The ceiling of the chamber hung in jagged fragments above him, stones scattered like frozen teeth. Dust and faint ash lingered in the air, drifting lazily with each shallow breath Wads took. Slowly, he blinked, the dim light catching the silver flecks of his eyes. Pain clawed through his chest and muscles as he attempted to shift, a grimace twisting his sharp features. Every movement brought a fresh spike of agony.
A soft, measured voice cut through the silence. "Of course, after revealing such astonishing power… it is no wonder you find yourself in such a state."
Wads followed the sound, his head lifting just enough to see her. Reiyell—elegant, poised, every movement deliberate, a subtle radiance emanating from her noble bearing—was approaching, a small vessel of water in her hands. Her steps were light but confident, the air itself seeming to respect her presence.
Wads coughed, turning his gaze to her as she crouched near him, offering the water.
He accepted it, tilting the cup to his lips. The bitter liquid slid down, sharp and unfamiliar, and he promptly coughed again, a small spurt returning to the cup's edge.
"This is…?" he murmured, eyebrows knitting.
"Herbal," she replied, arching a brow in that commanding, royal cadence that carried both authority and subtle amusement.
"You do not like bitter tea?" she asked, her tone perfectly measured, every word enunciated like a decree.
"I… do not," Wads muttered, dabbing at the remnants with his sleeve. Reiyell's lips twitched into a quiet chuckle, almost imperceptible, a delicate sound against the echoing chamber.
"You have no choice," she commanded, standing gracefully. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, studied him for a heartbeat longer before she moved aside. Wads groaned, rolling his eyes, but drank the last of the herbal liquid, the corners of his mouth twitching at the unpleasant taste.
Focusing inward, he drew on his aura, meditating in fragments as his body throbbed with pain. Ten minutes passed, or perhaps only five—time felt strange in the quiet aftermath of battle. Gradually, the ache subsided into a dull thrum, the herbal mixture aiding his recovery. He made a small, dumb expression, tugging at the corners of his mouth as if mocking himself.
"I waited for you to awaken before opening the chest over there," Reiyell said, her voice low but deliberate, the slight rise and fall of her tone betraying the faintest trace of concern. She glanced down at him, sharp eyes softening just enough to convey reassurance. "I ensured it is not ensnaring in any manner… no curses, no chains to bind you together, unlike prior occasions."
Wads lifted his head, arching a brow at her, giving her a look that was half annoyance, half bemusement. Slowly, he forced himself upright, ignoring the subtle tremble of pain that raced across his torso.
The chest sat atop a raised altar, ancient stone etched with faint, arcane runes. The remnants of the Arch Mage's duel still lingered in the air—faint scorch marks, icy fractures, and the silent whispers of dissipating energy. Reiyell moved forward gracefully, her robes rustling softly against the cracked floor. Wads followed, every step measured, cautious not to aggravate the aches still gnawing at him.
Reiyell's delicate hands lifted the lid, and immediately, a brilliant, radiant light poured forth, spilling across the chamber in dazzling streams. Wads instinctively shut his eyes, the brightness searing against his retinas. Fingers fumbled within his coat, seeking the glasses he had tucked away. The cool metal of the frame met his grasp; urgently, he slid them onto his face.
When he reopened his eyes, he noticed the damage—small cracks and a dented corner. A small groan escaped him; a replacement would be necessary, but not now.
Within the chest lay a tied red scroll and a simple black ring, unassuming yet exuding an aura of quiet menace and latent potential. Reiyell's hand hovered over the scroll, her movements deliberate, regal. Wads crept closer, curiosity piqued.
Reiyell untied the scroll. Her brow furrowed slightly as she attempted to read, but the language was unfamiliar, the script archaic, far beyond casual comprehension. Yet there was something hauntingly familiar about its curves and strokes—echoes of texts she had glimpsed long ago in the Royal Palace archives.
Wads leaned closer, tilting his head. A strange resonance tugged at his mind. He could decipher fragments, words that seemed to hum with meaning, almost as if time itself whispered through them.
"The unknown… is vast," he read aloud, voice low.
Reiyell's eyes widened slightly, indicolite flecks catching the faint light. "You… understand this?" Her royal intonation added weight to her inquiry, every word deliberate.
Wads shrugged, eyes meeting hers with a faint, blank expression. "Partially," he admitted, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Reiyell's lips curved in a teasing, almost mischievous manner. "Are you some sort of… demon? Or have you taken to using forbidden arts, hmm?"
Wads only tilted his head. The faintest smirk brushed across his lips, but he remained otherwise impassive.
"What else is written?" she pressed, the edge of curiosity in her voice, tempered by her noble bearing.
He hesitated, then muttered fragments aloud, the words strange and alien yet tinged with meaning. "Tempus… Fatum… Historiae… Nexus…"
Reiyell frowned, eyebrows knitting tightly together. The words resonated with some deep, ancient cadence she could not place, though they felt vaguely reminiscent of historical tomes and celestial archives.
"It is coming—" Wads began, but before he could finish, the black ring lifted from the chest. It hovered midair with unnatural intent, moving toward him.
His eyes widened, reflexive. The ring clasped itself around his right index finger, the metal cool yet pulsating with subtle energy. Power surged immediately, faint threads of reality bending around him. The chamber's light dimmed as mist crept across the floor, thick and heavy with anticipation.
Wads' surroundings blurred, a familiar yet alien sensation prickling his mind, tugging at the edges of memory. He staggered, the air heavy with echoes from another time. A flash—a memory, fractured and surreal—erupted within his mind.
Someone's presence. A scent he knew, vague yet intoxicating in its familiarity. He held her pale hand. And when he looked up, she was there. Eyes shining with a depth that pierced through him, an indescribable hue that haunted and comforted simultaneously. The world tilted, seconds stretching as the memory raced through him, every beat amplified until his skull throbbed violently.
Snap. Pain struck his left cheek. Reality returned, harsh and immediate. Reiyell stood before him, her fingers gripping his collar with imperious authority.
"Your Highness…?" Wads' voice was slow, dumbly blank, as his gaze met hers.
"How long do you intend to daydream, Waxzi?" Her eyebrows arched, elegant and sharp, her voice carrying the weight of royalty, tinged with exasperation and command.
"Your Highness…" Wads began, voice uneven, "I… I believe I've seen your great ancestor."
Reiyell blinked once, one hand slowly releasing her hold, the other brushing lightly at the folds of her robe. "Do you realize… you make little sense?"
"Yes," Wads muttered, expression blank but thoughtful, eyes flicking to the ring now glowing faintly on his finger. Symbols—unintelligible yet resonant—were engraved along its surface, whispering secrets that his mind only partially parsed.
Reiyell exhaled, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping her regal poise. She studied him for a long heartbeat, the corner of her mouth twitching in both exasperation and faint amusement. Wads, for his part, stared down at the glowing ring, unease and curiosity twined together.
The chamber seemed to hold its breath, the dust and ruins whispering faintly as if echoing the unspoken significance of the moment. And in that mist-filled, silent suspension, Wads felt the pulse of destiny beginning to stir, threads of fate threading themselves subtly through him, through the ring, through time itself.