Mark made his way to the college campus the next day, walking past familiar buildings and bustling students.
His morning classes had blurred into background noise, his mind too preoccupied to focus. Now, with a rare free afternoon, he found a quiet spot on the steps outside the library, pulled out the book, and dove back.
He turned the brittle pages, his fingers tracing the faded ink, until he found another entry from the young mage whose story had captivated him.
Another day in the lab, another step closer. Today's experiment involves is critical. We're working with pregnant women, injecting a specially concocted elixir into the fetus. The goal? To see if we can accelerate the manifestation of ether, to create mages from birth. Ambitious, right? The Mariach believes this is the key to our ascendance, to creating a new generation of magic users who will surpass even the ancients. The possibilities are… exhilarating.
Mark shuddered, a wave of revulsion washing over him. Pregnant women? Fetuses? What the fuck?
Results are… mixed. Some of the fetuses didn't survive. Others were born with deformities, their bodies twisted and broken by the uncontrolled surge of energy. A few showed promise, their eyes glowing with a faint, etheric light. But they're unstable, volatile. Their powers flicker and fade, like dying embers. More research is needed, more boundaries to push. That's what the Mariach says. And she's always right.
Jesus Christ. His stomach churned. He pressed his palm to his forehead, trying to push away the gruesome images now etched into his mind. He read on, his morbid curiosity overpowering his disgust.
Today, I saw her. One of the mothers. Her child—one of the few to survive—lay in her arms, his body writhing with unstable energy. She begged me to save him, tears streaming down her face. But what could I do? There's no reversing this. No undoing what I've done.
I told her it was for the greater good. She spat in my face. And for the first time, I wondered if she was right.
Mark couldn't stop reading, each entry revealing more about the young mage's personality and journey.
As I continue my experiments, I can't help but feel a sense of unease. At first, I believed that my work was for the greater good. But now, as I look at the innocent lives I have destroyed and the devastation I have caused, I can't help but question my actions.
I can't sleep. The faces haunt me. The women, their screams. The babies crying, their tiny bodies twisted and broken. I keep telling myself it's for a higher purpose, but the doubt… it gnaws at me like a parasite. Is this really the path to enlightenment? I haven't told Mother or Elara about my work. They wouldn't understand. They'd be horrified. Would they see me as a monster?
I can't stop now. I've gone too far. I have to believe in what we're doing, in the Mariach vision. But what if she's wrong? What if we're all wrong? I have to keep going.
Mark devoured the entries, fascinated by the man's journey. They spanned years, chronicling his life within the cabal, the gruesome experiments, the exhilarating discoveries, the gnawing doubts, the ever-present conflict between ambition and morality. The sheer scale of the atrocities he described was staggering.
Then, amidst the descriptions of rituals and experiments, he found an interesting entry.
I received the news a couple of days ago. She's gone. My dear beloved, Eurydice. The plague… it took her. My sweet Eurydice, the only light in this darkness, extinguished like a flickering candle in a storm. She wasn't even supposed to be in the city. She'd gone to visit her parents. It was a twist of fate, a cruel jest of the gods. My plague. My doing. The weight of it crushes me. Perhaps this is my punishment, the price for my hubris. The pain is a gaping wound in my soul. I dare not retaliate, not yet. They are too powerful. But one day… one day, the world will pay for this. But even then, will it be enough? Will I ever be able to forgive myself? Forgive me, Eurydice. My love. My light.
He turned the pages, searching for more, dreading the inevitable end. The final entry, dated several years later, was a stark contrast to the earlier, enthusiastic accounts.
I can barely sleep. Nightmares plague me. Faces of the dead, their eyes accusing, their voices whispering my name. I have lost the will to live, the weight of my sins a crushing burden. But Elara… my sister. She is in danger. They will come for her, too. I cannot let that happen. It is the only thing that keeps me going, this last shred of hope, this final duty. I will end this, this torment, this cursed existence. But not before I ensure Elara's safety. It is the least I can do, the only atonement I can offer for the darkness I have unleashed upon the world.
Mark scanned the remaining pages, but there were no more entries. His ended there, abruptly, leaving a void of unanswered questions. What happened to him? To his sister?
He flipped through the remaining pages of the book, skimming the other entries. There were dozens of them, accounts from other members of the cabal, their voices a chorus of ambition and hubris.
None of them seemed to possess the same level of regret, the same gnawing doubt, as the young mage whose story had captivated him. They spoke of their experiments, their discoveries, with a detached fascination that bordered on sociopathic. How the hell did Julian even get his hands on this stuff?
He just sat there, lost in thought, the images of the experiments, the plague-ridden villages, the young mage's anguished words, playing on repeat in his mind. What happened to him? Did he really kill himself? Or did he find some other way out?
He wished he knew the ending, the final chapter of the young mage's tragic story. But the answers, like so many things in Mark's life, remained elusive.
He sighed, his shoulders feeling heavy. He tucked the book into his bag and stood up, the setting sun casting long shadows across the campus. The images of the experiments, the screaming mothers, the broken children—they would stay with him. He didn't need to read more to know that much.
Julian had said this would give him answers. Instead, it had shown him just how little he truly understood.
But maybe that is the point.
If the book had taught him anything, it was the danger of knowing too much—and the cost of not knowing enough.
* * *
The familiar bell tinkled as Mark pushed open the door. Luna, her red jacket brighter than ever in the dim light of the shop, greeted him with a fanged smile.
"He's waiting for you," she said, her tone cheerful, as if she were welcoming an old friend. She gestured toward a narrow staircase tucked into the corner. "Downstairs."
As they descended, the air grew colder, the musty scent of the shop intensifying, replaced by something sharper, almost metallic. The basement was surprisingly large, the ceiling stretching high above them, the walls lined with shelves packed with even more strange and unsettling objects than those in the shop above.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Luna asked, catching his uneasy glance.
"Definitely… different," he replied, still a bit creeped out by the sheer volume of weirdness.
Luna explained something about the space working differently down here, but Mark couldn't quite follow.
She led him to the center of the room, where Julian was waiting, perched on a stool, a small table laden with various objects, none of which he could identify.
"Mark," Julian greeted him with a nod.
"Hey."
"So, did you read the book?"
"Yeah… It was a lot to take in."
"It is. The pursuit of knowledge, of power… it can lead to some dark places. You have to be careful. Very careful. Always remember, the choices you make aren't just about you. They're about everyone who comes after."
"I understand."
"Good," Julian said, a glint of something that looked like excitement in his eye. "Now, let's see what you can do." He flicked his wrist, and a length of rope materialized in front of him. "Ether," he explained, pointing to the rope. "It is the connective tissue of this world—the energy that binds everything together. Mages, witches, shifters – we all manipulate ether in different ways. Do you know the difference between a witch and a mage?"
"Witches use chants and rituals to channel magic, while mages draw their own ether to cast spells. Mages specialize in a single element, but witches can access a broader range of powers, though they can't really master any one element the way a mage can."
"Excellent," Julian nodded approvingly. "Now, your blades, those are pure Void. They disrupt the flow of ether, severing the connections, creating… a nullspace." He held up the rope. "Watch." He touched the rope with one of Mark's summoned blades, and the rope instantly severed, the two ends falling to the floor.
"Ookay," he said, still trying to follow Julian's explanation.
"You're a hybrid. Which means you also have access to traditional magic, to your father's lineage. I need to see the extent of your abilities, the balance between the two forces within you." He turned to Luna, who had been watching silently from the shadows. "Luna, come here."
She obeyed without hesitation, her fanged grin intact.
"Blast her," Julian instructed, his voice calm.
"What?"
"You heard me. Blast her."
"B-but…" Mark stammered, glancing between them, his brow furrowed with confusion.
"What? Hurry up already. We don't have all day."
"What if I hurt her?"
He didn't want to injure a child, even if she did have creepy pointed teeth.
"Hurt her?" Julian scoffed. "You're a decades away from being able to lay a scratch on Luna. Now, stop stalling and do it."
Mark's heart pounded. He looked at Luna, expecting fear or protest, but she just stood there, hands on her hips, her smile almost mocking.
"Hurry up," she said. "I don't bite. Much."
"But what if…"
"Look, kid," Julian cut him off, sharp and firm. "If you want to continue, you better not question my methods. Now, blast her!"
This guy is batshit crazy. Mark sighed, reluctantly aiming his hands at her.
She didn't even flinch. That unsettling grin stretched across her face, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.
"Any day now," Julian called, his tone laced with impatience. "We're not here for tea and biscuits."
He summoned a tiny spark of lightning, barely a flicker. It darted across the room and hit Luna square in the chest. She stumbled back, a small gasp escaping her lips.
"Nice one," she said, grinning.
What the... He had expected her to be hurt, or at least annoyed, but she seemed thrilled by the experience. Not a scratch on her.
"What in the dried-up ballsack was that?" Julian's voice boomed through basement.
What sack now?
"Didn't you hear me, kid? Blast her! Not tickle."
Seriously? He took a deep breath, focusing. Fine. He reached deeper, channeling his ether, the energy crackling to life in his palms. Sparks danced up his arms as he locked eyes with little girl.
She stood patiently, her eyes shining with an almost unsettling anticipation.
This time, he let it go. A bolt of lightning shot forward, raw and wild. It struck her dead-on, sending her flying backward into the wall.
"Shit!" He rushed to her side. "Are you okay? I didn't mean…"
"That was awesome!" Luna crowed, springing to her feet as if nothing had happened.
"Y-You're not… hurt?"
"Not even close." She waved him off with a grin, giving him a big thumbs up.
What the hell? She looked… fine. Not a bruise, not a scratch.
"Not bad….." Julian said, nodding approvingly. "….not bad at all. Looks like Lida hasn't been slacking on your training."
"Yeah," Mark muttered, still reeling. "She's… pretty brutal."
"Your output is impressive. Very impressive. You've got some bite after all."
"So, uh… what's next?"
Julian's grin turned wolfish. "This."
Before he could blink, Julian's fist slammed into his stomach like a wrecking ball. The air shot out of his lungs as he flew backward, slamming into the wall.
"What the fuck?!" he wheezed, clutching his stomach. His vision blurred, the room tilting as he scrambled to his feet. That hurt like a bitch.
"Come at me," Julian said, grinning like this was all a game. "Let's see what you've got. No blades."
"C-Couldn't you have just… asked?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
"For fuck's sake…"
"Enough talk, kid. Show me what you can do."
This guy is insane. Mark's frustration boiled over, adrenaline drowning out the pain in his ribs. He clenched his fists, channeling the ether until it crackled up his arms like chains of lightning.
Julian's grin didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, his posture loose and inviting. "That's more like it."
"Fine," Mark growled. "You asked for it."
* * *
Thunk.
Mark lay flat on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling. His body ached in ways he didn't think were possible, every muscle screaming for mercy. He'd lost count of how many times Julian had knocked him down. Every attack, every bolt of lightning he summoned, had been deflected, dodged, or countered so easily it was almost insulting.
What the hell is he made of? It was like trying to punch a steel wall – painful and utterly pointless.
"Not bad, kid. Not bad at all." Julian's voice floated over, laced with amusement.
Mark groaned, sitting up slowly, wincing at the sharp ache in his ribs. "Not bad? You didn't even try."
Julian chuckled. "And you didn't land a hit."
Mark's jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling up inside him. He couldn't argue with that. He had barely landed a glancing blow, while Julian had effortlessly dodged every attack, his movements fluid, precise, almost… bored.
"Tell me, you haven't done a lot of fighting, have you?"
"Not really," Mark admitted, rubbing his sore jaw.
"That's a problem. Experience matters. Especially in our world."
"What are you saying? That I need to go pick fights with random strangers to get better at this?"
"Not exactly," Julian smirked. "Though that is a surprisingly effective training method. Builds character. And reflexes."
Mark rolled his eyes. Of course, This lunatic would say that.
"Your technique isn't bad. You channel ether well. You shape your lightning with precision, and your intent is clear. That's more than most mages your age can say."
Mark blinked… confused. He hadn't expected a compliment after getting his ass handed to him.
"Thanks, I guess?"
"Don't thank me yet," Julian said, his gaze narrowing. "You've got all the tools, but you lack something fundamental. Right now, you see ether as a tool. A way to boost your attacks, make them hit harder, look flashier. That's a shallow perspective."
"Shallow?"
"It isn't just a weapon. It's a language. A connection. The thread that ties everything in this world together. If you only see it as a tool, you'll never understand its true potential."
Mark stared at him, trying to process.
"Ether isn't about raw power," Julian went on. "It's about flow. Movement. It's how you connect to the world, to yourself, to your opponent. You need to stop trying to force it to do your bidding and start understanding what it's trying to show you."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means you're stuck in the kiddie pool, kid," Julian said, smirking. "You've got potential, but you need to break out of your narrow view if you want to swim in the deep end."
He couldn't help the annoyed groan that escaped him. "Okay, fine. So how do I… un-narrow my view or whatever?"
"That's why you're here. I needed to see where you're at, figure out what you understand, and what you're missing."
Mark rubbed the back of his neck, his mind swirling. It sort of made sense… kind of.
"What now?"
"First things first, we push you to your limit. Solidify the fundamentals. After that, the rest will come naturally."
"Push me how?"
"By making you fight," his grin was all teeth. "A lot."
Mark groaned again. "Of course."
"Come back tomorrow," Julian said, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "We'll begin."
* * *
The walk home was a blur.
Julian's words looped in his mind, blunt and cutting, pointing out where he was strong—and where he was sorely lacking. "You see ether as a tool. That's your problem."
What did that even mean?
He'd always seen ether as a power-up, like plugging into an energy socket when he needed a jolt. But now, a connection? Language? It sounded all abstract, floaty, and out there. How was he even supposed to wrap his head around that?
He thought back to the moments when his ether felt strongest—when he wasn't overthinking, just reacting. Maybe there was something to this whole "flow" thing, but how was he supposed to stop seeing ether as a tool?
He couldn't shake off the memory of the fight with Elia and the Vora lady. They saw through his moves like it was child's play, exploiting his every move.
Now Julian.
What the hell is he, anyway? Mark frowned, kicking at a loose stone on the sidewalk.
He hadn't sensed anything from the guy, no hum of ether, no obvious signs. The damned lunatic hadn't used any spells during their sparring session. Just raw power, precise movements, and an unnerving ability to anticipate Mark's every move. Maybe he's a wizard?
Whatever he was, Julian had avoided mentioning the Void at all. They'd stuck to his lightning, his mage side. Not that I'm complaining. Mark flexed his sore hands. Any training was better than none.
The scent of garlic, tomatoes, and basil pulled him out of his thoughts as he pushed open the front door. The warm aroma wrapped around him like a hug. Something smells amazing. He followed the scent to the kitchen, where Lida stood at the stove, a wooden spoon in hand, stirring a pot of bubbling sauce. Ria sat perched on the counter, legs swinging, chatting with Lida while her laptop hummed beside her.
"Hey," Ria greeted him, flashing a warm smile.
Lida glanced his way, taking in his disheveled appearance. She sighed. "Go wash up, Mark. Dinner's almost ready."
"What's cooking?" He leaned over her shoulder, inhaling deeply.
"Pasta."
He raised an eyebrow at Ria. "Seriously? Pasta again? Don't you ever get tired of it?"
"Never, pasta is life. You should know that by now."
"You're going to turn into a noodle if you keep this up."
"Better a noodle than a meathead," Ria shot back, grinning.
"Enough, you two," Lida said, shooing him toward the stairs. "Go get cleaned up. Dinner's on the table in ten minutes."
Mark snatched a fresh shirt from his messy room and sauntered towards the shower. The hot water worked its magic, melting away the day's stress and soothing his tired muscles. By the time he made his way back downstairs, the promise of dinner had lifted his spirits.
The table was already set, the aroma of garlic and herbs filling the air. Plates of pasta, crusty bread, and a fresh salad were laid out like a feast. He slid into his seat across from Ria, who was already twirling a forkful of spaghetti like it was the highlight of her day.
"So," Lida said as she joined them, "how was everyone's day?"
"It was amazing!" Ria exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. "Professor Davis finally gave us the green light on our animation project. I've been waiting for this all semester!"
"That's exciting. What's the project about?"
Ria launched into an animated explanation, her hands gesturing wildly as she described her vision. Mark watched her, grinning at the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved.
"And that's why it's going to be awesome," Ria concluded, finally pausing to take a bite of pasta. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. "Lida, this is divine. Seriously, you're an amazing cook."
"Oh, it's nothing special."
"Nothing special? I could eat this every day for the rest of my life."
"I'm glad you like it."
"You should start a cooking blog," Ria continued between bites. "Your recipes are too good to keep to yourself."
"You're really going to turn into a meatball if you keep eating like that."
Ria pointed her fork at him, mock-threatening. "Mark, I swear…"
"Mark," Lida cut in, her tone firm. "Stop teasing her and eat your dinner."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
"That's right," Ria grinned, sticking her tongue out at him.
As they finished their meal and started clearing the table, Mark's thoughts kept drifting back to his sparring session with Julian.
Julian's words echoed again. Ether isn't just a tool—it's— What am I missing?
Was it something in the way he fought, the way he thought about ether? Or was it deeper than that?
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You're doing that breathing thing again."
"What breathing thing?"
Ria raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "That deep, frustrated sigh. The one you do when something's bothering you."
"I am not!"
She just tilted her head, waiting. Damn it. How does she read me so easily?
"Okay, maybe a little," he admitted, setting the plates on the counter. "Just… thinking about some stuff."
She didn't press, just gave him a small smile and nudged him with her shoulder as they finished tidying up. It was one of the things he appreciated about her—she knew when to push and when to let him stew.
After they finished cleaning up, they retreated to the living room, settling onto the couch to watch a movie. Ria snuggled against him, her body warm and comforting against his. He wrapped his arm around her, his fingers idly tracing patterns on her hip.
The movie played on, but Mark barely registered it. His mind kept circling back.
As the credits rolled, Ria let out a soft yawn, her head drooping against his shoulder.
"Ready for bed?"
"Mmm-hmm," she mumbled, already half-asleep.
They climbed the stairs together, the house silent except for the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. The stillness of the night felt heavy, the kind that made every thought louder.
"Night, babe," she murmured as she curled up against him under the covers, her breathing already slowing.
"Night, Ria," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He reached over to flick off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into comforting darkness.
As he lay there, staring at the faint outlines of the ceiling, his thoughts churned. Tomorrow, he thought, his mind buzzing with anticipation.
The house was silent, the kind of stillness that made every thought louder. Julian's words replayed in his head, mingling with the lingering ache in his muscles.
He couldn't wait to get back, to push himself harder, to figure out what he was missing.
Tomorrow, he'd take the next step.
Answers were out there, and he was done waiting.