"Young Miss, we wish you a pleasant evening," the maids said in unison, bowing gracefully as Cynthia left the dining hall and made her way back to her chambers.
Upon returning to her room, she was greeted by the soft glow of Vesan, still floating beside the table, scanning through the tomes. The gentle hum of light accompanied each turn of the page as he continued his work.
Cynthia walked past him in silence and made her way to the window. She sat by its edge, her gaze falling on the horizon, where the evening sun bathed the sky in a rose-pink glow streaked with warm amber. For a time, she simply admired the interplay of colors, allowing a rare stillness to settle over her.
Then, she closed her eyes.
Drawing inward, she focused on her internal energy. A wave of Psy energy surged within her as she began circulating it through her body. After a few minutes of disciplined focus, she extended her hand. In a shimmer of light, her scepter materialized, and immediately her energy flared, pulsing more intensely.
"Status," Cynthia commanded, maximizing her concentration.
STR: 5
AGI: 6
END: 6
PSY: 2000 / 2140
"Vesan, are you able to multitask?" Cynthia asked through their mental link.
"Yes. How may I assist you?" Vesan responded calmly.
"I recall that a few days ago, when you quantified my capabilities, my Psy levels were exactly 2000. But now, I see the number is increasing. Do you have an explanation for this?"
"At the time, the reason was not fully understood. However, since earlier this evening, I believe I have discovered an answer," Vesan began. "The tome titled Warlocks contains a section that discusses this. Unlike the average warlock, who must develop their capabilities from the most basic level, a Psy Lord follows a different progression."
"Their challenge lies not in sheer magical output, but in the cultivation of mental fortitude, knowledge, and skill. As the one who governs the Warlock class, the Psy Lord's power is designed to grow steadily and indefinitely at a pace that surpasses ordinary warlocks. It is a gradual evolution, rooted in their unique spiritual structure."
"Ah, so I am to expect a continuous and indefinite accumulation of Psy energy," Cynthia concluded thoughtfully.
"Correct. The exact pace and limits of this growth are still unknown, but I will monitor the developments and notify you when further patterns are discovered."
"Very well. You may continue scanning the tomes. As for the Warlock progression methods, let's explore those in depth tomorrow."
"Understood," Vesan replied.
Cynthia resumed her meditation, allowing her consciousness to deepen once more. During this time, a question surfaced in her mind one she had long wondered about. But she gently pushed it aside, resolving to revisit it during tomorrow's session with Vesan.
After an extended period that left her satisfied, she opened her eyes. Night had deepened the moon high, the stars faint through the glass. Rising from her seat, she crossed the room and slipped into bed. Her body relaxed, her mind settled, and soon, she drifted into sleep.
In another region, far from the shining towers of Lumenoth, dusty roads wound through the skeletal remains of a forgotten town. Crumbling stone districts bore the remnants of faded mosaics, hinting that this place had once thrived with life and color. A dry, lifeless fountain stood in the heart of the town square, its statues weathered, limbs broken or missing entirely. Vine-covered pillars stretched their shadows over empty marketplaces, where shattered pottery and rusted coins lay scattered among the debris like whispers of a vanished era. The scent of old parchment lingered around the ruins of a collapsed library, its shelves now splinters. A shattered amphora rolled across the ground, its movement guided only by the wind, echoing in a place that once roared with voices now silenced.
Among the ruins staggered a man who appeared to be middle-aged, haggard, and gaunt. His robes were torn and dirt-stained, his skin clung tightly to sharp bones, and his eyes… his eyes were hollow, lifeless. He dragged his feet across the broken path, each step a struggle, each breath ragged.
"Can't I be done with it already? Why must you keep me alive? What have I done to deserve such an existence?" he mumbled, voice brittle and dry like the wind-blown dust around him.
His foot caught a broken edge of stone, and he fell hard onto the ground. But he did not rise. Instead, he curled into a fetal position, trembling, and began to sob.
"Why torture yourself?" a voice coiled into his mind like smoke. "Why starve yourself, deny yourself, curse what has clearly been a blessing to your mortal shell? Why resist the power you've been gifted?"
The man gritted his teeth and choked back another cry.
"You are no blessing," he hissed. "You robbed me of who I was. I'm nothing now, just your carrier. Just a shell for you to infest."
"I gave you life," the voice replied, calm yet resonant. "A long life. Power over life and death itself. You forget it was you who offered to be my vessel."
The man's expression twisted in anguish.
"It's a cycle with you, your warped justifications, your twisted logic. You destroyed what mattered most to me. And for that, I'll never stop resisting. I'll never stop trying to end you."
His arms clutched his frail stomach. His ribs showed starkly beneath his skin. He looked less man and more husk.
"Your sorrows are… unfortunate," the voice continued with something close to mock sympathy. "But it was not I who failed to understand your own strength. That failure your failure was the root of your ruin. Still, you must know… I will not be eradicated."
A black and crimson aura began to ripple from the man's body, subtle at first, like heat rising from stone. Then it surged outward, swelling through the entire town and spreading far beyond. The sky darkened beneath its haze, the winds stopped, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, just as suddenly, the aura began to recede, drawing back into the man like a reversed tide. When it was done, the man's form appeared changed, less gaunt, stronger. His posture straightened, his bones less visible. But the deadness in his eyes remained.
He lifted his gaze to the pale moon above and let out a cry that tore at the silence.
"WHY WON'T YOU JUST LET ME DIE?! FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO TORMENT! HAVEN'T YOU DONE ENOUGH?!"
His cracked lips trembled, and his breath misted in the cold air. The light of the moon touched his tear-streaked face, reflecting off lifeless eyes that once held dreams now long dead.
As he stood, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of unseen burdens, the ground beneath him began to crack with a low groan. The very town that had suffered time's slow decay now seemed to respond to something deeper something unnatural. Stones loosened from their foundations. Dust plumed into the chilled night air. The once-still silence broke under the breath of unseen dread.
Outside the town's ruined walls, the sparse vegetation, brittle shrubs, gnarled trees, and creeping ivy began to wither. Leaves curled inward, blackened as though scorched by an invisible flame. Branches shriveled, collapsing under their own weight. What little life remained in that forgotten land began to rot and decay, as if fleeing the presence of the man and the power that clung to him like a curse.
The red-black aura pulsed faintly at his feet, trailing through the cobblestones like veins. The corruption was not just within him, it was emanating, leeching into the world around him.
And still, the voice returned.
"Do you see now?" it whispered, almost tender. "Your rebellion brings forth revelation. This world bends beneath your shadow, your suffering made manifest. You are not broken, you are becoming."
He clenched his fists, knuckles white and trembling.
"I never asked for this."
"And yet... You accepted it."
He screamed, a raw, guttural cry that echoed against the empty ruins and vanished into the night, heard only by the bones of the dead and the stars that watched in silence.