Normally, a mage would have to meditate to sense mana in their surroundings. Even then, it was more of a feeling—an impression—rather than something visual. What he saw now was far beyond that.
At least, he thought, that's what I've always believed.
One thing was certain: being able to see ambient mana was a massive advantage. Not only did it help him confirm he was heading in the direction of Velmara City, but it would also allow him to identify ideal locations to meditate in the future—even without access to a mana spring.
With a newfound pep in his step, Michael pushed forward through the arid wasteland, making the most of the cool night air. He walked for hours, the motes of mana growing steadily denser as dawn crept over the horizon behind him.
But he didn't stop.
The closer he got to the city, the more mana he saw—another sign he was on the right path.
He couldn't ignore how much his body had improved. When he first fled into the wasteland, it had taken him at least two full nights to make that journey. Now, he was returning in half the time, despite being half-starved and dehydrated.
The change wasn't lost on him. His muscles were leaner, his stamina greater, his senses sharper. Yet… he didn't feel excited. Not really.
Not after what he'd endured.
Not after what he'd lost.
As the familiar silhouette of Velmara City came into view, a strange emptiness settled over him. The elegant Victorian-style buildings, once a source of pride and comfort, now looked worn and gray. What once stood as a beacon of civilization felt hollow—lifeless.
Even the dawn sunlight couldn't breathe warmth into the stone walls. The city looked dead.
Then Michael noticed something even more unsettling.
Where is everyone?
The streets, usually bustling at this time of morning, were completely empty. No shopkeepers preparing for the day. No children running about. Not even guards at the city gates.
A chill ran down his spine.
Had the townspeople fled after the mana spring dried up? Or was something else at play—something darker?
His gaze snapped toward the heart of the city, where the mana pool resided. Even from a distance, he could barely make out the flickering presence of mana. What little remained drifted weakly, like dying embers.
Normally, the spring would be brimming with energy, its aura radiating through the city like a heartbeat. But now, it looked barren.
Michael passed through the unmanned gates, his footsteps echoing against the cobbled streets like whispers in a tomb. The eerie silence wrapped around him, broken only by the sound of his worn boots striking stone.
As he approached the mana spring, a deep sense of unease settled in his chest. It grew heavier with each step, like invisible fingers tightening around his lungs.
Something was wrong.
Deeply wrong.
The closer he got, the more the dread mounted. It wasn't just fear—it was instinct. A primal warning in his bones.
Reaching the edge of the spring, he leaned over the short brick wall that surrounded it. A rusted metal grate sealed the opening, preventing anyone from falling in.
As he drew closer to the mana spring, Michael's vision blurred, sending a jolt through his consciousness. The world tilted for a moment—and then, without warning, a searing pain pierced the barrier of his inner palace.
The shock left him breathless.
He staggered back, retreating several paces from the spring.
What was that!? he gasped. It tried to attack my soul!
Eyes narrowing, Michael quickly shifted his awareness inward, inspecting his inner palace. What he found made his chest tighten. The barrier—normally pristine and firm—was marred. Corroded. As if something had splashed acid across it, eating away at the defenses and attempting to bore a weakness into his very core.
His vision snapped back to the physical world, and his brows furrowed deeply. Gritting his teeth, he scanned the spring again, eyes sharp, searching for anything that might not be a normal mana particle.
But there was nothing. Just the same faint, drifting motes of energy.
I can't stay here. It's too dangerous, he decided, his mind now racing.
Whatever this presence was, it had clearly been responsible for driving out the townsfolk. The city hadn't emptied itself on a whim.
"Let's hope they left some supplies I can take before I leave," Michael muttered aloud, scanning the street.
He'd walked these paths countless times with his mother, visiting the markets together when he was younger. Those memories felt like a distant dream now.
Keeping a wide berth around the spring, Michael made his way down the familiar street toward the market area. His pace quickened as he passed through the eerily silent plaza.
Normally, the air would be filled with the smell of fresh bread, voices calling out prices, and laughter from passing children. Now, the once-bustling district was a ghost town—no movement, no sound.
Michael's shoulders slumped. It looked like there was nothing left.
But as he neared the first stall, he lifted the canvas flap shielding it from the elements—and blinked.
"Huh? They left their produce behind?" he said, stunned.
There wasn't time for questions. His hand shot forward, snatching up a ripe apple. He took a massive bite, and a muffled groan escaped his lips as the sweet juice filled his mouth.
It was the first thing he'd eaten since leaving the estate—what felt like a lifetime ago. If not for his stubborn will, he likely wouldn't have lasted this long.
Michael didn't rush.
The stall was still filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, so he allowed himself a moment of reprieve. But as good as the fruit was, his body craved something heartier—protein. Meat.
His gaze drifted down the market street toward a familiar storefront. A flicker of hope stirred in his chest.
The butcher lived at the far end of the road.
The right side of the street was lined with open stalls, but the left held permanent shops. And at the very end was the butcher's house and store.
Michael's mouth watered slightly as he approached the door.
Even though he suspected no one would answer, he knocked politely out of habit—just in case.
No response.
He pushed the door open.
A foul stench hit him instantly. He recoiled.
Damn… has the meat already gone bad?
But then he saw it.
There, lying sprawled across the floor just inside the doorway, was a body. Eyes wide open. Unblinking. Lifeless.
Michael's breath caught in his throat.
Horror overtook him as he stared into those vacant eyes—eyes that would never blink again.