It took Ronan and Mr. Alden a few long, disorienting seconds to steady themselves after crossing over. The world did not settle all at once—it crept back in fragments. The weight of gravity pressed against their legs, the air scraped dry against their throats, and a dull ringing lingered in Ronan's ears like something reluctant to let go.
When Ronan finally lifted his head, expectation shattered before it could even fully form.
He had imagined something grand beyond the wall—a hidden city steeped in ancient Aether, glowing streets, towers humming with forgotten power. Instead, what stood before him felt… abandoned by existence itself.
A sharp pulse of pain drove into his skull. He sucked in a breath, fingers twitching as his vision blurred at the edges. The world tilted, then steadied just enough for him to see it clearly.
Ruins.
Broken houses leaned at unnatural angles, their wooden frames warped and split as though time had gnawed through them piece by piece. Dust lay thick over everything, dulling colour into lifeless grey. Wild grass clawed through cracked stone paths, winding over walls, swallowing whatever remained. The silence was not empty—it pressed in, heavy and suffocating, as if the place itself remembered something it refused to share.
"This time, it's going to be troublesome," Mr. Alden muttered, his voice low, measured. His eyes moved constantly, scanning, calculating, never resting in one place for too long.
He turned slightly. "How's your Aether holding up?"
Ronan didn't answer. Not immediately. The contrast between what he had expected and what stood before him refused to settle. It gnawed at the back of his mind, dull and persistent, like a question without words.
"Ronan?" Mr. Alden called again, sharper this time.
Ronan blinked hard, forcing himself back into the present. "Huh?—sorry. What did you say?"
"Your Aether?"
Ronan exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his temple as another pulse of pain flickered through. "It's draining faster than usual. Keen Eye is… pushing too hard here."
Mr. Felix stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the fit of his gloves. The leather creaked faintly in the quiet. "Then share it. If we distribute the strain, we can conserve energy. Recovery out here feels like breathing through sand."
Mr. Alden's expression tightened immediately. He shook his head once. "No. That's a bad idea."
Felix raised a brow. "And why's that?"
"Because you'll inherit the side effects." Alden's gaze flicked briefly toward Ronan before returning to Felix. "Head strain. Sensory overload. Possibly worse. You think you're helping, but you'll just cripple yourselves."
Oliver let out a quiet scoff, folding his arms. "If Ronan can handle it, why can't we?"
"Because I refuse," Alden said, his tone cutting through the air with quiet authority. "End of discussion."
No one pushed further.
The group moved on.
Their footsteps crunched softly over debris as they walked deeper into the ruins. Every step stirred dust into the air, carrying with it a dry, stale smell—like old stone sealed away from sunlight for centuries. The wind threaded through broken walls, whispering through hollow spaces in uneven breaths.
Eventually, they stopped in front of one of the few structures still standing.
Compared to everything else, it felt… intact. Not untouched—but resisting collapse.
Its outer walls were etched with faint runes, barely visible beneath layers of age. They pulsed weakly, like dying embers refusing to go out completely. The structure itself resembled an old shop, its doorway half-hanging, its frame warped but still holding.
Ronan narrowed his eyes slightly. Something about it lingered.
"Let's check inside."
The door gave way with a brittle creak. Inside, the air shifted immediately—thicker, heavier. The scent of rust and decay clung to the back of the throat. Dust coated every surface in uneven layers, disturbed only by their footsteps as they entered.
Shelves sagged under their own weight, wood splintering where joints had long since weakened. Weapons lined the walls—if they could still be called that. Blades were chipped, edges dulled beyond use. Shields hung crooked, their surfaces cracked, some split clean through. It wasn't just neglect.
It was erosion. Time had not simply passed here. It had consumed.
Ronan ran his fingers lightly along the edge of a blade. It crumbled under the touch, flaking into powder that drifted silently to the floor. He withdrew his hand slowly, staring at the residue clinging to his skin.
They split up without needing to say it. The search stretched on. Minutes blurred together. Then more. Half an hour later, they regrouped outside. The results spoke for themselves. Fragments. Scraps. Nothing of real value.
Mr. Felix stepped forward, holding up a small, round object between his fingers. It caught what little light filtered through the dull sky, reflecting it in a faint, muted shimmer. At its centre was an eye-shaped marking, surrounded by worn, ancient script that had almost completely faded.
Mr. Alden took it, turning it slowly in his hand. His gaze sharpened—not with recognition, but with unease.
"Everything here…" Felix muttered under his breath, glancing back toward the building. "It's like it's been eaten away."
Alden didn't respond. After a moment, he handed the object back. "Keep it. We move."
Mr. Alaric stepped forward then, his expression thoughtful, gaze distant as if mapping something unseen. "We're covering too little ground like this."
Alden glanced at him. "You sensed something?"
Alaric nodded. "Three separate zones. High Aether concentration. Spread apart." He looked around the group. "If we stay together, we lose time."
Felix gave a short nod. "Then we split."
There was a brief pause. No one objected.
Alaric began assigning quickly, his tone steady, precise. "Kael, Darius, Leon, Sylphie, and Ronan—you take the east. Aria, Selena, Orin, Eryk… you're west."
He hesitated slightly, then turned to Ronan. "Can you create a clone to reinforce Aria's group?"
Ronan didn't hesitate. "Yeah." A few hand signs. A shift in Aether. The clone formed beside him almost instantly—identical in every visible way. Same posture. Same eyes. But the moment it smiled, the difference became obvious.
Ronan looked at it for a second, something unreadable passing through his expression. "Don't cause trouble."
The clone grinned, lifting a thumb lazily. "Sure."
Ronan slipped off a Storage Ring and pressed it into the clone's hand. The metal clicked softly as it settled into place. "Essentials are inside."
Then, after a brief pause, he added, quieter, "Don't die."
The clone let out a low chuckle, tapping his chest lightly. "Relax, idiot boss. I've got this."
Something about the tone—too light, too unbothered—lingered in the air for a moment longer than it should have.
Then the teams split.
The western path was quieter. Aria's group moved in a steady rhythm, their steps measured, their senses stretched outward. At the front, Ronan's clone walked with an ease that felt almost misplaced in a place like this.
He hummed under his breath. It was soft. Aimless. But noticeable.
Orin picked up his pace slightly, falling in beside him with a faint smirk. "So… what do we call you?"
The clone turned his head, grin widening just a bit. "Rai."
Aria glanced over. "Why bother with a different name? You'll disappear when Ronan cancels the spell."
Rai's smile didn't fade. "If I were a normal clone, yeah. I'd vanish and take everything with me." He tapped the side of his head lightly. "But I come back with memories. Conversations. Experiences." His gaze drifted ahead again. "I'm not just a placeholder."
There was a subtle shift in the group after that. Curiosity. Caution. They walked on.
"I'm not built for fighting," Rai added casually. "I guide. Observe. Help where I can."
Orin tilted his head. "Meaning?"
Rai shrugged. "Special Phantom clones don't inherit skills or enhancements. Just appearance. Core. Elemental affinity. If I want to be useful, I need external resources."
Selena let out a quiet scoff. "Sounds like a useless skill, then."
Rai laughed—soft, genuine. "You're not wrong. Ronan probably didn't think it all the way through." A pause. "He's not exactly cautious."
Aria studied him for a moment. "Then why not strengthen yourself now? We're not exactly in a safe situation."
Rai shook his head. "That's not my role." His tone remained light, but there was something firmer beneath it. "I survive. I relay. That's enough." He glanced ahead. "We're close."
Aria turned slightly, watching him. "You can go against Ronan's orders?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "There are two types of clones. Regular… and special." His grin returned, faint but unmistakable. "Guess which one I am."
Aria didn't respond immediately. Instead, she watched him more closely.
Ronan, as she knew him, held himself tight—words measured, thoughts guarded, emotions locked behind layers that rarely shifted. Even when he spoke, there was always something held back.
But Rai…
Rai felt open. Curious. Playful. Unburdened in a way that didn't quite match the original.
And yet, beneath it all, there was something familiar. A thread that connected them—subtle, but undeniable. As they moved forward, the air changed. It thickened.
Pressure built slowly, settling against their skin, slipping into their lungs with every breath. The group slowed instinctively, each step more deliberate than the last.
Then they saw it.
A massive crimson crystal rose from the ground ahead, its surface pulsing faintly, like a slow, steady heartbeat. The light it emitted was wrong—not bright, not warm. It bled outward in dull waves, staining the air around it.
Surrounding it were the Fractured. Dozens of them.
Their forms twisted, humanoid only in the loosest sense, their bodies shifting subtly as if struggling to maintain shape. A faint distortion clung to them, rippling along their limbs like heat haze. They moved erratically—but none crossed a certain invisible boundary around the crystal.
Aria raised her hand immediately.
The group dropped low, crouching behind a jagged outcrop. Stone pressed roughly against their palms, dust clinging to their skin as they steadied themselves.
"I've seen something like that before," Eryk murmured, eyes narrowed. "But… I can't remember where."
Selena leaned forward slightly. "Looks like an essence stone."
Rai blinked. "Aren't those blue?"
"They are," Aria said quietly. "Usually." Her gaze remained fixed on the crystal. "But there are records… variants. Stronger ones. Rare."
Rai's attention shifted to the Fractured. His expression lost its earlier ease. "They're feeding off it."
The words settled heavily.
"Slowly. But consistently."
He glanced back at the group. "They outnumber us. What's the plan? Engage… or report back?"
Aria didn't hesitate. "We take them down."
Rai held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. "Six of them feel… different."
"Then we don't make mistakes," Aria replied, her voice steady, already shifting into command. "We eliminate the weaker ones first."
She gestured lightly, outlining positions with quiet precision. "I'll draw attention with a blinding spell. Once they're disoriented, Selena and Eryk move in. Fast, clean. I'll follow through."
Her eyes moved to Orin and the others. "If the stronger ones move, intercept if you can. If not, fall back. Don't force it."
Rai exhaled slowly. "You're confident your frontliners can break through their outer Aether layer?"
Aria didn't look away. "I trust them."
A brief silence followed.
Then Rai nodded once. "Alright." His voice was softer now. Grounded. "I'll trust you too."
A pause.
"But if this goes wrong…" His gaze flicked once more toward the creatures, then back. "There won't be a second chance."
The wind rose suddenly, sweeping through the ruins with a low, hollow howl. Dust spiralled into the air, brushing against their faces, stinging their eyes.
No one moved.
But every muscle tightened. Every breath slowed. Because they all felt it.
One misstep—
—and everything would collapse.