Chapter 232: Division

At first, the change was subtle. A gentle current of air brushed against Sage’s skin, cool and searching, like a breath moving across water. The mana in the room stirred, not violently, but with purpose, drawn inward toward the circle inscribed beneath them.

Cassian’s robes shifted slightly, the fabric trembling as if responding to an unseen tide. The light from the mana lamps flickered, their glow bending as the ambient energy began to concentrate.

The chant continued, steady and unbroken. Each syllable interlocked with the next, forming a structure that was not merely spoken but constructed, a ritual architecture woven from sound and intent.

Then the wind began. It didn’t rush in from outside or howl like a storm through a broken window. Instead, it rose from within the room itself, spiraling outward from the ritual circle in slow, tightening currents that lifted parchment edges, stirred curtain folds, and set the air trembling with contained force.

Papers scattered across the floor, sliding and fluttering as if drawn by invisible strings. The metal basin on Cassian’s table rattled faintly; its etched symbols caught and reflected the growing light.

Mana surged inward in thick, invisible streams, condensing around Cassian like a mantle of pressure that distorted space itself.

The old mage stood unmoving at the circle’s edge, eyes closed and hands extended slightly forward, fingers curved as though gripping something that existed beyond physical reality.

The pressure emanating from him intensified gradually not explosive but suffocating in its depth, bending air into subtle waves that rippled outward before returning like churning water in a vortex.

The floor creaked softly beneath him; stone resisted the invisible strain placed upon it while mana currents thickened until even a faint breath felt heavy, as if the air had gained weight.

If Valeria had been present, she would have sensed it instantly, the unmistakable signature of someone operating at her own level or perhaps even beyond. The precision and control over this mana environment spoke of mastery that could not be faked.

But she wasn’t there. No one was. Only Sage might have recognized it and he was already sinking deeper into his consciousness as pulled inward by the unfolding ritual tide.

The chant deepened; its cadence shifted into a lower register resonating with the ritual circle beneath Sage and Mina. The pale silver lines inscribed on the floor began to glow, first faintly then brighter, as symbols illuminated one by one in precise sequence.

From that glow emerged the first magic circle, vast and spectral, intricate layers rising slowly around them like a vertical ring of light. It rotated steadily; runes shifted positions as if alive, each movement aligned with Cassian’s voice’s rhythm.

A second circle formed above them mirroring the first but larger; its symbols etched in deeper tones of grey absorbing rather than emitting light.

The third circle emerged beneath them, embedding itself into the floor and anchoring the structure with a stability that made the entire ritual feel less like magic and more like machinery, ancient, precise, and terrifyingly inevitable.

Then the chains appeared. At first, they were merely thin lines of ashen light, reaching upward from the base circle like roots searching for purchase. Gradually, they thickened and solidified into massive, intricate chains composed of interlocking segments of mana.

Each link was engraved with microscopic runes that pulsed faintly as they moved. They rose in deliberate spirals not rushing or lashing out but ascending with purpose, as if they already knew their destination.

Sage felt them before they made contact. A pressure at the edge of his consciousness, cold and invasive, like fingertips brushing against the boundary of his mind.

His breathing instinctively tightened, but he forced himself to remain still, anchoring himself to Mina’s presence before him, her forehead gently pressed against his.

The first chain reached him. It didn’t strike or pierce violently; it drilled into him instead. A surge of pain exploded through him as the grey chain pushed into his shoulder not penetrating flesh but phasing through it to embed itself deeper within him.

Another followed, piercing through his chest; then another threaded into his spine. Each entry point sent jolts of agony racing across his senses. He clenched his teeth, trembling despite his effort to stay steady. Then came the final chain, thicker and heavier, with runes burning brighter than the rest, as it pressed directly against his forehead.

The moment it drilled inward, Sage’s mind shattered into blinding light. Endless fragments fractured across his awareness as though every memory and thought had been pulled apart and laid bare. He felt the chain burrow deeper, threading through the core of his consciousness until, impossibly, it reached his soul.

He saw it not with his eyes but with something deeper within him. His soul wasn’t a shape or figure; it was a mass of grey-white energy, dense and pulsing faintly like a heartbeat suspended in space. The chains wrapped around it not crushing but gripping with absolute precision before slowly pulling.

The pain became immeasurable not sharp agony nor burning torment but rather a sensation of being divided; something fundamental was being torn from its place.

Sage felt himself stretching as if his identity were being pulled thin while the chains extracted a portion of his soul, splitting it into two distinct streams of energy that flickered under strain.

He wanted to scream but found himself locked in place, his jaw clenched and breath ragged yet controlled.

Endure.

The chains shifted direction, guiding the extracted essence forward. The one embedded in his forehead extended outward, phasing through where skin met Mina’s until it drilled deliberately into her consciousness, a bridge formed from grey light between them.

Mana surged as the transfer began.

Sage felt a part of his soul shift, pulled through the chains like liquid fire. Every fragment resisted, as if it understood the pain of separation. The stream pulsed between them, carrying warmth, memory, life-force, and something more elusive,…will.

Mina trembled. A faint sound escaped her lips, a mix between a cry and a breath. The chains tightened, stabilizing the flow.

Cassian’s chant grew louder, his voice slicing through the howling wind as the mana around them swirled violently, spiraling into circles that fed the ritual.

The space warped further; air twisted into visible currents while pressure thickened as if the room might collapse under the weight of what they were doing. Sage’s consciousness flickered.

Pain surged again, sharper and deeper, threatening to drown him in its depths. Darkness clawed at his awareness, whispering promises of relief if he simply let go and allowed himself to be consumed by the process.

But he held on. He focused on Mina, the warmth at his forehead and the memory of her voice calling his name. The stream of soul-energy intensified, flowing faster now into Mina’s being. Within that bridge, he glimpsed fragments, shadows of her consciousness stirring faintly and reaching instinctively toward him.

Their souls touched for a fleeting moment; the boundary between them dissolved.

He felt her fear, determination, pain and her refusal to fade away.

The transfer stabilized. The chains loosened slightly; their grip shifted from extraction to guidance as the final threads of energy passed through their connection. Light around them dimmed gradually; winds slowed and pressure eased in careful increments as Cassian’s chant approached its conclusion.

Then came a final pulse of gray light, the chains withdrew one by one, dissolving into thin air as their runes faded and links unraveled into motes that scattered like ash. The circles dimmed too; their rotation slowed until they vanished entirely, leaving only a faint glow etched into the stone floor.

Silence returned. The grey light faded, leaving only the pale morning light and the dim glow of the mana-lamps. Papers lay scattered, the metal basin had tipped over, and the air smelled of ozone and spent magic. The room looked like a storm had passed through it.

Sage sagged forward slightly; his breath was uneven and limbs heavy, as if existence itself had doubled in weight. His forehead remained pressed against Mina’s; eyes closed tightly while he clung stubbornly to wakefulness despite exhaustion threatening to pull him under.

Across from him, Mina inhaled, a small shallow breath.

Her brow relaxed slightly; tension eased as lines of pain softened into something calmer and steadier.

Cassian lowered his hands slowly; remnants of mana faded from his fingers. For a moment he said nothing, his chest rising and falling as he steadied his breathing before stepping forward to place two fingers lightly against Mina’s temple. He closed his eyes to assess her internal flow.

Time stretched on.

Finally exhaling softly, he said quietly, “She is stable.”

Cassian’s hands fell to his sides, trembling. He had performed this ritual three times before. Only two people had lived. Only one donor had survived. He didn’t know which category Sage would fall into.

Sage opened his eyes, vision blurred and carefully lifted his head. The room felt different, emptier yet somehow heavier.

Mina stayed nestled in his arms, her breathing soft yet steady, no longer on the brink of slipping away.

A wave of relief surged through him, overwhelming and silent. But as it washed over him, his vision faded to black, and he collapsed heavily onto the floor.

Just as he fainted, Mina’s eyes fluttered open, revealing her striking golden gaze.

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