After the Leviathan was vanquished, the sky resonated with the final roar of the Ancient, its echo swirling amidst the low-hanging gray clouds that seemed to mourn the lost battles of a shattered world. Fitran stood amidst the ruins, the ground beneath him littered with debris, while swirling dust danced in the air, stirred by the waves of destruction and the invisible currents of fate. The very atmosphere was thick with unspoken suffering and lingering shadows of the past. In this heavy silence, a soft yet weighty voice pierced through: Rinoa's faint cough emerged, struggling to break free from the oppressive quiet that encompassed them.
It was neither a resonating scream nor a heartbreaking wail; rather, it was the gentle whisper of a body reluctant to surrender to despair—a statement of existence battling against the overwhelming darkness. "I... am fine," Rinoa declared, her voice trembling as she fought to stand, her legs quaking beneath her like fragile reeds swaying in a tempest. Yet, in that moment, Fitran discerned something deeper. Behind her brave facade lay a profound vulnerability; Rinoa was devoid of the true strength required to harness the magic coursing within her delicate frame. Her body had become nothing more than an empty shell—adrift and unanchored, like leaves tossed by an indifferent wind—relying solely on a surge of raw emotions, suffocating scars, and a blind love that partially sustained her.
Fitran gazed earnestly at her, not with pity but with a newfound clarity that cut through the haze: "If she keeps fighting, she will perish. Not due to an enemy, but because of herself." From the depths of that profound despair, a glimmer of possibility emerged—unexpected and luminous, sparkling with temptation and hope.
"Healer," whispered Fitran, his soft voice trembling like a gentle breeze caressing the leaves, each syllable laden with tenderness. "Not a fighter. Not a hunter. But a healer. Not from where, but from intention."
Rinoa gazed at Fitran, her expression a mix of puzzlement and uncertainty, her eyes shimmering like stars behind a veil of clouded doubt, desperately trying to fend off the encroaching shadows of despair that loomed within her. "But I... don't have the energy for that," she murmured, her voice barely audible, a fragile whisper that dissipated like mist, leaving behind only the faintest glimmer of hope.
"True. Because you are not a vessel of mana. However, perhaps you are a channel for the pain of others," Fitran explained gently, an ember of conviction igniting in his soul, ablaze like a pulsar lighting the night sky. "You may not wield magic, but you can translate suffering. Become a bridge of understanding. A form of healing." Each word flowed from his lips with an unexpected warmth, wrapping around Rinoa like a comforting embrace, offering a balm to her troubled heart.
In Fitran's mind, a new path unfolded—one he had never traversed before: the path of forgiveness. This road unfurled gently and gradually, not one that tears apart, but one that mends and heals. Rinoa—whose body could no longer contain mana, limp yet tightly bound by the profound love she had for others—symbolized this transformation, a beacon of recovery that defied the clutches of despair, shining brightly in the dimmest of times.
She was neither a mage nor a warrior; yet, she emerged as the last healer, an integral figure woven into a new legend, poised to restore the shattered fragments of a world ravaged by those who wielded power without restraint.
"Healer?" Rinoa's voice trembled, hoarse and saturated with anguish; tears cascaded down her cheeks, not from the aches of physical wounds, but from the deep, unhealable scars of emotional turmoil that no spell could cure. "You want me to be a healer after everything we've faced? After all I've killed for you?" Her question resonated with a haunting weight, stabbing deeper than any physical battle they had fought together.
Fitran fell into a heavy silence, ensnared by his inability to find words, allowing her poignant question to linger like a dense fog enveloping the space between them.
"I was not created to heal others' wounds, Fitran," she declared, her voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. "I... was born from wounds. I endure not to be a beacon of light, but to grasp the darkness that even you hesitate to confront." The gravity of her words hung in the air, punctuating the weight of her long and arduous journey.
As a gentle wind stirred, it carried a refreshing coolness, inviting the surf to murmur its ancient tales. The soft lapping of the waves unfurled into the stillness, weaving a tense, solitary atmosphere, as if the entire cosmos bore witness to this deep, emotional exchange.
"I do not wish to live safely. I want to live truly—according to my own vision. And if that means I must be destroyed, then let me be the one to choose when and how," Rinoa asserted, her eyes ablaze with a fervent spirit, radiating intensity that seemed to ignite the very air around her.
Fitran remained silent, yet his eyes—those of a Voidwright—quivered slightly, betraying an inner turmoil as if at war with something profound deep within him. In that moment, perhaps for the first time since he had embraced existence as a lofty observer of the world, he found himself momentarily forgetting that the souls he endeavored to save held their own aspirations and dreams, ensnared within the intricate web of fate.
"I will return to Atlantis," Rinoa declared, her voice carrying an unwavering determination that reverberated through the air like a bell tolling for a forgotten time. "I am not finished with my research on Gamma. I am convinced that those particles are remnants of something far older than mere water and aether. Perhaps… they could unlock my body. Maybe… I don't have to remain a healer, Fitran. Perhaps I can forge my own brand of magic."
With a sharp, challenging gaze, she continued, "You owe me. You must accept my thesis; Master Elbert is gone, and you are the sole person who can."
With heavy yet resolute steps, Rinoa turned her back to him and left, her silhouette cutting through the cold, oppressive air that seemed to cling to her like a shroud. She ventured toward the Northern Tower of Atlantis, a looming structure draped in the echoes of history, traversing a path lined with the haunting shadows of her past that lingered in her thoughts, like ghosts whispering of old wounds. Yet, ahead of her lay the promise of the academic world—a vibrant realm rich with daring experiments and revolutionary theories capable of challenging the long-held logic of elder mages. In this hallowed space, she felt truly alive: not merely as a tool, nor as a victim, nor even as a healer, but as a liberated scientist. As Rinoa, she stood defiant against the barriers set before her, her heart fueled by a relentless pursuit of knowledge, determined to unveil the mysteries that beckoned from beyond the horizon.
Atlantis Magic School,
The main hall of the Atlantis Tower was steeped in silence, its stillness creating an eerie atmosphere that enveloped the room like a thick fog. Under the imposing shadows of towering pillars, each representing ancient magic, and amidst the faintly shimmering glyphs that pulsated with an otherworldly energy, the elder mages fixed their keen eyes upon the solitary figure who stood boldly in the center of the forum—Rinoa.
Clad in a tattered dark cloak, her attire was not a mark of shame but a testament to the long and arduous journey she had endured. Rinoa's eyes gleamed with unwavering intensity—not out of anger, but as if she were scrutinizing the very fabric of reality, tirelessly searching for her rightful place in a world that consistently sought to push her away from all that she held dear.
"As you all know," her voice rang through the expansive space with startling clarity, resonating against the walls like a clarion call, "I do not possess a mana core. I never have, and I never will."
Several elders exchanged furtive glances, the air thick with tension. Some scoffed quietly, their disdain barely masked, while others activated intricate detection spells, their fingers dancing in the air as they prepared to unveil any deceptions lurking beneath Rinoa's words.
"Yet during the last battle with Leviathan," Rinoa continued, her voice unwavering and charged with fervor, "I did not perish. I stood resolute amid the ruins, where debris rained down like a dark omen. In that chaos, as the world around me crumbled, I heard... a profound resonance that echoed deep within my soul."
"Leviathan, you say," a snarky Elder interjected, his voice oozing with sarcasm. "Don't stop boasting, Rinoa." His face was a mask of skepticism, eyebrows arched in challenge as he scrutinized her honesty.
"Did all of this happen after Elbert died?" he prodded further, doubt lacing his words like poison. "Your thoughts seem scattered." His tone sharpened, casting a shadow over her claims, as if he were determined to shred the tapestry of her narrative apart.
"You've also been identified by the Gaia government as a traitor in the Arkanum Veritas case," another Elder remarked, folding his arms tightly across his chest like a fortress gate closing shut. "I've received numerous complaints regarding that." His voice, hoarse and sharp, sliced through the air, creating an palpable tension that wrapped around everyone in the room.
"So, what about the outcome? You still managed to destroy Arkanum Veritas," the Elder retorted, his penetrating gaze fixing on Rinoa as if attempting to unravel the truth layered beneath her words. "Lord Fitran has given his testimony." Although a hint of acknowledgment for Rinoa's achievement lingered in his tone, it was still tangled with skepticism's shadows.
"So, can you tell us more about your situation?" prompted one of the Elders, his voice weaving through the lingering air of doubt that hung heavily like a storm cloud.
Rinoa raised her right hand, fingers reaching out as if trying to grasp the very essence of the world around her. Fine cracks appeared on her skin, glowing faintly like fissures shimmering under a starlit night sky. Her silhouette seemed to shimmer and distort in the unsettling glow of that mysterious light.
"I don't just endure," she declared with a burning enthusiasm that radiated from her very core. "I resonate. With the ground beneath me. With the air around me. With the deepening wounds of the world." As her voice softened, it swelled in power, illuminating the dark corners of doubt with the bright fire of her conviction.
Lord Magister Halven, one of the elders, interrupted with a chilling coldness that pierced through the warmth of Rinoa's fervor. "Emotional resonance proves nothing, my child. You are in a state of trauma. What you hear is merely the echo of your dying body." His sharp gaze scrutinized her, as if he were attempting to strip away every ounce of hope woven into her words, leaving behind only stark realism.
"No." Rinoa lifted her chin defiantly, her gaze cutting through the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded her. "It is not the echo of my body. It is the voice of Gamma." Each word resonated with an assertiveness that commanded the attention of every elder in the room.
The entire chamber fell into a profound silence, as if the very air had stilled and time itself was suspended in a moment of tense anticipation.
"Gamma," she repeated, each syllable deliberate, underscoring the weight of what she was about to reveal. "was the continent annihilated in the Heaven Wars." She inhaled deeply, feeling the invisible pressure weigh heavily on her chest, striving to muster the strength to press on.
"What you don't realize is that Gamma is more than just land. It is an entity with existence. The continent was alive, or at least it once was. And like any other living being, when it met its demise, it... screamed. Somehow, I—heard that scream, the haunting echo of anguish etched into the annals of history."
Several elders present shifted uneasily, their expressions revealing their disbelief, yet they could not deny the power of her declaration, which had shattered the confines of their rational understanding.
"My body," Rinoa continued, her voice steady and profound, cutting through the thick silence, "is not just an ordinary channel. Rather, it may be a channel of the remnants of Gamma's own will, the last vibrations of a world torn asunder."
She carefully unrolled the manuscript, a precious artifact of her own creation, revealing her intricate handwriting that sprawled across the pages. The delicate diagrams twisted and twirled like tendrils of smoke, while mysterious symbols flickered with an otherworldly glow. Graphs danced rhythmically in wave patterns, illustrating forms of energy that defied conventional understanding of mana or aether. Instead, these enigmatic forms aligned with the traumatic echoes saturating the cosmos, reminiscent of EEG readings of a patient lost in the throes of chronic nightmares, offering clues that eluded the grasp of ordinary minds.
"Gamma particles," Rinoa whispered, her soft voice slicing through the stillness of the room like a knife through fog, "are not merely raw materials for magic. They embody a fractal of collective suffering from a continent devastated beyond recognition. These particles cradle memories, not energy; they are not to be manipulated... but to be honored and understood."
Her gaze locked onto the vacant center seat, once filled by Master Elbert, and an overwhelming sense of loss eclipsed the air, thickening the atmosphere with unspoken grief.
"If you do not accept my theory, if you turn your back on this experiment, I understand. But do not stifle my quest. For I am not searching for answers to mend this world. I seek the voices you silenced, voices that hold the key to unveiling the truths hidden in the shadows of history."
With a slow, deliberate bow of her head, she continued—with a voice that trembled, heavy with emotion—a profound confession:
"And I... I suspect... that I do not belong to any nation. Perhaps, just perhaps, I am the very embodiment of Gamma itself, the last witness to a history long forgotten."
The silence that enveloped the room after Rinoa's declaration felt like the suffocating pressure found in the depths of the ocean—dense, cold, and lethal. Each tick of the glyph clock hanging on the wall punctuated the air with a monotonous rhythm, becoming the only sound in the strained atmosphere before it slowly faded into a tense stillness…
"You insult history."
The voice echoed through the chamber, firm and undeniable. It belonged to Elder Valdrienne, the holder of the Third Seat in the Atlantis Council. His silver hair cascaded gracefully, resembling a flowing river of ice, and the fierce light in his eyes radiated an uncontrollable aristocratic rage that rippled through the room.
"Gamma is a deep-seated tragedy—an obscured chapter enveloped in shadow, tightly sealed by the hands of our ancestors. And now, you—who do not even belong to the core caste—dare to emerge and claim yourself as the last witness? Who do you believe yourself to be?"
Rinoa stood unmoved, her posture resolute, while her eyes stared blankly at the wall ahead, as if tracing the precarious line between bravery and folly in her heart.
"Your theory is not just reckless," Valdrienne continued, his voice a cold blade slicing through the tension, "it is profoundly dangerous. If the Gamma particles indeed form part of the collective memory of the lost continent, then pursuing them is akin to reopening the ancient curse that obliterated seven million souls from existence. We will not permit you to write about it, let alone explore its depths."
Another voice, calmer yet equally poignant, broke the tense silence like a soft breeze through a stagnant room.
"However, the empirical data... cannot simply be ignored," he asserted, his timbre steady and deliberate.
It was the voice of Elder Marcellus, the esteemed holder of the Sixth Seat, always distinguished by his composed demeanor. He embodied the essence of reason, a true empiricist, with clear eyes that reflected an unwavering neutrality, untouched by the tumult of ambition that raged around him.
"I perceive the emotional wave fluctuations he carries," he continued, his voice resonating with an attentiveness to nuances that others overlooked. "They do not align with mana, nor with aether. Yet, within that chaotic dance, there exists an exhilarating order—a rhythm that pulses like the heartbeat of a collective consciousness trapped within the very fabric of time."
Soft whispers began to flit among several elders, like wisps of smoke curling through the air, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and uncertainty.
With a sharp gaze that pierced through the gathering and a condescending tone laced with disdain, Valdrienne hissed, "Don't get trapped in the romance of suffering, Marcellus. We are the guardians of this tower, not the diggers of cursed burial grounds that only bring sorrow."
However, before Marcellus could muster a response, a deep resonant voice echoed from the right end of the table—Elder Nemiah from Chair Two, who had been silent and lost in profound contemplation. His voice rolled like thunder, rich and commanding, as he spoke, "Let him try," he said, softly yet weighty, as if every word carried immense power. "Let him prove that Gamma is not dead. If he fails, he will only be shattered like the others. But if he succeeds… then perhaps we have killed more than we imagined during that War."
Feeling provoked, Valdrienne slammed her glyph staff hard against the stone floor, the sound reverberating through the silent meeting room like a crack of lightning, sharp and jarring. "This is an insult to the institution!" she shouted, her face flushed crimson with fury, her anger radiating like heat from a flame.
"This serves as a reminder that we are not perfect," Nemiah replied, his tone calm yet piercing, as if he were driving a truth arrow into the room. "And sometimes, it is the weak who bear witness most honestly."
Rinoa's eyes widened slightly in astonishment, her breath catching in her throat. It was the first time she had seen a Council member openly defend herself, and within her, hope began to blossom like a fragile flower pushing through the cracks of a stubborn stone.
After a tense moment of silence that hung thick in the air, the powerful voice of the central glyph resonated through the charged atmosphere, sending ripples of unease among the gathered Council members. The eldest Elder, Chairwoman Lysandra, a figure often reserved for the most critical of decisions, at last unveiled her deep, sharp eyes, their intensity piercing through the uncertainty.
"Evidence will be scrutinized. Researchers will be monitored. And if a single curse reemerges, then you, Rinoa, will be annihilated alongside your experiment," her voice sliced through the stillness with a firmness that made the very air feel electric. "However, until that time... we allow you to continue your research on Gamma," she stipulated, her tone neither warm nor cruel, but a stark reminder of the weight of her authority, "that is, you must have a responsible supervisor."
Rinoa nodded slowly and deeply, an almost reverent gesture, reminiscent of someone bowing before a mother's tomb—symbolizing both her profound dependence on this fragile opportunity and the flicker of hope nestled within her heart.
Yet, as she turned away, a tremor coursed through Rinoa's heart. She instinctively understood that this was not a blessing, but rather a harrowing test—a challenge to demonstrate whether her pursuit was truly a reflection of her genuine self, the authentic Rinoa, or simply an echo of a past marked by destruction yet to be resolved.