Marian didn't speak.

She didn't move.

She just looked at him, this new version of him, this unveiled, unbound truth and for the first time since Thorne had met her, she didn't have words.

Her expression wasn't shocked. Not entirely.

It was something deeper.

Older.

The kind of awe that made people kneel in ruins long after the gods they worshiped had turned to ash.

Her mouth parted slightly, as though to speak but nothing came out.

The light from the crystal tower refracted through her now-silver lashes, dancing across the jagged edges of her crystalline form. Her hand, the one that had flared with the ring's magic only minutes ago, now trembled, just barely. Enough that Thorne noticed.

Enough that it mattered.

She took a breath.

Shallow. Careful. As if the wrong movement might break something fragile in the air.

"I thought..." she began, voice quiet, still carrying that bell-like echo from her true form, "I thought I was prepared."

Her eyes swept over him again, not judging, not fearful. Studying. Like she was seeing a riddle that had haunted her entire life suddenly solved in front of her, and the answer wasn't comfort.

It was danger.

And yet she didn't back away.

"Thorne," she said finally, softly. "What are you?"

The question wasn't cruel. It wasn't even demanding.

It was reverent.

Thorne didn't answer.

Because he didn't know.

He wasn't sure anyone ever had.

He had been hiding this so long it had become second nature, this thing beneath the skin, this truth beneath the mask. But now it was here, and Marian was looking at it without flinching.

And still…

Her eyes had gone glassy. Not with fear.

With understanding.

"I've seen many things in my time," she whispered. "Artifacts. Beasts. Lost bloodlines. I've walked the dreaming ruins. I've stood in storms older than the First Sigil."

She stepped closer, not slowly, not cautiously.

Deliberately.

"But I have never, never, seen anything like you."

She stopped within arm's reach.

"It's not just the form," she said. "It's what's inside it. The pressure. The silence. The hunger of it."

Thorne said nothing.

What could he say?

Her crystalline hand rose, hovering just shy of his cheek, but she didn't touch him.

"I thought you might be a bridge," she said quietly. "A beacon. Something rare."

She looked into his eyes then, and her voice dropped lower.

"But this… You're not just a piece of something old."

She swallowed.

"You're what comes after."

Marian didn't look away.

If anything, her gaze sharpened, narrowed slightly as if seeing more now, as if his form was still unfolding in her mind.

"I've seen many of us," she murmured. "Elderborn. Crystallines. Umbral kin. The last children of the Verdant Clans. Even a half-blood from the Stormroots once."

She shook her head faintly, and her crystalline hair shimmered with the motion. "But you… you don't resemble any of them."

Her voice had gone distant.

Not uncertain.

Just overwhelmed.

"I thought maybe you were one of the forgotten bloodlines. A rare hybrid, or something old resurrected in flesh. But it's not your form that unnerves me, Thorne."

She stepped back not out of fear, but to see him again, fully. Like a priest giving space to the altar.

"It's your aura," she said, the word heavy on her tongue.

He blinked, confused for a beat.

But she kept going.

"It's wrong," she said, softly. "No, not wrong. Just… wrong for this world."

Marian pressed a hand to her chest, as though trying to still her own pulse. "It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff during a storm. Like I should kneel, say nothing, avoid eye contact."

Her gaze met his again.

"If I speak too loud, you'll tear my throat out. If I move too quickly, you'll react. Like instinct. Not cruelty. Not malice. Just... inevitability."

She took a breath. Her crystalline body was refracting light in a dozen directions, but her voice stayed steady.

"You feel godly," she said.

Thorne flinched.

It wasn't a compliment.

Not really.

Not when it came wrapped in fear.

She wasn't calling him divine.

She was naming what it felt like to stand before a divine thing.

And that was different.

That was dangerous.

Thorne turned his head slowly, drawn, compelled, back to the mirror-like wall of the crystal tower.

And he froze.

He didn't recognize the thing staring back at him.

Those weren't his eyes.

The ones looking out from the reflection were brimming with aether, silver-white storms spinning behind each pupil, layered in burning rings of arcane geometry. They didn't shimmer with curiosity or confusion.

They looked down at the world with disdain.

Cold. Detached. Infinite.

Cruel.

Thorne stared harder, almost willing it to resolve into something else. Something human. But it didn't.

The creature in the reflection didn't blink.

Didn't breathe.

It observed, like a wolf might observe a field mouse it hadn't yet decided to kill.

His face was a sculpture of hard light and bone. Not angry. Not twisted. Just… beyond. Designed by something that had never known softness, never cared for comfort. A being sculpted to be obeyed.

He reached up, touched his own face.

Felt the smooth skin.

The heatless glow beneath it.

It didn't hurt. There was no transformation ache, no crackling surge. It was all just there, as if it had always been this way.

He felt like he was wearing the skin of someone else.

Like he'd stepped into the corpse of an ancient legend and it hadn't noticed yet.

And yet...

This wasn't a curse.

Wasn't a borrowed face.

It was him.

That was the most terrifying part.

There was no spell to break. No hidden magic to dispel.

There was nothing to return to.

He was seeing himself.

And for the first time in his life, he understood why the pendant had always felt heavier than silver.

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Because it was a lock.

Not on power.

On truth.

And the moment he'd unfastened it, everything came loose.

He swallowed hard, eyes still fixed on the mirror.

He didn't look like a boy with a blade.

He looked like the blade itself.

Marian inhaled sharply.

Not like someone startled, but like someone bracing.

"There's one more thing," she said, voice low, delicate. "I need to cast a spell. A spell of identification. It will let me see your traits, your attributes, your current progression. I need to know what you are… what you've become. If I'm to teach you properly."

Thorne stiffened.

It wasn't visible, at least, he didn't think it was but something inside him coiled. His body wanted to move, to pull back, to vanish. Hide.

An instinct. Deep. Bone-deep.

Years of burying his stats behind smokescreens. Of lying to guild mages and inspectors. Of hiding traits that should never have survived what he did.

But he forced the reaction down.

And nodded.

Marian raised one of her crystalline hands.

The ring at her knuckle, now dull and translucent flared with sudden life. A wash of green light spiraled through her fingers, the sigils rotating with eerie symmetry.

Her eyes narrowed, glowing faintly.

Thorne took a breath, summoned the will.

And pulled up his sheet.

It bloomed in his vision, raw, jagged, unreadable to anyone else. It had been so long, he almost forgot how it felt to see it. Like peeling back his own skin and studying the soul beneath.

Name

: Thorne

Level

:

46

Race

: Human

Age

: 19

Special Trait

:

Aetherbound [Elder Race]

Veilbreaker

2/5

Lunar Champion

2/5

Eclipsed Core

Health Points

: 1000/1000

Aether

: 570/570(+200)

Stamina

: 920/920

Core Attributes

Strength

: 78

Agility

: 96

Dexterity

: 83

Endurance

: 92

Vitality

: 100

Spirit

:

182

Wisdom

: 57

Intelligence

: 52

Combat Skills

Vengeful Blades (Daggers):

12

Lethal Flurry

:

17

Backstab

: 18

Bloodletting

: 8

Unarmed Combat

: 28

Deadzone Reflex

(Combat Reflexes)

: 1

Sword Mastery

: 19

Charging Strike

: 3

Throwing Knives

: 21

Knife Fan

: 8

Crossbows

: 10

Critical Eye

: 20

Archery

: 24

Piercing Arrow

: 5

Silent Draw

: 7

Stealth & Deception

Veil of Light and Shadow (Stealth)

:

9

Shadow Meld

: 33

Sleight of Hand

: 23

Pickpocketing

: 20

Lockpicking

: 19

Stealth Strike

: 29

Escape Artist

: 36

Survival & Miscellaneous Skills

Tracking

: 28

Foraging

: 6

Windborne Agility (Acrobatics)

: 1

Burst of Speed (Running)

:

16

Herbalism

: 6

Hunter's Insight

: 12

Cunning Trapper

: 16

Swimming

: 2

Mental & Social Skills

Acting

: 40

Haggling

: 10

Reading

: 15

Arithmetic

: 12

Mindguard

: 19

Echoes of Truth

: 31

Mask of Deceit

: 40

Deception

: 36

Sculpted Persona

: 14

Tactful Deflection

:

12

Defensive Skills

Resilience

:

49

Aetheric Skin

:

29

Aetheric Abilities

Primal Aether Manipulation

:

42

Aether Burst

: 2

0

Aether Surge

:

29

Aetheric Grip

:

11

Invisible Threads

:

15

Aether Lance:

5

Aether Barrage:

2

Aetheric Explosion:

3

Special Abilities

Veil Sense

Lunar Regeneration

Silverlight Strikes

Aether Binding

Marian's breath hitched.

She didn't gasp but her crystalline expression shifted. First in curiosity. Then in awe. Then, finally, in disbelief.

"You…" she whispered. "You upgraded your Elder Race trait… at your age?"

She took a half-step closer, eyes darting over unseen readouts.

"And you've manifested three more innate traits, Thorne, that shouldn't be possible. Not this soon. Not without… dead gods, how?"

He said nothing.

Just gritted his teeth.

The invasive light of the spell was fading, but the taste of exposure clung to his skin like oil.

Marian frowned as she studied the final lines of the report.

"Your levels, your skills… even your aetheric abilities. Thorne..." she hesitated, voice faltering. "They're a lot."

She looked up, her expression a strange mix of caution and pity.

"What happened to you all these years?"

Thorne didn't meet her gaze. His mouth twitched, part snarl, part smirk, as he gave the smallest shrug.

"I had to survive."

Marian didn't speak at first. She looked shaken. Not because of the numbers. But because the numbers told a story she hadn't wanted to read.

"All these nobles at Aetherhold," she said at last, softly. "These scions of High Houses… they've been training since before they could walk. With tutors. With vaults of coin behind them. With family name and bloodline prestige…"

She looked up at him again.

"And you," she whispered, "beat them."

Thorne's gaze turned cold.

Flat.

He met her eyes without flinching.

"I've been fighting for my life," he said, low and slow, "since the day my family was killed."

The words hung heavy. Too heavy.

His voice dipped lower. Almost a growl.

"I've been... through... hell."

The air between them thickened.

Marian's lips parted, but no words came.

Not yet.

Because Thorne's aura flared again. Not with light, not with power, but with presence.

Like the aftershock of something ancient just remembering it still lived.

And Marian, being what she was, what he was, felt it more than anyone could.

She swallowed.

"I can see that," she whispered.

Marian was still staring at the remains of his character sheet, her crystalline fingers curled slightly at her sides.

"The power you've accumulated on your own," she said quietly, almost to herself, "is… simply terrifying."

She looked up.

"If you were let loose..."

She didn't finish the sentence.

Didn't have to.

Thorne knew how that sentence ended.

He should've felt proud. Vindicated. Respected.

But he didn't know how to feel at all.

Because Marian, Marian, an Elderborn, a crystalline being who had walked the halls of Aetherhold for decades wasn't supposed to be shaken. She was supposed to be more than him.

Stronger.

Wiser.

Older.

He narrowed his eyes. "You're one of us," he said, slowly. "Elderborn. Aren't you supposed to be just as powerful?"

Marian hesitated. Then gave a slight nod, like conceding a technicality.

"Like everyone," she said, "not all Elderborn are equal. Some of us have a… closer connection to the aether. It's like bloodlines among mages. Proximity matters."

She crossed her arms, but her gaze remained thoughtful, almost wary. "I'm stronger than most I've met. But my power comes from years of training. Discipline. Study. I built it, brick by brick through my time at Aetherhold, through the spells I've mastered, through years of refinement."

She tilted her head. "But you..."

Her voice dropped.

"Even without your levels. Even without the skills, just raw aetheric potential? You're astonishing. You've already evolved the Aetherborn trait. And you've acquired more innate abilities than some mages do in a lifetime."

She stepped closer again.

"How is your control now? In battle, I mean."

Thorne tilted his head, thinking.

"It used to be hard," he said. "Worse than hard. The motes fought me. Pulled away. Like they didn't recognize me. Or maybe they just didn't care what I wanted."

He smiled faintly, humorless.

"Like I was shouting into a storm and expecting it to stop."

Marian nodded, solemn. Understanding.

"But that was a while ago," he added.

She raised an eyebrow. "And now?"

He looked her straight in the eye.

"Now… it's like breathing."

She froze.

Mid-nod.

Her lips parted slightly. "Thorne…" she said, almost afraid to believe him. "I'll have to see it for myself. Because that, what you just said is impossible."

Thorne shrugged.

He didn't care whether she believed him or not.

Marian exhaled, the sound sharp against the tower's crystalline silence. "Luckily for us," she murmured, "the Red Waste is the best place for this."

Thorne arched a brow. "I'll be fighting?"

The question wasn't cautious.

It was interested.

It had been too long, since the pirate ship really, since he'd cut loose. And even then, he'd been half-chained by circumstance. He hadn't let go in what felt like forever.

And now…

Now the thought of it lit a fuse somewhere behind his ribs.

That old, itching fire, licking at his nerves.

The part of him that didn't just tolerate violence, it thrived in it.

His chest tightened. His breath quickened. His skin hummed.

His eyes glowed brighter. His lips curled.

He was smiling.

A slow, tooth-baring grin. Fangs gleaming in the light.

Marian stepped back slightly, startled by the sudden gleam in his gaze.

There was a flicker of something else there too, apprehension.

She looked at him like someone who had opened a sealed vault and heard something move inside.

"Let's go," she said finally.

Thorne's smile widened.

"Gladly."

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