Seraphine stood atop the floating island of Destinar, its vast expanse suspended in the sky like a forgotten relic of the heavens. The air shimmered with latent magic, and the runes beneath her feet pulsed faintly, reacting to the unseen leyline currents threading through the land.

  This was Kaelith’s domain, a place of fate and formation, where only those who sought true mastery endured.

  And she would endure.

  The formations before her were no simple patterns—they were living mechanisms, pulsating with the flow of Eidolon’s magic. She had already mastered the first five formations under Kaelith’s relentless tutelage, but now she faced another test.

  First Attempt – Everflowing Well (85% Success)

  Seraphine knelt on the smooth, enchanted stone, her fingers tracing the outline of a triangular conduit system. She inscribed the three interlinked runes—Flow, Stability, Source—etching each symbol with precision.

  The runes glowed, responding to her touch.

  So far, so good.

  She reached into her satchel and retrieved a leyline-infused crystal, pressing it into the center of the formation. A hum resonated in the air, magic coiling around the structure like a serpent drinking from an eternal spring.

  The moment she channeled her mana—a rush of energy surged outward.

  The stone beneath her trembled.

  Then—a deep, resonant pulse echoed through the island.

  Water erupted from the ground, clear and pure, cascading into a small, self-sustaining pool.

  Seraphine exhaled. Success.

  But there was no time to revel in the achievement. Kaelith gave her no praise, only silence.

  She moved to the next.

  Second Attempt – Soul-Stabilizing Array (75% Success)

  This one would be harder.

  Seraphine spread out an enchanted cloth over the platform, feeling the threads of magic woven into its fabric. She etched the first rune carefully, forming a perfect circle before inscribing the four outer rings—Vitality, Spirit, Flow, and Balance.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead as she dipped her quill into silver-infused ink, carefully tracing the final glyphs. The magic resisted slightly, but she forced her will into it, bending the energy into obedience.

  She placed her hands over the formation and channeled mana into the array.

  The circle glowed.

  It held for three seconds—

  Then flickered and collapsed.

  The ink smudged, the formation unraveling like a shattered glass pane.

  Seraphine flinched as a backlash struck her, a dull ache blooming behind her eyes.

  Her hands curled into fists.

  Failure.

  Kaelith watched impassively. He did not need to reprimand her. The failure itself was punishment enough.

  But she didn’t stop.

  She reset the cloth, redrew the runes, steadied her breathing.

  She had to get this right.

  Third Attempt – Stormbound Circle (65% Success)

  She selected a metallic slab, its surface already charged with faint electricity.

  This time, her hands trembled.

  She knew the risks—this formation could backfire violently if overcharged.

  Seraphine carved a hexagonal sigil, carefully placing four amplifiers at each corner. Her strokes were precise, but hesitation seeped in as she reached the final sequence—Runes of Charge, Conduction, and Discharge.

  Lightning crackled around her fingertips.

  She gritted her teeth and pressed her palm against the sigil, releasing the stored energy.

  The formation surged to life.

  Electricity snapped through the air, spiraling upward toward the storm-heavy clouds. For a heartbeat, it held—

  Then a blinding arc of lightning lashed out wildly.

  Seraphine barely threw herself aside in time, a scorch mark searing into the stone where she had just been kneeling.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Her breath came fast and shallow.

  Failure.

  Again.

  Her fingers clenched, her nails digging into her palms. The smell of ozone and burnt fabric clung to the air.

  This wasn’t just magic.

  This was Kaelith’s test.

  How far would she push herself?

  Her legs trembled, but she stood again, her resolve sharper than before.

  Fourth Attempt – Sentinel Glyph Formation (55% Success)

  She wasn’t given time to rest.

  Seraphine gathered three enchanted stones and arranged them in a tri-layered circle.

  Inner Core. Summoning Link.

  Middle Ring. Command Sequences.

  Outer Protection Circle.

  She traced the glyphs in painstaking detail.

  This formation would create an autonomous guardian—but the risk of failure meant it could turn on her instead.

  Still, she activated it.

  The runes glowed—

  A shape began to form within the circle—

  Then—an eerie screech.

  The energy shuddered, twisted—then exploded outward, flinging her back.

  Seraphine hit the ground hard, the impact rattling her bones.

  Her ears rang.

  She gasped for breath, dazed. The summoned construct had instantly destabilized, its energy collapsing in on itself.

  Pain radiated through her body, but she forced herself upright, swallowing the frustration burning in her throat.

  She had failed.

  Again.

  Fifth Attempt – Spatial Lock Sigil (40% Success)

  Her hands trembled now.

  She was exhausted.

  Each failure drained her mana, her stamina, her willpower.

  And this was the hardest one yet.

  The Spatial Lock Sigil was notorious for its high failure rate.

  She knelt on the solid stone, sweat dripping from her temple.

  She had to etch the four anchor points with extreme precision. Any mistake would mean disaster.

  She inhaled.

  Then she began.

  Each stroke took everything she had left.

  Runes of Locking, Dispersion, and Disruption formed beneath her fingertips.

  She poured mana into the formation, her vision blurring from fatigue.

  For a moment—

  It held.

  The sigil pulsed—

  Then shattered apart like fractured glass.

  A wave of magical recoil slammed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs.

  She collapsed forward, arms catching her weight just before she hit the ground.

  Failure.

  Again.

  Seraphine pressed her forehead against the cool stone, her ragged breath the only sound in the vast expanse of the island.

  Pain radiated through her limbs.

  Her body trembled, magic-drained and aching, but the worst pain wasn’t physical.

  It was frustration.

  It was failure after failure grinding into her bones.

  She had mastered the first five formations. Why were these so much harder?

  She knew why.

  Kaelith had told her from the beginning—true mastery is only earned through struggle.

  She could stop now.

  Give in.

  But then—what had all of this been for?

  Her fingers dug into the stone.

  No.

  She refused to break.

  She forced herself to sit up, ignoring the burning fatigue in her muscles.

  Kaelith stood nearby, watching. He said nothing.

  He didn’t need to.

  She knew what he expected.

  Try again.

  And so she would.

  With bloodied hands and ragged breath—she would keep going.

  Until she got it right.

  ---

  Luna finally returned to Spooky Forest, her steps heavy with exhaustion as she reached Lukar’s isolated dwelling. The twisted trees loomed like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching unnaturally under the dim light.

  She knocked once.

  The door creaked open, revealing Lukar’s ever-present smirk. His sharp gaze flickered over her, taking in the dirt-streaked clothes, the faint tremor in her hands, and the weariness lining her face.

  "Took you long enough," he mused, stepping aside.

  Luna bit back a retort and entered. The moment the door shut behind her, the familiar scent of herbs, charred wood, and something acrid filled her lungs.

  Lukar extended a gloved hand, expectant.

  Luna hesitated—only for a second.

  The Necrotic Nightshade, the very thing she had nearly died for, sat cool and fragile in her grasp. It felt wrong to give it up so easily, after everything she had endured.

  But it was a quest item.

  She had no choice.

  With gritted teeth, she placed it in his palm.

  Lukar’s fingers curled around the delicate flower. He examined it briefly, then gave a small nod. "Perfect."

  Luna barely had time to register her frustration before he turned on his heel.

  "Now," he said smoothly, his voice curling like smoke in the dim room, "let’s get to the good part."

  Luna followed him deeper into the workshop, the flickering light of alchemical flames casting eerie shapes along the walls.

  At the center of the room sat a black stone table, its surface etched with glowing runes. Vials of shifting colors lined the shelves, bubbling with unknown concoctions. Some pulsed with a sickly green light; others were thick as tar, oozing within their glass prisons.

  Lukar set the Necrotic Nightshade down with delicate reverence, then gestured for Luna to stand beside him.

  "Pay attention, girl. What we’re about to make is no ordinary poison."

  She already knew that.

  This was the culmination of everything so far—the trials, the suffering, the near-death encounters.

  Lukar picked up a small silver dagger, flipping it between his fingers before slicing the Nightshade’s stem.

  A single drop of inky liquid bled from the cut. The moment it touched the air, the temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

  Luna shivered. The very essence of death clung to that single drop.

  Lukar gave a pleased hum.

  "This," he murmured, tilting the dagger to examine the poison as it slid down the blade, "is the foundation of something far greater."

  He motioned toward the vials, and Luna steeled herself.

  It was time.

  Together, they began.

  The Base Compound – Lukar guided Luna as she combined extracts from deadly flora, mixing them in precise ratios. The Necrotic Nightshade was the key, its essence intertwining with every ingredient like veins of black ink spreading through water.

  The Catalyst – Lukar dropped in a fragment of crystallized toxin, an ingredient so rare that Luna doubted even the best alchemists had access to it. The mixture simmered violently, turning from deep purple to a shade so dark it seemed to devour light.

  The Final Infusion – Luna’s role wasn’t just to follow orders—she had to make this her own.

  She reached for her Catalytic Reaction skill, amplifying the effects as she carefully poured in the final binding agent. The moment it touched the concoction, the entire flask shuddered, the liquid inside twisting unnaturally, as if alive.

  Then—

  Silence.

  The mixture settled.

  A perfect, deadly stillness.

  Lukar grinned. "There it is."

  Luna stared at the vial, her pulse quickening.

  This wasn’t just poison.

  It was a weapon of inevitability.

  Something no antidote could counter, no resistance could withstand.

  And now—

  She had a choice.

  Lukar wiped off his blade, watching her carefully.

  "This poison is unlike anything else." His voice was almost reverent. "The moment it touches the bloodstream, it adapts. Evolves. It finds whatever weakness a body has and exploits it mercilessly."

  Luna swallowed hard.

  He was right.

  The poison wasn’t one thing—it was every weakness, manifesting in different ways depending on the target.

  And it was hers to wield.

  Lukar leaned against the table. "Now, girl. What will you do with it?"

  Her fingers tightened around the vial.

  She could keep it, store it away for the right moment, a trump card unlike any other.

  Or—

  She could use it now, test its power in an irreversible trial.

  The weight of the decision pressed down on her.

  This was more than a simple alchemical choice.

  This was about who she would become.