Rhys was heading east, his movements fluid and practiced as he leaped from rooftop to tree branch with the ease of someone who had spent years refining his agility. His breath was steady, his focus sharp, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about this direction that tugged at his memory. It wasn’t until he neared the ruins that it hit him.

“This is where Master fought those copies,” he muttered to himself, a faint unease stirring in his chest. He hadn’t been there to witness it, but the stories Master shared lingered in his mind.

Landing silently near the ruins, Rhys crouched, his eyes scanning the surroundings. Signs of a battle were etched into the environment: deep scratches marred the ground, walls bore the marks of strikes too powerful for their structure to withstand, and the ruin itself seemed on the verge of collapse.

“These signs… They’re old,” Rhys murmured, running a hand along the fractured stone. “A month, maybe more. Master must’ve been here.”

He rose, his gaze narrowing as he stepped deeper into the ruins. The air grew heavier, tinged with the faint, oppressive energy of corrupted essence. As he moved cautiously, shapes began to take form in the shadows—faint, flickering figures that seemed only half-real.

Rhys stopped in his tracks, watching as the figures moved in jerky, repetitive patterns. They barely resembled the corrupted copies he had encountered before. These were incomplete, as if the essence animating them was too weak to sustain their forms.

“What is this…?” Rhys whispered, stepping closer. The faint shapes grew clearer, and his breath caught in his throat.

Copies of Towan and Elliot stood before him, locked in a strange, endless battle. Their movements were crude imitations, repeating the same clashes over and over. Each time, the Towan and Elliot copies fell, only to rise again and start the cycle anew.

“It’s like they’re stuck in a loop,” Rhys said, his voice tinged with confusion. “Someone’s reactivated the corrupted essence here, but… not enough to fully restore them.”

The sight unsettled him. These copies were pale shadows of his companions, mimicking their techniques and movements in a hollow, lifeless way. It was as if the essence left in the ruins was trying to recreate the fight that had taken place, but with no clear purpose.

Rhys clenched his fists. “This isn’t right. Whoever activated this must’ve been after something. But what?”

He took another step forward, the faint figures flickering as if reacting to his presence. A chill ran down his spine. The energy in the air felt incomplete, fractured, but still dangerous. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching him from the depths of the ruins.

As Rhys ventured deeper into the ruins, the oppressive air of corrupted essence thickened around him. The faint echoes of battles danced in the shadows, their presence a stark reminder of the energy that lingered here. He moved cautiously, his eyes scanning every corner for movement.

Then, he saw it.

A new loop was playing out ahead of him. The air shimmered faintly as the corrupted essence coalesced, forming two more figures. Rhys froze as recognition hit him like a punch to the gut.

One of the figures was unmistakably Kade, or rather, a distorted version of him. The other... Rhys’s breath caught in his throat.

It was himself.

Or, at least, a corrupted, hollow reflection of him.

The figures clashed endlessly, their movements eerily familiar yet unsettlingly wrong. The copy of Kade moved with the same aggressive precision Rhys had seen countless times during their sparring sessions, but there was something mechanical about it, like it was mimicking Kade’s style without truly understanding it.

The copy of Rhys was even worse. Watching it was like staring into a warped mirror. Its movements were swift and fluid, but they lacked the intent and rhythm he prided himself on. It was a lifeless replica, a shadow stripped of its soul.

Rhys felt a chill crawl up his spine. Seeing himself, even though it wasn’t truly him, sparked a wave of unease that he couldn’t quite articulate.

“That’s… me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His fists clenched at his sides as he took a step closer. “No, it’s not. But… why does it feel like it is?”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. The corrupted versions of himself and Kade fought tirelessly, their strikes clashing in an endless loop. Each time the cycle reset, it felt as though the figures grew weaker, the corrupted essence struggling to maintain their forms.

Rhys’s heart pounded in his chest. Was this what his master had faced? Had he also watched these eerie reflections, these hollow echoes of people he knew—or himself?

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. “This isn’t real,” he told himself, though the words rang hollow in the charged air. “It’s just... essence trying to mess with my mind.”

But as he watched his copy’s blade-like movements and Kade’s aggressive counters, a deeper question clawed at the edges of his thoughts.

What did the essence know about him? About Kade? About all of them? And why did it try to recreate their images?

The unease in his chest deepened, but Rhys steeled himself and pressed forward. Whatever the ruins were trying to show him, he wasn’t about to let it stop him.

Rhys watched the corrupted loop of his and Kade’s copies play out one more time, his unease morphing into curiosity. He noticed something peculiar.

“The loop is shorter,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes. The Towan and Elliot copies fought in longer, more intricate cycles, but his and Kade’s were abrupt, ending almost as soon as they began. Rhys tilted his head, analyzing the scene. “Master must’ve defeated these copies faster. Figures.”

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Still, the realization did little to settle his nerves. Even in their fragmented state, the corrupted replicas held an unnerving weight, as though they were more than just essence constructs. Shaking the thought away, Rhys took a cautious step forward.

That’s when he heard it.

Voices.

Low, muffled at first, they carried through the darkness ahead. He instinctively dropped into a crouch, blending into the shadows of the ruined walls. The faint hum of corrupted essence grew stronger as he moved closer, and with it, the voices became clearer.

“I can’t believe someone defeated our best creation...” one voice grumbled, its tone sharp and irritated.

“Eryndar’s techniques should have been flawless,” another voice chimed in, smoother but laced with frustration. “And there’s no trace of essence left to track whoever destroyed it. How could we have miscalculated so badly?”

Rhys froze, his heartbeat quickening. They’re talking about Master.

Staying low, he inched closer, his movements as silent as the wind. The ruins offered plenty of cover, and Rhys used every shadow and crumbled pillar to his advantage. Peering around the edge of a wall, he strained his eyes against the dimness, trying to spot the source of the voices.

But the darkness ahead was nearly impenetrable. He could only make out faint silhouettes, their forms warped and indistinct, like the corrupted figures themselves.

“Perhaps the design was too ambitious,” the first voice said, its frustration now tinged with doubt. “We pushed too far, trying to replicate Eryndar's essence control. The strain must’ve destabilized it.”

“But it was our best chance,” the second voice replied. There was a pause, and Rhys could hear footsteps echoing softly, pacing. “If even that failed, it means our current methods are insufficient. We need something stronger. Something... purer.”

Rhys felt a chill run down his spine. His master’s victory over these copies had clearly disrupted something larger. But who were these people? And what did they mean by "something purer"?

As he listened, a faint flicker of corrupted essence illuminated the space ahead. For a split second, Rhys caught a glimpse of two figures standing in the gloom, their forms cloaked in robes that seemed to ripple unnaturally, like shadows given life.

Rhys’s mind raced. He’d learned to trust his instincts, and every fiber of his being told him these were the people—or things—responsible for the corrupted essence spreading across the land.

His fists tightened. Should he confront them now? Or wait and gather more information?

Rhys stayed frozen in place, his breath shallow. The flicker of corrupted essence illuminated the two robed figures briefly, but that brief glimpse was enough to send a shiver down his spine. Their presence felt unnatural, oppressive, as though the very air around them was tainted.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his mind flashing back to a lesson from Eryndar during one of their grueling training sessions.

“Essence is more than energy,” his master had said, his tone calm but firm. “It’s an extension of will, intent. If you listen, truly listen, you can feel the intent behind it—the threat it carries. Let it guide your choices, Rhys. Sometimes, knowing when to retreat is just as important as knowing when to fight.”

Rhys took a steadying breath, focusing inward. He let the faint hum of corrupted essence around him seep into his awareness, allowing it to guide his senses. Slowly, he extended his perception, reaching out toward the figures.

The moment their essence came into focus, his heart sank.

It was overwhelming.

The corrupted energy radiating from them wasn’t just potent—it was controlled, precise, and suffocating. Rhys felt as though he were standing in the shadow of a collapsing mountain, the weight of their presence pressing down on him even from a distance.

“This... this isn’t like the others,” Rhys thought, his jaw tightening. He tried to steel himself, but a bead of sweat slid down his temple. The corruption emanating from these two wasn’t just stronger than anything he’d encountered—it was alive, pulsating with malevolent intent.

For a fleeting moment, Rhys considered his options. Could he take them by surprise? Strike first and disrupt whatever they were planning?

But then doubt crept in, unbidden. Even if he had Kade by his side, would it be enough?

His fingers curled into fists, frustration boiling under his skin. He hated the thought of running, hated the idea of leaving a fight unfinished. But the lesson from Eryndar echoed in his mind again.

“Sometimes, knowing when to retreat is just as important as knowing when to fight.”

He exhaled sharply, his decision made. He couldn’t fight these beings—not now. Not without Kade, Towan, Elliot... or even Master himself.

For now, he needed to stay hidden and gather what information he could. If these people were truly behind the corruption spreading across the land, then knowing their next move would be more valuable than a reckless attack.

As Rhys pulled back slightly, careful not to make a sound, he clenched his teeth. “One day, I’ll be strong enough to face this. But today isn’t that day.”

Rhys steadied his breath, pressing himself against a crumbling pillar to remain hidden. The voices grew clearer as he tuned out the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“…unacceptable,” one of the figures muttered, their tone sharp with irritation. “We poured so much into that creation. Eryndar’s techniques, his control—everything was perfect.”

“And yet it was destroyed,” the second figure replied, their voice lower but equally venomous. “We nailed the essence signatures; it shouldn’t have failed. No one short of him could have defeated it.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. They were talking about the corrupted copy of Eryndar.

“But there’s no trace,” the first voice continued, frustrated. “Not even a residue of vital essence. If Eryndar had been here, we would have felt the aftermath. He can’t suppress that kind of energy.”

“Unless,” the second figure paused, their voice dripping with doubt, “he’s learned to hide it. He was always exceptional at manipulating essence.”

“No,” the first figure dismissed, almost laughing. “Even if he could, he wouldn’t risk using his essence. It would leave a trail—something we’d pick up on instantly.”

Rhys’s mind raced. They thought Master might have been the one to destroy the copy, but the lack of lingering essence had convinced them otherwise.

The second figure sighed. “So who, then? No ordinary fighter could’ve done this. And without essence… it’s impossible.”

“Impossible or not, we’re exposed now. We’ll need to accelerate the next phase,” the first figure said coldly. “Let the Herald know we’ll need more resonance stones if we’re going to rebuild. This time, we won’t rely on mimicking essence—we’ll force it directly into the vessels.”

Rhys felt his chest tighten at the mention of the Herald. He wasn’t sure who or what they were referring to, but it sounded like someone—or something—above even these two.

“Fine,” the second figure agreed, their tone grudging. “But if we’re accelerating, we’ll need to find another anchor soon. Without one, we’ll lose control again.”

As the two figures moved further into the ruins, Rhys held his position, every muscle tensed. He couldn’t risk following them, not with their level of corrupted essence. Instead, he focused on committing every word of their conversation to memory.

The names. He hadn’t caught full names, but the fragments he’d overheard were enough to stick in his mind: Caleis and Dravan.

When the echoes of their footsteps faded, Rhys finally exhaled, his body trembling slightly from the tension. He had learned two important things:

First, the Herald was orchestrating this corruption, and the vessels these people spoke of were likely tied to whatever twisted plans they had.

And second, the corrupted Eryndar copy hadn’t just been a test—it had been one of their "best creations," designed with purpose.

Rhys clenched his fists. “They’re underestimating us,” he thought. “They think Eryndar didn’t destroy that thing, but they have no idea what we’re capable of.”

He turned to leave the ruins, his steps careful and silent. His mission wasn’t to confront these figures—not yet. Instead, he needed to find Kade and the others. This wasn’t just a fight for strength; it was a fight for knowledge.

“Caleis, Dravan, the Herald…” he muttered under his breath, their names now etched into his mind. “We’ll see who’s really unstoppable.”