“Greetings, Princess Dodoa. I am a traveler from a distant land. Could you tell me where you are now, and what you are doing?” Glenn chose his words with care.

  He needed to coax information from her, bit by bit. Perhaps she held some hidden secret.

  “Here…” There was a long silence—so long Glenn thought the connection had vanished—before the faint voice drifted back: “Why hasn’t Mother returned yet…”

  Glenn covered his face with one hand, once again confirming that her mental state was severely disturbed.

  He tried a different approach. “Princess Dodoa, do you have anything fun where you are?”

  “Yes!” Her voice leapt several octaves. “There are so many fun things here! I’ll take you to play! Where are you? I see you! Hm? Why aren’t you speaking? Say something!”

  Glenn glanced around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—neither here nor where his body lay. Testing carefully, he said, “I don’t see you.”

  “Huh? Isn’t this you?” Her voice was full of bewilderment.

  Glenn had the distinct impression she had simply pointed to some random object nearby and decided it was him.

  There would be no meaningful communication, then… He still wanted to ask more, but it would be pointless.

  He released the gray element.

  But in the next instant, a strange sensation made him jolt in alarm.

  His spectral hand had turned gray—stone-like—its fingers stiff and resistant.

  Shock rippled through him, and his meditation collapsed. He shot upright from the bed.

  He immediately looked at his hands. The gray hue faded little by little, and finally vanished.

  Glenn exhaled deeply. He realized he had grown reckless—far too trusting of the unknown. It was the mindset he had carried since his transmigration:

  This new life is a gift. Anything I gain is a bonus. A philosophy that made him careless.

  But that was precisely what would one day lead him into ruin.

  After sitting quietly for a while, he lay back down and closed his eyes.

  He did not know that the faint trace of gray essence he had carried out had triggered something extraordinary.

  Across the Kingdom of Zehn, extreme weather erupted in multiple regions—almost simultaneously.

  In every functioning chapel—whether devoted to Light or Darkness—the sacred statues trembled ever so slightly.

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  Observers noticed, believing a divine message was descending.

  In a remote wasteland of eternal night, an abandoned desert no one dared approach, stood a ruined chapel.

  The corpses of fallen temple knights lay scattered throughout.

  The desert wind lashed a tattered, slanted banner until it rattled like dry bones.

  This place had been forgotten by the world—true wilderness, its former glory long buried.

  And at the precise moment the storms struck Zehn, the rotting statue within this forsaken chapel shook violently—then collapsed entirely into dust.

  Moments later—

  A section of the floor slid open, revealing an elderly beastfolk—panther-headed—carrying a lantern.

  Its eyes glowed pure white, irisless, unsettlingly mysterious.

  It walked to the shattered remnants of the statue, scooped up a handful of dust, and rubbed it thoughtfully between its fingers.

  “Even gods… can know fear?” it murmured to itself.

  …

  Glenn awoke to the howl of wind outside.

  The alarm that usually snapped him awake had not yet sounded; dawn had barely touched the sky.

  He left the bed, walked to the window—and the sight outside startled him.

  The sky over Abyssfall Gorge was a heavy slate gray, streaked with drifting black clouds. Winds raged across the world like a living force.

  Wind everywhere—yet not a drop of rain.

  The trees outside thrashed as though enormous hands were wrenching them from the earth, bent nearly horizontal in the gale.

  The storm must be immense.

  Yesterday had been bright and cloudless—how could it turn into this overnight? So even the climate knowledge from his past life means nothing here… Glenn watched for a moment, then stepped out of his room.

  He soon noticed all the apprentices crowded on the balcony, observing something.

  Glenn joined them—and only then saw that they were watching Da'off and Meco far above, weaving spells in midair.

  “Lucas, what is Master doing?” Glenn asked.

  Lucas glanced at him. “Master is trying to alter the weather. Conditions like this are disastrous for the rare plants in the back mountains.”

  A Fifth-Rank mage can influence the weather? Glenn was surprised.

  He focused his enhanced sight on the two mages suspended in the sky. Every movement, every subtle shift of Da'off’s lips was clear to him.

  But after watching for some time, he noticed the deep furrow in Da'off’s brow. Something was not going well.

  Glenn asked again, “Is changing the weather difficult for Master?”

  Lucas shook his head. “If it were only a small area, it shouldn’t be. But Master has been casting for quite a while now… It must be something unusual.”

  He had barely finished speaking when Da'off and Meco descended from the sky.

  “This weather cannot be altered by magic,” Da'off announced. “Meco and I will reinforce the back mountain. Do not go outside—the storm feels… wrong. Not a good omen.”

  “Lucas, Glenn, keep watch over them,” Meco added.

  The apprentices barely had time to answer before the pair took off again.

  The moment they were gone, Leaf grumbled loudly, “Glenn just got here—why should he watch us? I should be the one taking care of him!”

  Lucas laughed and patted her head. “Glenn is older than you. Naturally you should listen to him.”

  “But he hasn’t even mastered a basic spell…” she pouted.

  Glenn knew this type well—a child eager to play the adult, to be responsible. Many children had such instincts.

  Seeing her attitude, Lucas’s tone sharpened. “Leaf, obey the teachers.”

  She nodded reluctantly.

  Lucas then assigned tasks to each apprentice, and they dispersed.

  “You’re surprisingly experienced,” Glenn teased lightly.

  Lucas only smiled, and they both went off to their respective duties.

  Back Mountain.

  The moment the two mages arrived, they spotted a tiny sprite with dragonfly wings busily gathering delicate herbs.

  “Siri,” Da'off called, already weaving protective spells against the gale.

  Recognizing the voice, the sprite chirped back, “Da'off, Meco—finally! My poor herbs were almost gone!”

  A barrier existed here, but it was fragile—designed that way so sunlight, and the magic within it, could still reach the plants.

  “With wind this strong, it’s a miracle you haven’t been blown away,” Da'off joked.

  Meco shot him a glare for that.