As they reached a quieter part of the ship, Gran spoke once more.

“If they’re targeting Ares, it might only be a matter of time before they come for the rest of us.”

Machivel’s expression hardened.

“Then we make sure they regret it.”

-

Gran and Machivel stood side by side, their expressions tense as they took in their new surroundings.

The room they had stepped into was vast, its bluish-reddish walls pulsating faintly as though alive with latent energy.

The air carried a faint hum, a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

The floor beneath their feet was smooth, polished to a mirror-like sheen that reflected the shifting colors of the walls.

“We’ve been transported,” Machivel stated calmly.

Gran’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade, his grip tightening as he surveyed their surroundings.

After a moment, he released a slow breath and let go of the weapon, though his stance remained ready.

“So, this is a magic spell... or a magic trap...”

Machivel nodded, his own energy beginning to swirl subtly around him, a faint glow emanating from his hands.

“If it were an ambush, they would have struck the moment we arrived. The fact that they haven’t suggests this is something else.”

Gran’s brow furrowed.

Machivel tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as he observed the room’s pulsating walls.

“This is no ordinary spell. The energy feels... specific. Targeted. This isn’t some random act of magic.”

Gran nodded, his hand hovering near his blade once more.

“Could it be a bloodline ability?inherited power? Such abilities often come with severe limitations or rules.”

“It’s possible.”

Machivel replied. He gestured subtly toward the walls, where faint glyphs seemed to shimmer and fade in and out of existence.

“This kind of magic often requires sacrifices—either of energy, life, or resources. Whoever cast this likely didn’t do it lightly.”

Gran’s jaw tightened as he considered this.

“Then it’s not just about us. This spell wasn’t meant for you and me specifically. It could be for anyone who stepped through that blue door, anyone heading toward the meeting room.”

“Exactly,” Machivel said.

He stepped closer to one of the walls, his energy still swirling protectively around him. “The question is, why? And who?”

The room’s hum grew slightly louder, as though responding to their words.

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Grant tensed again, his fingers brushing the hilt of his blade.

“Don’t,” Machivel said quickly, holding up a hand to stop him.

“This spell is sensitive. Drawing your weapon could trigger something we’re not ready to deal with.”

Gran reluctantly lowered his hand, though his posture remained rigid.

“So, what do we do? Stand here and wait for the caster to show themselves?”

“No,” Machivel said, his voice firm.

“We analyze. We adapt.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, extending his senses outward.

The room’s energy was dense and layered, its magical threads woven together with an intricacy that spoke of a master spellcaster.

Machivel frowned as he tried to untangle the threads, searching for a clue.

“This isn’t just a trap,” he muttered after a moment.

“It’s... an observation spell. We’re being watched.”

Gran’s eyes narrowed. “Watched? By who?”

Machivel shook his head. “I can’t tell. But whoever they are, they’ve put a lot of effort into this. They want to see how we react, how we handle the unknown.”

Gran let out a low growl of frustration.

“So, what? We’re just pawns in some mage’s game?”

“Not pawns,” Machivel corrected.

“Test subjects. They’re studying us.”

Gran’s expression darkened.

“Then let’s give them something to study.”

He took a step forward, his energy flaring slightly as he prepared to act.

“Wait,” Machivel said sharply.

“If you lash out blindly, you’ll play right into their hands. This spell was designed to provoke. It wants a reaction.”

Gran hesitated, his frustration evident.

“Then what do you suggest?”

Machivel opened his eyes, his expression calm but resolute.

“We don’t give them what they want. We stay calm. We stay in control.”

Gran sighed but nodded, stepping back to stand beside Machivel once more.

“Fine. But if something jumps out at us, I’m not holding back.”

Machivel gave a faint smile. “Fair enough.”

-

They both knew that the spell that had transported them to this strange, reddish-blue room could not have been cast simply to surprise them.

Something was coming—they could feel it—but the nature of the threat remained a mystery.

“Stay sharp,” Machivel said.

Gran nodded, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade.

Seconds passed in tense silence.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the walls around them began to ripple like waves disturbed by a stone. The motion grew more pronounced until parts of the walls seemed to peel away.

From the undulating surfaces, figures began to emerge—humanoid shapes with flames flickering where their heads should have been.

Gran’s grip on his blade tightened.

He took a steadying breath, not out of fear but to focus his thoughts. The sight was unexpected, even for him.

“Walking Candles?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Machivel shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied the figures.

“Not quite. These are fire-based constructs. Each one is a level one peak creature, capable of using potent fire magic. They’re known as Demonsoul Candles.”

Gran’s eyes flicked over the growing group of creatures, their fiery heads casting flickering shadows across the room.

“And there are more than twenty of them,” he said grimly.

The Demonsoul Candles continued to emerge, their numbers swelling as they grouped together near the center of the room.

The air grew hotter, the oppressive heat pressing against Gran and Machivel like a physical force.

Beads of sweat formed on Gran’s brow, but he ignored them, keeping his focus on the creatures.

“Twenty isn’t too much of a threat,” Machivel said.

“But the real issue is that we don’t know how many more are coming.”

Gran’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“How many can we handle?”

Machivel glanced at him, his expression calculating.

“If their numbers reach one hundred, we’ll lose. At that point, it’ll just be a question of how long we last before we’re overwhelmed.”

The creatures began to move, their flaming heads bobbing as they stepped forward in unison.

Their bodies crackled with heat, each motion leaving faint scorch marks on the floor. Gran and

Machivel shifted into defensive stances, preparing for the inevitable.