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Aetheris Chapter 8
Chapter 8: The Threshold of the Forgotten
Elara stood before the massive gate, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her body screamed in protest, exhaustion pressing down on her like a heavy weight. Every step, every spell she had cast, had drained her reserves. Even if she downed a mana potion now, it wouldn’t be enough—advanced magic took more than just raw energy. It took endurance, something she was quickly running out of.
Still, she wasn’t about to give up now.
She forced herself to focus, drawing on the last scraps of strength she had. The air shimmered around her fingertips as she shaped the spell—an ice formation, rising like skeletal fingers from the water below, forming jagged steps toward the floating kingdom.
Her body resisted.
The spell wavered.
Thin cracks spiderwebbed across her trembling hands as if her magic was fracturing her from within. It felt wrong, unstable—but she had no choice. She grit her teeth and pushed forward.
"Go! Old man, before my spell crumbles into nothing!" she shouted.
Rhyke shot her a sharp look but didn’t argue. He moved fast, climbing the ice stairs with practiced ease. His boots barely made a sound against the slick surface. As soon as he reached the top, he turned back, urgency in his voice.
"You need to get up here—now!"
Elara didn’t hesitate. She launched herself onto the fragile ice steps, her legs protesting with every motion. The cold bit into her skin as she climbed, her vision tunneling with the strain.
Halfway up, she heard it—the cracking.
The ice splintered beneath her weight, chunks breaking free and tumbling into the dark waters below. Her breath caught. The last step was crumbling faster than she could reach it.
She jumped.
For a terrifying second, she was weightless. Then—a hand caught hers.
Rhyke’s grip was firm, his strength steady as he hauled her up in one powerful motion. She landed unceremoniously, hitting the stone ground with a thud. The ice staircase collapsed behind her,sliding into the shallow depths with a resonating splash that shattered the silence.
Elara sat there, breathless, her limbs trembling as though they had been wrung dry.
Rhyke exhaled and smirked. "You weigh about as much as a walking stick, Little Scholar."
She shot him a glare. "Shut up."
He chuckled, but his amusement faded when he saw her struggling to stand. She was shaking—not from fear, but from sheer exhaustion. She needed to rest, even if she didn’t want to admit it.
Rhyke stepped in front of her, blocking her path with his broad shoulders. His mustache twitched slightly as he regarded her with a knowing look.
"Move, old man," Elara muttered, trying to push past him.
But he didn’t budge.
Instead, his voice took on a rare, serious tone. "You’re in no condition to keep going, Elara. You knew the risks before we left the guild, and this is one of them. Pushing yourself past your limit isn’t bravery—it’s recklessness."
Elara clenched her fists, her pride warring with...
Elara stood before the massive gate, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her body screamed in protest, exhaustion pressing down on her like a heavy weight. Every step, every spell she had cast, had drained her reserves. Even if she downed a mana potion now, it wouldn’t be enough—advanced magic took more than just raw energy. It took endurance, something she was quickly running out of.
Still, she wasn’t about to give up now.
She forced herself to focus, drawing on the last scraps of strength she had. The air shimmered around her fingertips as she shaped the spell—an ice formation, rising like skeletal fingers from the water below, forming jagged steps toward the floating kingdom.
Her body resisted.
The spell wavered.
Thin cracks spiderwebbed across her trembling hands as if her magic was fracturing her from within. It felt wrong, unstable—but she had no choice. She grit her teeth and pushed forward.
"Go! Old man, before my spell crumbles into nothing!" she shouted.
Rhyke shot her a sharp look but didn’t argue. He moved fast, climbing the ice stairs with practiced ease. His boots barely made a sound against the slick surface. As soon as he reached the top, he turned back, urgency in his voice.
"You need to get up here—now!"
Elara didn’t hesitate. She launched herself onto the fragile ice steps, her legs protesting with every motion. The cold bit into her skin as she climbed, her vision tunneling with the strain.
Halfway up, she heard it—the cracking.
The ice splintered beneath her weight, chunks breaking free and tumbling into the dark waters below. Her breath caught. The last step was crumbling faster than she could reach it.
She jumped.
For a terrifying second, she was weightless. Then—a hand caught hers.
Rhyke’s grip was firm, his strength steady as he hauled her up in one powerful motion. She landed unceremoniously, hitting the stone ground with a thud. The ice staircase collapsed behind her,sliding into the shallow depths with a resonating splash that shattered the silence.
Elara sat there, breathless, her limbs trembling as though they had been wrung dry.
Rhyke exhaled and smirked. "You weigh about as much as a walking stick, Little Scholar."
She shot him a glare. "Shut up."
He chuckled, but his amusement faded when he saw her struggling to stand. She was shaking—not from fear, but from sheer exhaustion. She needed to rest, even if she didn’t want to admit it.
Rhyke stepped in front of her, blocking her path with his broad shoulders. His mustache twitched slightly as he regarded her with a knowing look.
"Move, old man," Elara muttered, trying to push past him.
But he didn’t budge.
Instead, his voice took on a rare, serious tone. "You’re in no condition to keep going, Elara. You knew the risks before we left the guild, and this is one of them. Pushing yourself past your limit isn’t bravery—it’s recklessness."
Elara clenched her fists, her pride warring with...
