Chapter 722: Paradoxical Aura
In a chamber that appeared deceptively ordinary yet exuded an ancient, paradoxical aura, space itself twisted as though preparing to regurgitate creation. In an instant, it spilled forth four figures, each one distinct, each bearing a presence befitting beings set apart from the mundane.
There was Klaus, firm and steady, beside him his graceful wife, Amara, and with them their radiant daughter, Vega. Standing alongside her, calm and serene, was Anthony, her soon-to-be husband.
Anthony and Vega let their eyes wander across the chamber, neither startled nor perturbed. But Anthony, with his heightened senses, discerned more than the her. The air was thick not only with mana but also with foreign currents of energy that coiled invisibly, woven into the atmosphere like threads of an arcane tapestry.
Across the chamber floor and its towering walls, faint inscriptions pulsed, rune formations etched in an ageless design, too subtle for the ordinary gaze. Thanks to his All-Seeing Eyes, Anthony perceived them in sharp detail, though even he could not yet decipher their aning.
’It seems we have left the Blue Planet entirely,’ Anthony reflected inwardly. Whether he knew the precise location was irrelevant; their location had already been chosen.
Vega turned her beautiful face toward her parents, her eyes questioning. "I thought you said there would be no runes or anything of that kind. Yet I can clearly see ancient ones engraved throughout this chamber."
Amara’s expression softened. Her voice, though calm, carried the weight of wisdom. "Do not misunderstand, my child. These runes are not ant to really do anything. They serve only to ease the pain you might feel during the awakening. How much relief they will offer, none can say. But even a fraction of comfort is better than nothing."
Vega nodded slowly, the explanation resonating with her heart. After all, what parent would willingly watch their child suffer?
Klaus then stepped forward, his voice steady but edged with solemn weight. "Sit at the center of the chamber. I am certain you are keeping track of the ti within your mind. When the mont strikes midnight, signifying the dawn of your new day, you must imdiately channel your mana into both The Fateweaver’s Charm and The Golden Die Of Eternity simultaneously. Your mother and I have already set the conditions into the runes. They will activate the mont you act."
Breathing deeply, Vega gave a firm nod. Without hesitation, she walked toward the chamber’s heart. There, she lowered herself gracefully, folding into a lotus position at the center of the runic circle.
Anthony, Amara, and Klaus withdrew several steps, forming a silent triangle around her. They did not know when, within the span of twenty-four hours, the awakening would begin. But patience was a necessity, they would remain, steadfast, until the appointed mont arrived.
A heavy silence settled over the chamber, as though even the air respected what was about to unfold. Minutes drifted by like centuries. Then, precisely ten minutes later, the ti struck midnight. Vega’s birthday had begun.
Without hesitation, mana surged from her palms, flowing like a rushing river into The Golden Die Of Eternity that rested in her hands. At the sa instant, twin streams of mana coursed into the Fateweaver’s Charms encircling her neck. The artifacts answered her call, erupting with waves of blue and green radiance, their light enfolding Vega until it seed the very fabric of the cosmos bent itself toward her destiny.
Expectation rippled through the chamber. Anthony, Klaus, and Amara each fixed their gaze upon Vega, their daughter, their beloved, the one their hopes and hearts converged upon.
Yet for long monts, nothing stirred beyond the light. Still, no one despaired. They had twenty-four hours, and patience was their only duty. They waited, silent, faces carved from stone, hearts beating in unison with anticipation.
Hours bled away unnoticed. The chamber remained unchanged, yet within that stillness, anticipation only grew sharper, more unbearable with every breath.
Vega’s posture remained composed, her figure a statue of serenity. Her consciousness seed to drift elsewhere, untethered from the present mont. There was nothing she could do to influence the awakening, this was not a matter of willpower or focus. The process would unfold of its own accord, and her sole duty would be to endure it.
Twenty hours passed in the blink of an eye. The silence endured, unbroken. But the unspoken bond of resolve kept them rooted, waiting for the inevitable shift.
And then, at last, the stillness fractured.
"I... I don’t feel so well..." Vega’s sweet voice trembled into the silence. "I feel... dizzy... and hot."
Beads of sweat broke across her forehead, soaking through her gown until the fabric clung damply to her trembling fra. Her vision spun, her world inverted as though gravity itself had abandoned her.
Still, Klaus, Amara, and Anthony did not move.
They only watched.
Her body began to shiver faintly, a gentle tremor at first, but one that escalated swiftly into violent convulsions. The runes etched throughout the chamber blazed to life, bursting in defiance as though awakened by her suffering. They flared brilliantly, channeling their designed purpose: to soften her tornt, even if only slightly.
Blood welled from Vega’s body, first trickling from her eyes, then her ears, then her nose. She clenched her teeth against the agony, but it was no use, the crimson flow spilled from her lips, rising from deep within her throat. The pain was not of flesh but of essence, a tornt searing straight into her soul.
The chamber quaked, energy spiraling wildly as if the entire structure struggled to contain what was being unleashed. The very air grew heavy, pressing against them with unbearable weight.
Vega’s body was lifted from the ground, suspended by an unseen force. Her form glowed with blinding brilliance, her back arched parallel to the floor as she floated in midair. Then, with a thunderous burst, radiant golden and white lights erupted outward from her body in waves, filling every crevice of the chamber.
Amara’s heart plumted. Klaus’s chest constricted, as though gripped by iron chains. They watched their daughter writhe in tornt, powerless, their parental instincts screaming against the cruelty of fate.
’If only she had been born with a higher-ranked bloodline, none of this would be necessary. She would not suffer. She would not bleed.’ They could not help but bla themselves.
Anthony, too, stood silent, his arms folded across his chest, his deanor the picture of calm. But beneath that mask, his heart twisted with agony. His lips bled and healed from biting down too hard, his nails dug into his arms, his entire body trembling as every muscle strained against the urge to intervene.
For the first ti, his Emperor’s Deanor failed him, the skill that had kept him unflinching in the face of war, chaos, and despair crumbled before love. Before Vega.
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