As Kael stepped into the glowing arch, the world bent around him.
His stomach lurched—like falling and flying at once.
A rushing sensation swallowed his senses, weightlessness pulling him forward, the light growing brighter and then he landed.
Hard!
On his feet, thankfully.
The world snapped back into focus.
He was no longer in Elaris.
Virelton!
The teleportation terminal here was much older, worn and moss-covered, tucked into the side of a cliff path overlooking the mist-covered valley below.
The gate behind him flickered once, then dimmed.
"..Whoa!"
Kael whispered.
He turned slowly, taking it all in.
Firstly, the attendant stationed there welcomed him and then registered his Id.
Then only was he allowed to go.
The city of Virelton was smaller than Elaris, far less developed.
It looked almost ancient, with crumbling stone buildings and arched bridges stretching over narrow rivers that split the city into segments.
Ivy coiled up the sides of towers, and temple bells chimed in the distance, echoing faintly in the morning fog.
The air was cooler here, the scent of damp moss and old stone heavier. Birds circled lazily overhead, and the streets were near empty.
This place had a kind of eerie peace.
"Still looks just like the novel described."
Kael muttered, stepping away from the terminal and down a set of cracked steps.
Old Temple District—that was where the Sealed Box was supposed to be, according to the novel.
It had been hidden for decades in the ruins beneath a once-grand temple dedicated to the goddess of fate.
After the church abandoned the site, it became a relic, then a ruin. Locals feared it now, believing it cursed.
But Kael knew better.
Or at least, he hoped he did.
He followed a winding cobbled path that led out of the central plaza.
The stone roads here were crooked and aged, as if forgotten by time.
The further he walked, the less populated it became—no stalls, no chatter, just the crunch of his boots against gravel and the occasional creak of an old weather vane.
Eventually, he reached a crumbling archway, the words "Sanctum of Ithira" barely visible on the worn plaque above it.
This was the place.
The temple stood at the top of a hill, partially collapsed, with gnarled roots tearing through its foundation.
Cracked marble columns supported what remained of the front entrance, and shattered stained glass lay in glinting fragments at the foot of its heavy, rotting doors.
Kael stood still for a moment.
The air here was different.
He pushed the doors open.
The interior was worse than the outside.
Broken pews lay scattered across the dusty floor. Weeds and vines had forced their way through the walls.
Sunlight filtered through the cracked dome above, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air.
And at the far end—behind the shattered altar—was the staircase.
Half-buried beneath rubble, just like in the novel.
Kael's heart pounded.
He scrambled over debris, pushing aside chunks of stone, until he found what he was looking for: a hollow under the altar.
With effort, he cleared the path.
The staircase descended into darkness.
Just like the novel described.
He took a deep breath.
"No turning back now!"
He muttered, lighting a torch from his pocket and holding it aloft.
The light flickered, casting blue shadows across the narrow walls as he began to descend.
The steps were uneven, carved from old stone and slick with moisture. The further down he went, the colder it became.
Kael moved slowly through the narrow stone corridor, his torch crackling softly as shadows danced along the walls.
The underground ruin was larger than he expected—far more vast and winding than the novel had made it seem.
The first chamber was empty, save for rotted prayer scrolls and fallen statues.
The second was collapsed completely, forcing him to squeeze through a gap in the rubble.
The third…
Nothing.
Just dust and silence.
An hour passed!
Kael's legs ached from crouching and climbing. His breath fogged in the cold air, the damp seeping into his skin.
Still, he pressed on.
Two hours!
He circled what felt like the same corridor three times.
The carvings on the walls began to blur together. Every alcove, every hollow pedestal, led to nothing but disappointment.
He stopped and sat down on a crumbled step, running a hand through his hair.
"Maybe… maybe I was wrong."
He leaned back against the wall, the cold stone biting into his spine.
He stared up at the low ceiling where cracked etchings of the goddess of fate loomed, half-forgotten.
"I remembered everything correctly, didn't I?"
He muttered to himself.
However, the novel didn't have each and every piece of information and that proved to make it that much harder for him to get the Sealed Box.
Three hours!
Kael had reached the lowest part of the ruins.
Just a circular chamber, flooded slightly at the edges. Moss grew over the floor, and the air was thick, stale.
He walked to the center and stopped.
He thought that perhaps at the end of this palace, he might stumble upon the Sealed Box but still no sign.
No box.
No reaction.
Just silence!
Kael slowly sank to his knees.
"…Maybe it really was fate," he whispered, voice hollow. "Maybe the box only revealed itself to Zereth. Not to someone like me…"
He clenched his fists.
"I'm not the chosen one. I'm not the hero. I'm not even a villain."
He grit his teeth, head bowed.
"Just an extra…"
The torchlight dimmed slightly, the flame flickering in rhythm with his breath.
Kael sat there in silence, cold stone beneath him, dust clinging to his hands and knees.
His heart felt heavy.
He had risked everything—his money, his energy, his hope—and there was nothing. No grand reward, no sealed relic, no ancient box waiting just for him.
Just ruins. Cracked walls and rotting wood. A forgotten place just like the extra he was supposed to be.
"…Enough," he muttered, voice hoarse.
He pushed himself to his feet, joints stiff and aching from hours of searching.
His legs trembled slightly as he began walking back the way he came, leaving the center chamber behind.
Step by step, he climbed the cracked stairs, retracing the path he'd carved through the rubble and darkness.
"I was stupid to think I could rewrite anything," he whispered to the empty hall. "Even with knowledge, I'm still…"
Then he stopped.
Mid-step.
His foot had just touched the stair, but—
He felt it.
A pulse.
A shiver that didn't come from the cold.
Something had tugged at his chest—like a thread pulling inward from deep beneath his sternum. It wasn't pain. It wasn't pressure.
Just… something.
He stood still.
"What was that?"
He couldn't explain it. He didn't understand what he had just felt.
But it hadn't been normal.
He looked at his hand, holding the nearly burned-out torch. His other hand rested against the damp wall.
Then, it came again.
Faint—but real.
Like the air itself was breathing differently. A rhythm. A whisper.
Mana?
But that couldn't be it.
Kael still hadn't been able to use mana properly.
He could sense traces of it in classes, see it in other students' techniques—but he still wasn't capable of using mana.
Still—
Pulse.
This one is stronger.
Kael staggered back, his heart racing.
The torch flame flared in response—just for a second—before settling again.
"What the hell is going on?"
His gaze slowly shifted to the wall beside him.
It looked the same—cracked, moss-covered. But there, about eye-level, was something he hadn't noticed before.
A faint outline in the stone.
A symbol.
Half-faded, shallowly etched—just a curve and a line. Not enough to draw attention at a glance.
His breath caught.
Carefully, he brought the torch closer.
There were more, carved into the wall around it—only visible from the right angle, and only when lit closely.
"An illusion…"
No, not an illusion. A concealment seal.
Magic had hidden it.
And maybe—only now—because he had felt something, had reacted to something—
Kael pressed his hand against the rune.
The wall trembled.
Dust fell.
And slowly, a section of stone began to sink inward, then slide aside, revealing a narrow hidden passage behind it.
A chill rolled out from the darkness, carrying with it a hum of mana so raw and ancient it made Kael's skin crawl.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Just stared.
Then, almost like he was dreaming, he stepped through.
There, at the end of the short tunnel—
Resting on a raised stone dais…
Was a box.
Black.
Bound with runes.
And undeniably alive with power.
It pulsed faintly, like a heart beating in stillness.
Kael's steps were slow, his expression unreadable as he walked forward.
His hand reached out.
He didn't know if it was fate, or the faint echo of mana, or his own stubborn will that led him here.
But in the end—
He had found it.
The Sealed Box!