John scurried back to his quarters, paranoia slithering up his spine like a serpent dipped in ice. Nevaeh's visit had been a catalyst, triggering a primal fear that churned in his gut like a tempest at sea. He craved power, and fast.

He could feel the latent magic within him stirring, the wispy tendrils yearning to coalesce into a potent current. The path to becoming a Wave Weaver, an arduous ascent fraught with peril, beckoned. Resourceful mages often turned to Manastream, a potent elixir, to navigate this treacherous transition. But John lacked the funds and time to acquire it.

Over the past few days, John had made the best preparations he could. He'd spent a significant portion of his savings on a vial of Hearward, an elixir to fortify his will, securing a discount from the sympathetic garden apothecary. He'd hunted vermin in the forest, collecting three gallons of beast blood-a risky substitute for the human blood his colleagues would have used without remorse. He'd also gathered a large supply of Aetherflux, harvested from the green bubbles that shimmered around him, their emerald glow a promise of extra mana.

With a steely resolve, John sank into a meditative pose, inhaling deeply. He knew the grueling process ahead might lead to his demise, but this was it. The moment of truth.

Agony ripped through John, a searing pain that started in his eyes and radiated throughout his body. Blood pounded in his veins, a frantic rhythm echoing the relentless surge of mana flooding his saidin. The raw power, a hungry beast, clawed at his veins, his bones, his very essence, stretching and tearing at the fabric of his being.

Sharp, piercing pain erupted at the nodes of his saidin, a network of channels strained to their limits by the onslaught of energy. It felt as if his blood and mana were locked in a desperate race, each vying for dominance within his body. The pressure built, a relentless force that threatened to shatter him from within.

But John refused to yield. Drawing upon the dark knowledge of the Forbidden Harmony rite, he channeled the pain, the fear, the very essence of his suffering, into a vortex of raw power. Blood and tissue burned, sacrificed to fuel the maelstrom that churned within him. The mana, once a chaotic storm, began to coalesce into a harmonious whirlwind, condensing under the immense pressure.

A cool sensation, a stark contrast to the burning pain elsewhere in his body, bloomed within John's saidin nodes. It was a sign: the misty mana was condensing, a critical step towards transformation. Yet, the toll exerted by Forbidden Harmony on his body was immense, each muscle screaming in protest. With a grimace, John reached for the wooden bucket filled with beast blood, its metallic scent thick in the air. He steeled himself and gulped down the foul liquid, nausea rising in his throat. But almost instantly, warmth spread through his body as the Forbidden Harmony technique ignited the beast's essence, converting it into raw energy.

The beast blood, however, proved resistant, its wild energy, hard to control, refusing to fully integrate into the vortex within him. A tremor of fear shook John as the process faltered. Was this gamble a fatal mistake? Had the promise of power slipped through his fingers?

Suddenly, a low hum resonated through the room, the very air vibrating with power. Shimmering bubbles materialized around him, each a vibrant burst of energy. They swirled and danced, drawn inexorably into the vortex, their essence merging with the struggling beast blood. The fusion sparked a chain reaction, the mana finally bending to his will.

A sharp crack echoed through John's body, like ice shattering under immense pressure. His muscles spasmed, his bones groaned, as the transformation intensified. Despite the agony, a wave of relief washed over John. The most dangerous part-forcing the chaotic mana into liquid form-was behind him. Now, it was simply a matter of enduring the reshaping of his body, a painful but necessary step towards his ascension.

The transformation stretched into the night, a relentless symphony of pain and raw power. As the first rays of dawn peeked through the window, the sounds subsided. The torrent of energy and blood retreated, replaced by a gentle flow of mana coursing through his now-transformed body. A wave of warmth washed over him, his senses heightened as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He could feel the energy humming beneath his skin, each breath a symphony of power.

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With a final pulse of Forbidden Harmony, John snapped his eyes open. The world around him seemed to vibrate with newfound clarity, a symphony of colors and energy. A surge of power coursed through him, a baptism by his newfound liquid mana. He flexed his fingers, feeling the energy crackle at his fingertips like a miniature lightning storm. "Wave Weaver," he breathed, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "That wasn't so bad."

He remembered his seniors' tales of the ordeal, a crucible that tested not only body and mind but also one's mastery over the raw, surging mana. Yet, for him, it had been surprisingly manageable.

"The bubbles," he realized, a wave of gratitude washing over him. "They saved me." The thought filled him with a newfound sense of security and confidence. Then, a spark of curiosity ignited in his eyes. He could sense a new ability thrumming within him, a power unlocked by his transformation. "Daily Identification," he murmured, his voice tinged with excitement. "What exactly does it do?"

Emerging from his wooden dwelling, John cast Daily Identification on his humble abode. The results materialized instantly in his mind's eye.

[John Riversong's cabin: Built three years ago from sturdy green forest wood, it appears strong. However, hidden dangers lurk within the structure, threatening a potential collapse. Built by John himself.]

John was speechless. So, it identified objects. Not exactly a world-shattering power.

"Guess I'll need to learn a bit about carpentry." he muttered. "Renovations are in order." With a purpose in his stride, he headed towards the botanical garden.

[Strength]

[Agility]

[Mana Affinity]

[Ordinary Magic Sword]

John walked all the way into the pavilion, absorbing the surrounding bubbles. After a well-deserved rest, John joined the other caretakers, lending a hand with the herbs.

Unlike him, most who tended the gardens were ordinary folk. In the past, they lived in fear of the disciple guardian, one mistake away from a deadly punishment. John, however, was a different story. He wouldn't harm them on a whim, a fact that earned him a... unusual reputation within the dark Order - "decent." Not exactly a badge of honor in Forbidden Harmony, but John had his own code.

Later that day, John came face-to-face with Nevaeh again. To his surprise, the news of his ascension didn't cause a stir. It was almost... anticlimactic. Thankfully, no demons descended upon him for immediate exploitation.

In the following days, Nevaeh's visits became a regular occurrence. Yet, their conversations remained curiously mundane, centered on trivial matters from back home. Occasionally, a wistful note would color her voice, a longing for a childhood dream of being "good". But with each passing visit, the knot of unease in John's gut tightened. Something wasn't right.

Two weeks flew by. Stepping out of his residence, John squinted at the clear but oddly unwelcoming sky. "Nevaeh hasn't visited in a few days," he mused. Was her absence a good sign, or a harbinger of something more sinister?

Deciding not to dwell on the unknown, he headed towards the library, a new mystery weighing on his mind.

Nevaeh was from the Citadel of Siren Delight, a temptress renowned for her otherworldly allure. Yet, John felt nothing. No fluttering in his stomach, no spark of attraction. Even his deliberate attempts to conjure a reaction had proven futile.

A disquieting realization settled upon him. While he'd always sought immortality, free from the burdens of love or family, this inability to feel... anything... was a chilling development. And it coincided with that night, the encounter with the woman in red. The only logical conclusion gnawed at him: something was terribly wrong.

Two days of poring over dusty tomes in the library had yielded nothing. Just as despair began to settle in, a flicker of purple caught his eye.

[Enchanted Item]

Unexpected surprise.

If past experience held true, one more Enchanted Item fragment could awaken a brand new magical power.

John's elation quickly faded as he exited the library. A snippet of hushed conversation snagged his attention, a chilling rumor that sent a shiver down his spine. Forbidden Harmony was conducting a headcount, an unusual disruption to the conclave's typically mundane routine.

"Seems like they're looking for someone," a nearby disciple muttered, his voice laced with unease.

The rumor spread like wildfire, whispers of a traitor dancing on the wind. John's mind immediately conjured an image - Nevaeh. He'd sensed something brewing in the Order since his humiliation at the hands of the red-clad woman, a storm on the horizon.

"Nevaeh has been a Wave Weaver for some years," John thought, a cold dread coiling in his gut. "My chances against her..." The thought trailed off, replaced by a fervent hope. "Maybe I'm overthinking this."