.
"Premonition?"
"Yes."
He studied me, eyes narrowing.
"You do look gifted."
I smirked, pride slipping through.
He caught it, clicked his tongue in disapproval.
I coughed, forced, masking the arrogance. Composed myself.
"The thing is," I said, tone tightening, "you're going to die soon."
He didn't flinch.
"Very soon." I pressed.
Still nothing.
"Well, it was about time," he muttered, sipping his tea like I'd just told him the weather.
I stared at him.
"What?" he asked, catching my silence.
'This old geezer... So that didn't work. Let's try something else.'
"To be honest..." I unwrapped my arms, bandages falling away. "I'm dying."
Skin raw in places, yellow and red. Flesh peeling.
His eyes widened.
I continued.
"The premonition showed me more than just your death."
"When I prayed for guidance, I saw a garden. Blades and spirits."
His expression changed—recognition. Mistfall.
"I don't know if fate's mocking me for the ones I failed… or showing pity by offering hope." I sighed, then took a sip of the tea he'd served earlier. Bitterness lingered.
Silence followed.
Doran stared down, jaw tight. A vein rising on his forehead.
Finally, he exhaled—long and tired—and set his cup aside.
"I'm done having blood on my hands," he muttered.
I tilted my head, questioning.
He met my eyes.
"That place you described..."
"There's a rumor."
.
.
I was off-road, already moving. Bolting.
"Can't waste time."
In the end, he gave me what mattered: a direction. That was enough. I'd feel it once I got close.
And even if he didn't teach me runes outright, he let something slip under pressure.
"So it's like the World Runes in miniature… feed them mana, and they channel it—elemental power bound by pattern. But push too much, and something starts pushing back."
"Similar to the events of Arcane I suppose."
A sharp pull on my senses—magic, unmistakable.
"It's there."
.
.
Mistfall.
The name carried weight.
Splash.
My boots sank slightly into a shallow puddle. Cool mist coiled around my ankles, stretching like fingers welcoming me into the hollow.
I walked with purpose. Calm. Steady.
No hesitation.
Not anymore.
Mistfall was supposed to be alive—buzzing with spirits, echoing with whispers.
But now, it was... still. Too still.
"Where are they?" I murmured.
I scanned the place. No presence, no glimmer, no pressure.
Either I was unworthy—
Or I was being judged.
I found a flat stone near the water's edge and sat cross-legged, letting the silence settle over me.
Inhale.
Exhale.
No fear. No desperation. Just clarity.
I closed my eyes.
When I opened them—
"Hey, kid."
Three figures stood before me, materializing like ghosts from breath. Tall, shifting, and radiant with ancient power. Their silhouettes hinted at their former shapes—wolf, crane, serpent—but they shimmered now in something purer.
Vastayashai'rei. The real ones.
"So," I said, unfazed,
"you were watching."
"You're strange," one of them said.
"You have death in your flesh... and spirit in your bones."
"Those wings. Those eyes."
A pause. Then a hum of amused reverence passed between them.
I observed.
"You must be one of the ancient ones," I offered, half-sincere, half-mocking.
They straightened—visibly pleased by the title.
I hid my smirk.
"Anyway," I said, settling in deeper. "I need answers."
One of the spirits circled me, studying every line of my posture, every flicker in my soul.
"We see it now," they said. "Your body is decaying... but it's not sickness. It's overflow."
Another nodded. "Too much spiritual energy. You are an immortal wearing a mortal shell."
"Immortal?" I raised a brow. "There are levels to this?"
The first spirit turned, flicking their hand. Symbols of light spiraled around us.
"Mortal. Immortal. Celestial... and something beyond even that."
"Something without name," another added. "A being indistinguishable from reality itself."
They spoke in sequence, like threads of one mind:
"Mortals live and die, trapped in flesh.
Immortals break the cycle, becoming spirit.
Celestials wield vast domains, navigating time and soul across realms.
And beyond that... there are only assumptions. Truths too large for form."
"Huh." I leaned forward. "I always knew Celestials existed. But 'true gods'? That's new."
A thought surfaced—sharp and intrusive. I followed it.
"Then... Is the Void something like that?"
They paused. Looked at one another. Confused.
"What's he talking about?"
"Other realities," I clarified. "Bleeding into ours. Creatures without shape or origin."
Silence.
Then one spoke slowly. "We only know one true god—ours. But... if there's another—perhaps that's the case."
It wasn't confirmation, but it was enough.
"So," I said, shifting back to the wound I carried, "how do I stop the decay?"
A long pause.
"Get rid of your body," one said.
I flinched. "What?"
"Ridiculous," another snapped. "Look at those wings! He's not a spirit forced into flesh—he's becoming something else."
They argued, voices rising in ethereal tones.
"He should bind himself."
"There's nothing strong enough to hold that soul."
"He doesn't need a cage. He needs roots."
That caught my attention.
"Roots," I repeated. "To what, exactly?"
One spirit hesitated, then whispered as if ashamed:
"There was once a huge tree. The God-Willow. It touched all realms—spirit, nature, life, death."
My heart stirred.
'I heard that name before, from the elder of Bard's mountain.'
I spoke:
"…It's dead, isn't it?"
Another spirit shook its head.
"Mostly."
"Although," the first muttered, "if that weren't the case… I reckon you could pull it off."
He paused, then added:
"But the force of will required…" He sighed,
"one soul would have to be strong enough to forcibly steal another's life cycle."
I paused.
"..."
Then spoke:
"How would one bind to it?"
The spirits exchanged glances, whispering—not to shut me out, but because the idea itself bordered on heresy.
"We don't know."
"There are multiple methods. Most… forgotten."
"Perhaps—if you found someone with the innate ability to do so."
'..is there even a character like that?'
Someone…
My eyes widened.
"He's figuring it out," one murmured.
"I can't believe, does he know someone?"
"He might actually be able to do it," another replied.
..She is the key.
Not because of what she does.
But because—when she was just a child—she merged with the Ghost Willow.
And most doesn't even know about it.
Her essence was already bound.
She could show me how.
.
After some time our conversation ended.
I turned to leave. The mist began to shift—curling unnaturally, thickening around my ankles like it didn't want me to go.
BLASH.
Water exploded behind me as three hulking shapes landed hard, their stone feet cracking the earth beneath shallow pools.
Massive. Ancient. Familiar.
Rock monsters.
Vastayashai'rei constructs. Test relics from the past.
I stood still.
'So this is the trial. Similar to the one Yi faced. The other guy memories doesn't recall, did he struggle?'
I rolled my shoulder.
"They want to see it."
My fingers relaxed.
My breath slowed.
'The Wuju technique they mentioned. It's not just borrowing from the spirit realm—it's a destabilization method.'
I shifted my stance.
'They said it could hold my body together... for now.'
The stone giants charged, water flying with each step.
Three seconds.
Two.
I focused—not on them, but on the realm around us. The spiritual plane, raw and untethered.
I reached through it. Not elemental forms—no. That would burn me from the inside.
Just the energy. Pure. Wild. Untouched.
It answered.
A chill ran through my body, settling in my right arm.
My fingers began to sharpen.
Not claws—something finer.
A blade.
'Good.'
Energy pulsed from my spine to my shoulder.
Tension gathered in my palm—condensing, whirling—until the air itself warped.
Time cracked.
ZING.
Reality split open.
The stone monsters collapsed before they could finish their charge—cleaved not through stone, but through essence.
Silent.
Final.
A shimmer ran across the battlefield.
A moment later, mist swallowed the corpses whole.
I opened my eyes.
Smoke drifted from my skin—light and thin, like after a ritual.
I looked at my hand. The once-flaking flesh was now whole again—warm with color, not death.
"…It's working."
I flexed my fingers.
My condition and this power have similar traits, so I had my doubts.
The recovery would never last. Not fully. But I had bought time.
"Three years," I muttered. "Maybe less."
I closed my fist.
The Shai'rei didn't know.
They couldn't.
But I did.
One of the few who could teach me.
And I would need her soon—
Syndra.
. . .
. . .
One year later.