Klaus strolled out of the Sanctuary, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips, his steps light as he hummed an old, forgotten tune beneath his breath. The garden that surrounded the Sanctuary was in full bloom, nature's beauty basking in the golden twilight as though celebrating his success. All had gone according to plan—perhaps a little too smoothly. That, in itself, was unsettling. He hadn't expected Noctis to acquiesce so easily… yet the Immortal Sorcerer had proven eccentric enough to accept his proposal without protest.
Amusing. And convenient.
Klaus was no amateur. He had forged his own path in the arcane, crafting an entirely personal school of sorcery. Yet knowledge—true knowledge—was a hunger never sated. He was well-versed in Runic Sorcery, and had studied the elusive Sorcery of Names. Still, he was acutely aware: each practitioner had their own style, their own truths wrapped in layers of interpretation and belief.
Until now, Lich had been his mentor—a being of vast knowledge and ancient wisdom. But even Lich, despite his near-omniscient grasp on Runic mysteries, had his limits. Not due to lack of intellect, but because their styles diverged so drastically.
Take, for instance, the Sorcery of Names.
Long before the Kingdom of Hope had invented writing, the most fundamental form of mortal sorcery was born from names. Everything that existed bore a name, for nothing truly came into being until it had been called. Yet not all names were created equal—some were hollow, casually given, easily forgotten. Others were earned, forged through blood, sacrifice, or divine will. These true names held power. The power to command. The power to reshape reality.
To speak such names was to momentarily channel the authority of the world itself. However, this invocation was tenuous at best—ephemeral and difficult to wield. It was not a trivial matter for a mortal mouth to utter a true name and remain whole.
The advent of writing changed everything. The permanence of runes allowed shapers to anchor names to physical form, to make the fleeting eternal. Yet this was no simple task. A rune drawn without comprehension was no more than an empty scrawl. One needed to understand—deeply, intimately—the essence behind the symbol.
Unlike other branches of sorcery, which relied on fixed conduits or rigid formulas, the Sorcery of Names demanded the Shaper themselves act as conduit. Those who bore true names—who had been recognized by the world—were more deeply tethered to the arcane and could exert and receive greater influence.
Still, like all potent arts, this path bore a cost. Though uttering the Words did not deplete one's essence, to wield their power placed tremendous strain upon the body and mind. Klaus had learned all this from Lich.
But even so… he disagreed.
Talent, they said, was the gatekeeper to power. Klaus scoffed at the very idea.
What is talent, if not a label? A fleeting advantage? A head start?
A talent is merely an aptitude, a knack for something others must toil to grasp. But effort… effort endures. A genius might learn to draw in days—Klaus would take months, perhaps a year. But in the end, the result would be the same. He would draw.
And so he studied. He persevered.
He wasn't gifted in the Sorcery of Names, nor was he a prodigy in runes. But what others did through instinct, he accomplished through pure understanding—comprehension layered upon comprehension, until execution became second nature.
Through relentless effort, he had unearthed several names of power:
The True Name of Space
The True Name of Vibration
The True Name of Control
The True Name of Destruction
The True Name of Devouring
The True Name of Repelling
The True Name of Attraction
The True Name of Wind
The True Name of Flight
There were still many eluding him—most notably, the True Names of Time and Freezing. Despite his efforts, their essence slipped through his grasp like smoke. Perhaps, once he ascended and his soul resonated deeper with the world, he would find clarity. Until then, frustration would serve no purpose.
As for Runic Sorcery, his aptitude was even more modest. But he had learned—he had to. With Lich as his teacher, how could he not? Once he understood the fundamental architecture, progress followed like a river breaking through a dam. Now, Klaus could claim proficiency with confidence.
Barriers. Traps. Enhancements of body, weapon, and armor. Runic Sorcery was versatile, and relatively low-risk.
Yet even these arts paled in comparison to the one he had made his own—Ritualistic Magic.
In that realm, he was master.
Chaotic. Grotesque. Beautiful. Ritualistic Sorcery was a maddened symphony, and Klaus was its composer. A school of his own creation—bizarre and horrifying to others, but perfectly suited to him.
With it, and aided by the Arcane of Madness, he had created wonders and nightmares alike:
Ritual Circles.
Spirit Creation.
Sacrificial Ceremonies.
The forging of Mystic Artifacts and cursed relics.
The corruption and desecration of Relics, Memories and perhaps even Echoes.
The disruption of other sorceries through arcane interference.
The weaving of Hexes and lingering blights.
Each of these domains branched into a myriad of sub-skills, each more complex than the last.
Klaus halted mid-step, his gaze drawn to a small figure seated beneath a sprawling tree. A young girl, alone, her pale hair catching the sunlight like strands of silver thread. With a mischievous grin, he appeared beside her in a blink, leaning lazily against the bark. The girl gasped, nearly jumping to her feet—only to exhale in relief once she recognized him.
Klaus chuckled dryly, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with subtle amusement.
"Well, well… Hey there, Eka. How's life treating our little lady today?"
Eka blinked at him, still catching her breath. For a second, she'd feared it was one of the Corrupted. But no—thank the gods—it was just Klaus, as smug and unpredictable as ever.
"You're back?" she asked, her voice rising slightly. "I thought you'd be gone longer."
He shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance and let himself drop to the ground beside her, reclining in a relaxed sprawl.
"Wrapped up my little business faster than expected. So, tell me... what's got our princess brooding beneath a tree today?"
Eka hesitated. Her expression shifted, the corners of her mouth tugging down slightly. A shadow passed over her eyes—soft and wistful.
"I just... missed my mom."
Klaus leaned back against the trunk, a sigh escaping him. Well, that got heavy fast. Still, he couldn't blame her. Loss was a companion he knew far too well—both his mothers, blood and chosen, long gone to dust.
"I get it," he murmured after a moment. "How did she...?"
Eka didn't flinch at the bluntness. In the Kingdom of Hope, grief was part of the air they breathed. Death came so often that it dulled the edge of such questions. Why sugarcoat it when nightmares were daily visitors?
She looked ahead, her voice soft.
"Can you take me somewhere?"
Klaus raised a brow, intrigued, before pushing himself to his feet with mock elegance. He bowed deeply, a smirk playing at his lips.
"It would be an honor, my lady. Your humble escort is at your service."
She giggled and reached out for his hand. A heartbeat later, they vanished.
They reappeared at the edge of a tranquil lake, its surface like glass, reflecting the vast sky above. The breeze was gentle, and the scent of moss and water hung in the air. Klaus sat calmly in the boat, holding a fishing rod, though he hadn't expected this kind of outing.
"Uh… Not exactly what I had in mind," he drawled. "Eka, care to explain what we're doing here?"
Eka didn't answer directly. Her eyes remained fixed on the lake, watching how the clouds moved across its mirrored surface.
"Klaus… where does the road lead?"
He frowned slightly, resting his elbow against the boat's edge.
"Huh? What kind of question is that? Depends on the road, doesn't it? If we don't get moving, our road might lead straight into the belly of some very hungry abomination. And trust me, that's one ride you don't want."
Eka only nodded, her gaze still lingering on the lake, touched by some invisible sorrow. When Klaus noticed, he gently reached for her hand, and the two vanished once more, leaving the lake behind.
Back in the safety of Sanctuary's bounds, Klaus gave her a sideways glance, a faint smirk on his lips.
"Alright, spill it. That whole 'where does the road lead' thing… What was that about? You really shouldn't visit that place again, Eka. Corrupted dwell near the lake. They may be nocturnal, but they're still dangerous."
She nodded again, but her face remained unreadable. Then, tilting her head to look at him, she repeated her question—softly, but with startling clarity.
"Klaus… please tell me. Where does the road lead?"
His smile faltered.
"I… I don't know," he admitted, truthfully. "Wherever we choose, I guess."
The silence between them lingered until Klaus, in a deliberate change of subject, clapped his hands and stood.
"Anyway! How about we go play something, hmm? I've got loads of games in my head, you wouldn't believe."
Eka giggled and followed after him, her small feet quick behind his. But even as they walked, Klaus couldn't shake the feeling. Something in her voice, in the way she looked at the water, gnawed at him. It wasn't just melancholy—there was acceptance in it. Resignation. A strange, quiet peace that made him feel... uneasy.