The basement room was pitch dark when my eyes snapped open, the mana-lamp long since dimmed to nothing. No light seeped under the door from the corridor—it must have been deep into the night. I sat up slowly, the cot creaking under me, my heart pounding for no reason I could name. The air was cold, my breath visible in the faint glow from the cracked mirror on the wall. I glanced at the small desk clock—1 a.m. or so. The academy slept.
But I couldn't.
The egg—Nyx—was still in my arms, where I'd held it as I fell asleep. Its obsidian-black surface was warm against my chest, the violet and blue veins shimmering softly in the darkness like stars trapped in stone. The pulses were constant — faint, rhythmic, like a heartbeat syncing with mine. The crying had quieted to a whisper, almost content, but it never fully stopped. A distant echo in my mind, reminding me it was there. Alive. Waiting.
I looked down at it, the weight comforting in the silence. "Nyx, say" I whispered. "Are you… a boy? Or a girl?"
The egg pulsed—once, soft, warm. Then a faint whimper, like a sigh of relief.
A girl.
I smiled—small, tired. "Girl it is."
The pulse came again—almost happy. I held it closer, the warmth spreading through me. For a moment, the room felt less empty.
But sleep wouldn't come back. My mind raced — the rift, the shadows, the edge. One step forward. One step back. The book's warnings looped, mixing with the egg's pulses. The rift grows. Soon it will split the world. What did that mean? Was Nyx part of it? Or the thing that would stop it?
I sat up, placing Nyx carefully on the cot. The academy was quiet, but the city outside—Lunareth, was known for its night markets. Forbidden magic. Black markets deeper in. I'd heard whispers in class. Maybe… maybe there was something there. Skills. Answers. I had the storage ring. The book. Nyx. And a budget of around 242 Silberkronen with the last few Silberkronen earned from the quest.
I thought about it. Sneaking out. Risky. It's already Monday, which means Training and classes again—but i'm nit sleepy. And i needed… something. To move. To step forward.
I slipped slipped Nyx back into the ring—the pulses continued, soft, constant. The book was there too, silent. And my Budget is also stored in two burlap sacks in the storage ring. I dressed quietly—cloak over uniform, dagger at my belt. The door creaked open. The corridor was empty. Miss Miora's office dark.
I snuck up the stairs, through the halls, avoiding patrols. The academy gates were guarded, but a side exit—for deliveries—was unlocked. I slipped through.
The night air hit me—cool, alive with mana. Lunareth sprawled below the academy hill — moonlit streets, red Aschenmoon glow painting the buildings in blood. The gates to the district were open, lanterns flickering with forbidden runes.
I entered.
The night markets were alive—stalls lined with glowing trinkets, vendors whispering deals in shadowed corners. The air smelled of incense, herbs, and something darker—Abyss essence, maybe. Forbidden magic hummed everywhere—scrolls that promised power, amulets that glowed unnaturally, potions that bubbled with colors not found in nature.
I kept my head down. Stay invisible. But the sights pulled me in. A stall with whispering stones—send messages across distances. Another with truth lenses—detect lies. Useful. But expensive.
Deeper in, the markets shifted—black markets, hidden in alleys. Shady figures. Whispers of Void artifacts. I avoided them. For now.
Then a stall caught my eye—led by an old man, hooded, face wrinkled, eyes glinting with ancient amusement. Dusty tomes, cracked scrolls, glowing trinkets that shifted when not looked at directly.
I stopped. Something felt… off. But the manuals drew me in.
"Do you have any skill manuals?" I asked, voice low.
The old man tilted his head slowly, as if sizing up a particularly interesting insect. His voice was low, raspy, with a strange cadence that made every word feel weighted.
"Skill manuals, young one?" He let the words hang, smiling thinly. "Many come looking. Few leave satisfied. What kind are you after? Something safe… or something that tears at the seams of what they think is real?"
I shifted. "Something useful. Anything that helps in a fight. I don't have much coin."
The old man chuckled—a dry, rattling sound. "Coin is the least of what you'll pay for the right ones. But let's see what catches your eye."
He gestured lazily. A stack of scrolls and thin booklets slid across the table as if moved by invisible hands. I scanned them quickly—basic sword techniques, minor fire spells, common utility skills. Nothing special.
Then my eyes locked on one.
A slim, black-bound manual. Title in silver script that seemed to writhe slightly: [The Rift's Gaze] (C-Rank)
My breath caught. "What… is this one?"
The old man leaned forward slightly, the hood casting deeper shadows over his face. "Ahh. A sharp eye. That one is… special. The Rift's Gaze. C-Rank, but don't let the rank fool you, kid—it's a skill that makes your opponent feel as though they stand before a tear in existence—a fracture that observes everything. They feel insignificant. Disconnected. Doubt creeps in—about themselves, about the world around them. Their mana falters, as if the body no longer trusts the reality it stands in. Works best on those close to your strength—one rank above, perhaps. Beyond that… the effect fades."
Dangerous…but fear—can be useful.
My fingers twitched toward it. "How much?"
The old man's smile widened—thin, predatory. "Eighty Silberkronen."
I blinked. "Eighty?"
The old man's voice dropped, almost amused. "You heard correctly. Eighty. No more, no less."
I stared at him. "Did I mishear?"
The old man tilted his head. "You did not."
My mind raced. Eighty Silberkronen. That's almost all I earned from the quest yesterday… plus a little more. I felt the weight of the coins in my ring — hard-won, barely enough.
I exhaled heavily. "Can it… be done in installments?"
The old man's smile never wavered. His voice turned cold—flat, final.
"No."
A single word. Like a door slamming shut.
I looked at the manual again. Then at the old man. Then back at the book.
I reached into my storage ring, pulled out a sack with silberkronen. Counted them out—one by one—until the pile sat on the table. Eighty Silberkronen. Gone.
Rest budget roughly around 162 silberkronen.
I laughed dryly.
I stared at the empty pouch for a moment, then looked up at the old man with a slight, bitter smile—the kind you give someone who just punched you in the face and you're too tired to hit back.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
The old man took the coins without looking at them. "A wise purchase… or a foolish one. Time will tell."
I took the manual, turned, and walked away.
Behind me, the old man's voice drifted after him—soft, almost fond.
"Enjoy the view, little rift."
I didn't look back.
I slipped the manual into my ring. Explored Lunareth a little more—the night markets, the stalls with glowing runes and forbidden trinkets—but the weight of the coins' loss and the old man's last words clung to me.
Eventually, I decided to return another day—maybe with Elara and Lyra. For now, the sun was rising. Morning training soon.
I made my way back to the academy gates, then down to the dorms.
I sat on my bed with a plop—exhausted, lighter in coin but heavier in thought.
The egg pulsed softly in my ring—warm, content.