As the final piece of the grey world of mud and fog crumbled to the nonexistent ground at Ackster's feet, Ackster's eyes only saw black for an instant before he returned to reality.
Ackster sprung up from his sitting position, immediately destabilizing the hot air balloon's basket.
"Hey! Watch it– Ac– Dean! You're conscious?!"
Ackster didn't immediately answer as he was still incredibly disoriented and weak from what he had just undergone. He also had no idea where he was, so his first priority was to assess his surroundings, which didn't take long since there wasn't much surrounding him.
It was the seemingly magic-powered hot air balloon's balloon over him and the basket, large enough to fit five passengers and a pilot, under and around him. Other than that, there wasn't much else, only clear, blue skies, which Ackster looked at with a smile of relief that barely curved his lips.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to inhale the freely flowing wind. It was so full of life and smells. It was so much better than the damp, earthy, stale, scentless scent of the cursed trap in his mind.
"Um, are you alright?"
But he wasn't alone in the hot air balloon, thankfully, since he didn't know how to pilot one.
Ackster opened his eyes and looked at Wilma, who stood on the other side of the balloon, her hand clutching the railing since someone had been about to flip it just moments ago.
"Yeah."
Ackster's throat was fine, and if his and Wilma's clothes were any indication, not that much time had passed since he left the ant nest. But it felt like an eternity had passed right by as he walked through the muddy wasteland. Even if he hadn't been quite conscious then, he still remembered it vividly. It was like someone had drawn a grey streak through his mind.
During all that time, he hadn't even thought about uttering a single word, so his talkativity was at an all-time low.
But as the breeze shifted, he got a whiff of Wilma's familiar scent.
It was what he had occasionally picked up during his walk and was part of what had helped him keep his reason and sanity long enough to collapse of exhaustion and realize something was wrong.
"Thank you."
Ackster's eyes, deep as the ocean, gazed straight into Wilma's. It was the first time he noticed that her brown eyes had a hint of gold in them.
Wilma, on the other hand, was overwhelmed by the clarity and depth of Ackster's eyes. Just hours ago, they had not been like that. He was suddenly no longer as easy to read as before. But she could still feel the overwhelming sincerity behind his words.
"Not a problem. Anything for my dear investment."
Wilma wasn't sure how she had helped Ackster, but she knew that even if she had, she hadn't done much. So, out of slight embarrassment, she played it off with a light smile.
"Mm."
Since Ackster clearly wasn't in the mood to talk, Wilma didn't say anything. She watched Ackster look at the view while thinking about what could have happened.
Not that there was much that could have happened.
Ackster had resisted his mental breakdown.
No.
His mind had broken down in pieces from the heavy weight it was carrying, that he was carrying on his shoulders. That weight had magnified under his worries and fears, thanks to the trigger that was the discovery that he had been trapped in the dark underground for several months.
But instead of going crazy or losing those pieces, Ackster had come back from the brink of insanity by piecing the fragments of his mind back together.
Wilma didn't know how he had done it. But it didn't matter. Ackster was out on the other side of a tumultuous storm, and he was stronger for it.
Ackster's body hadn't changed, and he hadn't physically or literally grown stronger. But his mental strength was on a whole other level.
It was to the point where the side of the Golden Scale that determined the investment requirement had grown to accommodate the necessary investment to move Ackster's heart.
If Wilma hadn't already earned Ackster's goodwill by helping him cross the ravine of his mental breakdown, she would have had to expend significantly more effort to get in his good graces or help him develop further. But it wasn't for nothing.
It was like a bubble had popped both around the investment side and the return on investment side of the scales. After all, now that Ackster was stable, the scales were balanced.
Ackster's potential had soared just as much as the need to reach full maturity. The ball of light signaling Ackster's potential had doubled in size. It had come at the cost of losing a few more colors. But in Wilma's eyes, it was perfect. Ackster already had too many viable paths to choose from.
It was the first time she had seen someone's scale grow. But it was clear that it was a good thing. Even if it was the first time her skill had shown her something like it, Wilma knew instinctively that Ackster's value had grown tremendously. And since he had been worth a lot before, she could hardly wait to see what would happen when Ackster reached the ends of his potential, if that was even possible.
His potential and the limits of his talent and growth had already moved once. What was to say it wouldn't happen again?
Of course, considering Ackster had almost become braindead, it was very unlikely. But Wilma was expectant. What would Ackster show her next?
Wilma was so caught up in thinking about the results of her skill that she didn't notice Ackster's expression changing.
Ackster's brows furrowed as he looked down toward the ground far below them. More specifically, at the large, black, red, and brown area. It was almost too far away for even his Keen Senses to see. But it looked like ruins.
"What's that?"
Wilma followed Ackster's gaze as she looked over the edge of the basket.
"That? That's the ruins of Jittol."