Lucius: Embers of The Abyss

The obsidian chamber was silent, save for the low hum of unstable qi spinning aimlessly around Lucius's frail form. Weeks had passed. Or perhaps months. Time no longer mattered in this place where light never reached. His crimson eyes, dulled from exhaustion, stared ahead blankly. His body trembled, not from fear—but from depletion.

A single, steady breath.

Then another.

Lucius focused.

The Twilight Qi within him was denser now—thick as smoke trapped in glass. Yet every attempt to control it, to refine it, left his channels scorched and his core fractured. The Twilight Qi devoured itself. His foundation was flawed.

He was dying slowly.

"Sever... its origin... not bind it."

Rengard's final words echoed like a curse. Lucius had believed Twilight Qi was a force to stabilize through cohesion. But every attempt proved the opposite. He could feel his qi resisting, recoiling every time he forced it to unify.

What did severance mean?

Collapsing back, Lucius pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the erratic pulse of his damaged core. His skin was cold. His breathing shallow.

"This... is failure."

Then came the voice—not from the chamber, nor from the Fang coiled within him, but from memory.

"Twilight is a paradox."

The voice of Yevdel.

Shadows stirred around him, coalescing into the silhouette of a figure clad in simple robes, blindfolded yet watching him without eyes. From the figure's raised palm spiraled thin strands of silver and black qi, coiling inward like a spiral before severing themselves strand by strand.

A Severance Spiral.

Lucius watched, unmoving, as the figure repeated the motion over and over.

Not binding.

Severing.

Carving away until only the essence remained.

The shadow of Yevdel spoke softly: "Refinement is denial, boy. Sever impurity. Sever hesitation."

And just like that, the figure vanished.

Lucius sat in silence.

Then, slowly, he rose.

He placed both hands upon his abdomen, fingers trembling, and began to guide his Twilight Qi inward.

No more force. No more unity.

Instead… a spiral.

He imagined the vortex.

He pictured his unstable qi dragged into the spiral's center—not bound together, but drawn forward only to be severed. Each loop of the spiral sliced impurities, isolating essence from chaos.

At first, the qi resisted.

His veins burned.

His core pulsed erratically.

Lucius gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain.

His spiral took form.

But on the second rotation—the spiral snapped.

His qi lashed out like a serpent, ripping through his inner meridians. He gasped, blood spilling from his lips as his vision dimmed. His body convulsed violently.

A failure.

He lay there, shaking.

Minutes passed.

But his eyes… did not close.

Not yet.

Not after everything.

His fingers curled.

"Again."

Pain became a companion. Fear became irrelevant.

Twilight Qi answered, reluctantly.

Once more, Lucius forced his shattered inner world to spiral. Guided not by strength, but by will.

One rotation.

Two.

He felt it—qi condensing as the spiral coiled tighter, impurities falling away like shards of glass.

Three rotations.

The pain blurred into numbness.

And then—

Collapse.

Lucius gasped as the spiral collapsed once more, scattering his efforts.

But this time, his qi did not rage.

It stilled.

Flickering. Waiting.

Lucius coughed, forcing himself upright.

"...You're learning."

He didn't know if the voice came from the Abyssal Fang or from within himself. Perhaps it no longer mattered.

Severance isn't rejection. It's transformation.

His heartbeat steadied.

"I sever to refine."

His gaze, hollow yet resolute, lifted toward the unseen ceiling of the obsidian chamber.

"One more time."

This time, Lucius did not force.

He guided.

Twilight Qi began to spiral, each loop cleaner, tighter.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The spiral's center shimmered.

Then, for the first time, he severed—not in failure, but in control.

The impurities fell away like ash.

What remained was essence.

The Severance Spiral condensed further, rotating like a slow, grinding blade within his dantian. His entire body shuddered as his qi veins adjusted to the new flow.

And then...

Silence.

He could feel it.

The Twilight Core within him—still imperfect, but stable.

A spiral.

A blade.

Lucius opened his eyes slowly.

Everything felt quieter.

His breathing evened.

The chamber's suffocating pressure lifted, if only slightly.

And yet, as the spiral continued to grind within him, Lucius felt an overwhelming exhaustion crash over his body. He collapsed onto the cold stone floor, unable to rise.

Beyond the obsidian cavern where Lucius fought in silence, the outer world stirred in growing unease.

At the surface of the Ember Vault, beneath the cracked sky, Elder Rengard stood unmoving.

A circle of High Elders gathered around him—figures of power and wisdom, yet each bore lines of concern etched into their faces. Weeks had passed without word. No response from the sealed chamber. No pulse from Lucius's life essence.

The silence was unnatural.

"He should have surfaced by now," Elder Kael muttered, tightening his jade cloak around his shoulders. "Even with the Severance Method... the boy should have failed or broken through."

"Or he's dead," came the cold voice of Elder Yuran, her gaze sharp as her obsidian spear. "That chamber devours those unworthy. You knew the risks, Rengard."

Rengard's ancient eyes remained closed.

"Not him."

"Foolish faith," Yuran snapped. "You gamble on a child bonded to the Abyssal Fang."

A tense silence fell. Even the wind held its breath.

Rengard opened his eyes then—two voids of quiet fury.

"He is not dead."

"How do you know?" Kael asked softly.

Rengard did not answer.

Instead, his gaze lifted toward the distant heavens.

Because he could feel it.

A faint hum within the ley lines beneath his feet. An irregular pulse—not one of death, nor life, but something in between.

Severance.

Yet fragile.

"He's still inside."

And alive.

Barely.

Elsewhere, within the inner sanctum of the Ember Vault, Seris knelt before a pool of still water, her fingers trembling over its surface.

The scrying formation failed to answer her call.

Again.

"No... no, this doesn't make sense..."

Her mind raced.

Lucius had promised he would survive.

He always did.

Yet the pool remained dark.

She felt her heart clench.

Lucius.

Where are you?

Behind her, the masked overseer of the Vault stepped silently into the chamber. His voice, a whisper laced with judgment:

"You place too much hope in a boy walking the edge of the Abyss."

Seris didn't respond.

"I should have followed him," she whispered.

"You would have died."

"Then so be it."

At that, the masked overseer fell silent.

For long moments, Seris remained kneeling, her eyes burning with helplessness.

Beyond the Ember Vault, across the scattered sect territories, rumors spread like wildfire.

Lucius Ashborne.

The prodigy vanished.

A child marked by destruction.

Within the Council of Nine's shadowed halls, robed figures debated his fate in hushed tones.

"Do we intervene?"

"No."

"Then we wait?"

"For now."

"Do you not feel it? His presence… it is severing something."

Eyes hidden behind bone masks glimmered.

"And if he survives?"

Silence.

"If he survives, then the world changes."

At the edges of the Ember Vault grounds, disciples whispered near the sealed gates. Fear seeped into their words.

"Maybe he's dead."

"Good. Better than him turning into another Heaven Destroyer."

"He's cursed."

"He's our only chance."

Their voices fractured, fear feeding on ignorance.

But in the shadows, far from their whispers, the dragonlings beneath the nursery stirred restlessly.

For somewhere deep below, Lucius still fought.

Back atop the Vault, Elder Rengard spoke only once more that day.

"Ready the contingencies."

Kael turned. "What do you mean?"

"If he fails to emerge..."

Rengard's voice hardened, colder than steel.

"We break the seal."

Yuran paled.

"To save him?"

Rengard shook his head.

"No."

"To end what remains."

And the sky rumbled.

In the suffocating blackness of unconsciousness, Lucius dreamt.

A desolate plain stretched before him.

Yevdel stood upon one side.

Klaigos stood upon the other.

Between them, Lucius.

Neither figure spoke.

Yevdel's Severance Blade pulsed silently.

Klaigos's Demonic Sword burned with endless flame.

Opposing forces.

Lucius looked down.

His hands were empty.

Then, Yevdel whispered.

"You sever."

Klaigos's voice followed.

"You consume."

Lucius looked at both—and said nothing.

Then the dream shattered.

Lucius awoke.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. His body trembled, muscles sore. Yet within his core, he felt the Severance Spiral rotating slowly.

Twilight Qi… stable.

For now.

He sat up, clutching his chest.

Breath after painful breath.

"I'm not done."

Not yet.

The Severance Spiral was only the foundation. A beginning.

But a beginning was enough.

He looked toward the sealed obsidian doors.

Even the darkness could not hold him forever.

Not anymore.

His voice cracked but held resolve:

"Now... I cut deeper."

And once again, Lucius began.

His body trembled as he forced the spiral into motion once again. Twilight Qi, dense as obsidian mist, resisted violently. Each loop of the spiral carved fresh lines of agony through his meridians. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, yet Lucius pressed forward, unwilling to yield. His breathing grew ragged. His vision flickered. He could feel his core threatening to fracture under the strain, yet something deeper—his will—refused collapse.

"Sever... everything," he whispered, tightening the spiral. His very qi screamed, yet the rotation sharpened. Twilight Qi obeyed not strength, but refusal. And Lucius refused to fall.

[End of Chapter 30]