That evening, Cyrus was panting and drenched in sweat, gripping his spear to avoid keeling over. Before him stood Latriaen, spear in hand. They just had another grueling training exercise. But in truth, it was mainly Latriaen beating Cyrus into a pulp in an attempt to hone his reflexes.

The man's fighting style could be attributed to a single word: Relentless. Latriaen never held back and never retreated. Despite Cyrus trying his damnest to land a single blow, a single hit, Latriaen would barely evade the hit to keep the momentum. And to top it off, he would smack Cyrus' head, indicating his death should it have been a real fight.

Just like Lord Dílis, Cyrus felt he was fighting against another mountain.

Cyrus spat bloody phlegm onto the ground with trembling shoulders. "Another round?"

"No, practice is over for now," Latriaen said, leaving the makeshift arena they had created.

Cyrus smiled in relief. And it was a true, genuine smile. It was not because he no longer had to suffer another beating. But today would be the day of his ascension!

Quickly, he stood up straight and stretched, feeling the burn of his bruised and aching muscles.

Finally, I'm going to be in top condition. What, you say he still needs to work on the spatial domain? Never heard of her.

But there was still some time. Instead of rushing straight into it, Cyrus decided to enjoy another fulfilling meal of jerky meat stew... again. He pulled out an enchanted canteen and drank several gulps of cold and crisp water before pouring what seemed to be an inexhaustible amount into the cooking pot. It was a novel and convenient enchantment, but all it did was remind Cyrus that he really ought to search for an enchanter once back in Avalorn.

Or.... Cyrus secretly glanced at the Ork resting beside the fire. He could teach me.

Shaking his head, Cyrus banished the thought and returned to his meal. He already had enough on his plate.

Moreover, enchantments felt like a trade secret. Mainly because enchantments rarely revealed the design structure of their runes. If a blade had a flame enchantment, you wouldn't know unless the designer intended you to see it. Maybe it would start glowing up in some superfluous attempt to look powerful. But that was it. With this thought, he doubted Latriaen would offer trade secrets of the craft. Maybe in the future.

As the stew broiled, Cyrus strode over to his pack and sifted through his gear. There it was: the pale yellow crystal Lord Dílis gifted him for the occasion. Cyrus then closed his eyes and began the absorption process, hoping to strengthen his foundation.

During his break, Cyrus enjoyed his meal and told Bird another story about a cool guy who defended a city from a fire-breathing man. But then the time came.

Outside of camp and in an open field, Bird circled above Cyrus. The latter remained focused on his light runes, converging them to his origin life run. They pulsed rhythmically the closer they drew together and emitted a soothing, pale light.

There shouldn't be any issues... right? Cyrus mused, watching the runes coalesce. I've already done this two times.

Meanwhile, Latriaen rested by a tree. The man appeared unconcerned. And why would he? To him, this was just a simple matter.

Whatever. He's here regardless.

Cyrus sighed and removed all thoughts of the outside world. His mind then went inward, deeper and deeper into his origin rune, until a vast, black void appeared around him.

And there they were. Floating in the vast expanse were those four unimaginably large spheres. Each one's surface swirled with an incomprehensible amount of patterns, waves, and colors, concealing infinite enlightenment within. They were proof of Latriaen's comment about how the answers could be found within. But how? Right now, there was an inexhaustible stretch between him and them.

"I wonder if I'll ever be able to touch their surfaces," he mused out loud, sighing.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on such things. Shaking his head, Cyrus channeled his mana as he glimpsed into those pale, swirling patterns. Welling in his mind, space was another image not unlike the hungry ember during Cyrus' pyromaniac ascension—A pale, dim light, no larger than a speck of dust.

It shot forward in all directions, seeking to cover everything in its luster. The thought made Cyrus imagine obstacles, rocks, blocks, whatever, to block its path, just to see what would happen.

The light struck each one, leaving infinitely long shadows. It revealed small details on their surfaces. Cyrus could see the fine cracks and crevices in the rocks while finding faults on the blocks' surfaces.

He 'looked' upward and watched the light stretch on ad infinitum. But it needed mana to do so. So, Cyrus honored its desire and channeled as much mana as possible.

The light then exploded with such brilliance that it would have blinded any ordinary observer, reaching farther and farther and revealing more and more. Cyrus was left both blinded and enlightened by his surroundings.

Meanwhile, all his runes lit up alongside him, and Cyrus' body erupted in the same brilliance, illuminating his surroundings. The sudden effulgence startled Bird and compelled the canary to seek shelter behind the darkened recess of a tree.

But it wasn't just the canary who was surprised. Latriaen's gaze snapped open. His searing brilliance met Cyrus' light, and the two clashed for a single moment. And yet, any mage would have been stunned by the results.

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Latriaen actually squinted! Physically squinted! This was an Ork who stared deep into raging flames without so much as a blink, but now he was forced to narrow his gaze!

"Strange," he muttered before shutting his eyes once more. It wasn't his matter to wonder about.

Meanwhile, the light returned to its origin and disappeared as if satisfied by the result. And what was left was a new light rune. Cyrus' one hundred and fifty-first. And with its new companion, the other runes calmed down, but not without becoming just a bit more solid.

Cyrus was brought back to reality. Excitement building, he shot up into a stand and inspected himself. The sight of his new rune compelled a smile to shine across his face.

"One step closer," Cyrus whispered.

His goal was now updated to meet the three-hundred-fifty and affinity mark for his adept ascension. And it brought him high expectations.

Glamour.

But that was for later. Calming down, Cyrus glanced over to Latriaen. The Ork remained silent, offering neither congratulations nor appraisal.

Well, it's not like we're close or anything. Cyrus shrugged.

Now was the fun part: finding out what the transformation blessed him with.

After absorbing a crystal, Cyrus channeled his mana through his runes. However, he was left with only a single light shooting out of his finger. Frowning, he tried again and again. But no matter how hard he willed or visualized, the light remained as such, unyielding to be reshaped.

"It's impossible," Cyrus muttered, shaking his head.

Fire was somewhat capable of being molded by his will and thoughts. But light was different. Was it because of its properties? True enough, it would move on forever if given the chance. So, in the end, Cyrus was, quite literally, a living flashlight.

"What's the issue?" Latriaen interrupted Cyrus's thoughts, prompting him to turn to the man still resting against the tree.

"I can't shape light like I could with fire."

Latriaen observed Cyrus' glowing finger before shaking his head. "The few weak ones I've encountered couldn't either."

That frustrated Cyrus. Light appeared to have limited utility beyond combating darkness and offering potential attributes like speed in the future, and this so-called 'purification.' Yet these were so far away.

Was it worth investing time in mastering it? Or should I prioritize the others? It might take years before I can get something useful out of this.

It was still valuable against wraiths. But was that it?

However, Latriaen's subsequent words lifted Cyrus out of his despondency.

"But from what I've learned from those mages, shaping light into tangible objects was a common skill. They even told stories of how some formed solid weapons of pure light to fight their foes." He crossed his arms as his fiery gaze brightened with disdain. "But those were just that, stories. There may have been a time when it was a more common thing before civilization broke down, along with its knowledge."

Right. There could have been a proverbial dark age between the birth of the city-state Comraich and the sudden appearance of the fog.

"And probably due to the lack of mages and the struggle for survival, magical progress must have regressed," Cyrus mused, rubbing his chin. "But that doesn't mean that I can't try to figure it out myself."

The words spilled out instinctively, surprising even Cyrus. It was a nice feeling.

Latriaen appeared uncaring but didn't dissuade him. Instead, he advised, "Before anything else, focus on discovering what you can do now rather than fixating on the future."

With that, he left Cyrus to his devices, settling down on a fallen log used for sitting by the fire and attending to his spear. Mind churning with wishes and possibilities, Cyrus joined him by the crackling fire.

He replayed his ascension over and over again. There had to be something from its wake. Or was he just left with nothing? On and on, he thought. But all Cyrus could think about was the fine details of those surfaces and how his light went on forever.

It was like being just the cups of an idea, a thought, but missing that last bit.

"What could it be?" Cyrus muttered, furrowing his brow.

Chirp!

Bird landed on his lap and nestled comfortably. The sight of the canary brought a smile across Cyrus' face as a sudden thought crossed his mind.

"It's been a while since I've taken a picture of you." He cupped Bird in his hands. "Let's change that."

At the very least, it would be a pleasant keepsake for the future. After all, one day, there will be a day when the two will part ways.

Chirp!

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Cyrus said, smiling.

After placing Bird down, he went to his travel pack and pretended to rummage through it. The coast was clear after a discreet glance at Latriaen. And Cyrus channeled his mana and retrieved his camera from the spatial pouch.

"Found you," Cyrus lied as he snuck it into his pack.

Was it too unnatural? Should he practice more when he's alone? In any case, he searched for the perfect spot for the shot.

Click

Its screen illuminated and revealed a tiny white canary that stood on top of a log by the fire.

"Wait..." Cyrus knitted his brows in confusion. When his camera flashed, he felt something reminiscent of the light during his ascension. So he took another and another. And again, he felt the same result.

"What's happening?" Cyrus questioned out loud.

He turned to Latriaen. The Ork had been keeping an eye on him but remained quiet until now.

"This is an opportunity," he said, returning to wiping his spear. "I can help, but it would hurt instead."

Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, but then thought otherwise. He understood what he meant: this was an opportunity to strive on his own. So... Cyrus just kept taking pictures in silence. There was a connection between the camera's flash and his ability, but he could not bridge the two. In the end, he lowered his camera and fell into thought.

"Should I activate my runes while the camera goes off?" Cyrus mulled aloud. "Would something happen?"

There wasn't much else he could do. So, why not? He willed half his light runes to both hands each and channeled his mana, a low amount of it. And once they momentarily coated his camera with a dim light, a sudden change occurred.

Click

Another picture of Bird appeared. It appeared normal, and his camera seemed fine.

"Wait." Cyrus' gaze narrowed.

There. A pair of green and pale white dead pixels appeared right on Bird's chest.

"What the hell? Don't tell me the screen is broken now."

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