Thorne gritted his teeth, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The man's appearance, marred by the battle, should have shown weakness, deep burns scorched his face and limbs, his clothes reduced to tatters. Yet his armor gleamed defiantly, unmarred and immaculate, proof of its extraordinary craftsmanship. He moved with an unsettling ease, no hint of pain or exhaustion evident in his swagger.

The sight of his relentless pursuer ignited a desperate fury in Thorne. With a pained yell, he swept his arm in a wide arc, summoning every aether mote that had gathered around him. The energy coalesced, still in its raw, liquid form, volatile and untamed. It surged forward like a luminous tidal wave, aimed directly at the man's smug face.

But the mysterious man merely blinked away, vanishing in an instant. The aether crashed into empty air, detonating in a volatile explosion that rattled the street and sent debris flying. Thorne stumbled from the force, his vision swimming with the exertion, and then he heard it, a low, mocking laugh that clawed at his resolve.

He twisted toward the sound, his glowing eyes locking onto the man perched atop a nearby rooftop like a predatory bird. The man's hand moved in a graceful, almost lazy arc, and a dozen razor-sharp daggers materialized, descending upon Thorne like a deadly rain.

Instinct took over. Thorne threw his hands up, aether flaring as he summoned a barrier. The blade still lodged in his chest shifted with the motion, sending searing pain through his body and making his vision blur. The daggers struck the barrier with a series of sharp, metallic clangs, each impact splintering the aether shield with spider-thin fissures. The weapons clattered to the ground, their edges gleaming ominously in the dawn light.

Thorne's eyes darted back to the rooftop, empty. The man was gone. His pulse quickened, the hairs on his neck rising as he realized the danger lurking unseen. He spun around just in time, his breath catching as another glowing dagger arced toward his throat.

Desperation fueled his next move. Thorne unleashed an Aether Burst, the raw energy erupting from him in a volatile wave. The mysterious man faltered, thrown back just a fraction, but it was enough. With a surge of adrenaline, Thorne activated Burst of Speed, the world blurring as he widened the distance between them, his movements fueled by sheer willpower.

His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, and the dagger embedded in his chest throbbed with every heartbeat. Yet, even as his body threatened to give out, Thorne's mind burned with defiance. He was out of tricks, out of time, but he wasn't out of will.

He had survived against impossible odds before. He had faced death and clawed his way back every time. He wasn't about to stop now, not with Aetherhold waiting for him. Not with his sister waiting for him.

Thorne's chest heaved, each breath a jagged rasp, the dagger still lodged beneath his collarbone sending waves of searing pain through his body. Blood seeped, warm and wet, staining what was left of his already ruined clothes. The aether swirled around him, agitated and eager, but erratic, his connection flickering like a candle about to snuff out. Yet his mind refused to surrender, clawing desperately for a way out.

The mysterious man watched from above, a dark silhouette framed against the faint light of dawn. "Come now," he mocked, his voice carrying effortlessly over the distance. "Is this really all you've got? I expected more from someone who just took down a berserker."

Thorne ignored the taunts, his eyes narrowing as he calculated his next move. The man was toying with him, testing him, waiting for him to break. But he wouldn't. Not yet. Not ever.

With a grunt, Thorne ripped the dagger from his chest, biting down hard to stifle the scream threatening to tear from his throat. The wound pulsed with pain, hot and relentless, but he couldn't focus on it now. He flung the bloodied blade to the ground, the clang echoing in the silence that followed.

"Impressive," the man called out, his grin widening. "But pointless."

Thorne's fingers twitched, arcs of aether sparking between them, fueled by sheer desperation. He couldn't afford to think, only act. Gathering every ounce of strength left, he raised his hands and summoned the aether, molding it into another burst. This time, he didn't hurl it. Instead, he condensed it, wrapping the volatile energy around himself like a second skin, a shimmering armor of raw power.

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity mingling with amusement. "Ah, finally taking this seriously?"

Thorne didn't respond. He lunged forward, the aether propelling him faster than his body alone could manage. In a blink, he closed the distance between them, launching a series of rapid strikes infused with aether. Each blow connected with the man's armor, sending shockwaves reverberating through the metal, but the man barely flinched.

The mysterious man countered with fluid precision, each movement economical, almost lazy. His gauntleted fist shot out, aiming for Thorne's temple. Thorne ducked, feeling the rush of air as the blow narrowly missed him. He retaliated with a surge of aether, sending a wave of energy crashing toward his opponent.

The man flicked his wrist, and a barrier materialized, absorbing the impact. "You've got fire, boy," he muttered, "but not enough."

Thorne's vision blurred, the edges darkening. He was spent, his reserves depleted. Yet, somewhere deep within, a flicker of defiance refused to be extinguished. He wasn't done, not yet.

This wasn't a fight he could win. Not like this. Thorne knew it. He felt it deep in his bones, the man wasn't just more powerful; he was more experienced, more methodical. Every second that ticked by only solidified Thorne's grim realization: he was outmatched.

Unless… unless there was something he had missed.

A desperate thought pierced through the haze of exhaustion, and his glowing eyes darted to the notifications that had flooded his vision earlier. Could there be something in them? Something he hadn't noticed amidst the chaos? With trembling fingers, Thorne willed the notifications to appear.

They blinked to life before him, the words swimming for a moment in his vision until they sharpened into focus:

New Skill Unlocked: Aether Lance.

New Skill Unlocked: Aether Barrage.

New Skill Unlocked: Aether Explosion.

His heart stopped. There. His salvation. His only chance.

The corners of his lips tugged upward into a fierce grin, a wild, almost unhinged hope blazing in his chest. "Aether Explosion," he murmured under his breath, tasting the raw power in the name.

He felt the aether around him stir, as if sensing his resolve, and the energy surged to his call with an almost eager intensity. Thorne's eyes locked onto the mysterious man, who was still advancing with that wolfish grin, and he tightened his grip on the aether pulsing around his body.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

From his knees, he looked up, blood dripping from his mouth as he forced a smirk. "You think... I'm out?" he rasped, forcing the words past the pain. "I haven't even started."

The man tilted his head, the mocking smile fading slightly. "Oh?"

Thorne planted his hands on the ground, channeling what little aether remained, the energy vibrating through the cobblestones beneath him. He forced the power down, into the earth itself. The ground trembled, a low rumble resonating from deep below. Aether surged upward, cracking the stone, splitting the earth open around them.

The mysterious man staggered back, surprise flickering across his features. "What?"

Thorne gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing. "You underestimated me." The ground exploded, shards of stone and raw energy bursting forth, enveloping the man in a torrent of chaos.

For a brief, glorious moment, Thorne saw him falter, his mocking arrogance replaced with shock. But it wouldn't be enough, not yet. Thorne stumbled to his feet, his body swaying, but he refused to fall. He clenched his fists, the aether swirling tighter around him, responding to his will.

The man reemerged from the maelstrom, his armor scorched but intact, his eyes now alight with genuine fury. "You insolent whelp!" he roared, the air thickening with his murderous intent.

But Thorne stood firm, the desperation transforming into grim determination. He wasn't out. He wasn't done. He would fight every step, every breath, until there was nothing left. Until he reached Aetherhold. Until he found his sister. Until he was free.

With one last, defiant roar, Thorne launched himself forward, his aether flaring like a beacon against the approaching dawn.

He extended his arms, channeling every mote of power he could muster into a single, devastating attack, Aether Explosion. The aether responded, volatile and electric, surging to his palms with reckless intensity. It hummed and vibrated, building and growing, until his hands burned from the effort of containing it.

The man's smug expression faltered slightly as he sensed the shift, his eyes narrowing at the sudden surge of energy. "What are you..."

Thorne didn't let him finish. He released the aether in a massive explosion, a sphere of pure, crackling energy erupting outward with blinding light and deafening sound. The shockwave ripped through the street, shattering what remained of the ruined buildings around them. Stone and debris flew in every direction as the sheer force of the attack engulfed everything in its radius.

The man was hurled backward like a ragdoll, his body colliding with a half-collapsed wall before disappearing beneath the rubble. The ground beneath Thorne cracked and splintered, the very air vibrating with residual energy. For a moment, all was still, save for the faint crackle of dissipating aether and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Thorne stumbled, his knees nearly buckling as the strain of the attack caught up with him. His vision blurred, and his body screamed in protest, but he forced himself to stay upright. He knew better than to think it was over. The man wasn't dead, not yet. But he had bought himself a moment, a small victory amidst the chaos. And for now, that was enough.

The explosion of aether he had unleashed moments ago had drained what little remained of his reserves, leaving his legs heavy and his vision swimming. Dragging his battered form forward, Thorne stumbled down the narrow streets leading to the docks. His steps were uneven, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, but he forced himself to keep moving. He had to. He had bought himself a momentary reprieve, but he knew it wouldn't last. The man and his fiery constructs would be on him again soon.

The familiar scent of brine and decaying fish reached his nose, a sharp contrast to the acrid stench of burning wood and ash that clung to the air. The fish market. His heart quickened. He was close. Just a little further. He stumbled through the empty market, his surroundings eerily quiet save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

And then it came.

A fiery eel screeched out of the shadows, its glowing, serpentine body twisting through the air toward him. Without hesitation, Thorne raised his hand, summoning a surge of aether. The raw energy gathered between his fingers, crackling violently before bursting forth in a condensed, radiant blast. The eel exploded in a shower of sparks and embers, and Thorne didn't stop to admire his handiwork.

"Masts..." he muttered, his voice hoarse. His blurred vision caught sight of them in the distance, tall, proud silhouettes cutting through the faint morning light. His pulse thundered in his ears, a mixture of hope and desperation surging within him. He was so close.

Another eel appeared, and Thorne didn't even flinch. He instinctively gathered aether into his palm, shaping it into a sphere of pure, volatile energy. With a flick of his wrist, the aether shot forward, colliding with the construct and reducing it to nothing but dissipating embers. But the effort cost him. His knees buckled, and he caught himself against a broken barrel, his breathing uneven and labored.

He staggered into the docks, his gaze darting frantically between the moored ships. The silence was deafening. Ship after ship lay dormant, their decks empty, their sails slack. There was no one. No one to save him.

Panic clawed at his chest as dread coiled in his stomach. He pushed forward, his steps unsteady as he passed vessel after vessel. His hope ebbed with every empty deck, every lifeless dock. He was out of time. Out of strength. Out of options.

And then he saw it.

In the distance, barely visible against the rising sun, a ship was already pulling away from the harbor, its sails full as it cut through the water. His heart sank, and tears pricked his eyes as realization struck him like a hammer. He had missed his chance.

"No..." he whispered, his voice cracking. He staggered forward a step, then another, his hands trembling. "No! I can get there!"

Summoning every last ounce of strength, he took a deep, shuddering breath. His body bent forward, his muscles coiling in protest as he prepared himself.

And then he ran.

He sprinted toward the edge of the dock, his legs a blur as he leaped into the air. His will extended, and a translucent platform of aether solidified beneath his feet just in time to catch him. He took a step, and another, his feet finding purchase on each fragile platform he created. The aether flickered faintly, unstable and unpredictable, but he pushed forward, his focus razor-sharp.

One step. Another. And another.

The ship loomed closer, but his body was beginning to falter. His muscles trembled violently, and each platform grew thinner and more fragile than the last. The moment his foot touched them, they shattered into countless shards of fading light, forcing him to summon another one mid-stride.

His breaths came in shallow gasps, his chest heaving as tears streamed down his face. The pain, the exhaustion, the desperation, it was all too much. But he didn't stop. He couldn't.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"I can make it," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own labored breathing. "I have to."

But his body betrayed him. His legs buckled mid-jump, and he barely managed to summon another platform to catch himself. It shattered the instant he touched it, the unstable energy flickering like a dying flame. His arms flailed as he staggered forward, his body pitching dangerously toward the icy depths below.

The ship was so close now. He could see the figures on deck, blurred shapes that might have been crew members preparing for departure. The taste of salt filled his mouth as the sea spray splashed against his face, mingling with the tears that refused to stop falling. His vision tunneled, the edges darkening, but he kept going. The ship was all that mattered. If he didn't reach it, he would die here, alone, forgotten, and defeated.

With one final surge of effort, Thorne hurled himself forward, the last platform crumbling into nothingness beneath his feet. His body arced through the air, his outstretched hand reaching for salvation. For a brief, fleeting moment, he felt weightless, the wind rushing past him as the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, gravity took hold.

The translucent step that was supposed to catch him never formed, his strength finally giving out. His body plummeted downward, the ship's deck just out of reach. Time slowed as he fell, the edges of his vision dimming further. He had nothing left, not even the energy to scream.

This is it, he thought numbly, the cold embrace of the sea rushing up to meet him. I failed.

But then... Impact. Not water. Not the unforgiving surface of the ocean, but something solid beneath him. The breath was knocked out of his lungs as he crashed onto the ship's deck, landing in a heap of battered limbs and torn clothing. For a moment, he didn't move, his body trembling violently as the last remnants of his strength abandoned him.

His vision swam, the edges dark and fuzzy, but he could hear voices, shouting, confused and alarmed. Footsteps thudded against the wooden deck, growing louder as they approached him. He didn't have the energy to turn his head, to see who was coming. He was too exhausted, too broken. The world around him faded into a haze, his consciousness slipping away like a receding tide.

But before the darkness claimed him completely, a single thought crossed his mind:

I made it.

I am safe.

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