Chapter 70 : Beneath the Skin of Silence

A month passed.

The cave, once filled with the wild tension of blood and divine inheritance, had become quiet—a sanctuary removed from the rhythm of the world. Time here did not march but pulsed gently, like breath in slumber. Outside, Velmara's northern winds screamed across jagged mountains, but within, the air was thick with the scent of herbs, ink, and eather.

Asari sat beneath a glowing mural etched into the rock wall—a formation born from the tortoise's memory. The mural shifted daily, revealing new paths of defense, creation, and resistance. He had not spoken much in the past month, but he had not needed to. His silence itself had become a force.

Across his skin, ancient patterns had begun to emerge—sigils that shimmered under moonlight and vanished in the sun. They were the mark of the tortoise's blessing: an eather-infused skin that not only resisted damage but remembered each attack, learning and evolving. His body was not just a vessel now—it was a fortress.

And his mind?

Calmer. Heavier. Sharper. Darker.

The tortoise's essence had not only fortified his bones but buried deep truths within him. He knew now that the mythical beasts were not just guardians—they were prisoners of fate, chained by an old war forgotten by most of the world. And now, one of them had chosen him.

Behind him, the egg rested quietly, nestled in a bed of soft soil and glowing moss. It pulsed faintly, as if hearing the thoughts of its destined guardian.

Aicha sat nearby, still in her wheelchair. Her hair had grown longer, and she wore layers of cloth to stay warm. Her eather control had improved during the month—her aura, once fragile, now rippled with quiet determination. She had practiced endlessly, despite her body's refusal to stand. And though her legs still held no strength, her heart had begun to speak more clearly.

"I think you scare him sometimes," she said quietly, looking toward the far corner.

Adamas knelt near the fire, scribbling notes in an old book made of stitched animal hide. His silver eyes darted from Asari to the symbols glowing on the cave wall, studying both like scripture.

"Good," Asari replied, not opening his eyes. "Fear is the beginning of respect."

"He respects you already. He just doesn't know how to keep up," Aicha said. "He's trying."

"He's just a child."

Aicha tilted her head. "So were you, once."

The words hung in the air like frost. Asari said nothing.

Adamas stood suddenly, clutching his book. He walked toward Asari and stopped a few feet away, bowing deeply.

"I've learned the formations you marked. I also finished memorizing the tortoise shell technique patterns. I… I can't use them yet, but I think I understand their rhythm."

Asari opened his eyes.

"Show me."

Adamas's hands trembled as he lifted them into the first formation. Lines of faint eather began to trace around his body—clumsy, incomplete, and flickering.

But there was intent. Will. Loyalty.

The formation collapsed after a few seconds. The boy gasped, sweat dripping down his brow.

"I'm sorry, Master. I'll try again."

"No," Asari said, standing. His aura surged gently—not to dominate, but to correct the space. "You did well. But remember… defense is not endurance alone. It is wisdom wrapped in timing."

Adamas nodded rapidly, committing the words to memory.

Asari turned and approached the black tortoise egg. He knelt before it, fingers brushing its surface. "It's almost time," he murmured. "The hatchling stirs."

Aicha wheeled over. "You're planning to leave soon, aren't you?"

"Yes. We've lingered enough. Velmara won't stay silent forever. The others will begin to move."

"The other mythical beasts?" she asked.

Asari nodded. "And others far worse."

Outside the cave, a storm had begun to brew again. But this time, it wasn't just weather. The sky felt strained, as if the land itself anticipated something unnatural. Somewhere beyond the mountains, beyond the quiet—Velmara was waking up.

Asari walked to the entrance of the cave. He looked over the frost-covered horizon, eyes narrowing.

"I need to find the next one."

"The next mythical beast?" Aicha asked.

"No. The next truth."

Adamas approached quietly. "Wherever you go, I go. I swore myself to you. I'll grow. I'll be stronger."

Asari looked at him, then nodded once.

"Then prepare yourself. Our next path leads into the roots of Velmara—into the underground ruins of Ther Avesh."

Aicha's eyes widened. "The dead city?"

"Yes," Asari said. "If I'm to master this defense… I must see the war it once failed to stop."

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"To shield the world is to bleed for it. To bleed without regret is to understand what it means to protect."