Candlelight flickered against the worn parchment as Aelith unrolled another scroll. The scent of aged ink and dust settled into the chamber, clinging to the silence between them.

  "Now," she said, her voice steady, "we move beyond the fundamentals."

  The creature in their midst observed, tendrils shifting slightly.

  The other elements.

  Unlike Mist and Amber, which it had already assimilated, these were different—intangible forces woven into the fabric of magic itself.

  Aelith’s fingers glided across the parchment. "Dream," she began. "An element tied to the subconscious. It weaves illusions, emotions, even reality itself."

  At her words, all three of them—Thorne, Caelum, and Aelith—turned to look at Frid.

  The faceless man sat slouched in his chair, eyes gleaming with wild amusement.

  "What?" he grinned. "Are you finally acknowledging my divine artistry?"

  "You, of all people, should explain this one," Thorne muttered.

  Frid cackled—an unsettling sound, raw and unhinged. "Oh, gladly!"

  With a flick of his fingers, reality cracked.

  The room stretched—warped—dissolved into an endless abyss. The ground beneath them vanished. Their bodies felt weightless, untethered. Lost.

  The creature observed without alarm, noting the shift in spatial perception.

  Then—it snapped back. The chamber returned as if nothing had happened.

  Frid spread his arms wide. "Illusions! Fleeting, ephemeral, yet undeniably real to the mind. I am but a humble artist, painting the world as I see fit!"

  "Illusions are not real," the creature stated.

  Frid gasped theatrically. "Blasphemy! How could you wound me so? Do my creations not entertain? Do they not make you feel?"

  "It does not change the nature of reality."

  Frid grinned. "Oh, but it does! Perception dictates reality! What is truth but the strongest illusion of all?"

  Caelum sighed. "This is why no one likes talking to you."

  Aelith continued, shifting the topic. "Then there’s Blood—an element bound to life itself. It fuels vitality, strengthens bonds, and grants control over one’s own existence. Some say it carries the memories of ancestors."

  The creature focused. Blood. It had never considered it as more than a biological function. But now, it seemed… more.

  Then, Aelith’s expression shifted. Her hand rested on a symbol unlike the others—an inscription that pulsed with something deeper.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  "And finally… Faith."

  The creature tilted its head. "Faith?"

  Aelith nodded. "It is not tied to the body, nor the mind. It is power derived from belief itself. It can heal, bless, and protect. But it can also curse, condemn, and destroy."

  Thorne scoffed. "Faith magic is unpredictable. The stronger the devotion, the greater the effect. It’s why priests and zealots can defy reality itself."

  The creature processed this carefully. A force sustained purely by belief? Unlike elemental magic, which followed rules, Faith seemed… abstract. Was it still magic if it required conviction rather than understanding?

  Frid gasped, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. "Then let it be known! I am the most devoted of all!"

  Thorne glared at him. "Shut up."

  Frid ignored him, sliding off his chair and onto his knees, prostrating before the creature.

  "Oh, great and wise one!" he cried, arms outstretched in exaggerated worship. "Enlighten this pitiful disciple! Grant me your boundless knowledge, so that I may transcend!"

  The creature blinked. "You are already kneeling. What more do you seek?"

  Frid gasped. "Divinity! I wish to be reborn through your wisdom!"

  Aelith rubbed her temples. "He's getting worse."

  The creature observed. Frid's behavior was erratic, unstable. Yet his words, despite their madness, held sincerity.

  "Faith magic only thrives in humans," Aelith continued, ignoring Frid’s theatrics. "Other races rarely possess it."

  The creature considered this, then spoke. "Why does magic behave differently based on physiology?"

  A brief silence followed. Then, it continued.

  "And why does the Grimoire only function for humans?"

  The shift in the air was immediate. Thorne stiffened, Caelum’s expression darkened, and Aelith exhaled slowly.

  "You ask dangerous questions," she murmured.

  The creature was unfazed. "I seek knowledge."

  "Knowledge," Thorne muttered, "can get you killed."

  It ignored the warning, analyzing. Magic, segmented by species. Elements bound by limitations. Why?

  A thought formed. A hypothesis.

  "If I am to understand it," the creature murmured, more to itself than to them, "I must examine a human body."

  The reaction was instant.

  Thorne’s hand hovered near his weapon. Aelith’s shoulders tensed. Caelum narrowed his eyes.

  "You sound like you’re about to dissect one of us," Thorne muttered.

  "I do not need to kill to examine."

  Aelith studied it carefully. "You don’t realize how unsettling that sounds, do you?"

  The creature tilted its head. Humans were strange. They dissected animals to understand them. They sought power in knowledge. Yet, when it pursued the same, they hesitated.

  Then, an unexpected voice broke the silence.

  Frid, still on his knees, lifted his head with an eerie, feverish grin.

  "I’ll do it."

  The tension in the room shifted.

  "You’re insane," Thorne muttered.

  Frid let out a dry, almost giddy laugh. "I already knew that," he said, almost proudly. "But I’m also dying, aren’t I?"

  Silence.

  The creature’s tendrils twitched. "Dying?"

  Frid grinned wider, eyes gleaming with something between ecstasy and madness.

  "Go on, divine one. Find out for yourself."

  The creature reached out—not physically, but with something deeper. Its senses.

  And there it was.

  Something inside Frid was wrong.

  The energy flowing through his body wasn’t like the others. It was unstable, fractured—a chaotic storm of mixed elements running rampant.

  But underneath it, there was something else.

  Something raw.

  A tangled mess of unrefined magic.

  The creature analyzed it carefully. Unlike the segmented magic Aelith described, this was untamed—a mixture of countless elements clashing violently.

  Old Magic.

  It was similar to the energy inside its own body, yet different—crude, volatile, unstable. A chaotic storm that had no place in the refined system of modern magic.

  And it was killing Frid.

  Frid exhaled shakily, his grin never fading.

  "Tell me, great one," he whispered, voice trembling with reverence. "What do you see?"

  The creature did not answer immediately. It simply observed. Processed.

  This was no ordinary decay. This was rejection.

  The Old Magic was tearing him apart.

  And if magic was truly separated by species…

  Then perhaps, it was never meant to be wielded by humans at all.