Chapter 23

  The cool, fresh air hit Ren the moment they stepped out of the cave. A canopy of green stretched above them—massive, ancient trees with silver-veined leaves and trunks as thick as houses. He squinted against the sudden light, blinking rapidly until his eyes adjusted.

  Then he saw it.

  Beyond the thick grove of trees, nestled into the clearing like a wound healed over time, lay stone spires and broken arches, grown over with ivy and lichen. Cracked towers stood half-sunk into the earth. Marble streets, veined with moss and faintly glowing runes, stretched in curving, alien patterns. Ethereal lights shimmered faintly in the distance, suspended like lanterns with no source.

  It was beautiful but also not at all the rapidly growing town that he was in a few hours-or days, he didn’t really know how long he had been out.

  Ren’s mouth went dry. “This is…a forest?”

  “The old elven capital,” Ethan said, not breaking stride. “Abandoned when their great exodus began two centuries ago. Some say the roots of the World Tree once touched its foundations. Now, it belongs to no one—except us.”

  Ren followed in stunned silence as they walked a winding path over broken flagstones, past old statues of long-forgotten elven queens and philosophers. A pair of crows watched from a branch above, unbothered.

  He couldn’t help but feel it—the presence of something ancient here. A sleeping power, half-lost to time. It pulsed faintly beneath the moss-covered ground.

  Their path ended at a tall archway covered in climbing roses. Beyond it was a plaza of sorts, one of the few areas seemingly repaired. It had clearly been fortified, a base of operations built from scavenged stone and fresh wood. Tents and shacks stood beside repurposed halls, and figures in black and gray moved silently in and out of buildings, each with the same bearing: wary, precise, watchful.

  Ren stared.

  “You’re not exactly subtle,” he muttered.

  Ethan smiled faintly. “We don’t need to be. Most who know of this place are wise enough not to come near.”

  They stopped before a wide hall that looked like it had once been a library. The smell of ink and damp parchment still clung faintly to the doorway.

  Before Ren could step inside, Ethan raised a hand.

  “There’s something you should understand now that you’ve taken the oath,” he said. “You won’t be trained directly in your class. We don’t know enough about it to guide you properly.”

  Ren blinked. “Why?”

  “Because you're not a standard class. Most who come through as outsiders get funneled into known archetypes—combat classes, elementalists, blacksmiths, alchemists. Occasionally, a variation. But you? Culinary mana manipulation?” He shook his head. “That’s not in our books. We’d be more likely to hinder than help if we tried to mold you.”

  Ren frowned slightly, but Ethan continued.

  “Instead, we’ll build your foundation. You’ll receive one hour of physical training every morning. Cardio, reflex work, pain conditioning. The us

  ual. Then two hours of magical practice—mostly mana control,mental resilience and practice in whatever combat spells you have.After that, one hour of actual combat drills. Sparring, movement, weapon use. We rotate instructors depending on who’s available.”

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  “And then?”

  Ethan gestured around. “You’re free to do what you like. Cook. Experiment. Rest. This forest is enormous, with every kind of herb, fruit, and creature you can imagine—some only found here. As a rule of thumb, the more unique the material, the faster a crafter progresses. We’ll provide what we find, as long as it’s not too rare or expensive. You’ll also be allowed to forage. Just… don’t wander off without telling anyone. The deeper parts still have things even we avoid.”

  Ren raised an eyebrow. “So you’re giving me ingredients to level up faster.”

  “In a sense, yes. Consider it our investment,” Ethan said. “You still need to work hard, Ren. You have potential—but no one’s going to hand you the path. You build it. We just stop others from tearing it down before it’s finished.”

  They stood in silence for a moment. Ren let his gaze drift to the broken skyline above. Somewhere beneath the vines and decay, the world here had once believed in beauty. Now he stood in its ruins, a chef-turned-sorcerer, trying to make something new.

  He nodded slowly.

  “All right. Let’s get to work.”

  He glanced sideways. “Hey… Ethan. You said we’re all outsiders. From other places. Are you from Earth?”

  Ethan paused mid-step. Then turned to face him, head slightly tilted, brow raised. “Earth?”

  Ren gave a dry half-laugh. “Yeah. That’s what my planet is called. Blue skies, oceans, cities. Internet, smartphones, sushi.”

  Ethan blinked. Then he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ahh… that’s what your world’s called. No, I’ve never heard of it.”

  Ren’s shoulders sank just a little.

  “But I understand what you’re asking,” Ethan said, his voice thoughtful. “No, I’m not from your Earth. I’m from a world we called Halvrax. A dying place when I left it. We’d just unlocked nuclear fission—our scientists were starting to think we could escape our decaying star. But then the system pulled me here. The Shardlands.”

  Ren’s eyes narrowed. “So there are others from… other planets?”

  “Of course. That’s what being an outsider means. You weren’t born of this world. The System selects from countless planes of existence. Different planets, realms, timelines, maybe even parallel dimensions. All bound by one thing: you weren’t supposed to end up here.” Ethan gestured vaguely to the forest. “Yet here we are.”

  Ren felt a chill creep down his spine. “So the others—do they come from worlds like mine? Like… modern ones?”

  “Some do. Some don’t. One of our people was from a world stuck in a perpetual medieval stasis. Another came from a place where biological augmentation was the norm and memory was stored in crystals. Personally, my world had just achieved practical nuclear fission. We were making great strides and we did have Internet but i don't know what this ‘sushi’ technology you speak of is.”

  “It’s not techno- never mind, anyone else from Earth?”

  Ethan shook his head. “I haven’t heard of it, no. But this base alone has over three hundred outsiders stationed here. That’s not counting the other outposts across the Shardlands. It’s entirely possible someone else came from your planet, or a close analogue.” He gave Ren a measuring look. “You’re not the first to cling to that name. Most do, at first.”

  Ren was silent for a long moment. Three hundred. That number echoed in his skull. He had felt so alone—so utterly, impossibly removed from everything he’d known. But maybe… just maybe…

  “But if some of them came from modern worlds,” he said slowly, “then why haven’t they built anything? Why no tech? No phones or guns or even something simple like batteries?”

  Ethan’s smile faded, turning faintly grim. “Because the System doesn’t allow it. At least, not here in the Aether Shardlands. This world rejects high-tech devices. Anything more advanced than early combustion engines tends to break down or outright fail. Batteries discharge with no explanation. Electronics fry themselves the moment they’re activated. Guns jam, drones crash. It’s as if the mana here resents anything it doesn’t understand.”

  Ren stared. “So we’re stuck with magic and steel?”

  “Yes. Though calling it ‘stuck’ might be unfair. Magic can achieve things your technology can’t. Once you understand the rules of the system, you’ll see the power in it.” Ethan’s eyes gleamed. “And as a crafter—especially one who manipulates mana through food—you’re in a uniquely advantageous position. Most of us spend years trying to learn how to shape mana. You? You were born for it.”

  Ren gave a small, tired laugh. “I was born to make omelets.”

  Ethan smiled. “Then it’s time to start making the kind that change the world.”

  Then he caught on to a word.

  “Shardlands?”

  “The Aetheric Shardlands. Didn’t you see it mentioned when you first came to this world.” Ethan nodded when he saw Ren’s look of understanding.

  They stepped through the threshold of the ruined hall, the shadows shifting behind them. Somewhere inside, Ren could hear the distant rhythm of steel on stone, the hiss of mana being shaped, and the murmur of voices speaking languages not his own—but all of them, outsiders.

  And for the first time in what felt like days, he wasn’t afraid.