Tyrius quickly caught up to Arlac but remained on edge from the strange sensation he’d just experienced—and the odd behavior Arlac had shown.

  “Wait. What just happened? What was that?” he asked, his footsteps echoing sharply as he closed the gap.

  Arlac cast a quick glance down to the boy.

  “I was… moving my sanctuary,” he answered, each syllable carefully measured.

  “What do you mean you were moving it? Aren’t we in it?” Tyrius asked, gesturing around at the castle.

  “That is not for you to worry about right now. Now be quiet, and let’s go.”

  Tyrius could tell from his tone that Arlac was tense—but even though he curtly shut down the conversation, the negative emotions didn’t feel directed at him.

  Sensing it was best not to push further—and not wanting to earn Arlac’s ire—Tyrius shut his mouth and silently followed the man.

  They stepped through the now-parted crimson stone doors and beneath the towering archway.

  Upon entering, Tyrius almost stopped in his tracks again but forced himself to keep walking. The brief internal struggle made it look like he’d stumbled over his own feet. He just couldn’t help himself.

  He’d thought he’d grown used to how intricate and beautiful the castle was by now. He was wrong.

  The room beyond could only be described as a king’s throne room. It was a massive, circular chamber that seemed to be made from the galaxy itself. Everywhere Tyrius looked, colors swirled through the inky, cosmic-like stone.

  Lining the edges of the room were colossal, flowing white pillars that seamlessly meshed into the floor. Tyrius followed them upward—far, far above. The sparking, tubelike pillars diffused seamlessly into the dome above. His eyes scanned the ceiling, mesmerized by just how deep it felt.

  His steps began to slow unintentionally, and his eyes drifted upward. The more he looked, the more he saw what looked like linked constellations, but the second he tried to focus on any of them, it was as if he couldn’t—and he’d lose sight of them entirely. Each different grouping of brilliant energy seemed to feel different to him in ways he couldn't comprehend. It was most peculiar, and Tyrius wished he had more time to dissect them.

  But it seemed Arlac's patience was beginning to wear thin.

  Arlac had stopped at a set of stairs at the far end of the room and was looking intently at Tyrius as he dragged his feet.

  “Tyrius. Let’s. Go. Must I drag you?”

  The edge in his voice immediately brought Tyrius into compliance. He practically sprinted to his master's side and peered down the stairs, which seemed to be swallowed in darkness as they curved deeply into the floor, following the room’s arcing wall.

  Tyrius glanced at Arlac, who only motioned for him to proceed down.

  Tyrius nodded and took a few uncertain steps downward, descending beneath the throne room.

  The first thing he noticed after reaching the next floor was that the dazzlingly and sparkling pillars extended through the new ceiling, continuing into the room he now found himself in. But what truly caught his attention was the ceiling—and the walls. They looked like they were carved from the cosmos itself just like the room above, but they felt more intimate in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Every color or sparkle seemed to want to pull him in.

  It felt like he was inside a planetarium. All around him were what looked like shimmering stars and galaxies in a spectrum of colors, interwoven into a single grand tapestry.

  Tyrius paused in awe. Arlac strode past him without a word.

  In the center of the chamber rested circular slabs inlaid into one another, all leading toward a raised altar.

  Web-like patterns of etched lines and spiraling curves spread from the altar across the floor and into the walls.

  As Arlac passed over each section, the slabs rotated with a deep, smooth grinding noise. When he reached the center, everything stilled—then the various carvings on the stone lit up in white light. The lines of energy flared outward from the altar like a network of glowing veins.

  Unbothered, Arlac raised one hand, palm upward, over the altar. The room began to hum, and the surroundings seemed to warp and seep toward the man's hand. Energy from every direction rushed past Tyrius toward Arlac, condensing over his palm.

  Soon, a prismatic orb of light formed in his hand—and the room snapped back into place as if nothing had happened. Arlac then placed the orb on the center of the altar where it began to float lightly just over it. The ball rotated around for a few moments as it rose above the altar before stopping. The glowing lines then shifted from stark white into various colors, passing over one another.

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  Their designs seemed chaotic and overlapping, but Tyrius noticed that each color eventually led to a single point on the furthest edge of the largest circular slab. Each glowed brighter and hummed softly in its own pitch.

  Slowly, one by one, small flames began to ignite in the air above these points. Each burning ember matched the color of its energy line. Together, they circled the room at equal distances, forming a perfectly symmetrical ring of multicolored fires.

  As the last of the flames burst to life, Arlac turned and looked at Tyrius.

  “Come, Tyrius.”

  Tyrius stared at the floating flames, entranced, but slowly inched forward between two of them and stepped onto the platform. He looked around at everything with wide eyes but soon found himself standing before the altar, next to Arlac.

  “Are you ready to begin your Soul Well Ceremony?”

  Tyrius nodded nervously. He hadn’t been expecting such a spectacle. Arlac’s previous words about this being sacred suddenly made a lot more sense.

  “What do I do?” he asked quietly.

  “You’re going to place both hands on either side of the orb. Here... and here,” Arlac said, pointing to either side.

  Tyrius nodded and lifted his hands, but Arlac’s hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist.

  “Carefully now. The moment you touch it, the ceremony begins. I am going to step off the ritual circle—and only then may you touch the orb. Remember to do so at the exact same time. Do you understand?”

  Tyrius looked up at Arlac, who wore a serious expression, and nodded.

  “Yes. But… what do I do after I touch it?”

  “Good.” He answered ignoring his question before continuing.

  “I cannot say, but you will know what to do when you feel it. You may begin the ceremony after I leave the circle,” Arlac said, releasing Tyrius’ wrist and walking off the platform.

  Tyrius watched closely, ensuring Arlac had stepped off the last slab. The man turned around once he cleared the edge and nodded to the boy.

  Tyrius took a deep breath and locked eyes with the orb.

  Like everything else in the castle, it churned and swirled with power.

  He exhaled slowly—and pressed both palms against it.

  The very moment his palms made contact, Tyrius felt a cold, sharp energy try to burrow into his hands. The sensation was almost violent, and it worried Tyrius. He instinctively tried to pull away—but found his hands frozen in place.

  The strange energy forced its way into him. As it slipped beneath his skin, an ethereal ache bloomed in his chest. Tyrius focused on the sensation and realized it felt eerily similar to when his soul had been damaged—only now, that same part of him was reaching outward, trying to drink in the invading energy.

  He didn’t allow it right away. Instead, he cautiously studied the power. It felt similar to mana—though far more raw and primal. He continued to feel around until he was confident it wasn’t dangerous.

  That was when Tyrius believed he understood the purpose. He allowed the energy to enter unimpeded and tried to pull it in, to draw it into his core where the empty ache was radiating from.

  It responded.

  In a wave it surged up his arms, rolled through his shoulders, and plunged deep into his chest. It was sudden. Uncomfortable. His breath caught in his throat.

  The moment the two sensations connected Tyrius knew he was right immediately. The feeling was his soul and it was trying to take in this strange form of mana and make it his own.

  It slowly trickled into him and underneath the discomfort it felt powerful. He lost himself in the feeling as it settled inside him. As he watched the flow he realized some of the strange mana was dissipating into the air. His stomach dropped, it was being wasted. This bothered him. He didn’t want to lose out on any of this power.

  Tyrius needed more.

  No—he wanted more.

  He shoved the discomfort aside and centered his focus on his breathing. With each inhale, he focused on pulling in more, and the flow grew faster—stronger.

  It was working. Less of it was being dissipated.

  A pressure began to build in his core. The influx of energy felt like a heavy fog trapped in his chest and Tyrius began to have an overfull feeling deep inside, like a balloon being steadily overinflated.

  He didn’t know what was normal for a ceremony like this—it was allegedly different for everyone. But Tyrius only knew one thing: he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to miss a single drop. He pushed his [Spiritual Body] into overdrive and commanded it to pull in more.

  His body began to glow brightly and he could feel his influence digging into the orb. Tapping into its depths. It felt like an ocean.

  He visualized a sink drain pulling in water to his hands.

  The mana obeyed and more and more was dragging in.

  Tyrius soon began to feel as if he was reaching his capacity but he still wanted more. So, instead of stopping, Tyrius tried another idea. He tried imaging the airy energy condensing in on itself. It was slow at first but the mana began to converge toward a central point within him, swirling inward like a whirlpool. Nothing happened at first, but the hazy cloud of energy soon began to thicken into something denser—liquid. It pooled together deep in the pit of his soul.

  Tyrius couldn’t help but smile. His plan worked and he could feel his capacity open up again. With renewed efforts he began pulling harder than ever to now feed this growing whirlpool.

  It was immensely uncomfortable and took a lot of focus, but he continued to meditate on his breathing. Every inhale drew more into him where he pushed it deep into the swirling pool. Even still, he began to feel his input wane and struggle to keep up. So, he changed his outlook and imagined his hands not as a sink drain but instead like magnets, sucking up the mana—and again, the energy listened.

  This worked for a small period of time. However, a new issue soon surfaced.

  Tyrius began to notice it was starting to feel like he was drowning, the more he pulled the more it felt like his head was being shoved underwater. It was getting hard to breathe and that was causing him to lose his grip.

  Desperate to control it, he tried to picture the liquid solidifying further—tried to compact it down more—but no matter how hard he tried or pushed, it stayed in this fluid like state. And still more was continuing to pour in.

  He was beginning to strain too much. The ache in his chest started to feel like it was cracking and splintering. He knew he was reaching his limits.

  So, he took one slow exhale before pulling in a big final breath—deep and forceful—and dragged in as much mana as he could with it.

  Then he held it.

  Afraid that even exhaling would cost him power.

  Finally, he found himself able to let go of the crystal. He looked over it. Its glow was nearly gone. Dim. Drained.

  Like it had been sucked dry.

  He looked up—

  And caught Arlac staring at him with a rare look of shock that vanished as soon as he saw it.

  Tyrius felt a small warm pulse radiate out from the center of his being. It was comforting and soothing.

  Then without warning the world around him collapsed in on itself and was swallowed by an encroaching wall of blackness. It swept across the room and fully swallowed Tyrius.

  He tried to yell out to Arlac for help but his words never made it before he was swept away into the darkness.