Chapter 122: Rank One Apostle


    Lena sat on her bed, her eyes shimmering with excitement forgetting the shaking world of yesterday as she stared at the glove resting in her lap. Her fingers traced the intricate, ancient patterns etched into the leather, marveling at the craftsmanship and the energy radiating from it. A magical artifact—her very own.


    She had dreamt of this moment for years, and now it was real. The glove was proof that she wasn’t crazy, despite what others had said. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the relief wash over her, memories of the harsh life she''d endured surfacing.


    Her heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of pride and sorrow. She remembered every cruel sneer, every cold night without shelter, and every day she fought hunger and fear. Yet here she was, holding something powerful—something that proved her belief in magic had always been justified. Finally, she was seen. She was valid.


    Taking a deep breath, she looked around her new room. It was warm and inviting, with soft lighting that made the space feel safe. The bed was plush, far more comfortable than anything she had ever known. She stretched out, allowing herself a rare moment of peace. "This... this is what safety feels like," she murmured to herself, wiping the moisture from her eyes.


    Suddenly, the room trembled. The bed shook violently beneath her, and the walls seemed to pulse with an unnatural pressure. The air thickened, almost choking, and Lena’s heart raced in alarm. She clutched the glove instinctively, her fingers tightening around it.


    “What the hell is going on? Again?” she whispered, her voice shaky. She stood but quickly sat back down as the floor trembled beneath her feet.


    Her mind raced. She had no idea if this was a magical incident or an attack. Was someone after the glove already? Had she unknowingly triggered something? She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing, trying to sense the origin of the disturbance.


    Stay calm. Don’t panic. You’ve been through worse.


    —


    In the quiet stillness of the basement, Abel sat hunched over a set of parchments spread across a long wooden table. The faint glow of lanterns flickered around him, casting elongated shadows on the stone walls. He had meticulously examined the first parchment, which detailed a ritual to communicate with Mr. One. The ritual''s premise involved a bizarre sequence: picking a specific flower, performing an intricate dance, and “mesmerizing” the flower, allowing its petals to drift away and deliver a message.


    Abel furrowed his brow, intrigued yet skeptical. A dance as a medium for ritualistic magic? He had encountered many arcane methods, but this was new. Unfortunately, the parchment didn’t explain the complexities of the ritual itself, leaving more questions than answers. With a sigh, he set it aside and picked up the second parchment.


    This one was from the man in the rat mask at the bazaar. The instructions were straightforward: every first of the month, Abel could meet him at a ridge to the north, identifiable by a cluster of yellow bushes. The man would set up a stall there. Abel smirked. It was oddly mundane for a person dealing in magical artifacts, but it provided a lead. Satisfied, he folded the parchment neatly and placed it into a compartment in his table.


    He turned to the final parchment. This one was different. The parchment crackled with age, the symbols etched into it exuding a faint, ominous energy. A ritual of concealment.


    As Abel skimmed its contents, his pulse quickened. The shapes and formations described were eerily similar to those used in artifact creation rituals, apart from other strange shapes he had never seen before. His eyes lingered on a phrase that caught his attention: The Forgotten One.


    “This again…” Abel muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around the parchment.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The ritual described a method to render an area nearly invisible to mundanes, blending seamlessly into its surroundings and making it inconspicuous. Abel’s sharp eyes traced the familiar yet complex patterns—each symbol had a distinct meaning, yet together they formed a concealed force. The similarities to the artifact-creation rituals were unsettling. Why were these shapes being reused? And who or what was ‘The Forgotten One’?


    A wave of unease crept over him, but his fascination outweighed it. He carefully placed the parchment aside, making a mental note to revisit it later.


    As he rose from his seat, Abel looked around the room as he had sensed some mana changes in the area but then he placed his hand on his chest as something shifted deep within him. It wasn’t the room—it was internal, something primal.


    Abel staggered slightly, his breath growing ragged. He instinctively moved to the center of the basement and sank into a meditative posture, trying to steady himself. His ethereal star, nestled deep within his mana pool, pulsed erratically. It was stirring.


    His entire body felt as though it were being pulled in different directions. His veins burned with mana, and every breath felt heavier, yet invigorating.


    Sweat glistened on his brow as he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. He had been warned about this by the Tower mentors: the process of synchronizing with one’s mana pool after a breakthrough wasn’t immediate. It was a delicate balance—his mana pool, spirit, and body were adjusting to each other.


    Abel''s breathing slowed as his resolve strengthened. This is the path. I’m getting closer. Once the synchronization was complete, he would unlock his first rune, marking his official ascension to Rank One Apostle. Though the pain was intense, Abel welcomed it. This was the test every aspiring Apostle endured, and he would not falter.


    His eyes opened, glowing faintly with a stellar hue. A thin stream of light surrounded him, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. He exhaled, calming the storm within. He wasn’t just enduring this transformation—he was mastering it. His time was coming.


    The ethereal star within Abel pulsed violently, sending tremors through the walls of the Starry Villa. The entire house seemed to respond to this awakening, vibrating with energy as if in anticipation of what was about to emerge. Abel, seated firmly in the center of the basement, remained calm, though his heart pounded with excitement. He could feel it—his first rune was forming.


    The world of Apostles was one where power came through alignment—affinity, understanding, and experience shaped the nature of their runes. No rune was inherently weak, and each one was tailored to an Apostle’s unique strengths, granting abilities that evolved their prowess in unpredictable ways. Abel knew that whatever rune emerged would not only complement his star affinity but open doors to powers beyond his current imagination.


    He closed his eyes, focusing on the intense energy coursing through him. Every nerve in his body tingled, his senses heightened as though he could hear the hum of the universe itself. The star within him gave a final pulse, sending out blinding starlight that enveloped the entire basement.


    The walls, furniture, and even the air around him dissolved into pure white brilliance. Abel’s vision was overwhelmed, yet he remained perfectly still, feeling the energy converge above him. His breathing slowed, controlled yet deep, each breath synchronizing with the pulsating power.


    Then, at the apex of the light, a distinct shape emerged swallowing the white light that covered the basement: a circle with a dot in the center, surrounded by four smaller dots at opposite cardinal points.


    The rune hovered ominously, radiating an oppressive strength that pressed down on everything around it as if wanting to consume all. It was simple yet profound, its geometry imbued with cosmic power. The rune seemed to pulse with life, vibrating in harmony with Abel’s ethereal star.


    Abel’s eyes snapped open, shining like twin beacons of starlight. His mouth opened as if gasping, but instead of breath, light poured from him—bright, radiant, and overwhelming. His entire body glowed like a lighthouse in the darkness, illuminating every shadow with brilliant clarity.


    The rune slowly descended, sinking into his body. The oppressive weight of it surged through his veins, fusing with his mana core as it floated around the ethereal star like a moon in orbit. He clenched his fists as the energy filled him, his body trembling under the strain. Then, in a final flash, the light vanished, plunging the room back into its dim, lantern-lit normalcy.


    Abel sat there, drenched in sweat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. But his expression was one of triumph.


    He opened his eyes, their usual sharpness now tinged with a faint, starlit glow. A satisfied smile crept across his face. The rune was his. He wasn''t sure if it was due to the ethereal star or the star eater essence of his, but the rune he had received was very complicated.