CHAPTER 353: TO THE AETHER CRUCIBLE

The skies above the Deadroot Forest shimmered with the restless breath of mana winds. For days now, silence and focus had reigned within the Hollow—no more sparring, no more trials. Only preparations. Internal. Spiritual. Tactical.

And now... it was time to leave.

Kaelen stood at the edge of the Hollow’s open terrace, his eyes locked onto the distant horizon, where the mist danced like ghostly waves over the thick canopy. Behind him stood Kelvin, arms crossed and expression grim, and Ethan, adjusting the strap of his sheathed twin blades. Morris, now cloaked in a mantle stitched with the ambient mana of his Elemental Matrix, stood like a silent wall of pressure. Guinevere, adorned with her scorched crimson armor and the terrifying calm of the Amaterasu, watched Kaelen with a quiet intensity.

"You sure about this?" Morris asked, voice low. "Once we step out, there’s no pause. No safe ground."

Kaelen’s gaze didn’t waver. "That’s exactly why we have to go. The Blade... it’s still snapped into two. And this time, I can feel it... It cries for being reborn"

’And I still have to find out the reason why I haven’t heard anything from my system’ He later thought with a grim look on his face.

Behind them, the trees rustled. They turned to see Naena, staff in hand, approaching with Eirana and several Nullcarver warriors trailing her.

Her expression was unreadable, carved of the same stone that had tested them so mercilessly through the trials. But her eyes... they softened as they fell on Kaelen.

"You’ve come far," she said, stopping before them. "But the road you now walk is no longer one of training or enlightenment. This is a path into the unknown—a crucible that will either unmake you or forge a new truth from your ashes."

Kaelen nodded once, solemn and sure. "I understand."

Naena turned toward Eirana, her granddaughter, her eyes locking with hers in an unspoken exchange. Then she spoke aloud:

"Eirana. From this moment, you are no longer bound to our hollowed grounds. You are to guide them—Kaelen and his allies—to the Aether Crucible. And when the time comes... fight beside them. As one of us. As one of them."

Eirana lowered her head in reverence. "I will."

The Nullcarvers present slammed their staves into the ground as a gesture of finality.

"It’s an ancient place," Naena continued, now turning to Kaelen. "Older than the tribes. Older than even the Elven kingdoms. The Crucible was not made to bend power... it was made to reveal purpose—to shatter impurity and refine soul and steel alike. You must understand..."

She stepped closer, her aged hand gently tapping Kaelen’s chest.

"Do not let your Blade of Eternity become an artifact that chases borrowed strength. Do not lean too heavily on outside forces... Celestial boons, sealed beasts, or borrowed flames. If the Blade is to be whole... you must become its core. Its breath. Its will."

The words struck him deeply—like echoes of all the moments he had faltered, relying on blessings and powers passed down rather than his own spirit.

"Forge your bond with it, not as a wielder... but as a partner," Naena concluded, "or it will never serve you in the way the world needs it to."

Kaelen stepped forward and bowed low, fists clenched.

"I swear," he said, lifting his head with new resolve. "I will make it mine. And together... we’ll end this."

Naena gave a nod of approval, the faintest trace of pride ghosting across her stern features.

Eirana stepped up beside Kaelen, adjusting the silver blade on her back, her expression now cool and focused. "We’ll travel by the mountain paths until we reach the Vein Crossing. From there, we move through the floating isles of Halor, then into the Ruptured Sky. The Aether Crucible lies beyond that storm."

Kelvin whistled under his breath. "Sounds like a trip to paradise."

Ethan chuckled darkly. "More like a trip to whatever lies between heaven and hell."

"We’ll walk it together," Kaelen said. "And when I return with my blade whole... we’ll march to where Endless reigns and tear his throne apart."

Behind them, the wind howled.

The Hollow would remember their names.

And so would the world.

---

Far away, unseen...

In the deepest reaches of the Labyrinth, Endless stood before his obsidian mirror. In its reflection, the group of warriors departed the Hollow, led by the last of the daughter of the Nullcarver’s monarch.

He smiled faintly.

"Go then," he whispered. "Let the forge test your resolve, Kael Dragonyx. But even a reforged blade... can shatter."

---

The shadows of the Deadroot Forest slowly peeled away as the group marched eastward, the air growing thinner and colder with every step. Mana shimmered faintly around the crooked trees, whispering like ghosts in the wind. Towering vines swayed despite the stillness of the air, and phantom lights blinked across the distant canopy. The Hollow was far behind them now.

At the front of the group, Eirana moved with quiet precision, her silver eyes scanning the winding path like a hawk searching for flaws in stone. Every movement was laced with the grace of a seasoned warrior and the conviction of a guide burdened with more than just navigation.

Right behind her was Kaelen, his thoughts steady, his pulse calm. The wind tugged at the tattered cloak wrapped over his battlewear, and though he said little, there was a calm flame in his gaze—purposeful, unwavering.

Kelvin, ever alert, trailed just a step behind him with arms crossed, his scythe clinking softly with every stride. Ethan kept to the rear, his steps nearly silent, his senses attuned to the rhythm of nature—his newfound Still Earth attunement letting him feel the very heartbeat of the terrain.

Morris and Guinevere flanked them from both sides like silent sentinels—Morris still quietly adjusting to his Elemental Matrix domain, and Guinevere now cloaked in the smoldering heat of her Inferno. Every now and then, her fingers twitched, the Amaterasu within pulsing like an awakened dragon coiled beneath her skin.

Then came the sound. The softest flutter.

A breeze—too sharp, too out of place—blew across their path. It had no direction, no scent, yet left frost-like chills in its wake.

From behind a bend in the path of jagged stone, the Voidcloak emerged.

The creature did not walk. It glided, its feet never quite touching the earth. Drenched in shadows that hissed in the light, the cloak that shrouded its form rippled unnaturally. But its face was uncovered—a humanoid form with blank eyes, glowing faintly with violet mist, and strange runic lines pulsing down its pale cheeks.

Kaelen and the others immediately slowed to a halt, hands shifting near hilts, instincts flaring.

"Relax," Eirana said softly, without looking back. "He’s not our enemy."

"It’s not him I’m worried about," Kelvin muttered under his breath.

Eirana turned around fully then and walked up to the Voidcloak. The creature—still silent—tilted its head at her with a slow, calculating grace. There was no malice in its gaze... but something else. Something ancient and untranslatable.

She laid a hand over its chest gently, almost reverently. "He saved me," she said aloud, though it seemed more for herself than them. "In the elven settlement. In the border. And even in the hands of Endless. He followed me into the forest when he had no reason to. That’s more than I can say for half the people I’ve fought beside."

"So... it’s yours now?" Ethan raised an eyebrow.

Eirana didn’t answer. She just stepped back and nodded at the Voidcloak. And then, without warning, it began to walk—joining their group seamlessly, like a shadow that had always been there.

The companions said nothing, but none of them sheathed their guard.

Hours passed.

They crossed gnarled roots, climbed cliffs draped with elemental moss, and braved cold winds that sliced through their armor. And as the sun began to set, casting long golden rays across the horizon, they arrived at a high ridge—a precipice that overlooked a wide, undulating valley.

The Vale of Thorns stretched before them, a dangerous basin riddled with jagged black vines that coiled like sleeping serpents. In its center, glowing with dim light, stood a narrow bridge carved of pure mana—a shimmering path that hovered over the thorns like a dream.

That was the Vein Crossing.

"There it is," Eirana whispered. "The bridge that links this region to the Floating Isles of Halor. We’ll need to cross before sundown tomorrow... or risk the waking of the Thorn Crows."

"Charming," Morris muttered.

Kaelen stepped forward, eyes narrowing. The path wasn’t just treacherous; it was steeped in fluctuating mana currents—he could feel them, as if the bridge itself were alive.

"No time to waste," he said. "We camp here for the night. We move at dawn."

---

It was nighttime and the campfire crackled gently. Sparks danced into the air, swallowed by the stars above.

Kaelen sat alone, sharpening his sword with slow, steady strokes. Kelvin sat nearby, eyes half-closed as if meditating. Morris was observing his own hands—streams of elemental lights flickering around his fingers. Ethan and Guinevere sat opposite, talking in hushed tones about the currents in the earth, and how strange the forest had felt since they left the Hollow.

Eirana stood at the edge of camp with the Voidcloak at her side. She said nothing as she gazed down into the Vein Crossing.

Kaelen finally looked up from his blade. "Tomorrow’s just the start," he said aloud, mostly to himself. "The Crucible waits. And after that... the world."

"One step at a time," Kelvin replied, his voice like dry gravel. "First, let’s survive crossing that cursed bridge."

"We’ve survived way worse," Ethan muttered. "Barely."

And from the shadows, the Voidcloak turned its gaze upon Kaelen—for just a moment. There was no expression on its face... but the light in its eyes flickered with something unknown.

Something watching.

Something waiting.