The air within The Obsidian Whisper hummed with an esoteric silence, broken only by the soft rustle of aged parchment.
Limbalt, the library's owner, stood with an unnervingly still posture, his eyes, dark as polished obsidian, fixed on Ryel. The young man, in turn, felt the potent, yet subtly contained, energy emanating from Limbalt – a power so refined it almost eluded his Abyss-amplified senses.
"I was just here because I saw the books," Ryel stated, a slight inflection of genuine awe in his voice as he gestured vaguely at the towering shelves. It was half-truth, half-deception, a carefully crafted response.
Limbalt's lips, thin and bloodless, curved into a faint, intrigued smile. "A commendable reason, young Ryel. Many come seeking knowledge, or merely refuge from the cacophony of Aerthos. However," his voice dropped, a silky murmur that seemed to fill the vast space, "I can sense you did not just come for that only. Your aura… it speaks of purpose, of a deeper quest."
Ryel's own grin was a flash of calculated amusement. "Well, you got me. What I'm here for is this poster." He pointed to the discreetly placed personal quest notice he'd glimpsed outside.
"Ah, the Whispering Tomb retrieval,"
Limbalt said, a knowing glint in his eyes. "A challenging undertaking. Well, consider yourself free to choose it. Shall we discuss the particulars in my office?" He gestured towards a discreet archway hidden behind a revolving bookcase.
They entered an office that was, surprisingly, minimalistic. Dark, polished wood, comfortable, overstuffed couches, and a single, large, glowing Aether-lamp illuminating a map of Aerthos laid out on a low table. They settled onto opposing couches, the plush cushions sinking beneath them.
"As you've likely gathered from the notice," Limbalt began, pouring two cups of what smelled faintly of roasted roots and spiced herbs, "this is a retrieval of a small, but incredibly significant, tome. The Codex of Aethereal Genesis. It's located deep within the Whispering Tomb, across the Crimson Sands Desert." He paused, his gaze assessing Ryel. "You are the third party to express interest. The previous two… did not return." A subtle inflection of warning underscored his words.
"Some have even accused me of sending them to their demise, though, as a respectable purveyor of information, I assure you, such accusations are… unfounded." He took a slow sip of his tea, his empty eyes betraying nothing.
Ryel's mind whirred. Crimson Sands Desert… Whispering Tomb… I did hear that somewhere. The Hunters from the Guild had been talking about it. An item retrieval. So, the Codex of Aethereal Genesis. Sounds like something worth getting. And the previous two didn't return. Typical. High risk, high reward.
"The remuneration, should you succeed," Limbalt continued, breaking Ryel's thoughts, "is substantial. A considerable sum of Aether-credits, enough to establish yourself comfortably in this city, and… certain unique information that only I possess." He leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiratorily. "Information pertaining to ancient abilities, and the true nature of certain… long-lived beings."
Ryel met his gaze, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his own aura. He saw through the disguise, felt the familiar hum of something ancient and powerful, something beyond mortal ken. He stood, extending his hand for a handshake, a gesture of agreement. As their hands met, Ryel's grip firm, he let his question cut through the pleasantries, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "Why are you disguised as a human, Limbalt? I can already tell from your energy alone… you're an Elder Lich, aren't you?"
Limbalt's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a fleeting flicker of genuine surprise before a broad, intrigued grin spread across his face, revealing teeth.
"Well, I'm surprised, Ryel. Even the Grand Ranks of this city, with all their magical defenses and scrying abilities, wouldn't be able to see through my… carefully constructed illusion. But I can say this much for you: your power… it's truly terrifying. Even my innate Fear Aura, a passive ability of my kind designed to instill terror in mortals, cannot register or measure its depth. It's… a void beyond understanding." He paused, then chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "But more or less, you're mostly correct. I am, in fact, a Half-Lich. A… unique form of undeath, a bridge between worlds, if you will. I'll tell you more after the mission, should you prove capable of handling such… privileged information."
Ryel withdrew his hand, a thoughtful expression on his face. Half-Lich. Interesting. And he's not entirely surprised I knew. So, my senses are sharper than even a Grand Rank mage's. Good to know.
He processed Limbalt's revelation, the casual way he admitted to being a creature of undeath. His security must be very sloppy, or… are there others hiding as humans, not just the Lich? This city is more… inhabited… than it seems. He filed the thought away, another layer to the world of Aerthos.
The next morning, Ryel and Miel prepared for their journey. Ryel, opting for practicality and a touch of the dramatic, had Miel materialize a new outfit: a similar black, hooded robe, but crafted from a durable, yet flexible material that allowed for unhindered movement. It was cinched at the waist with a wide, black leather belt, and completed with black gloves that concealed his hands. Valernar, his black katana, was stored in his personal Abyss, ready to be materialized at a moment's notice. For Miel, they simply patched up his existing white robe and used a bit of illusionary Aetherweave to make it appear new and clean, saving their meager funds.
"Alright, Miel," Ryel said, checking the straps of his small travel pack. "Next stop, the wilderness. And eventually, a very hot desert."
They headed out, quickly leaving the city's outer districts behind, transitioning from urban sprawl to wild, untamed land. The air grew cleaner, the sounds of nature replacing the urban hum. Miel, with his innocent focus, materialized a detailed map from his memories of their caretakers' discussions – a pristine, shimmering projection of the landscape.
"It seems there are two major regions we need to cross, Ryel," Miel's soft voice informed him, pointing a delicate finger at the glowing map. "First, the Meduvaya Grand Forest, known for its dense population of beasts. Most of them are low level, though."
"Low level for this world, maybe," Ryel muttered, remembering the wolf-spider.
"Alright. We'll push through. Don't want to waste too much time." And for the Meduvaya, I'll probably have to use the Abyss at the second lock. Don't want to waste time with endless skirmishes. The second lock, he knew, enhanced the Abyss's defensive and pre-emptive capabilities, allowing for wider range absorption and passive deterrence.
They walked for two days, the journey a rhythmic cycle of walking, resting, and hunting for their bland but necessary sustenance. Ryel's Diov kept them energized, allowing them to cover impressive distances. As they delved deeper into the forest, the trees grew taller, their branches intertwining to form a dense, emerald canopy.
On the third day, as they were passing through a particularly dense thicket, Ryel's enhanced senses flared. He spotted it first: a hulking, four-legged creature, its hide a mottled green, its eyes glowing with predatory intent. It was a Verdant Behemoth, a large, territorial forest monster, resembling a cross between a gorilla and a bear, with bark-like skin.
"Alright, Miel," Ryel said calmly, stepping aside. "Your turn. Let's see what you've learned about combat these past few weeks."
Miel, eyes still holding a childlike innocence even as he prepared for battle, nodded with quiet determination. He focused, and his slender arms began to shift, his hands transforming into massive, razor-sharp claws of dark, solidified Aetherweave. They were unnaturally large, disproportionate to his slender frame, yet perfectly balanced.
The Verdant Behemoth roared, lumbering towards them, its powerful paws tearing at the undergrowth. Miel moved with a speed that belied his delicate appearance. He was a blur, not relying on brute force, but on overwhelming agility. He weaved around the Behemoth's clumsy charge, then launched himself upwards, a living projectile. His claws flashed, precise and surgical. First, a blindingly fast swipe at one of the Behemoth's forelegs, disabling its balance. Then, a powerful upward slash across its chest, cutting deep. Finally, a decisive downward strike to its neck, severing the spine. Three attacks. It was done in seconds, a display of lethal grace.
"Nice work, Miel," Ryel said, stepping forward. He touched the fallen beast, and with a silent thought, activated his Abyss, quickly absorbing its remains. As he did, the Abyss, ever expanding, also absorbed the creature's limited knowledge – its territorial instincts, its hunting patterns, its basic biological structure. It was a useful, if disturbing, side effect.
But the death of the Verdant Behemoth sent ripples through the forest. A chorus of growls and snarls erupted from the surrounding trees. Ryel's Abyss-amplified senses picked up dozens of hostile signatures. "Looks like you triggered a local gathering," Ryel commented dryly.
From the shadows, bigger ones emerged this time. Towering, heavily armored Ironwood Golems, their bodies made of ancient, petrified wood, their limbs like gnarled tree trunks, moved with surprising speed. Behind them, packs of aggressive, glowing-eyed Aether-Wolves snarled, their fangs dripping with crackling energy.
Miel, however, remained unfazed. His amethyst eyes hardened with a quiet resolve. He roared, a sound far too primal for his gentle demeanor, and launched himself at the oncoming horde. He was a whirlwind of black claws and white robes, a tiny, unstoppable force against the overwhelming numbers. He darted between the lumbering Golems, slicing at their joints, shattering their wooden armor.
He parried the Aether-Wolves' energy blasts with his claws, deflecting them into the trees, then spun, delivering swift, powerful swipes that sent them sprawling, their bodies dissolving into plumes of Aether. He was an artist of combat, his movements fluid and devastating. He fought with a detached efficiency, his child's mind processing the fight as a complex puzzle to be solved.
Ryel watched, arms crossed, his own Abyss humming with quiet anticipation. As Miel defeated each monster, Ryel seamlessly absorbed their remains into his Abyss, adding their knowledge and properties to his ever-growing repository.
The battle was a testament to Miel's incredible combat potential.
Then, a sudden, deafening explosion ripped through the very heart of the Meduvaya Grand Forest. A shockwave tore through the trees, creating a vast clearing, and a column of smoke billowed into the sky, blotting out the sun. Ryel's senses flared. This was no ordinary monster. This was something immense.
Ryel and Miel rushed towards the epicenter of the blast, Ryel's Diov pushing him to incredible speeds. What they found was a scene of utter devastation. A massive crater, hundreds of feet wide, scarred the earth. In its center lay the mangled remains of a truly colossal creature – a Grand Earth Dragon, its scales like ancient rock, its body easily the size of a small mountain. It was utterly obliterated, reduced to chunks of flesh, rock, and shimmering Aetherweave, its death clearly instantaneous and violent.
Around the edges of the crater, a group of beings, resembling humans but for their distinctive features, were engaged in a desperate struggle. They had long, slender tails that lashed nervously, pointy, elfin ears that twitched with alarm, and small, single horns protruding from their foreheads. They were the Kryll, a semi-nomadic demi-human tribe native to the forest, their skin a natural, earthy brown, their eyes a startling gold. They wore simple, woven garments, and wielded spears tipped with obsidian. They were clearly struggling against a remnant horde of smaller, yet still formidable, Earth-kin beasts that the Dragon's death had agitated. Some Kryll, their faces etched with fear, desperately tried to shield their children from the rampaging monsters.
Suddenly, as one of the Earth-kin beasts, a hulking, rock-skinned quadruped, lunged towards a small Kryll child, a flash of black streaked through the air. A very powerful downward attack struck the beast from above, not with a blade, but with a sheer, overwhelming force. The monster didn't just die; it was completely obliterated into chunks, its rocky form exploding into a shower of debris.
From the smoke and standing at the edge of the newly formed sub-crater, a figure slowly rose. It was Ryel. He stared at his own hand, then at the obliterated monster, his eyes wide with genuine shock. "That… that was way too powerful."
The reason for the overwhelming power was a new, instinctive ability Ryel had inadvertently activated. In that moment of intense adrenaline, seeking to maximize his output, he had subconsciously merged two distinct energy sources: the physical amplification of Diov, which ran on his own refined life force, and a portion of the soul energy he had been accumulating from the monsters absorbed by his Abyss. This spontaneous fusion had birthed a new, potent ability, which he instinctively named Yinity. It was an energy conversion and amplification technique, turning soul essence into raw, destructive power, then feeding it into his already enhanced physical strikes. He had not known it would be this powerful. The sheer force had been terrifying, even to him.
He stepped out of the newly formed crater, his expression still one of slight bewilderment. He expected the Kryll to be frightened, to scatter, to flee from this unknown, powerful being who had just unleashed such destructive force. But to his surprise, they weren't. Their golden eyes, initially wide with terror from the rampaging beasts, now shone with something akin to relief, then profound happiness.
One of the Elders, a weathered Kryll with a long, braided tail and a calm, wise face, approached him slowly. "Oh, Spirit-Blessed one," the Elder murmured, bowing low. "We thank you. You have saved us from the Great Wyrm's spawn."
Ryel waved a dismissive hand. "It was nothing. Just… passing through." He still felt a touch awkward with the hero worship. "Are you… alright? What happened here?"
"We are in the midst of migration, Spirit-Blessed one," the Elder explained, his voice melodic. " We seek new territory, a place where our children can thrive. But we have… no destination yet. Merely wandering, seeking a haven."
Ryel's mind churned. No destination. Vulnerable. And they're… grateful. An idea, pragmatic and potentially very useful, sparked within him. He glanced at Miel. "Miel," he called out. "Can you materialize… building supplies? Strong, durable ones. Like… compacted earth and timber structures? And… a large, stable Aether-well, the kind that can draw from deep ley lines?"
Miel's eyes brightened. "Yes, Ryel! I can materialize anything I've seen or been shown!"
Before Ryel could explain further, the Kryll Elder spoke again. "But… the monsters. They will surely return, drawn by the scent of the Great Wyrm's blood. How will we build here, so exposed?"
Ryel gave a casual shrug. "Don't worry about the monsters. They won't be a problem." Indeed, as they moved forward to a more open, suitable clearing, the Kryll were surprised. Very few monsters came towards them, and those that did… simply vanished. It was because of Ryel's Abyss.
He had kept the second lock subtly active, the effects of which were a constant, pervasive fear aura that subtly permeated his surroundings, deterring most lesser beasts. More importantly, it automatically drew any truly hostile beings attempting to ambush or attack him into the Abyss, consuming them instantly. He wasn't going to tell them that, of course. Best to keep some secrets.
They reached a wide, fertile clearing, bathed in sunlight. Ryel gestured grandly. "This is where you'll build. I'll provide the supplies." He looked at the surrounding forest, then back at the bewildered, yet hopeful, faces of the Kryll. "And don't worry, I'm going to put security in place. After all, I'm one." He wasn't just offering charity; he was building a potential base of operations, a network of allies.
As the Kryll, energized by their newfound hope, began to organize, Ryel directed Miel to materialize a steady stream of building materials – sturdy timber, compacted earth blocks, even crystalline panes for windows. Ryel himself drew up rough designs for resilient, easily defensible structures, which Miel then flawlessly brought into being. He observed them, a strange blend of detached calculation and burgeoning, unfamiliar responsibility. He watched families, their tails wagging gently, begin to construct their new homes, their golden eyes shining with renewed purpose.
The Elder, tears glistening in his eyes, approached Ryel again. "Spirit-Blessed one, you have given us a new life. Our people will never forget this generosity."
He then extended a gnarled hand, offering Ryel a simple, yet exquisitely crafted ring of polished obsidian, inlaid with intricate, glowing Kryll runes. "This is but a small token of our eternal gratitude."
Ryel took the ring. It was cool against his skin, and as he put it on, he felt a faint, yet distinct, energy pulsating from it. "What is this? I can feel energy from it." He had expected a simple, ceremonial trinket.
Suddenly, the entire Kryll tribe, hundreds of individuals, from the youngest child to the oldest Elder, collectively bowed down, a synchronized movement that sent a ripple of surprise through Ryel. The Elder, his voice now imbued with a profound reverence, spoke words that chilled Ryel to the bone. "That, Spirit-Blessed one, is the Ring of Authority. It is the symbol of the Kryll's undisputed leader, passed down through generations. To wear it… is to accept us. To accept our fealty."
"What?!" Ryel exclaimed, his eyes wide. Wait, I did not sign up for this! His mind raced, processing the implications: a tribe of demi-humans, their complete loyalty, a potential army, a settled base. It was an unexpected, massive acquisition, a wild card he hadn't planned for. He was a master of the void, a silent traveler, not a tribal chieftain.
He looked at their golden eyes, filled with genuine happiness, fierce determination, and absolute loyalty. They were not begging; they were offering. Offering everything. And in their faces, he saw a reflection of the trust Miel had placed in him, a deeper, more primal connection he had unknowingly forged. He sighed internally, then a slow, reluctant smile touched his lips. He saw the potential, the sheer utility of it. He saw the genuine devotion.
"Very well," Ryel said, his voice carrying the weight of his decision. "I accept."
A resounding cheer erupted from the Kryll, a joyous sound that echoed through the forest. Ryel, caught off guard by their sheer enthusiasm, simply watched, a faint, almost comedic exasperation on his face. Well, then. I guess I have a people now.
With Ryel's unexpected acceptance of their leadership, the Kryll's efforts redoubled. They began to construct not just their humble homes, but a more substantial structure – a grand, yet sturdy, mansion designed for their new leader, for his return from his journeys. Ryel, now a pragmatic leader, also directed Miel to materialize several large golem structures, drawing their forms from ancient texts he'd recently absorbed into his Abyss. For their fuel, Ryel revealed another terrifying application of his Yinity ability: he would extract the purified soul energy from the monsters he killed and absorbed into his Abyss, then, using Yinity, refine and channel that energy directly into the golems, bringing them to lumbering, protective life. These soul-bound golems, formidable protectors, would guard the Kryll settlement in his absence.
After a few hours, with the initial foundations of the settlement laid and the first few golems standing as silent sentinels, Ryel deemed it safe enough to continue. Their next destination: the vast, unforgiving Crimson Sands Desert, and the mysterious Whispering Tomb. The two, master and companion, leader and loyal follower, stepped away from their newly acquired people, their path set towards ancient secrets and the unknown dangers that lay beyond the sands.