A week had passed. The moon had completed its silent arc across the heavens seven times, yet Kent still stood motionless before the sacred Immortal Living Pool.
Not a moment of sleep, not a single bite of food, not even a drop of water had touched his lips. And yet—he remained untouched by fatigue, hunger, or weariness. This was the miracle of the Immortal Living Pool, a sacred place where divine energy saturated every breath of air, every blade of grass, and even the stillness of time itself.
Kent stood barefoot on the smooth, crystalline platform extending just inches above the lake's edge, his posture as upright as a soldier carved from jade. Both hands moved slowly, forming intricate formations in the air—gestures of ancient spells, symbols of elemental movements, and personal patterns born from instinct. His fingers flowed with a rhythm born of obsession, precision, and endless failure.
Before him, like a forbidden dream, sat the Water Goddess.
