The retreat from the spring was conducted in silence. Nick kept his presence locked down, trusting their pace to carry them away from the grotto before he finally dared to reach into the ether.
Only when he judged them far enough did he draw on any mana, lifting the four of them from the depths of the Green Ocean and pulling them into the biting wind above the canopy. Below them, the forest stretched like a rolling sea of foliage, as befit its name.
Rose sat in the kinetic bubble, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She stared blankly at the air, and he knew her unique mana had given her a glimpse of what he was sure was an Ascended spirit, forcing her to realize that all the power in the kingdom meant nothing before true might.
Her arrogance—whether a gift of the royal bloodline or a product of her talent—had been stripped away by sheer scale. She had learned the insignificance of her position, and while not the way he’d intended, it was still necessary to become Nobody.
He dropped them in the courtyard of Crowley Manor just as the sun began to dip.
Devon and Sonya stumbled as they hit the ground. They were bruised and covered in dried dirt, their clothes torn in a dozen places. Yet they stood straighter now, not just because of the levels they’d earned.
There is something to be said for being thrown to the deep end. Devon already had perspective as Xander’s apprentice, but he had little experience in the field facing real danger.
“Take the rest of the evening to recover," Nick told his brother. "Keep her inside until Arthur comes to get her, and do not speak of what we saw until we can discuss it in the morning.”
Technically, he should have shown more deference to Devon, but they both knew it’d be lip service at best. Though they were nobles, they’d grown up differently from pampered scions.
Devon nodded, too exhausted for anything else, and placed a guiding hand on Rose’s shoulder, leading the girls toward the manor’s doors.
Nick, however, did not follow them. He turned and walked toward the merchant district, taking a moment to ease the tension that had gripped him since he realized what they’d stumbled upon.
The streets of Floria settled into the evening lull. The scent of roasting mutton, ale, and woodsmoke drifted from the taverns’ open doors. Merchants shuttered their stalls, counting copper and silver in the fading light.
It was a peaceful scene, exactly what he needed to regain his stability and prepare to set up the ritual.
Ogden’s apothecary stood dark, the wooden 'closed' sign hanging in the window. Nick pushed the door open, stepping into a wall of acrid fumes that tingled in the ether, telling him that powerful magic was at work.
The man himself sat behind the counter. He looked tired, something he couldn’t ever remember seeing. The lines around his mouth were carved deep, and his presence, though still mighty, seemed muted.
It must have taken a lot out of him. If so, I would have had no chance of succeeding on my own.
A single, null iron-lined glass vial sat on a velvet cloth between them.
There was something strange about it that went even deeper than the darkness he could see. Within it was a swirling sludge that seemed to actively repel the lumen-stones illuminating the workbench. It moved sluggishly against the glass, almost like a living thing trying to escape its cage. Looking at it made Nick’s esoteric senses itch with warning, and the ether’s eddies seemed to avoid it.
It’s not unnatural, to be precise. Nothing demonic or divine. But it’s definitely very dangerous.
“Is that it?” He asked, eyeing the vial warily.
“Indeed, the Dragon's Ink," Ogden rasped. His voice dropped an octave, and his human disguise slipped just enough for the vertical slits of his eyes to pulse with molten gold. "A lie distilled into physical form. It actively resists the order of the World while still being part of it. It will allow you to alter the nature of any mortal it is used on, if only for a time. Even I can only do so much without risking permanent changes.”
Nick hummed. “Do I need to worry about interactions with foreign mana?”
He could work around that, but it’d require some adaptations to the ritual he had in mind, and he’d really like to get it over with as quickly as possible so the effect might take hold before the Shadow got anywhere near Floria.
“No, it is designed to work with any school. But you must understand the risk, Nicholas. If your spellcraft falters for even a heartbeat, the ink will burn the girl from the inside out. The System has built-in defenses against tampering. You will be fighting the interface itself, wrestling with the very laws that govern this reality.”
Before he could say anything, footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs. Rhea emerged from the cellars, just as tired as her master. She walked to the counter, forcing her expression into something less ragged.
"She will need someone there to stabilize her," she said, looking directly at Nick. "The alchemical shock alone will stop her heart before the ink can even bind to her mana channels, and you’ll be too busy overseeing the integration to care for her.”
Nick turned to his friend. "Can you do it?”
Elia’s healing talents might have been greater, but he didn’t want to introduce yet another variable. Already, using the Temple of Sashara as a base would make things complicated enough.
Taking into account an entirely new set of beliefs and divine powers… No, it was best to limit those things.
"I helped brew it, and Master ensured I knew how to handle its effects,” Rhea said, producing three smaller vials of pale fluid from her apron. “I have tested it on several subjects to learn exactly how it behaves, and now I know how it degrades organic tissue. With these, I can regulate her mana and fortify her body to withstand the ink.”
He gave a nod, unwilling to argue with her on this, since Ogden seemed determined to let her do it. "Bring whatever you might need. We’ll meet the others at the Temple and get things started.”
The walk through the evening streets was blessedly swift. The moon was shrouded by a passing cloud, leaving the town bathed in the shifting light of the watch fires along the outer walls.
They were met at the Temple gardens by an acolyte, who bowed to him and silently led them down into the bowles, where a sprawling vault of cold, rough-hewn stone served as the undercroft.
Shadows danced wildly against the pillars as hundreds of candle flames flickered in strange drafts he couldn’t quite feel.
Prelate Marthas stood by a central slab of white marble, wearing only a simple linen waistcloth, his dark skin marked by crimson tattoos that shifted and writhed in the dim light. He radiated heat, and for the first time since he had seen him fight in the dungeon, Nick could sense a burning resolve in him, a zealous desire to do whatever it took to please his Goddess.
Arthur and Rose waited near the far wall. Rose had shed her leather armor, wearing a simple, loose-fitting linen tunic that had likely been given to her by the temple. She looked pale, clutching her calloused hands together to keep them from trembling, yet seemed determined to see this through.
Arthur stepped forward as Nick and Rhea entered the vault. He looked exhausted, clearly shaken by what he had to do to keep his granddaughter safe, but he didn’t hesitate to pull Nick aside, moving into the deeper shadows near a stone pillar, away from the others, while Rhea unloaded her supplies.
"Marthas told me what this will cost you," Arthur murmured, his voice a low, gravelly grating. "To summon the System interface directly, to force it to manifest and accept a new template without a natural trigger... he says you are burning the favor you earned from the Goddess. The grace you won by saving her avatar in the North.”
Nick held his gaze steadily. The divine favor earned by saving Sashara's piece from the Circle of Pure Souls was a priceless political and spiritual shield. It was a trump card he could have used to save his own life if even the King himself had desired to harm him. But holding onto a divine favor while his family swung from a rope and Floria burned served no purpose.
"My family built this town with your sword, Arthur," he replied quietly, his tone brooking no argument. "House Crowley protects its own, and we pay our debts. This is simply what needs to be done.”
Arthur gripped Nick's shoulder, his calloused fingers digging into the dark silk. He offered no further words, only a nod that said he would repay this favor at all costs, then stepped back to stand beside his granddaughter.
Nick approached the marble slab. He set the ink vial on the stone, the dark liquid swirling angrily inside the glass, resisting the temple’s holy aura.
He unclasped his cloak, draped it over a nearby bench, and rolled up his sleeves.
Setting up a Great Work required absolute precision. It was a ritual of profound consequence, a sequence of esoteric actions designed to shape reality into a new, permanent form.
In the past, Nick would have followed the rigid diagrams from old grimoires, trusting the dead men who wrote them and hoping his mana was sufficient to fuel the lines, as he had for the ritual that led him to sacrifice the massive thunderhoof herd.
Now, as an Eidolon, he could direct it himself.
He took a moment to look at Rose, peeling back the layers of her existence to observe the golden, frictionless flow of her royal lineage. He mapped the extent of her bloodline, noting where the magic anchored to her soul and to her mana veins. He saw the arrogant rhythm of the gold as it demanded obedience from the ambient ether.
Only after he’d ensured everything was as he desired did he speak. "Lie on the stone, Rose.”
She climbed onto the cold marble, lying flat, her eyes fixed on the vaulted ceiling. Rhea moved to her side, uncorking the first of the pale stabilizers and preparing a glass syringe in case it became necessary to inject her.
Hopefully, Rose would retain enough of her mind not to need it, but it was there just in case.
Once everything was settled and everyone had taken their places, Nick took a piece of chalk infused with crushed obsidian and ash from Sashara’s hearth. He knelt on the stone floor and began to draw.
He drew an asymmetrical array, adjusting the runes’ angles on the fly to tailor the containment field to the exact resonance of Rose's mana. He felt the stone’s hum beneath him, aligning the physical drawing with the temple’s invisible currents of divine power. He carved pathways for the ambient mana to escape, ensuring the summoning would not shatter the undercroft.
“The System classifies you by the truth of your nature," Nick explained, his voice echoing in the cold room as the chalk scraped across the stone. "To force a new Status sheet to take hold, we must perform a Ritual of Unbecoming. We will follow the conceptual path of an ancient king who sailed into the cave of a one-eyed giant. To survive, he had to blind the monster and forsake his crown.”
He finished the outer ring and moved inward, inscribing the runes of suppression and silence.
"There are three Steps to this Work," Nick continued, making sure Rose understood what was required to survive the magic, just as he knew that speaking the ritual's truth aloud could lend it greater stability. "The first is the Blinding. You must willingly reject the kingly mana when the catalyst is injected. The pain will tempt you to draw on your power to heal yourself and fight the incursion. If you do, the World will recognize the Royal claim, the friction will fail, and the ink will consume your heart.”
Rose nodded mutely.
"The second Step is the Naming," Nick said, finishing the intricate chalk lattice around the altar's base. "When the giant asked the king for his name, he claimed it was Nobody. When the System interface opens, it will interrogate your soul. You must project your rejection of the current state. Remember the spring in the deep woods. Remember the true scale of the world. You are not a descendant of the throne. You are a commoner, a swordswoman of the dirt. You must believe the lie down to your marrow.”
He stood, stepping back to inspect his work. It was flawless. A masterpiece, perfectly tuned to the girl on the slab, radiating a thrumming intent that made the air inside the chalk lines shimmer even before any mana was input.
“The third Step is the Escape," Nick concluded, looking across the slab at Marthas. "The king hid beneath the belly of a ram to slip past the blinded beast and escape the cave. We will hide your channels beneath a false template, and I will force the System to accept the new shape and lock it in place.”
At his gesture, Marthas stepped to the head of the slab. He raised his hands, and his crimson tattoos flared. The temperature in the undercroft spiked, and the candles abruptly melted into pools of wax.