Thorne stood frozen, his breath shallow, eyes locked onto the intricate shapes of aether floating above the dead panther’s body. The formations were unlike anything he had ever seen—interconnected symbols, shifting patterns that pulsed with an ancient, unearthly light. They moved with a purpose, not randomly, but like a story unfolding before him, a story so old it made him feel like an insignificant speck in the vastness of time.

  He had witnessed aether before, manipulated it, bent it to his will—but this… this was different. This wasn’t the magic of guilds or assassins. No, this was something older, something raw, primal, and terrifyingly powerful. It radiated with the kind of energy that felt alive, as if it were woven into the very fabric of the world itself. The kind of magic that existed when the gods still walked the land, shaping reality with their every step.

  Thorne’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in the silence around him. He was captivated, trapped between awe and fear, knowing instinctively that to disturb the aetheric formations would be to invite certain death. He could feel it—like a predator's breath on the back of his neck. Any wrong move, any disruption, and whatever fragile balance existed here would snap, consuming him whole.

  And yet, he couldn’t leave. His instincts, honed from years of training, screamed at him to run, to flee this ancient power that dwarfed everything he had ever known. But curiosity—deeper, older than any fear—kept him rooted to the spot. He had to see. He had to know.

  The intricate shapes in the air began to shift, slow at first, like a giant wheel creaking into motion. They moved in a way that seemed deliberate, as if telling a story through a language Thorne couldn’t hope to understand. His eyes followed them, transfixed as new links appeared, glowing brightly for a moment before fading away, replaced by more symbols—always changing, always shifting.

  What is this? Thorne thought, his mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of what he was witnessing. He had seen incredible things in his life, had faced enemies and forces that had tested every fiber of his being. But nothing like this. Nothing so ancient, so impossibly vast.

  The shapes seemed to form a path, a chain of glowing links that extended deeper into the forest. They beckoned him, pulling him forward, their light shimmering in the night air. Thorne’s legs moved on their own, his body obeying the silent call of the aether.

  He stumbled, his steps uneven as pain flared in his side. Blood still seeped from his wounds, and his body felt like it was on the verge of collapsing. Each step was heavier than the last, his exhaustion weighing down on him, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

  As he moved, he caught glimpses of something beyond the shapes—memories, perhaps? Moments of time so far in the past they seemed unreal. Mountains rising from the ground, vast oceans forming, the very world itself taking shape under hands far more powerful than any mortal could comprehend. The gods, the titans, the forces of creation—whatever this was, it had been here from the very beginning.

  Am I walking through time? Thorne thought, his mind racing as he followed the glowing path. His body ached with every step, his wounds screaming for rest, but he couldn’t turn back. Something about this place, this moment, was too important. He had to see where the path led.

  Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours—time seemed to lose its meaning in the presence of such overwhelming power. The forest grew darker, quieter, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The air felt thick with energy, like the sky before a storm, every inch of his skin tingling with anticipation.

  The further he walked, the stronger the presence of the aether became. It wrapped around him like a living thing, humming with power and pulsing with each of his ragged breaths. He stumbled again, his foot catching on a root, and for a moment he thought he might fall. But he caught himself, dragging his body forward, driven by something he didn’t understand.

  Finally, the path ended.

  Before him stood an ancient structure, barely visible in the dim light of the moon. A small gazebo made of exquisite marble, its surface worn and cracked with age. It looked like it had once been a place of beauty and peace, a sanctuary in the heart of the forest, but now it was nearly swallowed by nature.

  Ivy snaked up the columns, roots twisted around the base like bloated serpents, and weeds grew in the cracks of the stone. The roof was half-collapsed, weighed down by centuries of neglect, and the air around it felt thick with age, as though time itself had forgotten this place.

  Thorne stared at it, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Why would such a structure be here, hidden away, forgotten by the world? And what was it for?

  Before he could even begin to search for answers, the aether flared again. The symbol that hovered above the gazebo pulsed with a bluish light, casting long, flickering shadows across the forest floor. The power it radiated was unlike anything he had felt before—immense, terrifying, and ancient.

  Thorne felt a sharp, painful tug at his core. The pull of aether was sudden, violent, and it took everything in him not to collapse. His hands flew to his chest, as if trying to hold onto his own reserves, but it was useless. The power here was too strong, siphoning his aether with relentless force. He gasped, his legs trembling as he fought to stay on his feet.

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  His core felt battered, stretched to its breaking point. He tried to pull his aether back, to shield himself from the drain, but it was like trying to hold back the ocean with a single hand. He was drowning in it, consumed by a force far beyond his control.

  The symbol flared brighter, and suddenly, the pull stopped. The forest fell deathly silent. Thorne staggered, blinking away the haze of pain and exhaustion, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But before he could gather his thoughts, the symbol flared once more—this time blindingly bright.

  The stillness made his heart race with dread.

  A wave of terror washed over him as a horrible realization hit him. Something was about to happen—something bad. He didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel it in his bones. The power building in the symbol was too much, too unstable.

  And then, without warning, the symbol exploded into blinding light with a deafening crack.

  It shattered.

  Chaos erupted.

  The shockwave hit Thorne like a sledgehammer, knocking him off his feet. He crashed into the ground, his vision swimming, his head pounding. But before he could even think to stand, the aether around him surged. He could feel it—wild, chaotic, as if the very fabric of the world was tearing apart.

  His instinct screamed at him to leave, to run as fast as he could, but he couldn’t. The aether around him exploded, pushing and pulling at him with impossible force. His body was both drained and filled to the brim at once, his core screaming under the pressure.

  His body was too weak, too battered to move. And even if he could, the sheer power in the air made him feel like running wouldn’t matter. This was beyond him, beyond anything he could hope to survive.

  What have I done? Thorne’s mind raced as he forced himself onto his knees, staring in horror at the scene unfolding around him.

  The aether motes above him swirled in violent patterns, crashing into each other, their energy building to impossible levels. They weren’t moving like they should—they weren’t responding to the natural flow of aether. They were clashing, agitated, spiraling out of control.

  They moved erratically, like they had lost all sense of order, smashing into one another and creating shockwaves of power. The aether had become unpredictable, dangerous.

  But what drew his attention wasn’t just the motes.

  Above him, phasing in and out of his Aether Vision, were rivers of aether— interconnecting in vast, delicate networks. They pulsed with life, weaving through the sky like veins of light. They flowed in perfect harmony, branching off into smaller streams, and in the distance, he could see where the rivers broke off into waterfalls of aether, cascading down like pressure valves, allowing the network to function smoothly.

  But there was something wrong. Almost all of the waterfalls ran south, their flow disrupted, leaving aether to build up and cluster in the skies above. The rivers of energy flickered, breaking off in places, their balance thrown into chaos.

  Thorne’s eyes widened as he tried to make sense of it, but there was no time.

  And then, he saw it—the ball of aether.

  A terrifying mass of motes, so tightly packed together that their power was immeasurable. It was growing larger by the second, feeding on the leftover aether from the shattered waterfall. The energy crackled and sparked, and Thorne could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. If it imploded, it would take out the entire forest and half of Alvar, if not more.

  And it was getting worse.

  The motes continued to cluster, forming a mass of aether so dense that it pulsed with deadly energy. Whatever had happened when the symbol shattered had thrown everything into chaos, and now the leftover aether, without direction or purpose, was seeking each other out, adding to the ball’s mass.

  What is this? Thorne thought, his mind racing with panic. What was that creature I killed? What have I unleashed?

  The ball of aether began to shrink, and Thorne’s breath hitched. The energy levels were rising—he could feel it in the air, could sense the growing instability. Electricity sparked around him, tiny bolts singing his skin. The static in the air grew stronger, crackling all around him, and the once-silent forest erupted in a cacophony of sound.

  He had to move.

  The forest around him erupted in chaos, animals fleeing in every direction. Birds screeched, their wings beating wildly as they took to the skies. Beasts roared in panic, crashing through the underbrush, desperate to escape the impending disaster.

  Thorne knew he was too late. His core felt fragile, cracked from the relentless siphoning. He had nothing left. But he had to try.

  With one last look at the shrinking ball of aether—now no bigger than a melon—Thorne turned and ran.

  With a final burst of strength, he activated Burst of Speed, his legs moving faster than his mind could comprehend. He didn’t care about the cost, didn’t care that his stamina was draining rapidly. He had to get away.

  But deep down, he knew it wasn’t enough.

  He sprinted through the forest, his vision a blur of trees and shadows. He could feel the aether ball shrinking behind him, its energy building to catastrophic levels.

  He saw a stag running beside him, its eyes wide with terror. They shared a desperate glance—both of them knowing that they were out of time.

  And then, it happened.

  The world turned white, then blue, and then white again, a blinding flash that consumed everything. The ground shook beneath him, and a deafening roar filled the air. Thorne felt himself lifted off his feet, thrown into the air by the force of the explosion. The trees around him bent and swayed, some uprooted entirely, their branches whipping through the air like lashes.

  Thorne sailed through the air, branches and thorns tearing at his skin as he flew but the pain was nothing compared to the agony in his core.

  It felt like his very soul was being ripped apart.

  His core was being dismantled, the cracks in it widening, leaking aether into the air around him. The pain was excruciating, his mind barely able to register anything but the agony.

  He crashed into a tree, his body slamming against the trunk before falling to the ground in a heap. His bones groaned in protest, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

  And the world turned silent. Too silent.

  The aether was still there, but it felt different now. Wrong. The balance had shifted, the very nature of the world warped by the explosion.

  Thorne lay there, barely conscious, his body trembling. His core rattled inside him, cracks spreading like spiderwebs across its surface. Aether was leaking from him, draining out in a way he couldn’t control. His body trembled with weakness—worse than any pain he had ever known. It was as if the very essence of his being was being siphoned away.

  The weakness overtook him, a cold, terrifying numbness seeping into his limbs.

  He could feel it.

  His body fading. His mind fading.

  His soul… fading.

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