Troy, an orphan from Melbourne's very own orphanage, was currently in the middle of reading about a special formation he'd never heard of or even seen inside the tomes in Old Thai's study.

The old man had taught him everything he knew about alchemy, seeing his talent for what it was, and nurturing it to the best of his abilities. Troy had known his future would be bright in the field of Alchemy, but nothing had prepared him to meet the myth known as the Guardian Emperor.

Before meeting Alaric, he'd absorbed torrents of knowledge from his master, learning everything he was taught diligently. And yet, as he witnessed the sheer enormity of what he could learn from the demiplane, he came to glimpse the sheer scope of his ignorance. His master was skilled, but in comparison to Corv'ak, he was but a novice.

He shook the thoughts from his head and focused. None of that mattered right now as he had a lot of studying to do if he was to ensure a successful Tempering Ritual.

He shifted his attention to a confusing section of the Rune circle he was studying, contemplating the reason behind each rune, curve and circle before a voice broke him out of his short-lived focus.

"You're working hard." It reverberated.

The voice was deep and rich, but often it came only after Alaric's voice, so naturally, the boy's heart sank as he quickly looked up and searched his surroundings for the Guardian Emperor's presence.

LionHeart chuckled. "Don't worry. It's just me."

The big man looked less imposing in the dim light of dawn. Troy was glad he was alone, if only because it allowed him to breathe normally. "Sorry… I'm just used to you being with him all the time."

"Well… that is my job," LionHeart answered with a soft smile, "But he never leaves his room this early. The morning is for his studies."

"Studies?" Troy got curious. What would the literal manifestation of myth be studying?

"You're not the only curious one," LionHeart answered. "Alaric is a member of the Tower of Seekers after all. Seekers hunger for information. Dungeons, rare plants, powers, history, the Valerian continent… anything really."

"Oh," the boy's heart skipped a beat. It was a much wider scope than Alchemy, which also made him frown at the lack of a definitive goal. "Is it wise for one to spread themselves so thin?"

"Meh! Slayers can live for hundreds of years. He'll get there," the big man simply shrugged, then changed the subject, "What's with all this preparation, though? I've seen people prepare for a Tempering Ritual before, but aside from needing a Stone Pill, I've never seen them fuss over it."

Troy knew where the man was coming from, even though it somewhat felt like he was undermining his work.

"Alaric is unique." The boy answered, not sure how else to put it.

"How so?" the man asked, clearly unconvinced. Alaric's 'uniqueness' was common knowledge to their party of slayers.

"Well…" the boy bit his lip.

Having come from the Tower of Seekers, filled with literal chasers of knowledge, LionHeart had seen that expression and heard that tone before. The tone that punctuated someone's thoughts on whether it was really worth it to explain all the nitty-gritty details to a random human being of no verifiable intelligence. Protectors endured this all too much.

"Oh, don't worry about me. Spill it. It's not like I have all morning."

Troy locked eyes with him for a moment before sighing, "Okay. Alchemists don't tend to think like Healers, and old man Thai wouldn't have advised it, but well, he's not Corv'ak."

"Corv'ak thinks differently?"

"Oh, that's an understatement," the boy chuckled, "The man's a wellspring of opinions and theories echoing for centuries. Take a look at this here."

The boy showed LionHeart a formation of runes far more advanced than anything he'd ever tried to grasp. The circle was filled with letters in the Language of the Constellations, all performing different things to bring the monstrosity to life.

It was no simple spell.

"Alaric's growth is faster than any I've ever seen before, and at first glance, I thought it to be his insane talent, but then I dug deeper… or at least, Corv'ak advised me to dig deeper."

He rolled the name Corv'ak off his tongue like it was some bitter cough medicine, yet still managed to retain a spark of respect in his eyes. Like the rivalling young Seekers that LionHeart had watched bickering in the halls of the Tower.

"Are you saying the brat's not talented?" he tried to simplify.

"Oh no! He probably is, but talent alone is not enough to achieve the kind of speed with which he's ranking up. The purity and rank of his aether speak volumes about how badly his body is fighting to evolve just to keep up with him," the boy answered.

"His Inborn Ability," LionHeart mused, having seen the monstrosity in action far too many times. Ranking up was majorly tied to one's mastery of their Inborn Ability, like each one had several nuances to it that required one to be more powerful to make use of, but only on condition that they found out what those nuances were.

"Yes… Alaric is so in tune with his Inborn Ability that the facets he's unlocked demand a more powerful Temper Rank, and because of that, he's growing at insane speeds, unable to unleash the full power of his Ability… or rather, breaking his body with each attempt," the boy answered with a huff.

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"That's quite the revelation," LionHeart responded. He had known this to some extent, and yet, when the boy said it, he expected it to mean something… something that the big man failed to pick up on.

So Alaric was quick to ascend. Why was that a problem that required so much preparation?

He almost asked, but the boy was still rambling. "At first, I thought it was useless to dig into such random phenomena, but then I started seeing this formation referenced in several texts. An Equilibrium Formation, they call it. It chains the wild aether shooting out of the core of one that's quick to ascend and attempts to tame lest they rip their bodies to pieces before they can achieve any meaningful evolution."

There was a moment of silence as the image of Alaric's aether, tearing his body to pieces, flashed through LionHeart's mind. Somehow, that made sense considering what happened in the Five Hills during what should have been a simple Tempering Ritual.

A normal human shouldn't have been able to blitz through the Glass Rank like it was nothing, but Alaric had done just that. The evolution from Wood to Stone, however, was a lot more powerful and difficult. The aether alone was ripping his body apart just by using it. It would be much more violent during the ritual.

"So, without this, Alaric goes boom?" LionHeart raised an eyebrow.

The boy nodded, "Yes… Alaric goes boom."

"Gotcha!" the man grimaced. It was a good thing they had Troy on their side then, wasn't it?

Still, though, a thought ghosted through the big man's mind, 'If he's going through this much for the rank up from Wood to Stone, how much worse will it be once the boy is ready to rise to the Steel rank?'

………………………

It was the second day floating about the demiplane, and if Alaric was being honest. It was turning out far better than he had expected. His friends were considerate enough to always think of him when suggesting something fun to try, which made the whole 'vacation' from training kind of nice, if not for the pranks they were starting to enjoy a little too much.

The time was not without its dark moments, though. Mobile as he turned out to be, Alaric was still finding difficulty braving a few locations. He didn't bother asking where the High Sentinel was anymore, wouldn't visit the Medical Ward to check on Rail'ak, and he was most definitely torn about venturing outside the Storm Veil to find Dara'k.

He had watched the smiths of the Steel District beat swords into submission. He'd watched the novices of the Textile District burn fabrics that would normally cost a fortune outside the Barren Mountains, all in the name of learning. He'd revisited the amphitheatre and witnessed the training of the Stormrunners who remained. He'd visited the Trade District and bought items he didn't even know how to use. He'd even endured Scarlett and Lucy's spontaneous shenanigans three more times as the pair seemed to be competing for his affection.

And yet… these three items on his list still made his blood go cold just by thinking of them. Today, the tightness in his chest grew unbearable. He sat at a table with his friends, picking an apple from a platter filled with more fruits than he could name.

His finger trailed over the smooth cover of the fruit as he ground his teeth.

[ You know… You could just ask LionHeart to carry you through the Storm Veil and be done with it. ] Alia whispered an idea into his mind.

[ I know… but… ] he frowned.

[ You fear appearing weak in front of him. ] The guardian guessed. His silence was an answer to loud, to which she sighed. [ Even Dara'k's not foolish enough to think lowly of you. You faced off against a Steel rank and managed to suppress him. ]

[ Only to cripple myself in the process. ] Alaric chuckled humourlessly.

[ An acceptable outcome for one who was surely meant for death. ] The guardian countered.

Alaric took another deep breath. 'Steel Ranks are such a pain.'

He had fought two now, and the fact that he was still standing was a testament to his luck. Truly, he had no business fighting those monsters. The first one had nearly killed him, then this one had downright crippled him. He was insane to think he could just go around challenging Steel ranks whenever they crossed him.

It was a thought to meditate on. He would have to think of how to avoid them instead. Right now, however, he took a deep breath and stared off at the horizon, where the edge of the Storm would lead them out into the Barren Mountains.

"You want to go see Dara'k, don't you?" LionHeart guessed, the man was finishing his own serving of food and picking a fruit from the platter.

Lucy and Kair'ak had left to train some more, leaving the rest of the group to the tour. At the mention of the Heaven-Crested Eagle, the demihuman siblings, along with Par'al, perked up, "The Storm Challenger?"

Alaric nodded, "Yeah. I should at least see him before the Tempering Ritual."

"Hmm…" Par'al ground his teeth, "That might be a problem. He hasn't been seen in over three days. No one challenges the storm as much as he does, so even those who went in to look for him didn't get far, fearing that their gizzards would pop from pellets the size of melons."

Alaric's heart sank. If this was a joke, it wasn't a good one. But as he waited for Par'al to retract his words, the reality of the situation sank in deeper.

"Three days. Has anyone ever challenged the storm for that long?" Alaric asked.

"Not that I can think of. The most I heard was eighteen hours, and even then, it had been Dara'k and he'd gone on to spit a pellet four times the normal size. He needed a Healing spell after that." Par'al answered.

"So, he's… dead?" Alaric's voice was low and doubtful, yet filled with dread.

Par'al was about to speak when a voice interrupted them, "Not necessarily."

The outdoor restaurant went cold and silent at the voice. It was a voice Alaric hadn't heard in a while. His blood went cold, and he got a tight feeling in his chest.

It wasn't just the voice of the leader of the demiplane, but the voice of an old friend. A voice that now freely came to him in dreams. It was now deeper, older, slower, but retained the same vibrance of the young man he'd known as Soren.

Ungv'ak floated up to them, clad in his usual robes and oozing with the subtle, nourishing power of a Saint.

Alaric was only recently starting to understand the power disparity between the two of them. Knowing that people at the Steel rank were capable of killing him, then picturing a blow from the Saint rank, which was two whole ranks above Steel, was humbling. He truly had a long way to go. And to think there was a rank above even the Saint rank.

"Can we talk, Alaric?" the man asked, snapping the boy out of his thoughts.

Alaric nodded silently. With a snap of the old man's finger, his body floated up, and he was led away. The High Sentinel shifted into his majestic golden eagle form a moment later, placing the paralysed boy upon his back before shooting up to the sky.

The rush of wind was exhilarating and wildly refreshing.

Alaric saw the demiplane grow smaller as they ascended. He took in the view. The amphitheatre was seated oddly at the centre. The Pantheon at the side. The five districts with the Textile District filled with students hellbent on unravelling the secret power of the Spinmasters. The smiths hard at work in the Steel District. The warriors training in the Combat District. The traders selling their wares in the Trade District and the alchemists, mages, and runemasters toiling away in the Aether District.

Somewhere in the Aether district, he saw the Medicine Ward, which he'd only visited on his first day in the demiplane. It was another place he hadn't been to, still unsure on how to approach the prince of the demiplane.

Deep down, he knew he didn't have to confront him, and yet his curiosity wouldn't go away. He wanted to look the man in the eye again. To see the results of the violence they'd both brought upon themselves.

Now was not the time for that, though. Now, he was flying through the demiplane with an old friend.

"We… have a lot of catching up to do, don't we?" Alaric sighed.

The High Sentinel's voice reverberated back after a moment, their flight path taking them closer to the edge of the demiplane where the wall of a swirling storm awaited them, sparking with lightning.

"A thousand years' worth of it."

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