Chapter 119 Chronofracture Crack, Acceleration of Qayïn Ritual
"He has come..."
Amid the shattered remains of the towering ancient temple, Azazel, the archon of destruction, stood with an imposing presence atop the blood-stained altar that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Time here twisted unnaturally—sometimes flowing backward, then racing forward, before pausing as if uncertain of its own course—filling the air with a thick tension and casting deep shadows that seemed to breathe with hidden menace. In his hand, he gripped a shard of the time chain, a sacred fragment from the Chronofracture, radiating a mystical glow that glittered like morning dew, a dazzling yet terrifying symbol of power.
"Cracks have appeared. And if time has been stained by the blood of Fitran's descendants..." he whispered, voice low but sharp.
"Then this ritual can be... hastened," he hissed, the sound echoing through the crumbling temple walls, as if the ruins themselves awaited the grim fate he spoke of.
"I will plant Qayïn before the child even cries for the first time."
Within the secret chamber of Gaia Palace, concealed behind walls draped in thick, dark purple flowering vines and embellished with intricately carved animal heads worn by the passage of time, Iris stood transfixed. Her eyes were fixed on the glyph left by her child, its mysterious shape glowing softly beneath the trembling flame of an oil lamp. The air was rich with the earthy scent of aged wood mingled with faint traces of exotic spices, wrapping the space in an enchanting stillness, as though time itself had paused to honor the glyph's significance. The gentle light traced every delicate curve and fine vein of the symbol, which shimmered faintly, pulsing subtly as if alive—an ancient magic brimming quietly with latent energy. Iris sensed a faint vibration thrumming through the air, a connection to an unseen, greater force poised just beyond her understanding, an invisible power waiting patiently to be woken.
Yet, there was something Iris had not yet perceived:
The glyph... was growing.
Unlike ordinary spells, it radiated a thrilling, almost palpable energy, spawning veins of shimmering aether crystals that pulsed and vibrated softly within the air. These delicate veins intertwined to form a multi-layered magic circle—an intricate construct reminiscent of the legendary Voidwright Circle, yet adorned with flowing, graceful patterns that seemed alive. Each line and curve moved in perfect harmony, as if tracing the hidden pathways of the dantian and meridians, secret cultivation techniques lost to time and shrouded in ancient mystery.
"He... is a Cultivation Master..." Iris breathed, her voice trembling, a fragile mixture of fear and awe casting a shadow over her every word.
"My child is not merely a wizard. He is condensing his very soul..."