Two weeks passed in a relentless, soul-crushing, and utterly exhilarating cycle of training. The Ascension Protocol was designed to break a mage down to their fundamental components and rebuild them, stronger and more resilient than before. It was a brutal, unforgiving process, but it was working.
Astraeus could feel the change in himself, a new depth of power, a new level of control. His essence flowed with a fluidity he had never thought possible, his combat forms were no longer just memorized movements but an instinctive part of his being. He was becoming a weapon, honed and sharpened by the guild's most powerful masters.
[LEVEL UP! LEVEL 7 → LEVEL 8]
But the world outside his training bubble was not standing still. The dimensional crisis was escalating. Rift reports were a daily occurrence, a constant, grim reminder of the war they were fighting. Two more Ethereal incursions had been reported in other cities, each requiring the intervention of a Master-level mage. The enemy was testing their defenses, probing for weaknesses, preparing for a larger, more coordinated attack.
On his first day off in two weeks, Astraeus didn't rest. He went to the infirmary. He needed to see his friends. He needed to remember what he was fighting for.
He found Thomas and Kira in a quiet, sunlit room, their faces pale but their eyes clear. They were awake, they were lucid, and the sight of them sent a wave of relief through him that was so potent it almost brought him to his knees.
"Astraeus," Thomas said, a genuine smile lighting up his tired face. "Good to see you, man."
"You too," Astraeus said, his voice thick with emotion. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," Thomas said, though his voice was still weak. "The healers say the Ethereal essence is gone. But…" He hesitated, his gaze turning distant. "I still see it sometimes. When I close my eyes. That… transcendent state. It's like remembering a dream that was more real than reality itself."
A common side effect, Kha'Zul noted, his voice a low, somber hum. A longing to return to a state of being the mortal mind was never meant to experience. It will fade, but it will never truly disappear.
"The healers said that might happen," Astraeus said, his heart aching for his friend. "They said to focus on what's real. On what's here."
"They're right." Thomas met his gaze, his expression serious. "Lyra told me. About Shadow. About… everything."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"Don't be," Thomas said, his voice firm. "You saved our lives. That's all that matters." He leaned forward, his eyes burning with a new, feverish intensity. "And honestly? After what I saw in that thing's mind… a demon seems almost mundane. At least demons are comprehensible. They want power. They want destruction. That thing… it was alien. Its motives were beyond understanding."
Kira, who had been silent, spoke up, her voice a soft, haunting whisper. "It wanted to… unmake things. Not destroy them. Just… return them to a state of pure potential. It saw existence as a flaw, a mistake that needed to be corrected."
"She's been saying things like that since she woke up," Thomas said, his voice laced with a deep, primal fear.
"It's the Ethereal's perspective bleeding through," a calm, authoritative voice said from the doorway. Helena Voss, one of the guild's most powerful healers, entered the room, her presence a comforting balm in the tense atmosphere. "Their minds were connected to a being of immense power. It will take time for them to fully separate their own thoughts from the echoes of its consciousness." She looked at Astraeus, a flicker of admiration in her eyes. "They'll both make a full recovery, thanks to you. That void corruption technique you developed… it's revolutionary."
"I had a good teacher," Astraeus said, a small, sad smile touching his lips.
Helena's smile was knowing. "Indeed. Well, I have some good news. Thomas and Kira are being transferred to the capital tomorrow. They'll receive specialized mind healing there, the best in the kingdom. They should be back on their feet in a few months."
Relief, sharp and sweet, flooded through Astraeus. They would be okay. They would be whole again.
He spent another hour with his friends, the conversation light and easy, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semblance of normalcy in a world that was rapidly spiraling into chaos. As he was leaving, Helena stopped him.
"Astraeus, a word." She led him to a quiet corner of the hallway, her expression serious. "I've been studying the reports from the other cities. The Ethereal incursions are happening near sites of great historical or magical significance. Ancient battlefields, ruined temples, places where the barrier between worlds is naturally thin."
"They're targeting weak points," Astraeus said, his mind racing.
"Exactly. But there's more. The energy signatures are all slightly different. It's not one entity. It's multiple Ethereals, all working in concert. And their energy patterns, while unique, share a common underlying frequency. A… command signature."
"Someone is controlling them."
"Yes. And whoever it is, they're playing a very long game." She handed him a small, sealed scroll. It was made of a strange, silvery paper that felt cool to the touch. "This arrived for you this morning. Delivered by a courier who vanished before anyone could question him. It's addressed to 'The Reality Anchor of Thornhaven.'"
Astraeus's blood ran cold. He broke the seal, his hands trembling slightly. The scroll contained a single line of text, written in a precise, elegant hand:
"You are not alone. Midnight, three days from now. The Old Stone Bridge. Come alone."
A trap? Kha'Zul's voice was a low, suspicious growl.
"Maybe," Astraeus whispered. "Or maybe…"Another Reality Anchor? The demon's tone was intrigued. The system never said you were the only one.
[NEW QUEST: A MEETING OF ANCHORS][OBJECTIVE: MEET THE MYSTERIOUS CONTACT AT THE OLD STONE BRIDGE][WARNING: THE IDENTITY AND MOTIVES OF THIS CONTACT ARE UNKNOWN. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.]
Astraeus looked at the scroll, then out the window at the bustling city. He was part of a guild, part of a team, but his role as a Reality Anchor had always been a solitary burden. The thought that there might be others like him, fighting the same secret war, was a dizzying, dangerous, and incredibly hopeful prospect.
He had three days to prepare. Three days to train, to grow stronger, to be ready for whatever—or whoever—was waiting for him at the Old Stone Bridge.
His world, which had already been turned upside down, was about to get a whole lot bigger.
He spent the next three days in a feverish state of preparation. He pushed himself even harder in the Ascension Protocol, his every action fueled by a new, desperate urgency. He absorbed knowledge in the library, his mind a whirlwind of dimensional theory and ancient history. He fought in the simulation chamber until his body was a mass of bruises and his essence was completely depleted, only to be healed by a potion and sent back in.
He was preparing for a meeting, but he was training for a war. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that the two were inextricably linked.