The flames crackled gently as the last of the spirit wolves howled into the distance. Hope sat cross-legged, her back against a warm boulder, watching the night sky shimmer with thin threads of spirit energy. For the first time in days, she wasn't running.
Beside her, Duke Silver poked at the fire with a stick that hummed faintly with power. His eyes were calm but focused, ever calculating.
"So…" Hope began hesitantly, "how do I become like you?"
Duke gave a short chuckle, flicking a spark into the air. "That's a tall order. But it starts with understanding what you are — and what path you want to walk."
Hope looked at her hands, remembering how the spirit energy had surged within her back in Glassroot Hollow — chaotic, overwhelming.
"I don't know what I am," she admitted.
Duke studied her. "You're not normal, that's for sure. Your spirit vessels are wider than most masters I've met, and they're… dormant. Suppressed. But we'll get to that."
A faint voice carried through the trees.
"I hear you're explaining deep philosophy without me."
Hope turned to see a man in loose golden robes, leaning against a tree. He carried himself like a prince on holiday, with a flask of spirit wine dangling from his fingers.
"Rael," Duke greeted him, annoyed. "You're early."
"I got bored." Rael strolled forward, his golden eyes twinkling. "And I figured if the girl's going to live, she better start understanding what she's up against."
Hope blinked. "You're…?"
"An Immortal," Rael said, bowing theatrically. "Relax, I'm one of the rare ones who don't think mortals are bugs."
He sat across from her. "You're curious about cultivation, right? Let me tell you a story."
Hope leaned in as the fire reflected in Rael's wine-dark eyes.
"Once," Rael began, "a mortal discovered a spark inside his body. A flame that didn't burn the flesh — it sang to the soul. That was the beginning of Immortal Cultivation."
He held up a finger. "The first stage is Body Refining. Strengthening muscle, bone, and organs until you become harder than steel."
He added another finger. "Second is Spirit Refining. You breathe in the world's energy — spirit energy — and fuse it with your own. It's the foundation of power."
A third finger. "Then comes Foundation Stage. You form your spirit core. Think of it like lighting your inner furnace."
"Fourth?" he continued, "False Core Stage. A mimicry of true stability. It gives strength but lacks permanence."
He paused at the fifth. "And finally, True Core Stage. When your spirit stops flickering and burns steadily. From there… things get strange."
Hope whispered, "How many stages are there?"
Rael winked. "More than you're ready to hear."
Duke stood, brushing off his coat. "And I'll be teaching you the other path — Spirit Magic. Less about forming cores, more about wielding spells."
Hope sat up straighter. "So… I'll be doing both?"
"If you survive," Rael grinned.
Hope shifted on the forest floor, her legs numb from sitting so long. The fire cracked in front of her, and the spirit energy floating through the air gave everything a surreal, dreamlike glow.
"So," she asked finally, "you're going to teach me magic now?"
Duke Silver smirked slightly. "Spirit Magic, yes. But first, I need you to understand what you're stepping into."
Rael leaned back, arms behind his head, his golden robes catching moonlight. "Oh, this'll be good."
Duke stood, brushing ash off his long coat. He stepped toward the fire and waved his hand. Glowing runes formed midair, softly pulsing with energy.
Hope blinked. "What… are those?"
"Spell structures," Duke said simply. "Spirit Magic isn't about chanting or waving your hands like a maniac. It's about control, precision, and connection. Each spell is built with runes — think of them as components."
He brought his fingers together and drew a sigil in the air. A small orb of blue light hovered between his hands, flickering gently.
"You draw energy from the world around you, shape it with your will, and release it through spell matrices like this."
Hope leaned closer. "That's... beautiful."
"And dangerous if mishandled," Duke warned. "Now, spirit magicians are ranked. It's not arbitrary. It's a measure of your control, strength, and ability to shape the ambient spirit energy."
She raised an eyebrow. "So what's the ranking system?"
Duke turned toward her, speaking with steady clarity.
"Rank 1 is Awakening — when you first feel spirit energy and can shape it, even a little.
Rank 2 is Channeling — when you can manipulate simple energy flows.
Rank 3 is Internal Circulation — when you cast without tiring.
Rank 4 is Recognition — you gain status, power, and your lifespan jumps to 500 years.
Rank 5 is Spirit Master — complex spellwork, multi-layered matrices."
"Rank 5 already sounds insane," Hope muttered.
Duke nodded. "And there are five more. But we'll get to those when — if — you're ready."
Hope touched her chest, feeling the faint thrum of energy she'd barely noticed before. "You said I wasn't Rank 1 yet?"
"Close. Your spirit core is forming, but unstable. You've got a reservoir of energy most people would kill for, but no way to wield it."
Rael stretched lazily. "If she tried casting without control, she'd probably explode. Not figuratively."
Hope winced. "Comforting."
Duke knelt beside her and summoned a glowing ball of energy, no larger than a walnut. "Catch this. Feel its weight. Don't let it scatter."
She reached for it, and it hovered above her palm — warm and electric, like a second heartbeat.
"For the record," Duke added, "this is harder than it looks."
The ball shimmered.
Then exploded in a puff of sparks, knocking Hope flat on her back.
Rael burst out laughing.
Duke sighed. "Lesson one: Spirit Magic is patient. It punishes arrogance. And now you owe me a lecture-free evening, Rael.
Hope sat cross-legged again, hair still static from the earlier spark. Her eyes were locked on the tiny blue orb Duke summoned once more.
"Breathe," he instructed, voice calm. "In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Don't rush it. Magic responds to rhythm."
Hope exhaled slowly, her fingers spread. She focused on the orb — the way it flickered, the pull of energy in her chest.
"Now, open your palm. Let the energy settle," Duke said. "Don't grip it with force. Think of it like cupping water. Too tight, and you lose it."
Hope nodded, barely. The orb floated above her hand again — this time, steadier.
"I've got it," she whispered, sweat beading on her brow.
"Good," Duke said. "Now let it go."
The orb dispersed into harmless light, and Hope gasped with relief.
Rael clapped softly. "Ten minutes with the Silver Dragon and she's already further than half the academy dropouts."
Hope smiled, flushed. "How long until I can throw fireballs?"
Duke arched a brow. "You want to start with combustion magic? Ambitious."
"I want to be ready for what's coming," Hope said, more serious now.
Duke nodded slowly. "Then you'll need more than spells. You'll need a foundation. Tomorrow, we begin proper training — energy gathering, internal flow, casting cycles. Welcome to the path of the spirit magician."
Meanwhile, in the frozen spires of Blackthorn Keep...Natalia Taylor stood atop a narrow balcony overlooking the abyss. Snow spiraled around her, but the cold didn't touch her.
Behind her, the shadows stirred. A cloaked figure emerged — face hidden behind bone-white wrappings.
"My queen," the figure rasped. "Our agent in the south reports the girl has begun training."
Natalia didn't turn. "Hope... is awakening."
"She remains unaware of her heritage," the agent added. "And the Duke guards her closely."
"Let him," Natalia said softly. "He'll teach her control. I'll tear it from her when she's ready."
The wind howled as if in warning.
The agent bowed. "What of the Undead? Rumors speak of movement in the west."
Natalia's eyes narrowed. "Let them crawl from their tombs. I've tamed death before."
Deep beneath Azure — in the Forgotten Crypt...The air was dry, the walls laced with veins of glowing obsidian. Torches burned with unnatural blue flame.
A throne of bone and spirit crystal sat at the heart of the chamber, upon which lounged a skeletal figure clad in ancient robes. A deep crown rested on his head — jagged, cracked, but regal.
The Undead King stirred.
"So... the blood of the ancients still runs through her," he rasped, his voice like sand over stone.
"The Constitution sleeps, yet the stars shift. The girl will awaken... and when she does, the balance breaks."
He turned to his silent court of wights and phantoms.
"Let the world prepare its armies and Immortals guard their gates.
The Third Era nears its end — and the First shall rise again."
The Undead King lifts a decrepit finger. A single command echoes through the crypt:
"Awake the spy."