“What now? Climb back up? Impossible... my strength is spent,” Seraph whispered, his voice wavering against the roar of the falls. “There’s only one path left.”

  His voice wavered. His cloak was now entirely saturated by the mist, and the biting chill of the falls drained his vitality with every passing second. The spray had rendered the vine slick; even with full vigor, it was doubtful he could scale the precipice back to the summit.

  Suddenly, Seraph’s resolve hardened, and his eyes flashed with grim determination. He released one hand, drew his wooden staff from beneath his cloak, and began to chant.

  “Ventus Levitas!” Seraph unleashed the spell in a frantic breath.

  [Whoosh!]

  The young man felt the wind embrace him, surging upward to defy the plunge. It felt like the colossal palm of a titan cradling his frame, suspending him in mid-air. He felt, in that heartbeat, as weightless as a stray feather.

  Seraph gritted his teeth to conquer his terror. With a sharp kick, he propelled himself off the cliff face. His body was thrust away from the stone, and he drifted slightly upward into the churning mist.

  The force of the kick propelled him several lengths away from the precipice. The young man released his hold on the vine he had gripped so desperately; in the instant he surrendered his tether to life, he realized his palms were raw and crimson from the strain.

  His entire body pierced the air like an arrow cast into the abyss. Seraph was forced to fix his gaze upon the ground rushing toward him with terrifying velocity. His soul felt as though it were being torn from his flesh, stretched thin by the sheer speed of his descent. He was no different from a fledgling falling into a void, plunging through the thick mist at a speed beyond reckoning. The wind lashed against his face with a stinging bite, and his cloak thrashed like the wings of a broken bird.

  He tore through the sea of vapor at a terminal pace. Before long, a lake appeared below, yet the point of his impact was not the water, but a stretch of dark, unyielding earth that resembled a plate of cold metal. Realizing he was seconds from a lethal collision, the young man splayed his limbs to catch the air, fighting to bleed off his momentum.

  He felt his descent begin to slow, yet the specter of death remained uncomfortably close. Suddenly, a realization struck him, and his eyes widened with frantic hope.

  Seraph staked his life without hesitation. He tucked his limbs tight against his torso, angling his frame toward the lake that shimmered a short distance away. He prayed that the mageia particles of the wind would heed his silent plea and not allow his thread to be cut this day.

  Struggling to command the currents around him, he found that the lingering effects of the levitation spell allowed him a modicum of control over his aerial trajectory. With a surge of will, he gradually shifted his course, hurtling toward the waiting waters.

  The ground rushing toward him allowed a fleeting, vivid glimpse of the emerald lake. In a heartbeat, before the young man could even adjust his posture, he impacted the surface with violent force. His head pierced the water without resistance, and Seraph plunged many meters into the depths.

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  [Splash!]

  The sound of the impact echoed far through the gorge, sending a towering spray of water into the frigid air.

  Beneath the surface, the lake was so translucent that schools of fish were visible in crystalline detail. The aquatic creatures, startled by the uninvited intruder, darted away in a silver blur. Yet, the emerald lake was so profound that Seraph could not discern its floor.

  The young man cared little for the secrets of the deep; he swam for the surface with desperate strokes. As his head breached the waterline, the realization finally took hold: he had survived. His reckless descent into the chasm without forethought had nearly claimed his life a dozen times over. Had even the smallest detail gone awry, the undead of Desden would have gained a new companion this day.

  ? . ? . ? . ? . ?

  “C-curse it... that was too close,” Seraph choked out, coughing up lake water as he scrambled onto the shore. “I only meant it as a passing complaint, but the abyss actually was that deep. The Goddess must truly loathe me today.”

  He wrung the lake’s icy water from his cloak, his voice trembling and thin from the biting chill. “If I’d hit the treetops instead of the lake, I’d be nothing but a broken mess by now—even if I’d managed to snag a branch. I shouldn’t have been so damn impatient. I suppose the Lady of Luck just wanted to see if I could bounce.”

  The lake water was so frigid it nearly froze the blood in his veins. The moment he steped his way onto the shore, droplets of water on his cloak began to crystallize into perfect hexagonal flakes of ice, and his every breath plumed into a cloud of white vapor. His grey cloak, saturated with water, hung from his shoulders like a heavy stone. Once his boots struck solid earth, he immediately chanted another spell.

  “Flamus Aura!” Seraph cast.

  [Fwoosh!]

  A crimson aura draped over his body like thick velvet. The fire-red light was so intense it shimmered with sparks, dancing across Seraph’s form.

  The crimson aura of the Flamus Aura pulsated, drying his skin but leaving his inner garments uncomfortably damp. Seraph stood alone at the water’s edge, looking up at the jagged cliffs that had almost become his tombstone.

  “Wonderful,” Seraph whispered, a dry smirk tugging at his lips. “A masterclass in aeronautics. If I ever go blind, I can always earn a living as a falling rock. At least rocks don’t have to worry about getting their cloaks soggy.”

  By nature, Seraph possessed the ventus element as his sole affinity—much like other magis, who typically commanded only a single elemental mageia.

  Naturally, there existed certain magis of exceptional affinity who were born with two or three innate elements, yet such individuals were exceedingly rare. Affinity was like a shadow cast by destiny; possessing multiple elements did not always guarantee success in the mastery of mageia power or absolute strength.

  Most Archwarlocks of the past were born with but a single, ordinary affinity. The principles of elemental nature were akin to being right or left-handed; if a magis practiced with enough rigor, they could attain proficiency in additional elemental mageia.

  However, Seraph had integrated his understanding of macrocosmic particles with the core principles of mageia theory. This synthesis allowed him to commune with and command various elemental forces with greater fluidity. At this moment, he could manifest flamus mageia precisely as he willed.

  The fiery aura repelled the dampness and infused his body with warmth, making Seraph feel as though he were resting before a grand hearth. In mere moments, both his flesh and his garments were bone-dry.

  “I understand now why everyone else shunned this task,” Seraph muttered, a dry, cynical edge to his voice. “The sheer misery of just getting here makes the reward look like a joke. I should have demanded hazard insurance—or at least a decent towel. Goddess’s grace, I’m doing charity work for the undead at this point.”