"You stand at the brink of a revelation – one that carries the weight of centuries of our lineage," Magister Mulligan proclaims with a gravity that echoes in the silence. His eyes, hardened by the passage of time, glitter in the artificial light surrounding us.

“Ok?” I manage to utter, my voice barely escaping my throat, choked by the pressure of his penetrating gaze. I heave myself up, the atmosphere around us charged with an unfamiliar intensity. The paved stone road almost seems to crinkle like paper under my feet when my heart goes back to what this whole ordeal means.

Even with this old man’s advice, how can I bear all that pain?

“Young Luciani,” Magister Mulligan’s voice rumbles, looking intensely at me. His words hang in the air, suspended in time, waiting to unfold their meaning.

“What?”

“Should the fates allow you to witness the shores of Kome,” he begins, his gaze not wavering from mine, “I would take it upon myself to reveal to you a marvel of our land – the Scarlet Wall.” His voice takes on a reverent tone as if he spoke of a beloved relic.

“It is not named after the legendary Scarlet Thunder, the sword brandished by our first [Hero], Idner, but it carries an equally profound significance. Do you know when the tapestry of our history began to be woven? It dates back more than a thousand years.” His voice echoes through the chamber, each word imbued with the weight of countless years, a chronicle waiting to be unveiled.

…

The might of the Vanedeni armada, once the unchallenged behemoth of the sea, was on the verge of annihilation, ravaged by a monstrous Tier 7 spell unleashed by their relentless adversaries on Teiko.

Their last battle on that forsaken continent had been a maelstrom of blood and steel, a dance of death under the somber sky. After claiming everything they deemed precious and worthy, the winners embarked on their renowned ships, setting course for the distant shores of Kome. This elusive continent was infamous among the whispers of sailors and adventurers alike, known to all as the land impossible to conquer.

Kome was not only a breeding ground for ferocious beasts and countless treacherous Dungeons, but it was also a geographical enigma, an unconquerable fortress. An entire continent perched atop a precipitous rise, soaring almost 15,000 feet above the churning ocean. Its coastline was a formidable cliff face, a sheer vertical wall of stone, scarce in handholds and fissures. Even the deft hands of [Climbers] and the nimble agility of [Acrobats] found themselves pushed to their limits trying to scale it, not to mention those of a common class.

In the face of such adversity, Idner remained a stalwart presence, a colossus among mere mortals. His powerful grip clung to one of the ship's ropes, standing aboard one of the few vessels that hadn't yet succumbed to the tempest's fury. With a hardened gaze, he watched as his people plunged into the ocean, fighting desperately against the relentless waves of the rocky coast. The ocean claimed many, hurling them mercilessly against the unyielding rock face.

His eyes lifted, resting on the ominously brewing storm clouds above, their menacing forms charged with magical energy. He squinted into the tumult, invoking the names of the revered Canti in a silent vow. He swore that the perpetrators of this assault would face his wrath one day, regretting the day they had crossed the Vanedeni.

Back on Teiko, their foes had pooled together their remaining [Mages], exhausting all their resources in a desperate bid to thwart the Vanedeni’s ambitious plans.

But this, Idner knew, was far from the end.

"Transmit my orders to the other vessels; they are to form a bridge. Launch ropes overboard and secure them firmly to the flanks of the ships," Idner commanded, his booming voice rising above the cacophony of the storm, addressing a seasoned [Bloodcloud Admiral], whose level hovered near the formidable 60 mark.

In the eye of the storm, the resilient Vanedeni worked as a unified force. Like well-trained ants, they moved with an impressive rhythm, their movements precise and unyielding, even against the backdrop of the raging tempest. Sailors, tested by the wrath of the sea, hurled ropes into the churning waves, their calloused hands quickly securing them to the robust bodies of their ships. These lines of salvation served as a vital lifeline, a guiding path for their desperate kin, who dared to navigate the unforgiving ocean toward the base of the inhospitable coast.

With the ship pitching and rolling beneath them, the [Admiral] turned to face the daunting figure of Idner, his expression hardened by the grim reality of their predicament. "Idner," he began, his voice hoarse against the howling wind and crashing waves, "by the cursed Seas! What's the plan now?!"

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Idner, a towering giant even among his tall Vanedeni brethren, turned to face the experienced seaman. His weather-beaten face broke into a fearless grin, a spark of determination lighting up in his eyes. "We make our stand here, Lucier," he declared, his voice resonating with unwavering resolve, "If the price of victory is our blood, then let the seas run red."

The daring plan they had conceived was beyond any realm of sanity – to conquer the elusive Kome, to purge the creeping infection of complacency and weakness that had started to taint their people during their tenure on Teiko. It seemed that even the indomitable Vanedeni had been slowly poisoned by the apathy of the spineless beings they had been forced to coexist with. Yet, here they were, against all odds, ready to defy destiny and carve their own path – or meet their end in the attempt.

…

Thus, the mighty endeavor was set into motion. Armed with implements forged by skilled [Blacksmiths] whose level surpassed the 40 mark, the Vanedeni began their daunting ascent of the colossal cliff face, their progress continually challenged by the relentless, magically-infused storm. Yet, their hands, although slick with the salt-kissed spray of the turbulent sea, did not falter. They were the hands of the fearless, the unyielding, and the hardened warriors of the Vanedeni.

Leading the vanguard was Idner, the prodigious figurehead of their people and the first among them to be bestowed with the revered [Hero] class. His gargantuan form seemed to defy the very laws of nature, ascending the near-vertical monolith with an ease that belied his enormous stature. His vigilant gaze ceaselessly scanned their surroundings for any potential threats—monsters, falling rocks, or any form of disturbance; his brawny arms swung a hefty metal mallet, driving thick, iron pickets into the wall with rhythmic precision. Each picket served as an anchor point, a sturdy hold to thread ropes through, providing an added security measure for the climbers below him.

However, the ropes weren't fastened to each climber, for they were all too aware of the harsh reality that many would perish in this endeavor. Should some of them fall, they risked dragging the entire line down into the abyss. This was the stark, unyielding philosophy of the Vanedeni: if the sacrifice of ten allowed another ten to excel, it was a trade they were willing to make. This ruthless ideology had propelled them to their first monumental victory, and it was this philosophy that had sparked their legendary reputation.

Yet, beyond this almost suicidal determination, there was a different force guiding the hands of these extraordinary men and women. A far more elusive element was at play. As thunder roared and lightning illuminated their path, and the storm's icy lashing tried to deter them, every climber, from the most seasoned warriors to the youngest children clinging to the backs of adults, was united by a single, unwavering focus—their collective gaze was locked on the future. A unique technique, passed down through generations by their ancestors, fueled their resolve.

This mysterious technique perplexed even the most knowledgeable [Scholars] among the Vanedeni, its origins lost to time. Not until years following their infamous ascent would a theory emerge, postulating that this seemingly intuitive skill was a relic of a long-forgotten civilization, a fragment of a nearly extinct form of magic—the Empathetic school.

This technique was known as the Dreamscape.

And such was the secret driving force behind their seemingly impossible enterprise.

Dreamscape was an enigma, a peculiarity that didn't conform to the conventional definitions of skill, and strikingly, it didn't manifest as such. As the audacious Vanedeni set about scaling the formidable rockface of Kome, it was no clandestine weapon at their disposal. It was only much later, when the world had all but forgotten the Vanedeni, when their tales seemed more like myths than history, it unexpectedly transformed into one of their most potent secret weapons, unveiled only as they emerged once again, their fiery determination alight and set to raze the world with their might.

In Idner's eyes, the reality seemed to dissolve and reconfigure itself. The formidable rock wall that towered before him, the relentless tempest hurling at them, all faded into oblivion. His perception was singularly honed onto one vision—the flourishing future of his people. His hands bled profusely, bearing the same painful testament of their laborious climb as everyone else’s.

Yet, Dreamscape was not a conventional skill that dulled the sensation of pain or simplified the formidable task at hand. It was less a tool of physicality and more a technique of the mind, something akin to an advanced form of meditation. It offered the practitioner an unprecedented ability, enabling one to visualize an array of possibilities that laid ahead, like a mental chessboard, where each potential move and countermove was evident.

It transformed the tumultuous present into a vast canvas of potential outcomes, providing a bird's eye view of the terrain of the future. Each excruciating tear of flesh against the coarse rock, each drop of sweat mixing with the sting of saltwater, each heart-pounding moment in the violent storm was recontextualized. They were no longer obstacles but stepping-stones on the path to a grander vision, a thriving civilization, where their people emerged not just as survivors but as conquerors. Their suffering was not in vain; it was the crucible from which their collective dream would arise.

…

I look at Magister Mulligan with a frown on my face.

“Meditation? That’s it? Like, I’m going to fucking die, and you really go, like, ‘Oh, Joey, why don’t you try meditation?’ Fuck me, I’m so fucking dead,” I say, desperate.

“You shall see, young Luciani. You shall see. But first, for you disrespect…”

ZAP!