"No…"

Mirela fell to her knees as the last gap sealed shut, closing the passage completely. Tears she hadn't even noticed welled up and began to fall.

Liora's heart sank, and she could only stand there. Seeing Mirela's reaction, she couldn't find the words to comfort her.

Among the two sisters, Mirela had always been the fragile one—the one most pampered by their family and those around her. For her, unlike most, becoming a Practitioner had never been a blessing but a curse.

It wasn't the responsibility of the Astra Path that weighed her down, but the burden of longevity that came with it.

Through her long life, she had been forced to watch her loved ones grow old and die one by one.

Watching her father and mother age before her eyes, day after day, had eaten away at her for a lifetime. It drove her to walk the Path of Healing, evolving through Sparks and finding skills that could help extend their lives, even if only for a little longer.

But with every evolution, as her hair and eyes turned into shimmering hues of a rainbow, something dark always remained inside her—like a black echo buried beneath those colors.

And as if that pain weren't enough, she had faced the nightmare of Collossith and watched her fellow Practitioners die in the years that followed, trapped in a cycle of fate that circled endlessly around death.

Little by little, she found herself yielding to it. A Practitioner's life, she thought, seemed meant to be like this.

Until she met Adyr.

To her, he was different—someone whose very existence seemed to defy fate itself. His unpredictable growth, mysterious origin, and impossible victory against Collossith made her believe that perhaps fate could be challenged after all.

For the first time, she thought that a Practitioner's life didn't have to be so bound, that there were those with enough will to carve their own path.

But even those thoughts, the ones that had quietly blossomed and given her hope, died the moment the last stone fell and sealed the passage before her eyes.

In the end, death took one more precious life from her.

She wept, first in silence and then in a raw, rising cry that broke the hush, as if she alone carried everyone's sorrow.

Her tears were not only for Adyr; he was the last drop that made the brimming vessel spill. With him, every loss she had kept inside came crashing down, a burden she could no longer carry.

She kept crying and crying like a child until her mind grew lightheaded and the world tilted.

Her body felt off balance, as if she were no longer on solid ground but wobbling on a thin wire above a drop.

"Mirela." Her sister's urgent voice cut through the muffled rush of her sobs. She blinked through wet lashes, breath hitching, and felt a sharp yank at her arm, a forceful pull that brought her halfway to her feet.

"What? Why can't you let me cry in peace?" She snapped, beautiful brows drawing tight as she turned to her sister, gripping her arm and tugging.

"It's not a good place to cry," Liora said, pointing to the spot where Mirela had been sitting only moments ago.

"Huh?" Mirela looked down. The marble, which had been smooth and flawlessly polished a heartbeat earlier, no longer looked solid. It seemed to soften in ripples, as if its stone grain were melting, the surface turning glossy and slow like thick liquid beginning to flow.

"What's going on?" The other Practitioners saw it too, raised their guard, and tried to make sense of what was happening.

It was not only the sight of the floor transforming. A pressure began to spread from that point, heavy and suffocating, pressing into lungs and ribs. It was familiar in a way that made skin prickle and the back of the neck tighten.

"It's a Rank 4 Spark's aura. What's happening?" Those who understood felt their faces harden, and many turned instinctively toward the Wanderer Merchant.

He stood off to the side, composed and watchful, stroking his goatee with one hand while his gaze tracked the shifting marble.

The changes did not seem to ruffle him at all. The crushing weight that bent everyone else's shoulders brushed him like a faint breeze teasing the long black hairs of his beard.

Seeing him this calm, the others settled a little and moved to the sides, making space as they watched to see what would come of the sudden transformation.

It didn't take long. Under the weight of every curious stare, the softening floor bulged and burst. Something enormous and pitch-black forced its way up, making the tent shudder with the suddenness of the breach.

The thing rising out made everyone hold their breath.

It wasn't just massive; it kept rising. Void-dark scales slid into view one after another, and each glossy plate caught the light in cold, hard flashes. The serpent swelled through the tent, growing thicker with every breath until it became a living column that seemed endless, and only then did understanding snap shut like a trap.

"This is the Serpent we encountered inside the Legacy Domain," Maruun cried, eyes stretched wide, shock and a fierce spark of excitement lighting his face.

The Serpent kept emerging for several breaths. At last, the tip of its tail slid free, and the floor sealed behind it, the marble turning back to solid stone. Its vast head pressed against the tent's ceiling as its gaze dropped to meet them. A long, drawn hiss slipped out while a blood-red tongue flickered, tasting the air.

"You have the courage to come out," Silverlight Zephan said. His eyes began to shine from within, a deep electric current waking under his skin. Power gathered in him like a storm building behind dark glass, and the suffocating killing aura of a Rank 4 Titled Practitioner rose.

Soulforge Throgar stepped forward as well. The marble beneath his feet cracked with a hard report, hairline fractures racing outward as if the floor itself buckled under a sudden, impossible weight.

From the story they had heard, this very Rank 4 Spark had turned the Legacy Domain into a tomb for their youth. Now, with the monster towering before them, both leaders looked ready to turn the tent into a battlefield and let the outcome fall where it would.

Then the only voice that could halt them spoke.

"Put your bloodlust away. It is not an enemy," the Wanderer Merchant called, lifting his head toward Sszhar's massive face.

Not an enemy?

The words landed strangely on both leaders. They hesitated, jaw muscles tight, unwilling to set their fury aside before they made the Spark regret what it had done.

At that moment, high above, 3 figures came into view, standing atop the serpent's head as it loomed under the tent roof.

"Thalira?" The instant Zephan saw the silver-haired figure leap, all the killing intent around him thinned and fell away like snow under a sudden sun. A small, unguarded smile touched his stern face.

While every eye followed her descent, the two-headed ogre stepped off after her, gliding down in a steady, controlled drop.

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