Drip, drip, drip.
Gasp!
His eyes opened, and he saw a dark, empty space that seemed infinite, a cold and terrifying void. The room was silent, yet the sound of the dripping now echoed closer, filling his entire existence.
Under his feet, the footing felt soft and wet. He found himself standing in a pool of cold, pitch-black water, like a liquid holding the void above it.
He looked down, trying to figure out where he was standing, and then peered into the pool, hoping to find his own reflection.
However, in the black puddle, his shadow was not whole.
His reflection was chaotic, unable to form on the still, pitch-black water. The reflection was exactly like him, but only a few shivering silhouettes. He stood tall, his mirrored form in the puddle twisted and shattered, as if the calm water refused to show his true shape. Confusion choked him.
Where am I?
The confused Lucien suddenly felt a strong wind coming from the front. The wind brought a very cold chill, piercing his skin. He closed his eyes and used his hands to try and shield his face from the strong wind. The wind was so strong he felt pushed backward. The calm water beneath his feet suddenly became slightly turbulent, as if he were standing on a seashore being battered by waves.
Crack!
The sound of a small, cold crack came from the turbulent water.
He opened his eyes again.
In an instant, the water under his feet was no longer a small puddle; he now stood in the middle of a vast black ocean. The sky above had vanished, replaced by dense black clouds that swallowed the horizon, spiraling into a bottomless vortex. Purple and blood-red lightning slashed the darkness, illuminating black waves that towered like giant hands, and the wind was like the howl of an unimaginable beast.
WUSH!
The pitch-black wave surged and struck Lucien. He was violently pushed, causing him to be thrown and submerged. His lungs were immediately choked by the thick water that felt denser than normal water, and he sank deeper into the total darkness. As his body fell, beneath the most concentrated layer of water, he thought he saw something hazy awake and asleep simultaneously. A strange feeling enveloped him, and right at that moment, he felt a force pulling him up violently, tearing him from the thick black water.
Gasp!
His eyes opened, his body jolted, panting heavily. The book he was reading lay on the floor.
His heart pounded hard against his ribs, rivaling the faint echo of the imaginary dripping water in his ears. Lucien took a deep breath, his lungs working hard against the lingering tightness from the black water of the dream. The scent of pine and the warmth of home were the anchors that pulled him back from the dream.
Meow? Lumi, the small snow-white cat, was startled by Lucien's sudden movement. It raised its furry head, its wide, innocent blue eyes staring in confusion. The cat got up, rubbing its warm, soft body against Lucien's chest, as if assuring him he was still in a safe place.
Lucien closed his eyes, hugged Lumi for a moment, and forced himself to return to full consciousness. He sighed, feeling the comfortable warmth of the thick carpet beneath his feet, far from the cold black ocean.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the change in the capital's light. The grey clouds that had dominated the morning seemed to be gone, replaced by soft, slightly dazzling sunbeams. Golden light streamed through the living room window, filling the room with a warmth that contrasted with his nightmare.
Along with the light, his nose was assailed by an appetizing aroma—a thick, savory, and slightly sweet scent.
Lucien rose, tidied the book, and walked toward the small kitchen in the corner of the room.
There stood a closed black cast-iron stove, built directly into the chimney wall and radiating residual heat. On its flat surface, Aunt Florence had just turned off the fire beneath a cast-iron skillet. The skillet was still quietly sizzling, and a thin wisp of smoke was still dancing over perfectly cooked beef steak slices with slightly charred edges. Beside it, a pile of caramelized and browned onion slices had just been lifted.
It was done, Lucien now sat back down at that dining table.
Florence didn't wait. She swiftly used tongs, moving the last pieces of steak and sautéed onions from the skillet to a ceramic plate already neatly arranged with a piece of bread and boiled potatoes. She took off her apron, then turned and placed the plate on the dining table.
"Eat it while it's hot, Lucien. You need the energy after everything you've been through today, and for later." She then pointed to the window, towards Lumi basking in the reflection of the golden light.
"The sky is clear. That's the sign you need, Lucien. That sunlight will be the main requirement for your ritual." She then slid a dining chair and sat down facing Lucien. In their right hands, they each held a steak knife, and in their left, a fork.
"We will start the ritual precisely at twelve noon," she stated firmly, cutting a small mouthful of meat, then piercing it with her fork. Her eyes glanced at the grandfather clock standing next to the stairs, it showed a past eleven in the morning. Her eyes looked at Lucien, who had not yet touched his food. Lucien's eyes seemed to narrow slightly, a frown creasing his forehead.
"You have less than an hour, I want you to focus and not think about unnecessary things later," Florence continued her explanation, eating the small piece of meat she had cooked.
"Aunt Flo, I just had a nightmare..." he murmured.
"I was trapped in a void, but suddenly it turned into a stormy ocean and drowned me..." he glanced at his aunt, who seemed to still be focused on cutting the meat on her plate.
"I'm scared, Aunt Flo…" it sounded heavy to anyone who heard it.
Florence suddenly stopped cutting. She placed her knife on the plate and shifted her sharp yet warm gaze from the meat to Lucien's face. She stretched out her hand, and her slender fingers, adorned with a simple ring, touched the back of Lucien's hand on the table with genuine warmth.
"Look at me, Lucien. I'm here," her voice quiet, firm, yet soothing.
"The dream is your spirit sensing the coming transformation. Storms and darkness? Those are just images, dear. It's natural, even though I felt it when I first experienced it. You don't have to be afraid alone." Her blue eyes radiated a deep light. Florence withdrew her hand, pushed Lucien's breakfast plate slightly closer, and a small, sincere smile appeared on her face.
"Your focus is the most important thing. You must trust the preparation and trust yourself. Now, prove to yourself that you are back. Don't let shadows disrupt the taste of this meat. Every bite is a promise that you will go through this ritual with full power. I will guide you, and we will complete this. Now eat, dear." She let go of Lucien's hand, her sincere smile like a golden light piercing the capital's grey clouds.
Lucien stared at the meat on his plate, then took a long breath. The warmth on the back of his hand was still palpable. He nodded, picked up his knife and fork, and cut the meat with certainty. His fear had not completely vanished. He knew Florence was by his side, a figure who always gave him direction.
"Alright, Aunt Flo," he replied, and he began to eat, enjoying his aunt's dish.
His fork and knife moved quickly, the mouthfuls of steak and boiled potatoes alternating to become the only real focus that drove the shadow of the thick black water from his mind. In less than ten minutes, his plate was clean. He had drawn his focus back from fear to strength.
"Good. I'll clean this up. Now, you have fifteen minutes. Go, sit next to Lumi. Clear your mind and prepare yourself." Florence gave a faint smile, then stood up and carried the used plates and cutlery to the wide white ceramic sink in the corner of the kitchen. The quiet clinking of silver against the surface of the plates and sink filled the kitchen's silence as Florence began to turn the brass faucet, letting cold water wash away the residual steak grease.
Lucien now rose. He sat on the living room sofa, hugging Lumi, who meowed happily again. He closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of the carpet on his feet and the cat's purring to calm him.
Fifteen minutes passed quickly.
"Lucien, it's time." Florence's voice called him.
Lucien got up. The grandfather clock showed nearly twelve. He then followed Florence down the creaking stairs.
In the basement, the atmosphere had changed. Florence had lit all the oil lamps, flooding the room with light. The Lumina Moth Dust Essence, already prepared on a small silver plate with a brush beside it, emitted a faint golden glow.
"Open the Flawless Mirror Box, Lucien." Florence pushed her high stool to the table in the center of the basement room. Lucien took The Flawless Mirror out of the hard leather box and placed it on the table. The golden light reflected on the perfect glass, the flickering of the oil lamps making the glass seem to possess a soul of its own.
Florence picked up the small brush, dipped it into the Lumina Moth Dust Essence, and spread the golden-colored paste over the entire surface of the mirror.
The paste solidified quickly, obscuring the mirror's perfect reflection, transforming it into a dull, gold shield that pulsed softly. Florence put down the brush and looked at Lucien.
"Sit down, the Ritual is about to begin. Focus, follow the instructions." Florence looked at Lucien with her sharp blue eyes that reflected the golden light.
"No hesitation, Lucien. You remember the incantation, right?"
Lucien nodded, his breath held. His heart pounded in rhythm with the faint chime of the grandfather clock now audible from upstairs, counting down the last seconds to the peak of noon.
"When the clock strikes, you must act. You will channel your Uniqueness towards this mirror. The paste will evaporate into a glowing white mist. You must inhale that mist as quickly as possible. That is your only chance. If the mist disperses into the air, you lose this Advancement, and you will be in great danger. Do you understand?" Florence pointed to the mirror covered in paste.
"I understand, Aunt Flo." He nodded again, his gaze fixed on the mirror.
"Don't be afraid, don't hesitate, Lucien." This advice merged with the silence that followed.
The grandfather clock ticked softly above his head, each sound echoing in Lucien's ears. The incantation already filled his mind, but was still held back behind his lips. His heart was pounding hard, and the world seemed to narrow to that sound alone. Slowly, his right hand lifted, outstretched in the air with his palm open, hovering right above the mirror.
Lucien took a long breath, then closed his eyes. For a moment, he allowed himself to sink into the silence, calming the subtle tremor in his chest.
….
CLANG…
The faint chime of the grandfather clock was heard, followed by the majestic sound of Christopher the Unifier's Cathedral bell, which began to clang loudly in the distance, indicating precisely twelve noon.
He Who Illuminates Himself…
He began to murmur in the ancient Mireth language. The murmur felt strange, the old oil lamps on the basement walls flickered. The bell that had just rung loudly suddenly sounded very distant and muffled, as if the mortal world was about to be separated.
CLANG…
He Who Illuminates Himself…
On the surface, birds on the roof suddenly stopped chirping, sensing the strange vibration coming from underground. Lumi stared towards the stairs before returning to its calm sleep.
CLANG…
He Who Illuminates Himself…
The recitation sounded heavier. All the oil lamps in the basement went out simultaneously, replaced by darkness. For a moment, the Lumina Moth Dust paste began to glow intensely.
CLANG…
He Who Illuminates Himself…
The sky above the Columbus capital suddenly looked very bright. A flock of birds flew up frantically at once, creating a vortex in the sky. Laborers—humans, dwarves, and elves who had stopped their work looked on, wondering about the strangeness of the flock of birds amidst the repeated clang of the cathedral bell.
CLANG…
He Who Illuminates Himself…
His murmur suddenly sounded wild. In Lucien's mind, his vision jolted, replaced by a dense flash of blood-red light exploding in the darkness of his mind, swallowing his entire consciousness as if he were forced to witness something deadly. At the same time, the basement floor shook violently. One of the alchemy glasses lined up on the old wooden shelf rattled, then fell and shattered into pieces on the floor.
Florence, seeing the strange event, appeared panicked and instantly activated her Wireframe of Truth sight.
CLANG…
He Who Illuminates Himself…
The murmur pulled him back to the black ocean. He looked down, far in the depth, the red light seemed to change like a star sinking beneath the bottom of the black sea. Suddenly, his outstretched right hand cracked, and a white-golden light poured out from the fissures.
"Focus, Lucien!" Florence cried out loudly, her eyes fixed on Lucien's increasingly cracked right hand, but she could only stand resignedly in place. She knew this was a sacred process that must not be interrupted. Florence could only clench her fists and grit her teeth.
The paste on the glass began to evaporate and form a mist, and despite all its strangeness, the mist looked solid and formed a glittering vortex.
CLANG…
He Who Illuminates Himself…
The cold was instantly replaced by warmth. He blinked, and his mind was instantly filled with a soft blue light. The silhouette of a woman made of whitish-blue light, with long hair floating like waves, approached and embraced him with warmth, banishing the cold of the dark black ocean.
Lucien gasped, his eyes wide open, he opened his mouth, and with a long draw of breath, he quickly inhaled the dense, glowing mist.
Instantly, the mist was no longer a gas, but transformed into a hot, creeping liquid energy along his throat. The light exploded in his chest, pumping into his furiously beating heart until the organ pulsed with an unnatural golden luminescence.
From his heart, the energy spread wildly to every nerve tissue, burning the paths of the blood vessels all the way to his fingertips. He was forced to adapt to the sacred power he had just swallowed. His bones vibrated violently, as if being reforged on an invisible anvil, consolidating the power into every drop of his blood that now flowed like molten gold, and instantly the cracks in his hand returned to wholeness without a seam.
In that brief moment right after he successfully inhaled all the mist, his eyes rolled back. His body went limp, and he collapsed from the high stool onto the basement floor.
Florence rushed to grab Lucien's body.
In the midst of the basement's silence, there was only the sound of Florence's ragged breathing suppressing a cry and her pounding heart.
…
In the distance, Christopher's Cathedral bell was still clanging, once more, and once more, completing the rest of the twelve tolls. As if counting down the end of Lucien's consciousness.
CLANG… CLANG… CLANG…
CLANG… CLANG…
…