Rain poured down from the night sky.
Cold water beat against rooftops, stone streets, and the dark forest outside Aldren Port.
Thunder rolled in the distance.
Lightning flashed white across the clouds.
Even so, the blue flames burning in the clearing refused to die.
They crawled over the ground in strange lines, forming circles and symbols that twisted in ways the eye did not like.
Each drop of rain that fell on them sizzled and vanished.
At the center of the ritual stood a woman.
Her long black hair was soaked and clung to her face.
Her hands were chained above her head to a stone pillar.
Blue light reflected in her eyes, but her gaze was calm.
In front of her, rough hooded figures finished smearing blood onto the stone.
Their masks were crudely carved, but the sigil on their robes was not.
The symbol burned on their robes, a twisted sharp horn wrapped around a single eye.
Behind a cluster of rocks at the edge of the clearing, two small figures huddled together.
Oliver and Fiona.
He was shorter and thinner, hair sticking to his forehead in the rain, lips trembling.
Fiona was even smaller, her dress soaked, bare feet pressed into the mud.
Her eyes were wide and red, but they did not look away from the altar.
"Mother…" she whispered, voice hoarse.
Oliver wanted to tell her to be quiet, but his throat refused to work.
Blue light pulsed.
The cultists began to chant in unison.
"Lux falsa, oculus unus,
cor fractum, sanguis funde."
Each word seemed to make the fire crawl higher over the stone, like something was answering from beneath.
On the altar, Fiona's mother slowly turned her head.
Her gaze passed over the dark trees.
For a brief moment, her eyes met Fiona's.
Fiona's hands clenched around Oliver's sleeve.
"Mother!" she croaked.
The woman did not speak. Her lips moved slightly, shaping a single word.
Run.
The chanting grew louder.
A hooded figure stepped forward, carrying a blade that dripped cold blue light instead of blood. He lifted it slowly, aiming for the prisoner's chest.
The night split.
A pillar of golden light smashed into the clearing from above.
Blue flame scattered like water kicked aside. The nearest cultist screamed as golden power tore through his body.
The blade flew out of his hand and landed uselessly in the mud.
"Helena!" a voice roared. "You dare touch her in my territory!"
Fiona's head jerked toward the sound.
At the edge of the clearing, a man walked out of the rain.
Viscount Harrow.
He wore a simple dark armor, but golden light wrapped around him like a cloak.
His eyes glowed faintly, and each step he took crushed the twisted symbols underfoot.
"Kill him!" one cultist shouted.
Multiple figures threw up their hands, drawing on the blue flames.
Spears of corrupted light formed and shot toward the Viscount.
He raised his hand and cut the air.
A golden arc burst forward.
It met the blue spears and sliced through them, turning them into harmless sparks.
The same light continued on, cutting through several cultists like they were paper dolls.
The ritual circle cracked.
Chains around Fiona's mother flashed.
One after another, the links shattered and dropped to the stone.
"Run!" Viscount Harrow shouted without looking back. "Take Fiona and get away from here!"
Only then did Oliver move, he grabbed Fiona's wrist.
"Come on!" he hissed.
"I will not leave!" Fiona yelled. Her eyes flooded with tears. "We have to save Mother! Don't you love her too!?"
Oliver's chest tightened. He did like Fiona's mother.
She was always kind to him, treating him like her own son.
She never forget to gave him his favourite snacks when he visited.
Her smile was warm.
But the chanting had not stopped.
Even with cultists falling, some of them kept muttering their words, hands pressed to the ground, trying to force the ritual forward.
The blue flame darkened.
"Fiona!" Oliver shouted. "If we stay, your father cannot fight properly!"
Her small body trembled.
Behind them, a wave of golden light and blue fire collided.
The impact threw sparks and twisted shadows across the trees.
"Go!" Viscount Harrow's voice roared. "Do not look back!"
Fiona bit her lip until it bled
Then Oliver forcefully pull her with him.
They ran.
Mud splashed under their feet as they stumbled through the trees.
Thunder cracked again. Rain beat their faces.
The sound of battle faded behind them, replaced by their own rough breathing and the pounding of their hearts.
At some point, Fiona tripped.
Oliver turned and grabbed her arm, pulling her back up.
He wanted to tell her that it would be fine, that her mother would return, that there's no way Viscount Harrow would lose.
But when His mouth opened, No words came out.
They kept running until the trees thinned and the ground rose slightly.
Only when they were far from the strange blue light did Oliver dare to slow down.
He turned.
The forest behind them glowed.
BOOM!!!
A huge pillar of blue flame shot into the sky, piercing the dark clouds.
It looked like a claw trying to tear open the heavens.
Thunder rolled around it, but the rain still could not touch it.
Inside that towering flame, one red lights slowly opened.
Eyes, a huge demonic eyes.
It looked down at the land with no warmth in its eyes.
There was only hunger and contempt, as if everything below was no more than insects.
Oliver's knees almost gave out.
Beside him, Fiona stared without blinking.
Her face had gone completely pale. Her hand crushed his sleeve.
The pressure from that gaze reached them even at this distance.
It carried cold malice, and deep, suffocating despair.
Then golden light surged from the forest below, slamming into the pillar of flame.
he sky shook. The red eyes flickered, full of annoyance more than surprise.
The night blurred.
Oliver's vision turned dark.
***
"Hey. Kid. Wake up. This is not the time to sleep."
A dry, familiar voice echoed in his head.
Oliver's eyes snapped open.
The altar, the stone cross, the floating swords, the bound white tiger, the masked leader, the cultists, the smell of blood and stone all rushed back into focus at once.
His body hurt everywhere. Chains dug into his arms and chest.
"Finally, You almost slept through your own funeral."
Oliver drew a shaky breath.
He turned his head as much as the chains allowed and looked to the side.
Fiona hung on the neighboring stone cross.
Her head was lowered, black hair covering her face.
Her hands were spread and bound. She still was not moving.
"Fiona," he whispered. "Hey. Wake up."
There was no response.
His throat felt dry. He looked away and forced his eyes toward the altar.
The white tiger still struggled.
Its body was covered in wounds. Blood soaked its white fur until it looked more red than white.
Every time it pulled against the chains, the stone groaned, but the bindings did not break.
Under its stomach, that faint light still glowed, hidden by its body.
'Senior,' Oliver thought, biting his lip. 'Is there any way out of this?'
Ethan answered at once.
"Do not panic," he said. "You will survive. Just focus and save your strength. When I tell you to move, you move. For now, do not waste energy."
His tone wast calm.
Inside his own thoughts, it was a different story.
'I do not have any way, kid,' Ethan thought bitterly.
'I am just a sandal. If I had a system or some cheat, I would have used it already. Do transmigrators not come with free gifts in this world?'
He pushed the frustration down and focused on what he could do.
Ethan spread his mana sense again.
He swept past the students tied and piled nearby, testing each of their mana flows; most of them were weak and scattered.
One of them was different.
'This one is still holding his mana together,' Ethan thought.
It was Cedric.
'So you are waiting for your change,' Ethan thought. 'Do you have a trump card, or are you just stubborn?'
He moved his attention away from Cedric and examined the cultists again.
Each of them was a full-fledged sorcerer, and their leader was on another level.
But the real pressure came from the altar, from what lay beneath the tiger.
Ethan let his sense sink under the white tiger's wounded body and touched the egg.
The mana inside the shell was dense and heavy.
It churned like a storm that had been locked away for too long, pressing against the shell from the inside.
'What a ridiculous amount of mana,' Ethan thought.
'If this thing hatches, it might be able to fight those cult lunatics.'
He focused more carefully.
The power inside was not just wild; it carried emotion, rough but clear enough to feel.
An intent beat against the shell again and again, like fists pounding on a door, filled with anger, unwillingness, and a deep helplessness, and beneath all of that Ethan could feel a faint plea, as if the creature inside was asking someone, anyone, to pull it out.
'So you are awake in there,' Ethan realized. 'You are trying to hatch and you want help.'
A dangerous thought formed in his mind.
'If I could get close to that egg, maybe I could push mana into it and speed up the hatching.
Even as a sandal, I still have a soul. I can move mana.
If I help from outside and whatever is inside pushes from the other side, it might break out faster.'
But there's a problem.
Oliver's arms were spread and chained; his body could not move.
He could not even lift Ethan, let alone throw him.
'If I want to reach that egg, I will have to move on my own. For that, I need a distraction.'
He pushed his mana sense farther, outside the altar and the ritual circle, out into the trees around the valley.
A familiar flow answered him, cold and sharp with a faint trace of moonlight.
'Silver Moon Fox,' Ethan recognized at once. Fiona's beast companion.
It was not alone. Around it, he felt multiple mana signatures moving together, some weak like students, others heavier with the weight of trained adults, a dozen at least, all approaching this place from different angles.
'So that is where you went,' Ethan thought. 'You ran off to find help.'
His mood lifted slightly. 'Good. Then this is my chance.'