The Dark Mountains of Dragvill rose like broken fangs against the sky — jagged, snow-dusted, and silent as tombs. No birds flew here. No insects hummed. Even the wind moved like it was afraid to make a sound.
They'd been climbing for two days.
The air grew thinner, the ground sharper. Black iron trees clawed from frozen soil like they'd been buried alive. Magic here was thick, wrong. Even Hinata felt it now — a sick weight pressing against her ribs.
Caelum said nothing.
Not even a joke.
---
The third night, they found a cave — more like a wound in the mountain's flesh. Caelum didn't set wards. Didn't spark a fire. He just sat, arms around his knees, eyes staring at nothing.
Hinata watched him from across the cold stone.
"You haven't said a word in hours."
Still nothing.
"Say something. Insult my sword form. Flirt with a rock. Anything."
His voice, when it came, was low and hoarse.
"I can't hear myself anymore."
Hinata frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean every time I close my eyes, I see versions of me dying. Failing. Going mad. I see her — the puppet mistress. And worse than her, I see me. The version that wants to stop fighting. The version that wants to burn it all down just to stop the noise."
She stepped closer.
"Caelum—"
"I don't even know if I'm real anymore." He laughed, but it cracked halfway through. "Isn't that funny? I'm the master of illusion, the trickster with a thousand spells — and I can't tell if I'm still me."
Then his voice broke entirely.
"I think… I think I'm tired of being clever."
The air grew still.
Magic shimmered faintly around him — not like before. This wasn't rage or showmanship. This was desperation. And it poured out in waves, reshaping the cave walls, distorting space. Glyphs flickered across the stone. Time bent. A star bloomed briefly in the air and collapsed into ink.
Versatility. That was Caelum's magic.
Now it was breaking loose.
"Stop," Hinata said sharply, stepping forward. "You're spiraling."
He didn't seem to hear her.
A copy of himself appeared beside him — twisted, grinning, eyes black. Then another, bleeding. Another, weeping.
They whispered in unison:
You failed. You failed them all. You're nothing but pretty lies.
Hinata drew her blade — but not to strike.
She dropped it.
Let it clatter at his feet.
"Then look at me, Caelum Verris."
He flinched.
"Do I look like a puppet?" she demanded. "Do I look like someone under a spell?"
He hesitated. The copies hissed.
"Because I chose to follow you. Not the mask. Not the power. You. The idiot who flirts with ghosts and lies about how much he hurts."
Tears welled in his eyes. The magic began to slow.
"I'm scared," he whispered. "I don't know what I am anymore."
Hinata knelt beside him.
"Then let me remind you."
She reached out — touched his chest.
And with that, the cave exploded in light.
---
When it faded, Caelum was unconscious.
The glyphs were gone. The whispers silenced.
Hinata carried him to the edge of the cave, wrapped him in her cloak, and sat beside him all night.
When he finally woke, his eyes were different.
Clearer. Sharper.
But something burned behind them — a fire that no longer needed to pretend.
"Did I break anything?" he asked softly.
"Only time, space, and my patience."
He laughed — and this time, it didn't sound hollow.
"I think I can do more now," he said, sitting up slowly. "I saw something in the breakdown. I didn't just unravel — I rewrote. I bent illusions, time, even my own body. I'm not bound to one school of magic."
"What are you, then?" Hinata asked carefully.
He looked toward the peak of Dragvill.
"A chaos architect. A spellwright. A very sexy danger noodle."
Hinata groaned. "There he is."
Caelum smiled — but his hands trembled.
He wasn't fine. Not yet.
But he wasn't falling alone anymore.
---
The summit awaited.
And so did the truth of what Caelum Verris was becoming.
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