CHAPTER 77: CYNTHIA (4)

Cynthia reached out, hand trembling ever so slightly as her fingertips brushed the earrings.

The moment contact was made, a spark of energy leapt through her body—gentle yet commanding. The earrings responded instantly, lifting themselves from the pedestal and snapping into place against her ears with a fluid, whispering motion, like water answering its master’s call.

A subtle chime echoed in the air.

"Woah..." Cynthia breathed, wide-eyed.

The instant they settled onto her ears, a serene warmth spread through her chest. A strange calm surged outward, radiating across every nerve and vein. Her mana core pulsed, no longer just a reservoir—but a living ocean, vast and expanding. It felt like an unnatural connection had fused her being with the element of water itself, bonding her soul to something ancient and deep.

"I feel... stronger," she whispered, slowly flexing her fingers, "even without the infinite mana supply from that strange realm..."

Her voice trailed as her eyes widened.

"It’s like I can cast for days... but only for—"

She stopped cold.

"...Water magic?"

A soft, delighted laugh broke the silence.

The watery figure behind her had reappeared, arms folded neatly behind his back, his expression unreadable yet faintly amused.

"Splendid observation, Princess," he said, bowing slightly. "But your trial has not yet been completed. You have inherited your family’s legacy... yet you have not earned it."

Before she could reply, the gem embedded in his forehead pulsed with radiant light. Reality rippled, and a mirror-like surface formed in midair, its frame composed of flowing glyphs made of liquid silver.

Within the mirror: Marcus.

Fighting.

A relentless wave of watery enemies surged around him—his expression razor-focused, his movements as fluid and powerful as a tempest. The realm he stood in echoed Cynthia’s earlier trial, though lacking the shimmering aura of mana-empowered water. And yet... he didn’t falter.

His regeneration alone was monstrous. He didn’t need the realm’s help.

"What? Where is he!?" Cynthia stepped forward, alarm flaring in her chest. "Let him out!" Her voice cracked slightly as her hand clutched her chest.

The watery figure merely looked at her, its face like the surface of a still lake—blank, unreadable.

"Not yet..." it murmured. "You must reach him yourself... in the next trial."

As soon as the final word left its lips, the chamber began to shift again. Light bled from the ceiling like cascading rain, the air thick with magic. The watery figure faded into mist, and the mirror dissolved into scattered droplets.

Cynthia blinked—

And found herself somewhere new.

A scalding heat smacked her face like an open palm. A desert. Endless. A sea of blistering gold under a sky of burning blue. The ground was cracked, blistered with scorched sand, and a miniature sun—no, a magical construct composed of ancient, circling runes—hovered high above, magnifying the heat tenfold.

The sand stretched on forever. No mountains. No ruins. No shadows. Just heat and distance.

"Trial of Drought, begin!" a voice thundered from above, not unlike the one that had heralded her last test.

The realm responded immediately. Magic thinned in the air—and far in the distance, a well shimmered into view, glimmering like a mirage. Small. Distant. But unmistakably real.

Cynthia squinted toward it, shielding her eyes. Her new outfit, still made of enchanted water, clung to her body like a protective veil, the coolness keeping her skin from baking under the blazing heat—for now.

"Well," she muttered, one eyebrow raised, "I think I got the gist of what to do already..."

She took a step.

Then another.

But just as her heels touched the hot sand, something yanked her foot downward.

A sandy hand burst from below, its fingers cracked and jagged, grasping her ankle with surprising strength.

Pain lanced up her leg. The fingers dug in, scraping her skin raw. Cynthia’s heart thudded—hard. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. But she had no choice

"Water..." a broken voice rasped from beneath the sand. "Give... water..."

"Let go of me!" Cynthia growled, raising her wand with trained instinct. "Steam Lance!"

Nothing.

No glow. No surge. Not even a flicker.

It was as if her mana... had vanished.

Her breath caught.

’Wait...’

’I can’t sense anything within me. No flow. No core. Nothing.’

Cynthia reached inward again—desperately. Still nothing. No spark, no current. It was like plunging her hand into a dry well and finding only dust.

Her knees weakened. Panic bit at her chest like frost. To be so full of power one moment—and utterly hollow the next—it felt like being cast from the sky mid-flight.

A realization like ice crept up her spine despite the blazing heat.

’So this trial is meant to remove me from all my power...’

’To make me unable to use the new gifts I’ve received... at least, not right away.’

’It’s smart... I’ll give it that.’

With a grunt of exertion, Cynthia dropped to one knee and wrenched at her own leg, using her upper body strength to claw herself out of the hand’s grasp. The sandy limb crumbled to dust, retreating back beneath the surface with a defeated hiss.

She stumbled upright, chest heaving. The well in the distance shimmered again—but now, it looked farther away than before.

She frowned, sweat already dripping from her forehead. The water outfit was fading too, its enchantment seemingly draining with every step she took. Her lips were dry. The heat now felt... alive.

"I assume this is an endurance test..." she murmured to herself, forcing one foot in front of the other.

Her gaze didn’t waver from the well.

And in her mind—Marcus.

"Marcus... I’ll rescue you. And when I do, I won’t just follow you. I’ll stand beside you... as your equal."

She remembered the way Marcus had stood before her, shooting the hydra without hesitation while Cynthia helped them retreat.

’He never looked back to see if I was keeping up.’

’He just believed I would.’

Her voice was low but steady.

Behind her, unseen among the shifting dunes, more sandy arms began to rise. Some long, some small. Twisted. Silent. Waiting.

The second trial had begun in earnest.