"Well?" I asked, my voice low, strained through the weight of water and tension. The swamps were far worse than I had imagined, having experienced them long ago. These regions lay dangerously close to the sacred yet colossal river Ganganath, the longest river on the continent. A divine landmark, it sliced through the land like a continent-spanning artery, separating the Outer Rim from the Middle, Inner, and Central Rims. And because of that, everything in this borderland was soaked—drowned in the river's mood.
"I'm not stopping," Forza replied, her tone being the only thing dry in here, yet determined as she pushed forward, forcing me to keep up. These weren't just forestlands—they were devouring jungles. Towering trees stood packed together with limbs that grew thick and twisted, their bark a deep reddish black, like they'd adapted to horror, while becoming one themselves. The underbrush rose like the heads of sleeping Hydras, stretching up as if waiting to wrap around a throat and pull it under. The brownish water reached our waists now. The ground had vanished beneath it. Every step was blind, yet it felt like we were stepping on a pile of loose mud.
The rain showed no signs of stopping. If anything, it worsened. As evening neared and night prepared to descend, the storm grew heavier—its droplets sharper, like a thousand icy needles stabbing down against exposed skin, which were already gone numb to some degree. Each one stung. Each one whispered a warning we kept ignoring... Good thing we're mostly covered under the comforts of our armours.
The thunder had worsened too, not just in volume, but in rhythm. The lightning now moved like blooming roots of some colossal celestial tree, spreading sideways in eerie silence, majestic at first glance, but always followed by those thunderclaps. Deep. Violent. Echoing like war drums. Each one a death siren, sounding only after a successful strike.
This wasn't a battleground meant for humans. No sane warrior would choose these swamps. But if we did find that Chimaera, I already knew our approach. I'd rely on the branches, the canopy, the elevated chaos—while Forza would command the skies, hammering it from above with her spells, raining destruction onto a grounded foe that couldn't dream of matching her air superiority. A simple and effective strategy, if we managed to encounter it in one good piece.
This human, Forza… her obsession with this beast—it wasn't going to lead her where she thought it would. Not if I didn't intervene now. This wasn't stubbornness anymore. It was a delusion. The conditions had crossed into madness, and it was only getting worse. I needed to halt this pursuit, just for a few hours. Just enough to avoid an inevitable disaster.
She reminded me too much of myself. Back when I was obsessed with freedom. When all I wanted was to move on my own terms. To escape Lav and Sara. To breathe free air, in a region meant for it.
Funny, isn't it? How irony doesn't knock—it just walks in.
Now I knew exactly how Lav and Sara must have felt. All those times their words bounced off me. Their pleas. Their warnings. Useless against my will.
Now I get it… How they used to feel, the sheer weight of utter helplessness...
And still… I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty. I made my choices. I stand by them. I'm proud of what I've achieved. But that doesn't mean I can't see the other side now. It doesn't mean I don't understand them.
"Listen… I just need your attention. Five minutes. That's all."
I closed the gap between us, three, maybe four steps. The sound of sloshing water, tangled with leaves and god-knows-what, echoed around us as I reached out and gently grabbed her arm. She turned slightly, just enough for her single gaze to meet my single eye... Did she do that on purpose?
One silver eye. One dark shadowed.
An eye for an eye, I guess.
She glanced down at the arm I'd taken hold of, probably expecting me to let go. She could've easily freed herself—her strength was never in doubt—but she didn't. I kept my hand there, firm over the cold, rain-slick armour.
She was acting like an obsessed lunatic, but I wasn't giving up. I might follow her, yes—but not without making damn sure she knew what she was risking. I had a brain, too. One that could track people like her. One who had walked this roughly similar path before.
Probably.
"…Look around you. The weather. The terrain. The water we're wading through. This isn't a hunt. This isn't a mission."
I released her arm and gestured around us—at the drowned forest, the broken sky, the land that rejected our presence entirely.
"This is a one-on-one audience with the god of death. That's what this is turning into."
Forza, after a moment of internal conflict, finally looked. Really looked. Noticed what she should've seen hours ago. The truth sinking in—like the water around us... Is what I hoped, prayed for.
"No," I continued, my tone quieter now that she was actually listening. "I'm not asking you to abandon the mission. Not like I did earlier. And… I'm sorry about that."
Her eyes met mine, steady. Listening.
"Really, look around this time. The position we're in. The sky. The temperature. This rain—it's not being merciful. It's not going to stop."
"If we keep going, one of us will fall sick. And let's be honest—it's going to be you. I've been through this before. I was built for conditions like these. You're not. This isn't your arena."
There—just a flicker—but her eyes softened—realisation, creeping in like cold water down armour seams. For a moment, her mind stepped away from the mission and considered the cost, especially now that her little nose was slightly pinkish as her hand kept rubbing against it, at regular intervals.
But I knew better. Not just her, but people like her. Stubborn people. They don't yield to a straight "no." You have to bend their world just right—just enough to make them see.
So I chose my next words like picking a lock. One twist in the wrong direction, and it would all fall apart. Either I'd get through to her… or this would become a failure—and a fatal waste of time.
"We're already on the path you believe leads to the Chimaera—if it really does," I said, voice steady.
I really hope it doesn't.
That thought whispered through my mind even as the words coming out of my mouth betrayed it.
"Then waiting here, on top of this"—I pointed—"or maybe that much bigger, weirder-looking tree over there, wouldn't really hurt now, yeah?"
She followed my gesture, her eyes flicking between the two trees. She was probably wondering why I chose the larger, stranger one instead of the closer, seemingly safer option. That was fair, and a success. Since she would question the mention of that tree before anything else, a light distraction from the actual topic, an easy, yet very efficient trick, after all, girls always question the why.
"Trust me," I continued, tone softening, persuasive, "this weather… it can't get much worse than what we're already stuck in. From here on out, it can only get better. Slightly. Maybe." As the words were leaving, my hopes were leaning on her not being some sort of hidden weather expert.
I paused, long enough to let the lie carry its weight before I shoved more onto it.
"All I'm asking from you is to wait. Prepare. We can re-strategise our approach too…"
Like hell it's going to get any better.
If anything, it's going from worse to even worse. One glance at the clouds above said enough. These weren't passing showers. This was the monsoon's opening act—brutal and merciless. Especially out here, so close to the Ganganath River. In its territory, storms linger.
But Forza… she actually listened.
No shift in her eyes. No tension in her posture. No subtle change in her breathing that said she could see through my bullshit. Nothing. At the very least, she was considering my approach. That was good. No—that was necessary. Because we had no other way forward right now. Not unless the weather miraculously decided to cooperate.
Which it wouldn't.
For the final time, she glanced around—one slow, sweeping scan of the drowned jungle. Trying to sense. Detect. Feel even the faintest trace of that Chimaera. Any hint. Any clue.
She closed her eyes. Held them shut.
And then—opened.
Met my gaze.
And nodded. Once. No words. Just a small, precise dip of her head before she turned, facing the tree I assumed she'd chosen to perch on.
"As you wish. And… thank you. For considering my approach," I said quickly, as her legs coiled beneath her like a spring.
She lunged.
A burst of motion. Her takeoff carved a crater into the swamp, sending water surging out in all directions. I followed right after—my own leap far less dramatic, the splash weaker, smaller, but still real.
We landed together.
The branch she'd picked was sturdy. Surprisingly so. And comfortable, more than I expected. Hell, it might've even been more comfortable than Buck's branches, which was saying something. Must've been all the moisture in the wood. The air was already thick with it, even before the rain.
"The weather's… nice, no?" I offered, trying to break through the heavy silence. Something light. Something dumb, maybe.
But it was better than silence.
She didn't answer.
Didn't even blink.
Her eyes slowly shut—maybe to rest. Maybe to replenish mana. Maybe just to ignore me.
How insulting...
Either way, I didn't push. 'Not her fault,' My half-assed cover-up thought came up with.
I knew how much she'd drained herself flying here. Even for a wind mage, Flight was no joke. SS-rank ability or not, it burned through mana like wildfire. Fast. Unforgiving. Efficient—but costly. Covering that distance in hours? That wasn't casual. That was a sprint through the sky with zero mercy.
She needed the pause.
I could see that now.
I leaned back instinctively—then cursed under my breath.
The bark of the tree behind me was soft, but coated in some weird, sticky substance. Like nature's way of saying, Don't lean on me.
Great. That ruined any hope I had of relaxing my back. After the sprint I'd just endured to keep pace with her flight, my body needed that rest. My legs still ached. My lungs hadn't fully recovered.
Keeping up with her midair pace on foot had been hell.
Especially when she threw in those last-second, heel-shattering manoeuvres like it was nothing, which was probably nothing, for her, since she was airborne.
I stood up again, despite my lower limbs protesting, every muscle below my waist screaming in strained, bitter pain. But the branch just above us... It might be of some use. Sure, it looked thin, malnourished even, especially compared to the other thick, prideful branches that jutted out horizontally from this massive tree—but it would do.
Reaching behind my back, I unfastened the cloak I'd been wearing, shook it slightly to rid it of excess water, and hoisted it upward. I stretched it taut over the branch, adjusting the corners until it hung firmly enough to block the worst of the rain. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. Now, at least, we had a bit of cover.
"Great... this at least stops that annoying 'tip-tip' sound I kept hearing every damn time a droplet landed on my head."
Forza didn't react. She didn't even bother opening her eyes to acknowledge the sudden absence of rain dripping directly onto her. No curiosity, no surprised glance upward. Nothing. She simply accepted the change, as if it were inevitable, expected. That annoyed me more than I'd admit.
This won't do.
We're going to be stuck here for at least an hour or two, minimum. And I don't want to spend that time with someone who can't even be social enough to utter a basic "thank you." No nod. No glance. No recognition at all for the small mercy I just gave her. And I know she appreciated it. Anyone would. No one likes cold rain on their face, especially not her.
I frowned, stealing a closer glance at her as she sat, unmoving, eyes still shut tight.
Hmm… what is she doing?
The mana around her didn't behave the way it would if she were simply recovering or replenishing her reserves.
Then, a flicker of realisation sparked in my mind.
... Ohhhh. Now I get it. How naive of me not to understand it immediately.
She wasn't just resting. She wasn't even meditating in the conventional sense. No—she was undergoing something far more technical.
She was in a Cooldown.
Of course. The most basic rule of any serious mage or knight. One that no proper wielder of mana would ever forget.
Cooldown—a process not meant to restore the body, nor the mana core, but to rest the one thing that truly commands all: the brain.
There's a reason why even the greatest among us—mages, knights, even the top-tier beings like Arcane themselves—don't continuously use their sensing abilities.
Because sensing isn't just some low-cost spell. It's not some passive trick that runs in the background. No, far from it.
To sense your surroundings, to locate people, creatures, anomalies, and objectives—it takes more than mana. More than mere concentration. It takes the full attention and bandwidth of your mind. Your brain. It's a process that demands constant interpretation, decision-making, deduction, instant understanding, response and reaction, according to the situation.
And that burden? It accumulates, it builds upon the brain itself, using it as a base.
The more often you use sensing, the wider you expand it, the deeper you push it—the more crushing that burden becomes. And it doesn't just vanish when you stop. It lingers. It stains. It wears on your mind as well as other sensory organs, like rust eats into metal.
If you don't manage that burden properly—if you push your brain too far, too fast, too long, without adequate cooldown time?
Then something far worse begins to creep in. Something more terrifying than losing your mana core… more devastating than losing your elemental affinity… more crippling than being cut off from the flow of mana altogether.
The bloody process of Meltdown.