detached the seals with deft movements, each one releasing from his skin with a soft hiss and a faint rush of cool air. Cal swung his legs off the chair and stood.

His muscles protested, stiff from the extended immobility, and he shook out his arms, rolled his shoulders, and marveled at how good it felt to simply no longer be plagued by channel erosion.

"You did very well," the attendant informed him.

"Twenty hours is an excellent time to have processed so much essence." Cal blinked at her.

"Tw-Twenty hours?" The attendant gave him a polite nod. She collected the conduit apparatus, retracting the cables into their wall housing and then excused herself to "prepare the exit documentation." In the meantime, he sighed at how little time Selara had left and closed his eyes, reaching for the mental command he needed. Status. The display appeared in his mind's eye: blue light, silver text, and the numbers confirming what he already knew.

NAME: Cal Valorn RACE: Half-elf TIER: F (Peak Harmonic) PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES | VIT | 100. 00% | F | | STR | 100. 00% | F | | AGI | 100. 00% | F | | END | 100. 00% | F | | INT | 100. 00% | F | | WIL | 100. 00% | F | | WIS | 100. 00% | F | SPIRITUAL CONTAMINATION: 0. 00% CHANNEL EROSION: 0. 00% One hundred percent with every attribute. The perfect foundation, completed for the first time. The first of many.

He reached inward with his [Spiritual Perception], feeling for the breakthrough threshold that had been a thin membrane when his physical triad and Vitality had first reached it. The boundary wasn't fragile anymore. A dense, pressurized barrier now separated him from this tier and the next. The Sovereign's Toll, huh? Shivering involuntarily, he ran the numbers before he could stop himself. The cost to push a single F-tier attribute from the pseudo threshold to the true peak was around six hundred essence stones.

He'd needed that for all seven attributes. Call it forty-two hundred F-tier essence stones, at a conservative market rate of ten gold per stone. Forty-two thousand gold. A number so large it transcended currency and became an abstraction. Deadfall's entire annual economy probably didn't move that much coin.

His single greatest haul as an adventurer had been twenty-five gold for a matriarch's pheromone gland, and he would have needed to replicate that career-best success over sixteen-hundred times to earn such a sum. Even if he could somehow manage that feat once per day it would take more than five years of relentless work, assuming he never took a day off and never spent a copper on anything else. And that some critter didn't turn him into worm food during the process.

Selara had just paid for it without batting an eye. The attendant soon returned with a crystal vial no larger than his thumb, filled with a glossy green liquid.

"A restorative elixir for you, young master. It will handle your body's needs after the long session." Cal took it without complaint, popped the stopper, and drank. He was mildly hungry and thirsty and had a dull ache behind his eyes from twenty hours of unbroken concentration. All of it cleared away in moments, and his body settled into equilibrium. Eight hours. Selara had eight hours left before Macarious' deadline, and Cal had burned twenty of them lounging in a comfy chair. Urgency shot through him.

How long had he been standing here, stretching and checking his status like he had all the time in the world? Five minutes? Ten? What if they've already left?

"Sir? Are you all right?" He refocused. The attendant watched him carefully, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

"I just need to get back as soon as possible."

"Of course, sir. But Lady Azh'vail's retainer has not yet returned for you. If you'll follow me to the waiting lounge, I'm certain he will arrive shortly." Shortly. He wanted to argue, to demand they send a messenger, to do something, but the rational part of his brain caught up with his panic and throttled it back to a manageable level. He had no leverage here. Crumb, I don't even know where "here" is… Finding nothing else to do, he followed.

The waiting lounge was a small room paneled in the same dark mahogany and furnished with three absurdly comfortable armchairs arranged around a low table bearing a silver tea service. The attendant gestured toward the nearest chair, murmured something about refreshments, and withdrew. Cal sank into it. They were just as sumptuous as the divine seating apparatus in the "pump you up" room. I guess all I can do is wait. I'll sit here and rest, and the second Macarious arrives I'll…

He was asleep before the thought could finish. A hard snap detonated two inches from his left ear. Cal reacted before his mind engaged. He launched from the chair in an explosive burst, feet hitting the floor as his arms rose into a guard, [Spiritual Perception] rushing outward before he'd drawn his first conscious breath. Coming back to himself, Cal took in the plush waiting lounge and Macarious standing three feet away, one finger still raised from the snap that had woken him.

The man had arched one eyebrow a fraction of an inch, the only indication that Cal's reaction was noteworthy. He straightened from his fighting stance, still pumping with adrenaline as heat climbed his neck.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to—" Macarious ignored the apology, closing the distance between them in a step. He fixed Cal with an unsettling green-eyed stare. Dissecting him. Inspecting him like some problem that needed solving.

"What makes you so special, boy? Do you even know whose attention you have drawn?" Words failed Cal. He stood rigid, facing the man who had killed Zarven as casually as one swats a bug, starting to sweat. But he dared not leave the man waiting long.

"You would have to ask the Veils, sir. Azh'vails, I mean. But if I had to guess… I would say she values my tenacity. Persistence in the face of challenges may have been my most redeeming quality." Macarious stared Cal down for three more seconds. Then he turned away; the scrutiny dropped as abruptly as it had started.

"It is time to leave." The man lifted his arm and split the air. A portal sprung into existence, and through it Cal saw the dark wood and bare shelves of a room he recognized. He stepped through to find the husk of the Golden Mortar. The lab had been gutted. Every shelf stood empty, every workstation cleared down to the wood, and the air carried nothing but the sterile bite of [Scour] where a chemical tang had once accompanied every breath.

Cal stopped at the bench where he'd brewed his first potion under Aurelian's supervision. Even his spirit cauldron was gone. His boots marked a hollow cadence on the wooden floor as he exited the lab and entered the showroom. Only the black granite counter and empty shelves remained. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. Selara and Aurelian stood in front of the counter, waiting.

She wore her midnight blue tunic and dark trousers, her fiery hair pulled back in its practical bun. Flamewright must have been back in her void ring. She looked composed, but Cal caught the faint redness around her eyes and the telltale tightness in her jaw. Aurelian stood rigidly beside her, arms folded across his torso as he frowned at the wall.

"Hurry up and say your goodbyes," Macarious commanded impatiently.

"We have dawdled long enough." Selara lifted her chin.

"Give us a moment of privacy, there is still plenty of time in our agreement. We shall come to you when we are ready." Macarious sniffed loudly. A contest of wills stretched between them as they glared at one another across the empty room. Then he tossed an irritated shake of the head, turned on his heel, and walked back through the archway into the stripped laboratory. Selara closed the distance to Cal.

Up close tears glistened in her eyes, held in check by the iron will that had just faced down a monster like Macarious. She reached for him, and Cal felt something small and metallic press into his palm. Looking down, he saw a silver ring, plain and unadorned, its band smooth and featureless to the naked eye.

"I wish we had more time," she said quietly, pitched for his ears alone.

"There is a letter in the ring's space that explains what I can. Once you break through to E-tier, your Mana reserves will be large enough to open it easily." She gripped his fingers fiercely.

"Be careful, Cal. Do not let anyone know you have that until you break through, and even then, it is better to hide it. The ring is unsecured right now. Anyone could open it." She gauged his expression, making sure he was paying attention.

"After you ascend to E-tier, wipe some of your blood on it before you inject your Mana the first time. This will bind it to your Intent, making it inaccessible to others even if you were to lose your hand." Dry amusement crossed her face, and she smiled grimly.

"Or a competent enchanter got their hands on it. Or you die… Do not die." Cal stared down at yet another priceless gift she'd bestowed upon him, then closed his fist around the ring.

"As for the breakthrough itself," she continued.

"It will feel like your spirit is being stretched. Pulled apart from the inside. The more complete the foundation, the more intense the pressure during the breakthrough, but the greater the reward. Your perfect foundation will make it immense." She swallowed.

"But I have faith you can withstand it. Will withstand it. Just... hold on." Worry threaded plainly through her voice, though he heard more in it than fear of the E-tier trial.

"You push too hard," she forced out.

"The rate you force yourself to grow... it is dangerous. I do not know what is driving you, but these risks you have taken are reckless. To yourself and others." She paused, searching his face while she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"I can see that you know that, too. Now. I think you also know you shall not reach the path's end if you do not learn to slow down." She echoed the decision he'd reached in his meditations, even as it still warred with the urge to rush toward a possible reunification with his family. There was no denying the temptation would be a constant. But watching his mentor get torn out of his life for reasons he didn't understand, unsure if and when he'd ever see her again…

he was confronted once again with the strong desire to protect the relationships he was fostering here. On Veraxus.

"I intend to; have no doubt. And you're right, there is a reason I've been pushing so hard... but at the end of the day I've just been a fool. A fool who is going to do better." He looked her square in the eye.

"Thank you, Selara. For everything. It means more than you know."

"Thank you." Her voice cracked, just slightly, on the second word.

"For barging into our lives and forcing us to pay attention again. You have been a bright spot in a long, weary season." She held him one final moment, then let go.

"I hope we meet again," she finished, a small, sad smile settling on her face. Then she straightened, drew a steadying breath, and spoke an ancient and sacred phrase that resonated through the empty shop." Solas'vera, Cal Valorn." May your path be your own. Knowledge of the Mythren'dir blessing came to him through a passage he'd read in one of the texts she'd loaned him during his early studies. The phrase carried layers of meaning.

Mostly independence and self-determination, but beneath both ran a prayer that the person addressed would survive long enough to walk the path at all. Cal inclined his head." Solas'vera, Selara… Azh'vail." She gave him a quick grin at that and stepped back, as Aurelian shuffled forward. The alchemist moved stiffly, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Cal expected him to be with something like this. He refused to look Cal in the eye, focusing on a point approximately six inches to the left of his right shoulder.

Aurelian cleared his throat. A pulse of Mana coalesced around his outstretched fingers, and a compact wooden box materialized in his palm.

He thrust it unceremoniously at Cal.

"Here." Cal took the box and opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark velvet, sat a sphere no bigger than a large gumball, deep brown verging on black, its surface slightly irregular in texture. The orb radiated a dense aura that interwove spiritual frequencies in a way Cal had never encountered. It felt so… alive.

"It is a pill." Aurelian stated, staring at the distant wall.

"A powerful pill that you will not take until you break through to E-tier, unless you want your spirit to melt into a puddle. That tendril had incredible spiritual and physical regenerative properties. I combined the sample with some of my private stock based on a working theory that I had never been able to test." He paused and frowned faintly.

"It should help heal the channel erosion you seem so determined to inflict upon yourself." His voice gained a fraction of its usual acerbic edge.

"You certainly cannot be expected to avoid hurting yourself, now can you? This seemed to be the next best thing. However, I am not entirely certain of the mechanism… Some experimentation may be required." Cal studied the pill. Then Aurelian. The man who had refused to take him as an apprentice, who dangerously withheld proper instructions even when he finally relented and who berated him for many of his mistakes... had quietly crafted a solution for Cal's biggest problem. Aurelian glanced at his eyes.

Just a flash, contact made and immediately abandoned. But in that brief instant, Cal saw something beneath the haughty persona the man used to mask his emotions. Something vulnerable.

"It was... beneficial. Having an apprentice again." Flushing from neck to ears, he turned away with the jerky motion of a man in full retreat. Cal held out his arm, blocking Aurelian's escape route with nothing more than an offered hand. Aurelian stopped. He regarded the gesture with open suspicion, cycling through confusion, irritation, and something that might have been fear. Then, ever so slowly, he reached out and accepted it. For a suspended moment, the annoyance left Aurelian entirely. The grip surprised Cal.

Aurelian's palm and fingers were lean but powerful, rough with the calluses of a proper craftsman.

"Thanks... master." Cal shot him a cheeky grin. A smile threatened to appear on the alchemist, but he fought it. Fought it hard, his jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, committing to the suppression of the expression that was trying to breach his defenses. He almost won. Almost. He betrayed himself with a fractional curl at the corner of his lips before he sniffed, lifted his chin, pulled free, and spun away toward his sister.

"Yes, well. Now that you will be out of my hair, I shall finally be able to get some real work done." He muttered something under his breath as he stopped beside Selara. Cal only caught fragments:"... insufferable... street rat... so talented..." Selara glanced at Cal and shook her head in exasperation. Then the twins shared a long look. Whatever passed between them, it ended with Selara nodding and Aurelian's rigid shoulders dropping a notch.

They turned and walked through the archway into the lab without another word. Cal followed them to the threshold. Macarious stood waiting, the air beside him already torn open, the hole in the world casting competing light across his angular features. His displeasure with the twins was plain. Selara paused at the portal's threshold, looking back with a wistful smile.

"Farewell." The twins and Macarious stepped through. The portal snapped shut behind them, the light collapsing into a bright point that strobed once and vanished, leaving nothing but still air in its wake. Cal stood motionless in the emptiness that filled the space they had cleared and left behind. They were gone. Truly gone. He looked down. The silver ring sat in his left palm, simple and unassuming, the microscopic runes barely visible. In his right rested the wooden box.

Two precious gifts from people who, a couple of months ago, had been complete strangers. Strangers turned mentors. Mentors turned… friends. Holy mackerel, what just happened? His mind kept circling back to two images: Selara's head tumbling from Cillian's sword, and Selara pressing a void ring into his hand. Everything between those points compressed into a disorienting blur that he knew would take time to emotionally unpack. Not to mention everything that came before it. He slid the band onto his left ring finger.

It was too large for a fraction of a second, and then it wasn't. Contracting smoothly, the band tightened to fit snugly against his skin. The sensation of metal conforming to his finger triggered a connection. Cal reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out the four rings he'd taken from Cillian, laying them in his palm. His attention immediately latched onto the unadorned band of grey metal. He held it up beside Selara's ring and confirmed his suspicions now that he had the genuine article to compare against.

Cillian really was carrying a void ring. I wonder what it contains? He slipped Cillian's onto his right ring finger, and it resized as well. Two rings. One given with love. One taken from a corpse. Removing both, he dropped them into his pouch alongside the other three, and tucked Aurelian's box carefully into his pack. The pill's aura tickled against his perception; such was his excitement that he couldn't tune it out. Cal crossed the vacant showroom, his steps sounding out of place. He stopped at the front door.

Gripping the handle, he turned to look back at the barren shelves and the empty counter. He remembered instead the cluttered archive where Selara had stacked a mountain of books on a table too small for them, where he'd first learned to harness his [Spiritual Perception] for foraging and eventually gotten to explore the wonders of magical theory. Within those walls, he'd confronted Aurelian time and time again until the man finally relented to teach him.

He saw the lab where he'd made his first strides with alchemy and thought the Sovereign's Toll might not be so unattainable. Cal had walked through this door desperate, chasing coin and power and a way to survive. He was leaving with two priceless artifacts, a cure offered without asking, and an unexpected hole in his heart. Someday, one way or another, we will meet again. He pulled the door open and stepped out onto the cobblestone street. Deadfall greeted him with its usual din.

A distant ring from Yorrin's hammer and the clatter of a cart on the main road. The murmur of voices from the market, merchants hawking, adventurers and delvers arguing over contract terms, the entire self-contained ecosystem of a frontier village swirling through another cycle. And for the first time, the sounds felt small. His mind had moved elsewhere, replaying scenes from the recent past: Angelika calling down fire and destruction that consumed an entire horde of monsters.

Zamir striking an ogre twice his size with enough force to obliterate its skull and send it flying. Legendary bloodlines and portals opening to marble halls who knew where in the world. Heck, he'd just had forty-two thousand gold worth of essence poured into his spirit in a room that treated the sum as a standard line item. The new perspective re-contextualized everything. Deadfall was a pinprick, a frontier outpost clinging to the edge of a world that contained powers vaster than he could currently fathom.

The dungeon that drove this village's economy, the F and E-tier monsters that he'd fought and bled against. Even the machinations of someone like Zarven. All of it was the shallow end. The kiddie pool. The deep water was out there, and it went deeper than he'd imagined. Cal turned toward home, his steps steady on the wet cobblestones. The energy inside him sang, seven attributes at perfect saturation pressing against a threshold that brimmed with potential.

Beyond it waited the breakthrough trial, and beyond that, the next stage. The rings would wake, and the letter Selara had left would speak. His stride quickened before he caught it. Slow down. Breathing out, he eased his pace and kept going.