As the two father and son approached closer to leave the independent world, Umbrazel stood aside in silence, the shadows sticking to his form like a second skin, his dark presence giving way with a barely acknowledged shift in his form to let them pass. He then followed closely behind, his footsteps ghostly echoes in the void as they left the independent world and entered the towering castle.
"Nyxander," Zephyrion called to his son, his voice sharp but low, like the faint hum of a storm on the horizon.
"Yes, father?" Nyxander turned to his father with a curious gaze, his expression touched with both caution and wonder. "Is there a problem?" he asked, his youthful voice steady but tinged with concern as he tried to read the intent behind Zephyrion's piercing eyes.
"Not really," said Zephyrion. His tone betrayed a flicker of hesitation. "It's about the technique you used on me earlier. I felt. as if I was hooked somehow, like a prisoner caught in invisible chains. It was faint, but I could tell something held me." The words tumbled from his lips, it would seem his curiosity getting the better of him now.
"Oh, that." Nyxander's lips parted slightly, surprise glimmering in his eyes as the sudden weight of his father's interest in what he considered a trivial matter left him momentarily stunned.
They continued walking as Nyxander explained. "I call it Void Lock. You see, the Empty Strides-PT 01 Launch technique I came up with relies on me propelling my body like a rocket. It's powerful but, in mid-air, I have no control over my trajectory.
For an attack to land effectively, a target has to stay fixated in one spot. And that is where Void Lock enters because it allows me to solidify the void around my opponent, like a fly inside amber, unable to budge." His voice didn't tremble, his tone even, but beneath it was a hint of pride-the pride of forging something truly his own.
Zephyrion listened intently, his sharp gaze softening with fascination as they entered a room. Umbrazel followed closely, his movements fluid and deliberate, before closing the heavy door behind them with a quiet thud.
"Okay, sit down," Zephyrion instructed, his hand extending to the gray marble chairs that circled a table carved with intricate, swirling patterns, like the echoes of time itself frozen in stone. Nyxander and Umbrazel sat down at his behest; the cool, smooth surface of the chairs provided a sharp contrast to the tension filling the room.
"Now, Nyxander," Zephyrion began, his massive fingers interlocking tightly as if the gravity of the words were weighty even for him. "Umbrazel's presence here today relates to you."
Nyxander's head rose, and in a quick, jerky motion, his bright gaze flitted from his father to Umbrazel. A flicker crossed his features like the first ripples on a hitherto still lake after a well-flung stone.
"You look confused, and that's normal," Zephyrion continued, his voice straightforward yet with the weight in what was to come. "I'll give you just a little explanation, but the rest will be answered by him." He gave a slight nod toward the Umbrazel, an inscrutable expression revealing just nothing.
"When, in each Primordial clan, the countdown from the day a Primordial infant is born reaches fifteen years, it is the time for the Coming of Age Battle." Zephyrion adjusted his massive arms to let them rest heavily upon his lap, the motion causing the chair beneath him to softly creak.
"This year, it's your turn to take part," Zephyrion said, the words falling like the blow of an axe, though his tone was tinged with pride.
Nyxander's face lit up with unrestrained excitement, the joy in his expression as radiant as sunlight breaking through a storm. "Does that mean I'll meet Primordials from other races?" he asked, his words spilling out like a stream bursting through a dam, his happiness impossible to hide.
"That's how it's supposed to be," Zephyrion replied, his voice dipping slightly, as if bracing for the disappointment he knew would come. "But your birth happened earlier than expected, which means there won't be any Primordials from other races this time."
Nyxander's once-bright expression dimmed, his joy wilting like a flower deprived of sunlight.
"Don't be concerned," Zephyrion said, his voice firm yet reassuring. "You will not be the only participant. Another from our clan will be going into the fight. Thus, be on your best behavior when you meet."
Nyxander nodded, the excitement tempered, still simmering beneath the surface, the promise of the unknown sparking faint embers of anticipation within his gaze.
The discussion was still going on when the door to the room creaked open, its protesting sound slicing through the conversation and drawing every pair of eyes to the entrance. Heads instinctively turned, curiosity etched on their faces, to see who had intruded. Nihara stepped inside, the door closing softly behind her as she moved forward with deliberate, graceful steps.
For the first time, Nyxander saw how beautiful his mother was, her features aglow with a soft sheen of residual pain. His eyes dropped to her pale blue irises and started as he realized his were just like hers-a legacy carried in their blood.
Nihara sat down beside them. Though still recovering from her internal injuries, she now moved with a certain fragile elegance, able to navigate the castle confines of their world with limited freedom. She scanned the three faces before her, her expression sharp and piercing. "It seems I'm not welcome here," she remarked, her voice carrying a subtle authority that reverberated like the low hum of distant thunder. Her words, as sudden as they were, sent a ripple through the room. The three seated individuals all flinched, their hiccups escaping involuntarily.
"No, no, not at all!" her husband, son, and Umbrazel replied in near-perfect unison, hands waving in frantic denial as though to dispel the tension her statement created.
In one smooth motion, Umbrazel sprang to his feet, bowing as he crossed his arms upon his chest. "Greeting, Mother of the Abyssborn," he repeated, his tone formal but polite.
"Greetings," Nihara replied with a small nod; she gestured for him to resume his seat. "You may take your seat.
Her sharp gaze turned to Nyxander, softening just a fraction as her lips curved into a faint smile. "It seems you wouldn't visit me unless I came to you," she said, her words laced with gentle reproach.
"Not at all, Mother. I would have come, but… I was asked to wait," Nyxander stammered, his confidence unraveling as if caught in a storm. Sweat beaded on his brow, betraying the unease her presence invoked.
"I hope you haven't come to stop or interfere with his coming-of-age program," Zephyrion interjected, his tone carefully neutral as the room's atmosphere grew heavier, the tension almost palpable.
"Humph," Nihara scoffed, a keen sound that cut through the unease like a blade. "What do you take me for? I have come to give him advice before he departs," she replied, her voice firm yet with the weight of her concern carried within it. She shifted her gaze to Zephyrion, her finger lifting to point at their son.
"Fine. That should be," Zephyrion conceded, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, signaling her to proceed.
"Nyxander," Nihara called, her voice pulling her son's attention like an invisible tether. "If you find that you cannot handle these primordial beasts, there's no shame in retreat. A wise man knows when to step back," she said, her smile vanishing, replaced by a gravity that settled over the room like thick, unyielding fog. Her words were measured and deliberate, clinging to Nyxander's ears like honey, heavy and impossible to ignore.
"Yes, Mother. You don't have to worry about that. I've been training with Father for years," Nyxander replied, firm but with the earnestness of a child seeking to reassure a parent.
"And, my son, this is the most important thing of all," Nihara continued, the air around her shifting as an intense aura radiated outward. Though her body was weak, the sheer force of her presence sent shivers coursing through Nyxander, a glimpse of the terror she must have embodied in her prime. "Do not manipulate the law, no matter what, until you have broken through to the Ascendant Realm."
She opened her mouth to continue, but Zephyrion cut in smoothly. "Don't worry about that; he has promised not to," he said calmly and decisively. Turning to Umbrazel and Nyxander, he gestured with a flick of his wrist. "Now, without wasting any more of your time, you should start leaving before the day runs out.
Both Umbrazel and Nyxander rose to their feet, crossing their arms over their chests in a show of respect. "Then we will take our leave," Umbrazel said steadily as they exited the room, closing the door gently behind them.
The space they had left behind fell silent, opposite to the brilliant conversation that had filled it. Nihara and Zephyrion sat in silence, their thoughts laden and unstable. Finally, Nihara spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of emotion. "Do you think he's going to be okay?"