Journey to Become the Zenith

Beneath the Elder’s House

Inside his mind, Diana waited.

”A bit of blood,” she repeated softly.

Victor didn’t hesitate.

”It doesn’t matter. Just do it.”

A flicker ran through the serpent ink coiled around his forearm. Red streaks under his skin glowed sharper, tendrils of radiance creeping out as if fed by breath below dermis.

Then -

Out of the ink came tiny spikes, fine as needles. Not made of metal, these. Formed instead from packed mana, slender and exact, catching dim light under shadowed air.

Clara stiffened.

Lane’s gaze tightened just a bit, yet she held her ground. Stillness stayed in her stance, even as tension curled around the moment.

Felt first - cold pricks crawling down his arm. Steel slipped past flesh, no warning given. Skin gave way under sharp pressure, one after another. A quiet breach, nothing softened. Each puncture arrived like a held breath finally released.

No dramatic reaction.

No flinch.

A small pull at the edge of his face. Not quite still, but almost.

A smear of red crept over his arm when Diana took her share.

It didn’t hurt. That feeling was something else entirely.

It was cold.

Like something ancient tasting him.

The blood shimmered briefly before dissolving into the tattoo.

Diana inhaled softly within his consciousness.

The shift was immediate.

Her presence grew heavier.

Sharper.

Her senses expanded outward like ripples across water.

Victor felt it too—an invisible net spreading over rooftops, beneath floors, through earth.

For a few long heartbeats, there was nothing.

Then—

”There is something gathering beneath the village elder’s house,” Diana said calmly. ”Mana is pooling there. Concentrated. And I am certain... the villagers are down there as well.”

Victor’s eyes opened.

Not slowly. Not groggily.

They snapped open with sharp focus, the kind that came when a puzzle piece suddenly slid into place.

”Lane. Clara. Follow me.”

Lane didn’t even hesitate. The moment Victor moved, he moved too.

Clara blinked, still trying to catch up.

”Wait—what?”

But Victor was already moving.

He didn’t waste time explaining.

He sprinted.

Gravel scattered under his boots as he cut across the empty square toward the largest house in the village. The quiet of the settlement shattered beneath the pounding rhythm of his footsteps.

Lane ran beside him without a word, long strides matching Victor’s pace easily.

Clara rushed after them, breath quickening, irritation flashing across her face.

”Victor!” she called. ”What’s happening? You can’t just—”

No response.

He didn’t even glance back.

They reached the wooden steps of the elder’s house in seconds.

Clara grabbed the railing, pulling herself up after them, frustration building.

”What’s happening?” she demanded again.

Victor didn’t answer.

Instead—

He kicked the door open.

The wood splintered inward with a loud crack that shattered the village’s silence. The door slammed against the wall, dust shaking loose from the frame.

Clara froze for half a second, staring at the broken door.

Her irritation spiked.

She hated this part of him.

The part that acted first and explained later.

It felt reckless.

Impulsive.

Infuriating.

But she also knew—

Victor wasn’t careless.

He wouldn’t move like this without reason.

Which meant something was wrong.

Very wrong.

She exhaled sharply and followed him inside.

”Next time,” she muttered under her breath, ”maybe warn people before you demolish someone’s house.”

Lane almost smiled.

The house was dark.

Cold.

The air inside felt stale, thick with the faint scent of dust and old wood, like the place hadn’t truly been lived in for days.

Victor stepped through the main hall without slowing, his eyes sweeping across the room once.

Tables. Cabinets. Chairs.

Nothing unusual.

But he could feel it.

That faint pull again.

The space below ground,” he said quietly.

Lane shifted his head just a bit, feeling it now. Not quite sure how, but there - same thing.

”Yeah... I feel it.”

Clara frowned.

”Feel what?”

Off they went, those two. Already in motion before another word.

Floor by floor, Lane moved with quiet focus, eyes tracing every crack and corner. Wood met knuckle with soft taps, each ping a question aimed at hidden gaps behind the walls. Furniture stood still under scrutiny, part of a slow search that treated silence like a clue. Panels answered back in dull echoes, some tighter than others, suggesting secrets below the surface.

Footsteps muffled, Clara moved across the floor, raising each lantern one by one while sliding chairs out of her path. Behind shelves she looked next, careful where she stepped. Light wavered as she reached into shadowy corners.

”This better not be another one of your ’gut feelings,’ Victor,” she said.

Victor didn’t respond.

The world around him blurred, leaving only one thing sharp.

The group reached the door below ground without delay.

Beside the kitchen sits a slim wooden door. Hidden it waits, unassuming in its frame.

He yanked the door wide. The cold air rushed in before he stepped through.

Footsteps led downward, swallowed by shadow. Darkness waited below, quiet and deep.

Down they went, rushing through the doorway below. The stairs swallowed them fast.

A sound rose from the wood when they stepped, a low moan beneath their feet. Downward motion brought more noise, every movement teasing another whisper through still air.

Below, the air changed.

Damp.

Heavier.

Colder.

Clara wrinkled her nose.

”Ugh. Smells like mold down here.”

Lane crouched slightly, running his fingers across the wall.

”...No. Something else.”

Victor paused at the bottom.

He could feel it now.

A faint fluctuation.

Subtle, but unmistakable.

Mana.

Pooling somewhere deeper underground.

Like water gathering beneath stone.

His gaze slowly swept across the basement.

Storage shelves.

Old barrels.

Crates stacked against the wall.

Too ordinary.

Too neat.

”Victor,” Clara said quietly, her earlier irritation fading, ”tell me you’re feeling that too.”

He nodded once.

”There’s something going on underground,” he said quietly. ”Search this room. Look for a switch, a lever, a hidden path. Anything.”

Lane nodded once and immediately began inspecting the stone walls, tapping lightly for hollow resonance.

Clara moved toward a stack of old wooden crates pushed into the corner.

Victor considered simply shattering the floor.

He could use [Crush].

An earth spell capable of collapsing the ground like paper folding in on itself.

But his control wasn’t refined enough yet.

If he misjudged—

He might trigger a trap.

Or worse—

Crush whoever was below.

So restraint it was.

Diana manifested briefly beside him in her human form—long black hair cascading over her shoulders, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, black robes brushing the ground without sound.

She crouched and placed her palm against the floor.

”Directly below,” she murmured. ”The mana current is strong.”

Lane ran her fingers along the wall seam.

Nothing.

Clara knelt near the crates and began pulling them aside one by one.

Dust filled the air.

She coughed lightly.

Then—

Her hand brushed something metallic inside the last box.

She froze.

Carefully, she lifted out a small iron lever hidden beneath layers of old cloth.

Her pulse quickened.

”Victor.”

The floor shifted.

A low grinding sound echoed through the basement as a section of stone slid aside.

A dark opening revealed itself.

Stairs.

Descending into deeper blackness.

Victor looked at Clara.

A slow grin tugged at his lips.

”Good job, Clara. So you are good for something.”

For half a second—

She stared at him.

Her fingers tightened around the lever.

She wanted to snap back.

To throw something at him.

But before she could—

Victor had already stepped onto the hidden staircase.

Lane followed without hesitation.

Clara exhaled sharply through her nose, frustration simmering hot beneath her composure.

Unbelievable.

He could at least say thank you properly.

Still—

She followed.

The stone steps spiraled downward.

The air grew colder.

Thicker.

With every step, the faint hum of gathered mana became clearer—like a heartbeat beneath the earth.

Victor’s expression hardened.

Lane’s grip tightened on her weapon.

Clara’s irritation faded, replaced by focus.

Whatever waited below—

Was not human.

And they were walking straight toward it.