Chapter Five: The Eyes of the radiant star
The corridor they entered felt different from the rest of the sanctuary.
It pulsed.
The walls shimmered faintly with runes, and the air felt thick—like walking into a cloud of warm mist. Orion paused, unconsciously reaching for the hilt of nothing. His instincts were whispering, tugging at him.
"There's… a lot of mana here," he muttered.
Caelum chuckled beside him. "Good senses. You're not wrong."
As they stepped deeper into the chamber, the world seemed to still. The hum of distant training, the echo of footsteps—all of it faded, swallowed by the immense pressure in the room. It was like standing at the edge of a storm's eye. Calm, but trembling with quiet power.
At the center of the chamber, bathed in golden rays from an overhead crystal lattice, sat a woman in quiet meditation. Her robes shimmered in layers of white and pale lavender, etched with fine threads of silver sigils. Her long hair, silver like moonlight, cascaded down her shoulders, and behind her floated faint, translucent symbols—like ancient scripts gently turning in the air.
Caelum gestured toward her with a respectful nod.
"Meet Lady Seraphyne Elowen. She's one of the highest-ranking council members of the Northern Division. A powerful Summoner… and a master Healer. All the mana you're sensing? That's hers."
Orion stared. All of this… is coming from her?
Just as Caelum finished speaking, the woman's eyes fluttered open.
Icy blue. Calm, but piercing. She looked directly at Caelum and sighed audibly, shaking her head with the air of someone far too familiar with his antics.
"You again," she said, her voice soft but exasperated. "What trouble have you dragged in this time?"
Caelum gave a sheepish laugh and raised both hands. "Is that how you greet old friends now? I come bearing an interesting case. This is Orion Caelvar."
Seraphyne's gaze shifted to Orion, her eyes sharpening slightly.
Caelum continued, tone more serious now. "He's a survivor from the orphanage near the Vale Ridge. The Abyss attacked… and they took something. A relic."
Seraphyne sat up straighter, her fingers lacing together as she studied the boy. "A relic? In an orphanage?"
"That's what I said," Caelum muttered. "Still trying to figure out how it got there. But Orion… he survived. And from what I've seen, he's got rare potential."
The room fell into a short silence.
Seraphyne slowly rose from her place, robes rustling like whispered prayer. She stepped closer to Orion, her expression unreadable. Then, her eyes locked with his.
And it hit her.
A flash of gold. A sudden static in the air.
She froze—just for a second. The weight of something unseen bearing down. Her breath caught, and her spiritual senses screamed.
Then, just as quickly, the pressure vanished. She blinked and stepped back.
"What was that…?" she whispered, touching her temple.
Caelum sighed and scratched the back of his head. "That'd be his eyes. Again."
Orion looked down slightly, embarrassed. "It's a passive ability. They're always active… and I can't really turn them off, and I can feel it draining my mana constantly. I try to avoid staring directly at people, but…"
"…but it still leaks," Seraphyne finished for him, voice now curious. "Fascinating. Your mana field is warped… your vision is enhancing more than just light. These eyes—they aren't just observing. They're interacting."
She walked to a tall wooden drawer near the edge of the room and carefully retrieved something wrapped in fine cloth. She unrolled it with reverence—a long, silk blindfold of white and gold, the ends embroidered with delicate glyphs.
"Use this," she said gently, offering it to him. "It was woven with sacred threads from the Aether Garden. It won't completely suppress your power, but it will dull the effect and reduce mana loss until you learn better control."
Orion stared at the blindfold, hesitating. Then, with slow movements, he took it.
He reached up, gathering his long black hair—lifting it off his face and tying it loosely at the back to make room for the cloth. Caelum raised a brow, watching silently.
With a breath, Orion wrapped the blindfold around his eyes and tied it at the back.
And yet—
He could still see.
Shapes, motion, light—filtered, but vivid. Like gazing through golden water. The world didn't vanish. It simply changed. He didn't need to rely on normal sight. His connection to mana and intent allowed him to perceive more than he had before.
"I… can still see," he murmured in quiet awe.
"It will take training to adjust," Seraphyne said. "But those eyes of yours weren't made to be hidden forever. Only tempered."
Orion bowed slightly. "Thank you, Lady Seraphyne."
She gave a nod, her voice softened. "You're welcome, Orion. You'll be under Caelum's watch now. Learn to control your mana, your gifts, and—perhaps more importantly—yourself. Gifts like yours are blessings… but without discipline, they can become burdens."
Caelum stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Orion's shoulder. "We'll take it from here."
As they turned to leave the chamber, Orion walked with newfound quiet awareness. The blindfold shifted lightly as he moved, but his steps didn't falter. Outside, the ambient hum of mana was already gentler—less aggressive on his senses.
They walked down the corridor once more.
After a long moment, Orion asked, "If I'm always wearing a blindfold… how am I supposed to fight?"
"You learn," Caelum replied, amused. "With mana control and time, it'll become second nature. The great Luminarchs trained in total darkness. You've got it easier."
Orion gave a quiet laugh. "Guess I'll have to get good fast."
"You're a smart one," Caelum grinned, ruffling his hair despite the ponytail. "I knew you'd figure it out."
____________
Far from the sanctuary—beneath the surface of the earth where light dared not reach—there was only stone, flame, and shadow.
A vast underground chamber pulsed with malevolent energy. The walls were carved with unholy symbols that twisted and moved of their own will. Faint whispers filled the air, inaudible yet maddening to the soul. Crimson lanterns lit the halls, their flames alive with Abyssal mana.
Dark-robed figures knelt in silence, as if in worship.
A door creaked open.
Bootsteps echoed against the obsidian floor. A lone messenger stepped into the chamber, blood staining his cloak, and in his hands—was a relic.
Its surface gleamed with celestial markings, but it pulsed now with an eerie, corrupted rhythm.
The figure at the center of the room slowly rose from his throne of twisted black roots. His body was cloaked in layers of armor made from shadows and scales, and his face was hidden behind a helm crowned with horns that bled smoke.
"Lord Virell," the messenger said, bowing low and offering the relic.
Virell stepped forward, lifting the artifact with one hand. As his fingers closed around it, black veins of energy danced across the surface, responding to his presence.
A crooked smile spread beneath his helm.
"That makes two," he whispered.
The chamber responded with a groan—as if reality itself didn't want to hear those words.
"Five more…" he continued, his voice a deep, gravelly growl that echoed like distant thunder. "Five more, and the Door to the Underworld will open."
He looked up, spreading his arms as dark flames erupted around him in celebration.
"And when it does… this pathetic, holy-blinded world will burn."
The robed cultists around him began to chant, low and rhythmic, as a dreadful chorus of voices rose from the walls—echoes of the damned.
Lord Virell let out a laugh.
Not just any laugh—but a deep, savage, triumphant sound that shook the walls of the abyssal stronghold