Ti passed quickly, and before Damon realized it, Mugu had spent over a year in Lysithara.
Very little had changed on the surface, but beneath that stillness, a routine had taken root.
Mugu, like Damon, preferred solitude. Unlike Damon, he was not abrasive by default. He was polite when necessary and distant when he preferred. He simply did not fit into the culture of the city. The only person who consistently made ti for him was Nemoriel, who taught him patiently and spoke to him without judgnt.
Yet Mugu had beco known for one thing.
His persistence.
He was not particularly gifted. His mana pool was average. His affinity was not flashy. Compared to the natural talents around him, Mugu was diocre.
And yet he kept up.
More than that, he excelled.
Magic. Combat science. Geography. Physics. Alchemy.
He was always there. Always learning. Always practicing.
Tonight was no different.
In the dead of night, a lone figure moved through the training grounds, surrounded by swarms of automata.
Spells flashed in rapid succession. Seals ford and shattered. Mugu twisted, ducked, and slid across the blood slick floor as tal limbs slashed at him from all sides. He hurled a spear, pinned one construct to the ground, and ripped a blade from its body as blood stread down from a deep gash in his neck, soaking his chest.
Finally, the last automaton fell.
Mugu stood there, breathing hard.
He did not rest.
He grabbed a healing potion from his belt, bit the cork off with his teeth, drank it in one motion, then walked to the control dial by the wall.
He turned it.
The setting rose.
Danger multiplied.
"I have surpassed my current level," he muttered to himself. "Let see how I fare against ten tis that."
Then he stepped back into the arena.
This ti, the fight was not a contest.
It was a slaughter.
Within monts he was overwheld. His bones cracked under impact. tal limbs tore into him. He bled faster than he could move. Eventually, the automata stopped, their program complete.
Mugu lay on the ground, barely conscious.
He did not panic.
He knew if he lay still for a few hours, soone would eventually pass by and give him a potion.
"What are you going to do now?" a soft female voice drifted down from above. "Your recklessness will lead to your death."
Damon, watching from the side, recognized her instantly.
Valcara
She stepped into view and crouched beside Mugu, her expression cold and unimpressed.
"Are you a fool? What kind of person mutilates their own body like this? If you cannot care for yourself, how do you expect to grow?"
Mugu sucked in a painful breath.
"Are you going to lecture ," he rasped, "or help?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"You have no idea who you are speaking to. Perhaps I should punish you."
Mugu did not reply. He did not have the strength.
With a small wave of her hand, a gentle light enveloped him. Bones straightened. Flesh knit itself back together. Blood vanished.
The mont he could stand, Mugu nodded in thanks, turned around, walked back to the dial, and activated the challenge again.
Valcara’s eyes widened.
"Are you insane? You almost died and you are going back again?"
Mugu ignored her.
He fought.
He failed.
He fought again.
He failed again.
Over and over, through the night, until the sky began to pale with the coming dawn.
At first, Valcara stayed because she was irritated.
Later, she stayed because she was worried he would actually die.
Eventually, she found herself watching carefully. Then quietly analyzing. Then, without realizing it, silently cheering him on.
Finally, as the first light of dawn touched the arena, Mugu succeeded.
Valcara clapped before she could stop herself.
Mugu dropped to his knees, clothes soaked in his own dried blood.
He stood slowly and walked toward the exit.
She healed him again with a flick of her fingers.
"Healing potions are not cheap," she said. "You must be spending most of your allowance on them."
Mugu gave a small nod. Lysithara rewarded effort, research, and achievent with stipends. He spent nearly all of it pushing his limits.
"You should not rely on healing potions so much," she continued. "You will build resistance."
Mugu reached into his pouch and tossed her a small vial.
"I made a new one," he said calmly. "Higher efficacy. The side effect is intense pain for the user."
She caught it and inspected the liquid. One glance at the ingredients made her frown.
"Do not tell you mixed hell mushrooms with a lie flower. Are you mad?"
Mugu shook his head.
"No. I am efficient."
Valcara sighed.
"Yes. That confirms it. You are mad."
She studied him for a mont.
"What is your na?"
"Mugu."
She paused.
"Mugu. In runic, that na loosely translates to ’wicked one.’" She narrowed her eyes. "Wait. I rember you. You are the one who ca through the Duhu Mountains a year ago."
A small smile appeared on her face.
"Follow ."
She turned and began walking.
Mugu glanced down at his still bloodstained clothes, took a recovery potion to replenish lost blood, then followed after her without a word.
When they stepped outside, she lifted a hand and hailed a carriage with the casual ease of an ordinary citizen, not a figure who helped rule the city. Mugu followed a step behind, unsure whether to speak or simply observe.
They disembarked two districts later and transferred onto a monorail. The ride was silent. By the ti they arrived, they stood before a wide, white-stone institute. Polished letters glead above the entrance:
West Avenue ntal Health and taverse Institute.
"Ahh. We’re here," she said lightly, already striding inside.
The mont she reached the counter, she pointed at Mugu without hesitation.
"I’d like to sign him up for therapy and a full ntal health evaluation, please."
The robed woman behind the desk looked up, then imdiately straightened.
"Welco, Lady Valcara. Are you here to register a new apprentice?"
Valcara shook her head at once.
"Absolutely not. He is the last person I would ever accept as an apprentice. He’s simply crazy. Fix him. I’ll cover the bill if his health insurance can’t."
Mugu stood there, stunned into silence. She had brought him across the city—just for this. And worse, a sage had openly declared she would never take him as an apprentice.
Why? What was wrong with him?
"Right away, Lady Valcara. I’ll get a specialist."
"Thank you," she replied pleasantly, as if she hadn’t just insulted him.
She sat on a nearby chair and crossed her legs. Mugu remained standing, staring at her.
"What was that?" he asked through clenched teeth.
She raised her head, mildly confused.
"A ntal health institute. We research everything in this city, rember?"
"No. Not that," Mugu snapped, fists tightening at his sides. "Why wouldn’t you want as an apprentice? Is there sothing wrong with ?"
She studied him for a mont, then shook her head.
"No. Not quite yet. I just think you’re crazy. So I want to help."
She paused, then added calmly,
"As for the apprentice matter... let’s just say we aren’t fated. In fact, I can check right now. We might never speak again after today."
Before he could react, she reached for his hand.
"I shall now read your fate with ."
Her fingers wrapped around his palm. Her eyes glowed white, and a serene smile touched her lips, the expression of soone who had done this countless tis.
Seconds passed.
Then her smile faltered.
Her face drained of color. Her fingers loosened. She stared at Mugu without blinking, as though seeing sothing far beyond him.
"Well?" Mugu asked, uneasy. "Do we have a fate or not?"
Her breath caught. Her shoulders trembled slightly.
"I... I need to go."
Before Mugu could say another word, Valcara’s body dissolved into countless sparks of light and vanished.
Damon floated nearby, watching in confusion.
What did she see?
Damon’s curiosity stirred, and he drifted after Valcara.
From what he knew, this mont would one day twist into sothing far more intimate. She would eventually take Mugu as her apprentice. She would grow to love him. And Mugu consud by his obsession with Abellona would never return her feelings. In ti, she would die and beco one of the wandering souls bound to the bridge.
That was where Damon had first seen her: an apparition on the path to Lysithara. When she saw him then, she had mistaken him for Mugu.
But here, in this dreamlike mory, none of that had happened yet.
Not yet.
Valcara stumbled out of the institute and collapsed to her knees beneath the shade of a stone archway. Her palms pressed into the ground as if to steady a world that had begun to tilt.
"What... did I see?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why is this my future? I’m going to fall in love with him... no... no... and it will bring nothing but doom."
Love did not frighten her. She was not a woman who feared emotion.
What terrified her was sothing far worse.
She dragged in a sharp breath, fingers curling into the fabric of her robe.
There had been a point before her death when Mugu’s fate had simply... vanished.
Not blurred.
Not hidden.
Gone.
"In its place..." she gasped, her eyes wide and unfocused, "there was an abyss."
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