Marcelo advanced with steady, rhythmic steps—not fast, but measured—in order to conserve as much energy as possible. He had decided not to set up camp; he wanted to reach the airport before dawn. Even though he was traveling at night and facing greater risks, he preferred to complete his mission as quickly as possible.
Ever alert for monsters, he pressed on toward the forest's exit.
At night, thick, twisted tree trunks cast irregular shadows, blending with vines that swayed like languid serpents.
The moon, filtered through dense canopies, dappled the ground with pools of silvery light, while a thin mist hovered low over the earth, obscuring the path. Leaves rustled in a constant whisper, sometimes concealing and at other times revealing tiny bluish fireflies that blinked like wandering stars.
Every so often, a sharp snap betrayed broken branches caused by something moving just out of sight—reminding Marcelo that every sound might signal a lurking predator. Still, he maintained his measured pace.
"—If only I were stronger…" he sighed.
"—Hey, do you want to get stronger?" whispered a voice emerging from the darkness of the forest.
He paused for a moment, wondering if it was merely his imagination.
The voice insisted:
"—Didn't you hear me? Do you want to get stronger or not?"
Marcelo couldn't discern whether it belonged to a man or a woman; it sounded like a strange blend, something that did not seem to come from human vocal cords.
"—Who are you?" Marcelo asked.
"—Someone who can make all your dreams come true," the voice replied confidently.
"—Where are you?" Marcelo inquired.
"—Here. Come closer to the tree on your left."
"—Here?"
"—That's right; now walk straight ahead."
The voice led Marcelo to an otherwise ordinary tree—except for a striking silver ring suspended from a dark cord, swaying from one of its branches.
"—There, now take it."
"—The ring?" Marcelo asked.
The voice sounded impatient:
"—Yes, the ring. Hurry up, and all your wishes will be granted."
"—Excuse me, extremely suspicious voice emerging from the shadows, but how do you intend to fulfill my wishes and why would you do so?"
The voice seemed irritated, yet strove to answer calmly:
"—I am an ancient Grand Master. I lost my physical body in a battle against an ancestral creature and survived only as a spirit—trapped within this ring."
"—Now that I've found you, brave young hero, I thought you might help me, and in return, I'd offer you the most powerful thing in this world: knowledge. With it, you will rise to the top, surpass everyone, and have all your wishes fulfilled."
Indeed, it all made sense, Marcelo thought; perhaps he could become the protagonist of a legendary tale.
So he asked what he should do to help.
The voice replied:
"—All you need to do is take the ring, and I will transfer to you all the knowledge I possess!"
Then Marcelo, using a stick he had found on the ground, reached toward the tree and pulled the ring.
"—Not like that!" shouted the voice.
"—Do I need to touch it?" Marcelo inquired.
"—Yes, of course you do! Only then can I transmit the knowledge to you!"
"Walking through the forest at night, a stranger offers me practically infinite power for nothing… how wrong could that possibly go?" Marcelo mused.
*****
Lecster had been a formidable invoker, but a fateful encounter with an immortal beast had left him in this wretched predicament: without a physical body, his spirit had survived only by taking refuge in that object, where it eventually became imprisoned.
He did not know how much time had passed, but now he could, at last, claim a body of his own.
The long-awaited opportunity had finally arrived.
All he required was for the young man to touch the ring; then he could steal his body.
The original plan was for whoever found him to lead him to an invoker weak enough that he could seize their body—since a powerful invoker would easily disperse his soul.
Convincing someone would have been extremely laborious, and he had already devised thousands of plans—time was on his side. However, a better idea arose: he no longer needed an intermediary; he simply had to deceive that poor, unfortunate soul.
*****
"—Agreed," said Marcelo. "But look, I'm not sure if there's any risk with this ring. Understand my position; your proposal and your identity are quite suspicious, and even so, how can I be sure your knowledge will be useful? I'm risking my safety with no guarantees. Can you offer any proof of your good intentions?"
He had a point, Lecster lamented; that young man was shrewd. If possible, he would let him go—tricking him would not be simple… But how long would it take to find another host? And what if the next one were as clever as this one, or even smarter? It would be a waste.
Lecster was facing a great dilemma, but desperate situations demanded risky measures.
Finally, he decided to take a radical course of action.
"—Alright, young man, I will project my soul, but only for a few moments. During that time, I will teach you the fundamentals of an incredible technique that will allow you to absorb mana from crystals more quickly and efficiently. And best of all: once you master it, even your creature will assimilate it."
Marcelo couldn't help but feel excited. It sounded fantastic; becoming stronger, faster was everything he desired. Could this be the kind of fortuitous encounter that changes a life?
Even so, his suspicions grew. Could something really be that good?
But what could he do? Without any specific condition, the spirit did not appear capable of causing him harm—after all, it had done nothing thus far.
Yet he suspected that the catch lay in touching the ring.
"—I will begin," the voice announced.
The ring, hanging from the dark cord, began to vibrate as if a heart had started beating within it. First, a thin filament of pale blue light raced along the silver's veins, filling every groove of the metal with a liquid gleam. Then, the blue radiance intensified until it appeared as if the interior of the ring were boiling with a small ocean of luminous energy.
A soft buzzing—reminiscent of the singing of crystal glasses—filled the air. The sound was so pure that it sent shivers down his arms. As the hum rose in pitch, tiny blue-white sparks leapt from the ring's surface, as if fragments of stars were trying to break free.
Then came the artifact's respiration: the ring seemed to inhale and exhale light. With every inhalation, thin lines of bluish energy, as fine as strands of silk, snaked along the cord until they fixed themselves onto the tree's bark; the sap crackled, releasing a fresh, almost minty scent. With each exhalation, these lines reconvened in the metal, carrying sparkling particles—like sapphire dust—wrenched from their surroundings.
Suddenly, the void at the center of the ring shimmered, forming a translucent membrane that bulged outward like a soap bubble that refused to pop. From the membrane emerged the silhouette of a human figure made entirely of blue light: broad shoulders, the ethereal drapery of an ancient cloak, and hair flowing as if underwater. There were no distinct facial features—only brighter hollows where the eyes should be, burning with an intense cyan glow.
Once fully emerged, the projection sent concentric waves of phosphorescence rippling across the ground. Dry leaves at the base of the tree were swept aside, as if an airless gale were pushing everything within a two‐meter radius. The impact of the waves caused moisture in the soil to evaporate into silvery filaments, and a slight chill—the cold of wet stones under the moonlight—pervaded the area.
Small runic symbols, as tiny as the inscriptions of a miniature grimoire, began to rotate around the projection, orbiting its arms and chest. Each rune pulsed in sync with the semi-translucent glow at the figure's chest, emitting a melodic tinkle like droplets of water on hollow metal.
Finally, when the projection stabilized, the buzzing subsided into a trembling, electrical silence. The air smelled of freshly created ozone, and blue light streamed along nearby tree trunks, tinting the forest with a soft cerulean hue—as if the entire world were breathing in rhythm with that soul freed for just a few moments.
"—Pay attention, I'm going to show you!" commanded the spirit, turning toward Marcelo.
But before it could finish speaking, something caught both of their eyes: an invocation seal was beginning to materialize before them.
At first, a pale stroke—like phosphorescent chalk—traced a circumference filled with tiny, glowing tufts, reminiscent of bristled hair. The outline was imperfect: points jutted out here and there, hinting at the shaggy coat of the creature about to emerge.
Inside this furry ring, a second, narrow ring appeared, composed of hexagonal plates of gray light—tiny scales resembling polished metal. They rotated slowly, clinking like a string of very fine coins, reflecting hints of blue.
Between the two rings, a pair of pointed ears emerged, formed from the same whitish light.
Then the outline ignited in pearly flames. This fire, the color of ivory with pale blue hints, did not burn; it felt cold, yet it crackled softly—scattering sparks that glittered like stardust.
At the heart of the circle, a patch of absolute darkness opened—a void so dense it absorbed the surrounding light. Gradually, a small, compact, and plush ball of hair, as black as night, emerged. Two brown eyes kindled like lanterns in the dark. Soon, tiny wings covered in silvery scales sprouted and flapped with a dry rustle, and finally, two slender, attentive ears arose.
When the little creature hovered just a few centimeters above the ground, the seal extinguished its flames with a silent exhalation, leaving behind only the scent of cold ash. There was Lýdia—a winged tuft of darkness—staring fixedly at Lecster... drooling?
In the blink of an eye, Lýdia advanced: a sphere of black fur slicing through the air like a slingshot. With its little mouth curved into a half-moon and its tiny claws glinting in the blue light, it seized Lecster's projection and began chewing it.
Lecster panicked. Where had that little monster come from? Could it be from the young man? Marcelo hadn't even moved! But the fact was undeniable: every bit of mana in his spiritual form was being sucked away by the creature at an absurd speed.
"—S-s-stop, someone!" he shouted, his voice echoing in a brittle and distant tone.
There was no time for help. Lýdia crunched the light as if she were chewing on crystallized sugar; with every bite, shimmering fragments were torn away and extinguished upon touching her tongue. The scaled wings flapped in an almost inaudible frenzy, scattering pale blue sparks across the ground. Lecster's outlines wavered and shrank, like a hologram losing resolution. First the ethereal arms vanished, then the torso dissolved into a translucent wisp, until, finally, only the head remained—its eyes wide with a mix of horror and disbelief.
In the final flash, Lýdia delivered one last snap—*clac!*—and Lecster's essence imploded into a cloud of bluish dust that she inhaled with a satisfied purr. The air fell silent. The now-dormant seal on the ground glowed in a cobalt hue for a second—as if recording the digestion of a soul—and then faded away.
Where once the old Grand Master had hovered, there remained only the silence of the forest and a gleeful Lýdia, gliding back toward Marcelo with eyes shining with happiness.
After witnessing everything, Marcelo was shocked: whether it was an opportunity or a mortal risk, the situation had completely spiraled beyond his control. The owner of the voice had been devoured by Lýdia.
Still dazed, he lifted his gaze and noticed a magnificent light dominating the sky. Atop the mountain, a colossal sphere shone, flooding almost the entire forest with its radiance.
"Incredible…" he murmured, though the phenomenon felt strangely familiar. From where?
Then he remembered: the disaster in the city of Sunis. The same movement.
The mountain gave way with a roar, unleashing a blazing torrent that engulfed much of the surrounding forest.
Without hesitation, Marcelo dashed away, with Lýdia flying ahead. He had no intention of crossing paths with that monstrous creature.
Marcelo ran toward the forest's edge, stumbling over exposed roots here and there, but never once looking back—he did not want to face those terrifying eyes again.