The door groaned shut behind him, muffling the last echo of the tomb's deep silence. Neil stood outside, his lungs pulling in cold canyon air that tasted of stone and fading magic. He doubled over, hands on his knees, and coughed violently. His body still rattled from the backlash. A trickle of blood slid down from his nose, another from the corner of his eye.
His Core burned inside his chest. The energy roared and thrashed, too dense and too wild. His veins felt stretched, and his muscles trembled with the weight of power too vast to control.
It was too much. Too fast.
He staggered away from the tomb entrance, not daring to stay nearby. The red-skinned man had said he would destroy the tomb soon, and Neil didn't want to be anywhere close when that happened. Pushing his body with strained jumps and bursts of speed, he moved quickly across the rocky ridges and narrow forested paths, covering dozens of kilometers within hours.
But no matter how far he ran, the instability ran with him.
His breathing was ragged, not from exhaustion but from the pressure boiling inside him. His limbs twitched unpredictably. A pulse of energy surged through his Core at random intervals, nearly causing him to stumble or misfire his jumps.
He tried to channel it, attempting a simple burst-jump from one cliff to another. Instead of a smooth release, the energy stuttered and erupted unevenly. He shot too far, barely catching a ledge. His landing was clumsy, and his knees screamed from the impact.
He groaned and rolled onto his back, staring up at the thin streaks of cloud above.
"I almost died in there," he muttered. His voice sounded rough, dry, and faintly bitter. "All because I got greedy."
His thoughts drifted back to the energy beneath the tomb, the way he had devoured it like a starving animal. At the time, it felt necessary, even logical. He had wanted strength. He had earned it.
But that was not the whole truth.
He had indulged, and it had nearly destroyed him.
Now, Inner Luminarity pulsed through him like a storm trapped in fragile glass. He could sense everything. He felt the wind brushing over trees kilometers away, the rhythmic hum of life beneath the soil, and even the temperature shifts in his own bloodstream. But it was overwhelming. His body had not yet caught up to his awareness. His foundation, strong though it had been, now felt strained and unstable in places.
He forced himself upright and sat still, focusing on his breath.
"I can't rush anymore. I'm not ready."
The next hour was spent in silence, doing nothing but small, deliberate movements. He practiced short energy bursts through his limbs, stabilized his footing, and worked on controlling the Core's output by will alone. He needed mastery now more than power. Raw strength meant nothing if it made him a danger to himself.
The injuries from the backlash had not fully healed either. His ribs ached when he twisted, and flashes of pain jolted him when he pushed too hard. His Core, though rich with energy, flickered and sputtered in unstable bursts, like a fire overfed with fuel but denied air.
He needed time.
But time was now a luxury.
A sudden ripple shook the distant horizon behind him. Neil turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
Far behind him, at least fifty kilometers away, a thin column of pale light erupted into the sky. It was followed by a muted thunder that reached him several seconds later. The ground trembled faintly beneath his feet.
The tomb was gone.
He crouched low, stilling every breath, and masked his presence as best he could. He didn't fully understand how, but instinct guided him in burying his presence deep within the Core. He folded it inward, veiling his signature like covering a lamp with thick cloth.
Moments later, streaks of light carved through the sky, seven of them, fast and precise. They were not meteors. They were not birds. They were beings. Their speed and control were unnatural, leaving radiant trails as they descended toward the place where the tomb had been.
Gods.
Even from this distance, Neil's instincts screamed. His skin prickled, and his Core trembled under the pressure of their arrival, despite how far they were.
He did not reach out with his senses. Not even a flicker. If they were anything like the red man, they might detect even the faintest probe. Instead, he remained motionless and small, like prey hiding in the underbrush.
The gods hovered over the land, their divine flames lighting up the ruins he had escaped hours ago. Neil watched in absolute stillness, his heart pounding painfully, until the last light disappeared into the horizon.
He waited what felt like an eternity before finally exhaling. Only once the wind returned to its usual rhythm did he sink deeper behind the stone outcropping that had sheltered him.
---
The night dragged on slowly, filled with silence and thought. Neil didn't light a fire. He didn't speak. Every movement was calculated. His mind stayed fixed on the red man's warnings.
He would be hunted if they found him. His presence, his progression, even his timing, were all risks. He was strong now, stronger than ever before, but still injured, still volatile, and still far from being ready.
Eventually, as the stars shifted overhead, he turned his eyes toward the forest on the other side of the canyon.
The elves.
He could not feel them through the energy fields. It was unsettling. The connection he had come to rely on was gone. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe the overwhelming intensity of recent events had dulled his perception. Either way, it left him hollow.
But he would find them. Not immediately, not carelessly, but in time. He would move with purpose. He would train while traveling, refining every technique and sharpening every edge. He had to rebuild his control from the foundation up.
From now on, survival came first. Strength came second.
And trust, even in himself, had to be earned.
---
Just as he stood up and adjusted his gear, a strange light flickered in the sky behind him. He turned his gaze toward the distant canyon.
Dark clouds had gathered silently. A storm swirled there now, heavy and unnatural. It bloomed slowly, rippling outward from the tomb's last known location. No lightning cracked. No rain fell. But the clouds churned like boiling smoke, twisted with faint hues of crimson and gold.
Neil's mouth went dry.
That wasn't weather.
It was aftermath. Echoes of something ancient, and broken open.
He stared for a long moment, then turned away and began walking, his steps slow and steady. Whatever that storm was, it would not wait forever.
He had to be ready.