The carriage wheels disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the solemn silence of the living forest
Ligia now walked along a trail of polished black stones that cut through the green veil like a petrified river. The air was dense, heavy with mana, and with every step, she felt as if she were being watched—not with hostility, but with the reverence of spirits who recognized the lineage in her veins
The crimson moonlight streamed through the leaves like sacred wine, dyeing the ancient canopies in red
Around her, the forest moved. Alive. Aware. Solemn
White rabbits with golden eyes leapt between ferns, watching her briefly before vanishing. Foxes with blue, silver—and one fiery—fur and multiple tails observed from a distance, like characters from stories that refused to be forgotten
Above, tiny nymphs flitted like sparks. With crystal wings and hair that changed color, they laughed with voices like glass bells, carrying flowers or merely their own magical existence
Further ahead, a white stag crossed the trail. Twisted antlers covered in moss, eyes opalescent like mirrors that knew time. It stopped. Looked at Ligia. And continued on, disappearing into the shadows
She took a deep breath
Every creature seemed to carry a fragment of what she was about to become—as if legends were studying her in return
There was poetry in that place
A dance between the real and what lived at the edges of the invisible
Even the trail itself, made of stone, whispered beneath her feet, as if singing to those of immortal blood
The system, silent until then, purred in her mind
"Careful not to trip on the beauty of this place, hostess—your dignity is already on a six-installment plan"
Ligia raised an eyebrow without replying. Her eyes were fixed on the stone arch ahead
Two statues flanked it: a woman in flowing robes, her face veiled by stars, and a man with a wild expression, flames carved where his eyes should be
"Selunara and Kaorlun" she murmured, a chill running up her spine
As she passed through the arch, the forest seemed to hold its breath
The path changed
The stones were now larger, marked with inscriptions in a forgotten tongue. Small lanterns floated around her, blinking in sync with her heartbeat—or with the pulse of the place itself
She hadn't yet reached the heart of the ritual, but something inside her was already awakening
At the top of the path, wind blew cold against her silver hair
Before her, a dark mountain rose, shrouded in light mist and silver vines, as if time itself had embroidered secrets upon its skin
Ligia narrowed her eyes
"...Don't tell me we have to climb this on foot"
Vael, impeccable as a mirror of ice, stood beside her. Almost... amused
"Yes, Miss. The path must be walked by your own steps. It's tradition"
She let out a dramatic sigh, hands on her hips
"Now a sacrifice trail?"
"Power without sacrifice is just a stolen gift. The mountain serves as purification. Each stone is a mirror"
She looked at him with the weariness of someone thrown into a fantasy novel without having taken the prep course
"Do you rehearse these lines?"
"Merely by living long enough, Miss"
Muttering something about frustrated poets, she began to climb
The sound of her steps blended with the distant song of spirit birds and the rustle of leaves
Gradually, Ligia stopped complaining
She felt... something
As if the walk awakened a part of the soul untouched by human memory
"Has it always been like this?" she asked, mostly to herself
Vael answered with serenity
"Only for true heirs. The trail recognizes blood"
Ligia paused for a second
The wind blew stronger
She looked up
For the first time since she arrived, she felt... expected
After hundreds of steps, breath-stealing stones, and animals watching her like judges, Ligia reached the top
She panted
Her heart thudded in her chest
Sweat trickled down, hair clinging to her forehead
"I wasn't made for this... I never set foot in a gym in my past life..."
Her voice came out as an offended groan, as if reality had committed a personal injustice
Vael, of course, looked like he'd stepped out of a glacial fashion catalog. No sweat. No effort. No soul, maybe
He looked at her with something subtle in his eyes. Almost... amusement
"What would a gym be, Miss?"
She froze
"You... misheard" she coughed
"Very badly"
Vael merely tilted his head, but the curious gleam remained
"Up ahead is the Ancestral Temple"
Ligia straightened her posture
Looked around
All she saw was... mist
Cliffs
And a three-eyed raven staring at her with ancestral judgment
"Uh... where?"
Then Vael smiled
Rare
A crack in a statue
His gloved hand sliced the air with precision
Ancient words floated like bell notes
"Miradan Sol'Kar Vetherion"
Ligia looked at him with rising anticipation
Seconds passed
"Where's the magic?"
And then
The world tore open
Emerald and crimson lights slithered through the mist
The mountain glowed in living lines, like skin waking up
Runes ignited
Ancient power sang in silence
A portal opened—shaped in silver and dancing blue flames
It revealed a golden corridor, pulsing with living energy, leading to the heart of the mountain
Ligia took a step back
Mouth agape
"...holy shit..."
Vael, with the calm of an ancestral priest, inclined his head slightly
"Welcome to the Ancestral Temple... where blood meets truth"