"I should've burned that stupid sigil tree instead," I muttered, pacing near the edge of the camp.
"You did great," Lyra said, sitting cross-legged on a flat rock. "For someone who just got threatened by one of the most powerful inquisitors on the continent, you didn't completely piss yourself. That's a win in my book."
"Comforting," I replied dryly. "Who is she, really? What's the Arcanum Throne? Why does it sound like a final boss from a JRPG?"
Lyra leaned back, balancing her weight on her palms. "Alright. Story time."
I stopped pacing, waiting.
"The Arcanum Throne is what's left of the old mage-kingdoms," she began. "After the Arcanite Gates flooded the world with mana, five kings tried to hold everything together. Monsters were appearing, storms were tearing through cities, people were mutating. It was chaos."
"And let me guess," I said, "they didn't succeed?"
"Not even close. Three of them died in the first year. One vanished. The last one, a queen named Valestra, unified her surviving people into a military-magical order and called it the Arcanum Throne. She created the Inquisitors—elite mages trained to hunt down anything that threatened the balance."
"Like infinite mana?"
Lyra nodded. "Exactly. They see power like yours as a weapon. And weapons are either wielded by the Throne—or destroyed."
That sat like lead in my stomach. "So she wants to recruit me. Or kill me."
"Probably both, depending on how cooperative you are."
"Great."
She stood, brushing off her pants. "Cirelia's not like most Inquisitors, though. She plays the long game. If she really wanted you dead, you'd already be ash."
"Well, that's reassuring."
"Don't get too comfortable. She's patient, but she always collects."
We spent the rest of the day training, but my thoughts kept drifting. Every time Lyra corrected my stance or showed me a new technique, I couldn't help but admire her. Not just for her strength, but her clarity—how she seemed to always know who she was, what she stood for. It was grounding. And confusing.
That night, while the Direwolf kept watch at the edge of the clearing, we sat near a small, controlled fire, the only real warmth in the cold forest night.
"You're not bad with a staff," I said, sipping the broth she'd made from something suspiciously claw-shaped.
She smirked. "You're not terrible with mana. When you're not blowing holes in the ground."
Silence stretched between us—not uncomfortable, just… still.
"So," I said, nudging her shoulder with mine. "Why are you really helping me?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees.
"When I was a kid," she said quietly, "I watched a beast rip through my village. The guards couldn't stop it. The hunters fled. But one man stayed behind—a tamer. He had no army, no status. Just a bond with a creature I'd never seen before. He brought it down. Saved us."
I listened quietly, watching the way the firelight flickered in her eyes.
"I decided that day I'd never run from a monster again. I'd be strong enough to fight back—and smart enough to know when to help someone else do the same."
I felt something shift between us then—unspoken, but undeniable. A kind of understanding, forged not just in training, but in shared purpose. Maybe even something more.
"You remind me of that man," she said suddenly, glancing at me. "Not just because of the beast thing. You've got that look—like you've already seen the end of the world once, and now you're just trying to survive the sequel."
I laughed softly. "That's… not far off."
She stood and stretched. "Get some sleep. We move tomorrow. If we're going to learn what Cirelia's really after, we'll need to head toward Hollowreach."
"What's there?"
"An Arcanum stronghold. And maybe some answers."
As she walked toward her tent, she paused.
"Good night, Hunter."
"Good night, Lyra."
The next morning, we set off through dense forest, the Direwolf padding silently behind us. Lyra moved with effortless grace, navigating the terrain as though she'd been born in it. I tried to mimic her, but mostly ended up with leaves in my hair.
Around midday, we reached a cliff overlooking a valley. In the distance, perched on a jagged hill, was a towering structure of white stone and obsidian—Hollowreach.
Even from here, I could feel the hum of magic in the air. Runes floated around its spires like fireflies. Guards in white armor patrolled the battlements, their weapons pulsing with mana.
"Looks cozy," I muttered.
"Don't let the pretty architecture fool you," Lyra said. "Every wall in Hollowreach hides a blade."
As we approached, we cloaked ourselves in illusion sigils Lyra had prepared. The runes blurred our forms just enough to pass unnoticed through the outer perimeter. We reached a concealed ridge just outside the inner gate.
"That's the Inquisitor's Hall," she whispered, pointing toward a circular building near the base of the main tower. "That's where Cirelia keeps her archives."
"And you think there's something in there about me?"
"I think there's something in there about why the system picked you," she said. "And what the Throne plans to do about it."
We waited until nightfall, then slipped into the outer court. Lyra disabled the wards with terrifying efficiency, her fingers dancing across glowing sigils like a concert pianist.
Inside, the hall was dark and eerily quiet. The only sound was the low hum of mana crystals embedded in the walls. We moved past a chamber filled with artifacts—swords sealed in crystal, beast bones bound in runes, even a shimmering claw labeled "Drakon-Class Mutation."
But what caught my eye was a large tome at the far end of the chamber. It pulsed faintly—a system-registered artifact.
I reached for it.
"Careful," Lyra said, placing a hand on my wrist. "It could be cursed. Or worse—protected by a contract seal."
I nodded, and together we cracked the cover, using a mana-dampening sigil to suppress its defense. The pages inside glowed with text only I could read.
Profile: Designated Entity - "Unknown Host"
Classification: External System Origin
Status: Unregistered anomaly; infinite mana confirmed.
Recommended Action: Contain or Assimilate.
My throat went dry.
"They know I'm not from this world," I whispered.
Lyra's face was grim. "And they've already decided what they want to do with you."
We didn't get the chance to read further. A flare of light shot across the chamber—and standing at the entrance was Cirelia, her golden circlet glowing with power.
"I wondered how long you'd wait before snooping, Lyra," she said coolly. Then her gaze turned to me. "And you. The system's little anomaly."
We didn't move. Couldn't.
"Don't worry," she said. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have sealed the book."
"What do you want?" I asked, stepping forward.
"I want to see what kind of man infinite mana makes," she said. "Because if you're as dangerous as I suspect… you won't just tip the balance."
She leaned in slightly, voice lowering to a whisper.
"You'll rewrite it."