The air was stale and suffocating, heavy with the scent of damp stone and decay. She stirred in the confined space, her limbs sluggish as if weighted down by invisible chains. With a grunt, she pushed against the surface above her, feeling the grinding resistance of stone on stone. Her strength faltered momentarily, her body weaker than it had been in the library. A soft groan escaped her lips as she forced the heavy lid open, the light of the outside world barely filtering in to reveal the cold, desolate chamber around her.
"I feel... hungry," she muttered, her voice rasping in the still air. The realization sent a ripple of unease through her. Hunger was a sensation she hadn't known for what felt like an eternity, a need that her body had long been shielded from by the mana sustenance of the god's domain.
Her fingers instinctively reached out, searching for the comforting presence of her sword. It wasn't there. "Where is it?" she whispered, a pang of anxiety rising in her chest. Without the sword, she felt vulnerable, exposed, a shadow of the formidable being she had become. Her hand clenched into a fist. "Weak… I feel weakened."
Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing and reached out with her senses, letting mana flow through her awareness. The world around her began to form in her mind, not through sight, but through the vibrations of energy that resonated in the space. The faint hum of mana painted a picture of her surroundings: the stone walls, the worn carvings, the dust motes suspended in the air. And then, a spark of familiarity, she felt her sword's unmistakable energy signature radiating from a statue in the corner of the room.
"There you are," she said, relief washing over her. Without hesitation, she crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. The statue was carved from a rough, unyielding stone, a depiction of some forgotten figure standing sentinel over the tomb. She wasted no time in delivering a powerful strike, shattering the stone figure into jagged pieces. The sword it had held in its grip was flung free, clattering against the wall with a deafening ring.
She retrieved it quickly, her hands trembling as she ran her fingers along the blade. The familiar weight, the smooth black sheen, and the faint hum of its energy steadied her fraying nerves. Yet, something was amiss. She turned the sword over in her hands, her gaze narrowing. "No sheath?" she murmured.
Her voice echoed back at her in the empty tomb, and she clenched her jaw, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "So much for 'empowered,'" she spat, recalling the god's words. He promised me strength, yet here I am, drained and incomplete. What else did he lie about? Did my mana leak out of my body? This is too confusing… Shitty fucking god.
Sighing, she sat cross-legged on the cold floor, her sword resting across her knees. She closed her eyes again, reaching inward to assess the damage. Her mana veins, once vibrant and flowing, now felt hollow, their capacity severely diminished. Her heart, the core of her magical being, pulsed weakly, its reserves nearly empty. And yet, the other energy, that strange, otherworldly force that had surged through her in the library, remained mostly intact, though diminished.
Her brows furrowed in confusion. Why is my mana so drained, but this energy remains? She couldn't make sense of it, but she knew she couldn't dwell on it now. Focusing on the ambient mana in the tomb, she began to circulate it into her body. Her breathing deepened, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with the energy she drew in. Slowly, steadily, her mana began to replenish, the veins filling once more. When she opened her eyes, she felt… better. Not whole, but better.
"Fifty percent," she murmured. "It's enough for now, but far from what I need." She frowned, her fingers drumming against the hilt of her sword. The methods she had learned in the library were inefficient, brute force solutions. These wasted more mana than they used effectively. She needed to adapt, to refine her craft in this new world.
Rising to her feet, she adjusted her robe with a thought, willing the enchanted fabric into a more practical design. The long, flowing material reshaped itself into a supportive bra and a pair of fitted panties. She snapped the sword into the back of the makeshift garment, the blade resting securely against her spine. The enchantment felt stable, though she noted how the effort of reshaping the fabric drained a small but steady stream of her mana.
Her gaze swept over the room. It was a tomb, clearly an ancient one, resting place adorned with faded tapestries and crumbling stonework. Above the casket she had emerged from, a tapestry hung in tatters, its intricate designs worn beyond recognition by time. The sight stirred an ache in her chest. How long was I here?
She approached the corridor's end with measured steps, her heart pounding in rhythm with her mana heart. The faint glow of light ahead grew brighter with each step, spilling into the shadows like liquid gold. It was the first light she'd seen in what felt like millennia, and it terrified her as much as it intrigued her.
Squinting against the brilliance, she stepped into the open air. The world unfolded around her in an explosion of sensation, cold wind on her skin, the rustle of leaves in the distance, the overwhelming scent of damp earth and pine. She froze, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as the enormity of it all crashed over her.
Her fingers brushed the rough bark of a tree, grounding her as her knees threatened to buckle. It was real. The outside world was something she had dreamed of but never truly believed she'd see again.
And yet, with each breath of fresh air, the isolation of the library clawed at her like a phantom. She had left behind something familiar, however suffocating it had been, and now stood on the precipice of an unknown existence. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to move. "One step," she muttered under her breath. "Then another."