Behind the mist-shrouded forest that envelops the outskirts of Cerza, where towering trees stretch skyward like the majestic pillars of an ancient temple, the sounds of nature reverberate softly, akin to the whispers of forgotten spirits. Rinoa treaded lightly along the winding trail, guiding her steps towards an elusive spirit visible only to those whose hearts have known the emptiness of loss. The air grew dense around her, thick with an unease that hinted at the presence of something far older than this realm, amplifying the enigmatic atmosphere that cloaked her journey.
From behind the weathered ruins of a stone torii, cloaked in a soft blanket of luminous green moss, an unfamiliar figure emerged gracefully. It glided silently, its billowing black fabric trailing softly against the forest floor, leaving no trace in its wake. Its eyes were deep hollows, devoid of life yet brimming with an unsettling loyalty. An ancient red seal was etched into its forehead, a symbol of arcane origins, while a small bell hung from its back, its chimes ringing crystal-clear whenever the gentle wind caressed it, weaving a delicate melody that seemed to awaken the dormant spirits of the forest.
"Lariel," Rinoa hissed, her eyes narrowing as she caught a whiff of a foreign yet hauntingly familiar aura—a soft, unsettling scent of destruction that unmistakably resonated with the dark magic of Malakothies. The figure bowed in solemn respect, its face obscured by shadows that seemed to swallow the light around it. From the shadows, its voice emerged, hushed and reverent, like an ancient prayer spoken in a long-forgotten tongue, "Rinoa, bearer of the core. I am sent to extract what has been implanted within your body… before it evolves into a force that even Malakothies cannot master."
The ancient ruins breathed in silence, their decaying structures entangled with creeping roots and warmly blanketed by the quiet embrace of time, which had long since forgotten this sacred ground. A gentle wind whispered through the cracks in the stone, carrying with it the rich, earthy scent of moist soil and the soft murmurs of hidden histories rising from the depths of the past.
Rinoa stood amid the circle of broken pillars, her breath unsteady, each exhalation seeming to tremble with the anguish that clawed at her soul. She had just drawn the mana core from the hidden recesses of her being, and an overwhelming sensation coursed through her—a sensation that felt as if her very essence might fracture. The flame within her blazed fiercely, a wild fire igniting her spirit, while her bones vibrated violently, resisting a pulse that seemed to echo from realms unknown.
Fitran emerged silently from behind the moss-covered stone gate, his steps unhurried and composed, as though he had long since surrendered to the inevitability of pain—a familiar sign he had meticulously prepared for over countless encounters.
"You can feel it, can't you?" he asked softly, his voice a gentle breeze that stirred the stillness around them.
Rinoa turned to him, her eyes mirroring deep confusion, as if they were windows into a tempest of emotions. "It feels like... I'm both living and dying in one breath," she replied, her voice raspy, reminiscent of a whispering wind lost among the branches.
Fitran closed the distance between them, stopping just a few paces away, positioning himself in the ethereal light that filtered through the tall leaves above. The illumination framed his face with a greenish glow, casting him in an almost sacred aura—a tranquil presence set against the backdrop of a chaotic world.
"That is not mana, Rinoa," he said at last, his calm tone flowing like crystal-clear water carving its path through murky depths. "What flows within you cannot be explained by the conventional theories of magic."
With a gentle yet resolute hand, he touched Rinoa's chest, right above the thunderous heartbeat that resonated like a war drum in the all-consuming silence.
"I... planted it within you when your body was nearly destroyed in the valley of Isyl. This world turned its back on you; mana did not recognize your spirit. So, I bestowed upon you the core of something greater than this realm," he spoke softly, his voice weaving an ancient and sacred mantra into the air.
Rinoa fell into a hush, her eyes widening slowly as curiosity flickered through her like twinkling stars caught in a cosmic dance. "You... planted it? What is it?"
Fitran gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes holding a profound weight—not a wound, but an age-old awareness, like magnificent ruins whispering their histories in silence. They recounted glories and tragedies, echoing an unforgettable past that shaped the essence of existence.
"A fragment of Malakothies," he finally revealed, his voice resonating with ancient authority. "It is not merely an object; it embodies a manifest will, an echo of divine law that once permeated the battlefield. This is not meant to bestow power but to challenge the very essence of life itself," he explained, each word he spoke feeling like a carefully guarded secret unspooling into the air.
Taking a deep breath, he paused for a moment, allowing the weight of his revelations to settle. Rinoa, captivated yet bewildered, stood before him, a tapestry of emotions woven across her face.
"You do not possess a mana core—not because of any flaw or weakness. It is I who replaced it. I... have replaced the core of your being with a shard of infinity. Now, every spell you cast is not a command from the outside but a realization that reverberates from within. Each incantation you utter carries an honest wound—a wound intricately tied to the essence of Malakothies flowing through your veins, granting you unimaginable depth," he elaborated, an ethereal glow in his gaze as he spoke of her extraordinary transformation.
The wind whispered softly around them, caressing their faces with a cool touch, as leaves spiraled in an invisible dance, swirling elegantly to the rhythm of nature's own heartbeat.
Rinoa clutched her chest, her heart racing in a wild symphony of emotions. "So… what am I?" she finally asked, her voice a small ember, flickering with hope for an answer that could illuminate the shadows of her uncertainty.
Fitran responded without hesitation, his voice emerging hoarse and strained, as though burdened by the significance of his words. "You are the only being in this world… not governed by mana core, but by a meaning that runs deeper. You exist not to be strong, but to test what can truly be called truth—bound by the crimson seal of your power, shining in the dark."
As these words settled around her like a thick fog, Rinoa lowered her gaze, caught in a tempest of emotions. Her heart and mind clashed with each other; she didn't know whether to cry, to feel wrath, or to allow herself to love him more deeply than she ever dared before. The confusion and beauty of this moment enveloped her, an enticing mist that was both difficult to comprehend yet utterly unavoidable.
Yet amidst the chaos, one truth pierced through the haze: she had never been ordinary since crossing paths with Fitran. His presence twisted the fabric of her reality, revealing a world brimming with extraordinary possibilities beyond mundane existence.
And perhaps, just perhaps… this was the first miracle that was truly hers, stirring the very skies with hope and dreams that had long lain dormant within her heart.
Rinoa's heart raced wildly, as if it were responding to an invisible summons echoing from deep within her soul. She became acutely aware of the core nestled within her—a fragment of Malakothies that Fitran had implanted. It was intended not as a curse, but rather as a final act of protection… or perhaps, as a binding thread weaving her fate with an immeasurable power that pulsed like a living thing. Almost immediately, the world around her began to undergo a transformation; she started to dream—dreams that unfolded from an unnamed dimension. Vibrant yet chaotic, she felt the vibrations of distant songs reverberating through the shadows of existence, echoing like ghostly whispers that disrupted her fragile tranquility.
"Why now?" Rinoa demanded, her voice sharp and taut with tension, as if strung on an invisible thread. Her hands instinctively began to channel mana, a luminous energy coursing through her veins and creating intricate glimmers of light that twisted like a labyrinth—narrow and winding, enticing yet fraught with peril.
Lariel approached, each footstep resonating with an unsettling chaos, transforming the once-glistening grass beneath him into grey ash, absorbing all traces of hope that clung to the air like a warm memory. "Because the core has begun to sing; it calls to others with a haunting melody that lingers in the silence. If you do not relinquish it now… this world could become the stage for the next resurrection of Malakothies, a treacherous realm where death and life engage in a terrifying dance of shadows."
"Fitran gave it to me to protect me," Rinoa responded, her voice tremulous yet resolute, like a faint light battling valiantly against the relentless onslaught of encroaching darkness. The weight of her circumstances hung heavy in the air.
"Fitran didn't realize that the core was both a remnant of the 'Breath of the Beginning' and the 'Last Mouth' entwined in its essence. If it continues to exist within you… you will no longer be Rinoa. Instead, you will transform into a gateway."
Rinoa clenched her teeth, her eyes blazing with determination, their fire reflecting the storm within her. "Then what do you want? To kill me and tear the core from my body?"
Lariel regarded her with a vacant expression, as if he were ruminating over distant aspirations that had long since faded into shadows. "I only want to return it before the world becomes a permanent wound. The choice is yours," he replied, his voice a haunting echo of despair.
Rinoa lifted her gaze to the sky, where the clouds drifted lazily, masking the sun in a tapestry of soft grays. Among the rustling leaves, she felt a whisper of Fitran's essence; it wasn't conveyed through words but through an overwhelming rush of emotion, like a gentle murmur from memories etched deep into her soul.
"I will not give it up," she declared at last, her voice unwavering, laced with the strength of her resolve. "If you want to take it… you will have to go through me completely."
In that charged moment, the sky was split by a fragile flash of light, radiating a magical aura that pulsated with both exhilaration and danger. The ancient ritual, a conjuration unleashed solely by the bearer of the core, began to unfold, saturating the air with a heavy, oppressive energy. Lariel, raising both hands, summoned the ethereal symbols of Malakothies, which flickered to life around him—reminiscent of old wounds beginning to bleed anew, stirring memories that were perhaps best left undisturbed.