Chapter 8 – Preparations and the Final Threshold
Two days…
Seryn repeated those words in his mind over and over again. Every time he looked into the mirror, every time he closed his eyes, they echoed like a drumbeat.
Two days until he sealed his fate.
Two days until he stepped onto a road from which there was no return.
That morning, while other students were already attending their classes, Seryn sat alone in one of the academy library's most secluded rooms — a place so few even knew existed. The table before him was covered in notes, ancient manuscripts, maps, and fragments of talismans. He had written down everything: the exact ratios for the stabilizing elixir, how much mana the soul ring needed to absorb, and even the safest time window to enter the sealed chamber.
Yet a persistent hum echoed somewhere deep in his mind.
It had been there for days — even in his sleep. Sometimes it was a whisper brushing against his ear. Other times, a voice pounding from within his chest.
"You're not ready…"
"This power will destroy you…"
"Run…"
He shook his head. "Just side effects," he whispered to himself. "It's just mana pressure… illusions my mind is playing."
But another part of him knew the truth: As the ritual drew closer, both body and soul would be tested. And only the strong could walk this path to its end.
---
As he stepped out of the library, a familiar voice called from the end of the stone corridor.
"Seryn!"
He slowed his steps. When he turned, a tall, well-built young man was striding toward him. Silver hair like moonlight framed a face that carried authority, and amber eyes glowed with sharp calculation. His posture was disciplined, his aura composed — the very image of noble heritage.
It was Alaric Daskal, the pride of House Daskal… and Seryn's cousin.
"You've vanished again," Alaric said, furrowing his brow. "I haven't seen you in classes or on the training grounds for three days. What are you up to?"
"I'm working," Seryn answered curtly. "I have things to do."
"Things…" Alaric stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The rumors about a ritual — are they true? Are you really going down that path?"
Seryn didn't avert his gaze. "Yes."
Shock and anger flashed across Alaric's face.
"Are you insane? That path ends in a grave — nothing else. Most who attempt it die, and those who survive lose their humanity!"
"I know all of that," Seryn replied calmly. "But I have no other choice. There is no other road for me."
"There is always another road!" Alaric's voice cracked. "How can someone like you not understand that? Rushing after power will devour you. Why do you think Grandfather cast you out of the family? We Daskals build power with patience — not through corrupt shortcuts!"
Seryn's gaze softened for a brief moment. "It wasn't Grandfather who cast me out… it was fate. And I will break the chains of fate. If that means walking through filth, then I will."
Alaric opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing. He clenched his fists, then let them fall.
"I hope…" he muttered, almost like a prayer. "I hope this foolish path doesn't destroy you forever."
As Seryn turned and walked away, Alaric's voice faded behind him. But his words remained carved into his thoughts. Not dying… Not being destroyed… There were no guarantees. And that was precisely why his goal mattered — it was something worth risking death itself for.
---
Elsewhere in the academy, his name had become a whisper.
"Did you hear? That boy's been sneaking into the restricted archives again."
"Who? The outcast from the Northern Daskal branch?"
"Yeah. They say he's done a ritual. That he's losing his mind. I heard he was staring blankly into nothing the other day."
"I bet he'll run into the forest soon and turn into a beast."
Another group spoke differently:
"Still… you have to admit he's brave."
"Brave? No — he's a fool. No one chooses that path."
"Maybe he's lost enough to have nothing left to fear."
And one student, gazing out the window, simply whispered:
"Maybe that's how history begins…"
---
That evening, as Seryn walked down the rain-soaked path toward the sealed chamber, the skies had begun to darken again. His steps were heavy, his backpack secure on his shoulders, the soul ring clutched in his hand.
Everything was ready. The elixir was complete. The talismans were prepared. He had even mapped out three separate escape routes.
And yet, his heart pounded.
Not with the cold precision of a general leading an army — but with the raw, primal fear of a man about to face death.
Fear…
And resolve.
"Two days…" he whispered. "Two days and everything will change."
In the distance, pale runes pulsed faintly in the depths of the forest, piercing the night's darkness.
And within that light, a voice — ancient and wordless — seemed to echo:
"Are you ready?"
Seryn closed his eyes.
"Yes…" he murmured to himself. "I'm ready."
---
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💭 Will the chains break, or will Seryn lose himself to the path he's chosen?