The gentle sway of the waves was the first thing Orin noticed. His body ached, his clothes were soaked, and his head felt like it had been smashed against a wall. Groaning, he forced his eyes open and sat up, realizing he was lying on a massive, floating log.
The sea stretched endlessly in every direction. No nd. No sky, only a thick, colorless mist above them.
One by one, the others stirred.
Nyx was the next to wake, his face twisted in discomfort as he ran a hand through his wet hair. Jasper groaned as he rolled onto his side, muttering curses under his breath. Vex pushed herself up, eyes darting around in disoriented confusion.
Then Tess sat up and looked around.
“Is this the Underworld?” she muttered, her voice still groggy. “Thought it would be more… underworld-ish.” She squinted at the endless water. “Or maybe we made it to where the good people go? Doesn’t seem that great—just water.”
Vex, still catching her breath, froze as realization hit.
“…No. We’re in the sea.” Her voice trembled slightly. “We’re not dead. Yet.”
Jasper turned to Orin, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Do you have any idea what happened?”
Orin exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before answering.
“The st thing I remember… I grabbed the vase.” He paused, struggling to piece the memory together. “I was about to throw it at the old man’s attack, but the moment I touched it…” He frowned, shaking his head.
“It… opened.”
Silence fell over the group.
As the gravity of their predicament finally set in, a thick hush descended between them. The mist overhead gave the ocean a spooky, surreal tint as the sea stretches on in all ways.
Then, Tess broke the silence.
“…Where’s the vase?” she asked, her voice ced with frustration.
Orin exhaled through his nose before answering. “Don’t think it made it.” He gnced around the empty expanse of ocean, a grim expression settling on his face. “And, uh… where even are we?”
Tess threw her hands up. “Just great.” Her voice was ced with sarcasm, but there was a sharp edge to it. “So not only do we not have the vase—meaning no way to call for help—but we also have no idea where we are.”
She rubbed her temples, clearly trying to keep herself from losing it completely. “Fantastic. Just fantastic.”
Nyx sighed, stretching his sore limbs. “Well, panicking isn’t gonna help. First thing’s first—we need to figure out if there’s anything nearby.”
Jasper gnced around warily. “And if there isn’t?”
Vex swallowed hard, staring at the water. “Then… we better hope whatever brought us here didn’t just leave us to die.”
That thought sent a chill through all of them.
They had escaped the old man’s wrath—but at what cost?
Returning to Pentra, in the garden of the castle
The old man sat in silence for a moment, staring into the crackling fire before finally speaking. His voice was calm, yet there was an unmistakable edge of unease beneath it.
“…At the st moment, as my attack struck the thieves, it also hit the vase.” He exhaled slowly, his gaze distant, as if reliving the moment in his mind.
Melissa furrowed her brows. “And?”
The old man’s fingers tightened slightly around the armrest of his chair. “For some unknown reason, the lid opened.”
Melissa blinked. “Wait—opened? I thought you said that thing was—”
“Indestructible.” The old man finished her sentence, nodding. “Yes. The Span Vase is a relic that cannot be broken, cannot be damaged—even by the strongest attacks of the gods themselves. It has withstood power beyond mortal comprehension. It has remained sealed for thousands of years.”
His expression darkened.
“But the moment my attack nded… it reacted.”
Melissa frowned, shifting in her seat. “So what does that mean?”
The old man didn’t answer immediately. He simply stared into the fire, the flickering fmes reflecting in his aged eyes.
“…That,” he said finally, voice low, “is the question that terrifies me.”
The old man’s voice grew heavier, the weight of his words pressing down on the fire-lit garden like an invisible force.
“The True Source within the vase…” he murmured, his gaze dark and distant. “If it has been released back into the world…”
Melissa felt a cold chill creep up her spine. “Then what?”
The old man clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the arms of his chair. “Then whatever was sealed away—along with the seal itself—will colpse.”
Melissa’s breath caught in her throat. “You’re saying that thing wasn’t just containing the True Source… It was the only thing keeping whatever was sealed inside from getting out?”
The old man gave a slow, grim nod.
Melissa ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head. “But you said your memories are blocked—you don’t even remember what was sealed away.”
The old man closed his eyes for a brief moment before exhaling sharply. “No… I don’t.” His voice was ced with frustration. “But I know—I feel it deep in my soul—that if the seal breaks completely…” He turned to Melissa, his gaze sharper than ever.
“It will be the end of the world as we know it.”
Silence fell between them. The crackling of the fire suddenly felt too distant. The night air too still.
Melissa swallowed, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. “Then we need to find that vase.”
The old man didn’t respond immediately. He simply looked up at the sky, his expression unreadable.
“…Yes,” he finally said, though his voice carried something deeper.
Something troubling.
Because deep inside, he knew—
It may already be too te.
The old man let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples as if the weight of his thoughts pressed heavily upon him. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across his face, making the lines of age and experience appear even deeper.
Melissa kept a tight eye on him, feeling that he had yet to reveal much more.
At st he said something.
“It was the duty of the Holy Protectress to guard the vase,” he said, his voice tinged with both reverence and regret. “That was the main reason they were chosen in the first pce.”
Melissa frowned. “The Holy Protectress?”
The old man nodded. “Yes. Since ancient times, a priestess was always chosen to protect the Span Vase—to ensure it was never tampered with, never lost, and most importantly… never opened. But after the time of the Third Priestess…”
He paused, his expression darkening.
“…There were complications.”
Melissa narrowed her eyes. “What kind of complications?”
The old man hesitated, then shook his head. “It does not matter now. What does matter is that after her, no priestess was chosen. Not for centuries.”
He turned to Melissa, his gaze unwavering.
“Not until recently.”
Melissa’s chest tightened. “Wait—are you saying…?”
The old man gave a slow, deliberate nod.
“Yes. You were the one chosen.”
Melissa’s mind raced, struggling to process the weight of his words.
“That’s why I had to move the vase to the Encve,” the old man continued. “Without a proper Protectress in pce, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”
Melissa clenched her fists, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. “But the vase is gone! What am I supposed to do now?”
The old man turned fully toward her, his eyes sharp and filled with an unshakable resolve.
“That,” he said firmly, “is when you come in.”
Melissa swallowed hard as he continued.
“You are to retrieve the True Source… and bring it back.”
Melissa blinked, shaking her head in disbelief. “Me? You don’t even know where the vase is! How am I supposed to retrieve it?”
The old man exhaled another deep sigh, his expression unreadable. “There was a backup left behind,” he admitted. “A way to track where the True Source might have gone if something like this ever happened.” His voice dropped slightly, ced with regret. “It was something I had hoped would never need to be used… but now, it cannot be helped.”
Melissa frowned, suspicion creeping into her voice. “And what exactly is this way you speak of?”
The old man slowly turned to her, his gaze unwavering.
“…What do you think your people call Aetherium?”
Melissa’s breath hitched. The moment the word left his lips, an unshakable sense of dread settled deep in her gut.
Something was wrong.
Something was very, very wrong.
Melissa’s chest tightened as an uneasy feeling crept over her. Almost everyone she knew—her family, her friends, the people she had grown up with—had traces of Aetherium within them.
She swallowed hard before speaking.
“…What is Aetherium?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended. A part of her didn’t want to know. She could already tell—whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good
The old man exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the fire. The flickering fmes cast restless shadows across his face, making his features seem even more worn.
“Although the True Source is what grants power and creates gods, one does not simply become all-powerful the moment they touch it,” he expined. His voice was steady, yet there was an underlying weight to his words. “Unless they are born that way, like the creatures of old, they must earn their strength over time.”
Melissa’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. “I don’t get it… If the True Source makes gods, then shouldn’t it just… I don’t know, give them all their power immediately?”
The old man chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Power isn’t something that can just be given all at once, Melissa. Even gods have limits.”
She still didn’t quite understand, and it must have shown on her face because the old man sighed and decided to expin it differently.
“Think of it this way,” he said, his voice shifting to a more patient tone. “If someone gains power, they don’t suddenly become limitless. Instead, they are like a bowl.”
Melissa blinked, tilting her head. “A… bowl?”
“Yes,” the old man nodded. “But not just any bowl—an empty one.” He raised a hand and made a small, cupping gesture. “One must fill the bowl with water over time. The more water it holds, the stronger they become.”
Understanding finally dawned on Melissa, but with it came a new worry
Melissa shifted uncomfortably, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. There was something unsettling about the old man’s words, something that made her uneasy.
She hesitated for a moment before finally asking, “…And what does any of this have to do with Aetherium?”
The old man turned his gaze toward her, his expression unreadable.
“The water in the bowl,” he said slowly, “is what you call Aetherium.”
Melissa’s breath caught in her throat.
Her mind raced as she tried to process his words. Aetherium—something so common, so deeply tied to her people and everyone she knew.
“That’s… impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head.. Almost everyone in Pentra has traces of it. If that were true, wouldn’t that mean…?”
She trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.
The old man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, as if waiting for her to realize the truth on her own. And when Melissa finally did, her stomach twisted.
“…It means that the people of Pentra,” she whispered,
Melissa felt her entire body tense as the old man's words sank in. Aetherium… was the water in the bowl. The very essence of power itself.
Her breath quickened, her mind spinning in disbelief. "That—" she started, but the words caught in her throat. "That doesn't make any sense!"
Aetherium was everywhere. It was part of life itself, woven into the very fabric of Pentra. Almost everyone in Pentra carried traces of it—so how could it be connected to the True Source?
Her voice wavered. “How could someone… separate their magic from the Source itself?
Melissa’s heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the old man. His silence was answer enough, yet she needed to hear him say it.
“…Are you going to take back the Aetherium?” she asked, her voice firm despite the unease creeping up her spine.
The old man remained quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering toward the fire. Then, as if avoiding the question altogether, he continued speaking.
“Among the Twenty-One Gods, there was one named Goin. He was a master of runes, a schor of the ancient arts. His studies led him to uncover ways to manipute energy, to shape it, bend it to his will. Through his research, he devised a method to extract and locate pure sources of power—a technique that, if successful, could track down even the remnants of the True Source.”
The old man sighed. “Of course, it was never put to the test. But now, we have no choice. We can only hope it works.”
Melissa narrowed her eyes, barely listening to the expnation. She could feel the evasion in his words, the way he carefully steered the conversation away from her question.
Enough.
She cut him off sharply. “You’re not answering me.”
The old man gnced at her but said nothing.
Melissa’s fingers curled into fists. “Are you going to take back the Aetherium or not?”
This time, the silence was heavier.
NOTE
Jasper Fox – The Engineer of GelmondJasper Fox is a 20-year-old engineering prodigy hailing from the Royal Nation of Gelmond, a nd renowned for its technological advancements and precision craftsmanship. Born into a humble background, he cwed his way up through sheer talent, proving himself among the best engineers of his time. However, he quickly learned a harsh truth—talent alone is not enough. Without wealth, noble ties, or powerful connections, even the most brilliant minds can be discarded. Betrayed by a system that values status over skill, he was eventually sold off and taken to Cript, where his abilities became a commodity rather than a gift.
Physical Description:Height: 6’0” (183 cm)
Build: Lean but well-built, with strong arms and calloused hands from years of working with metal, gears, and machinery. Though not overly muscur, his physique reflects the endurance of a craftsman used to long hours of bor.
Skin Tone: Light tan, with a few burn scars and grease stains often marking his hands and forearms, remnants of countless te-night projects.
Facial Features: Sharp yet somewhat weary, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His expression often carries a quiet intensity, making it clear that his mind is always racing with ideas and calcutions.
Eyes: Deep storm-gray, reflecting his sharp intellect and occasional bitterness. They are piercing yet tired, as if he has already seen too much of the world's cruelty.
Hair: Dark brown, slightly unkempt, with strands always falling into his face. Often pushed back with a pair of brass goggles resting on his forehead, a signature accessory of engineers from Gelmond.
Attire & Accessories:Clothing: A fitted, high-colred leather engineer’s coat reinforced with metal pting on the shoulders and forearms. The coat is worn and patched up, evidence of a life spent in workshops and scrapyards.
Shirt: A simple, dark gray, long-sleeved work shirt, often rolled up to his elbows.
Pants & Boots: Sturdy brown work pants, reinforced with leather kneepads. Heavy-duty, steel-toe boots with additional pting for protection.
Gloves: Fingerless engineer’s gloves made of thick leather, allowing for dexterity while still shielding his hands from burns and cuts.
Accessories:
A toolbelt strapped across his waist, filled with various small gadgets, screwdrivers, and wrenches.
A mechanized gauntlet on his left hand—a self-made creation designed for enhanced grip and minor repairs on the go.
A silver pocket watch, a relic from his past, the only thing left of his old life in Gelmond.
Demeanor & Presence:Jasper is quiet, observant, and pragmatic. He speaks only when necessary, preferring to let his work do the talking. His hands are always busy—fidgeting with gears, sketching blueprints, or tinkering with some broken device. His intelligence is undeniable, but his experiences in Cript have hardened him. He has no illusions about fairness or destiny; to him, survival and success come down to what you can build, sell, or fight for.
Despite his cynicism, he still carries a flicker of ambition, a desire to one day create something that will force the world to acknowledge him—not for his name, not for his wealth, but for his mind
