"Do you mind not braining us?" White exclaimed, her voice tinged with waves of irritation.

Andromeda, still reeling from the spike of pain that had jolted through her, responded with a touch of exasperation, "It's not like I'm doing it on purpose. I'm just trying to make sense of it."

Once her mind cleared, she regained her focus, and this time, the colors she perceived were much more vibrant. They were not literal lights but rather sensations that evoked colors. They undulated and shifted, each with subtle variations. The red light appeared erratic, resembling a wild animal in one moment and freezing the next, only to repeat the cycle. The orange light seemed relatively stable and intense, though it occasionally flickered momentarily. It was inconsistent yet persistent.

Finally, as Andromeda became more attuned, she sensed something peculiar about the yellow light. While the others conveyed vague impressions of emotions with soft boundaries, the yellow light was harsh and defined. However, the most peculiar aspect was its association with the same void she had previously perceived.

With a growing sense of unease, Andromeda redirected her focus towards the void itself. Instantly, a sinking feeling overwhelmed her, so profound that even White couldn't help but notice. "Seriously, can you at least explain what you're doing? Vomiting isn't any more enjoyable for me in the back seat than it is for you up there," White grumbled, her frustration palpable.

Struggling to find the right words, Andromeda reassured her, "*It’s hard to explain, but it's more of a feeling than something I can say in words. I promise I’ll warn you if I try it again."

With her attention brought back, she focused on the absence. Instead of throwing all of her metaphorical weight behind pushing on it, she slowly leaned in. This produced an ache in her head, but compared to everything else she had felt before now, it was nothing. Vague sensations filled her mind: soft shapes with barely any substance, distant sounds that felt like whispers.

"Oi, what the hell? We just talked about this! White's protest fell on deaf ears as Andromeda remained lost in her focus.

Andromeda’s heart slowed, and she felt her breathing slow as well. Her mind raced. Slowly, she put more and more pressure into her focus, and with it, the headache grew worse. But the longer she went on, the more the void seemed to writhe and change. For only an instant, she felt something approaching a feeling like the others, the faintest feeling of blue.

Suddenly, another flash of pain shattered her senses, and it was all she could do to not scream.

On the other side of the glass in the observation room, Ferdinand inspected the mana levels through a one-way glass. He had been called here while Carrion was busy with the tests, and he understood why.

For the last few minutes, he had witnessed how the ambient mana in the room dropped. Slowly at first, then to levels lower than when they first arrived. Eventually, the levels actually dropped below average, and just a moment ago, they bottomed out. This coincided with Andromeda reacting as if in pain. It was all too obvious that she was doing this on purpose, but what she was doing and why remained unclear.

The frightening thing was that it seemed that whatever she was doing was using the mana before it could escape her. At the level she emitted it, that was an astronomical amount of mana, well beyond anything even a master mage could use. Ferdinand himself wasn’t entirely sure he could handle such a thing for more than a few minutes.

The levels dropped again, this time even more slowly. But then they rose again, only to quickly start dropping again. A wave-like pattern developed on the screen as the levels rose and fell, though in general, it seemed to trend downward.

Then something strange happened. Andromeda, who before now was laying face down on the table in front of her, sat up. The mana levels in the room remained steady, but lower then before, and then she suddenly gripped her head, and the levels went back to before. But that wasn’t the strange part, its that while she did this, the swirling colors of her skin and hair stopped, and when she gripped her head it continued.

A resounding crack of thunder tore through the facility, and Ferdinand got another alert through his reflex glass. Something was happening with Albert Nedely.

He called in a few Magisters to keep an eye on Andromeda and left the observation room for the containment wing of the facility. As he passed through the halls, he noticed a large number of people walking in both directions past him. Magisters heading his way, and lower ranking staff heading out.

Albert Nedely was laying on the ground, tossing and turning in apparent pain, all around him on the ground were scorch marks. Nearby the heavy metal door that was originally attached to the wall of his containment cell was embedded in the opposing wall. Besides that, it seemed that there was water soaking the ground, and what seemed to be cracks in the stone floors.

“What happened?” Ferdinand asked. A nearby Magister walked up, obviously present for the action as there was a burn going across his left cheek.

“About half an hour ago, we heard a scream from the detainee, and found him experiencing intense head pain. After the site Medea soothed his pain we put him back in his cell, and just a few moments ago a loud explosion erupted from his cell, throwing him, the door, and several passersby away. We have no suggestion as to how this might have happened, as he was secured with mana void braces so he couldn’t have used magic.“ The Magister explained.

"I see, let me through," Ferdinand said, and the crowds parted as the attending Medea stepped back. Ferdinand raised his hand slightly, and Albert's body lifted off the ground. With a twist of his wrist, Ferdinand brought Albert upright, floating before him.

"What did you do?" Ferdinand asked, his voice calm but serious. Internally, he burned with anger if his assumption was correct. Albert, on the other hand, seemed confused by the question.

"I was just sitting there, then everything exploded!" he said, his mouth swollen and brow bloodied. Ferdinand looked down at Albert's battered form and noticed something very peculiar—burns on his hands. These burns were not just from a source of heat; he had been electrocuted. Ferdinand gently lowered Albert back down to the ground and instructed the Medea to continue their work.

"Sir, what do we do about this?" a nearby Magister asked.

"Make sure he's fine, clean him up, and put him back in another cell," Ferdinand said. The timing was too close, the situation too strange. He dismissed them and looked back at the results of the last few minutes, which had remained steady since he left.

This was becoming too much. Ferdinand prepared himself to enter the containment room, and as soon as he walked inside, Andromeda was already aware of him.

"What's up?" Andromeda asked, her voice still warbly and badly pitched.

"We need to talk," Ferdinand said as he sat down at the table. Andromeda seemed genuinely happy.

"Oh good, you guys left me here alone, er, mostly alone for hours. I'm bored," Andromeda said.

"Yes, about that, the results you requested are coming along soon. But I wanted to talk about something else. What exactly have you been doing while alone in here? Specifically in the last half-hour?" Ferdinand said. It took her a moment to react, but then she seemed surprised and confused.

"Me? I… well, it's hard to explain. I can't see or hear, so I'm more or less just alone with my thoughts. I can kind of feel things. They're blurry, and they feel like colors. It's been giving me headaches for some reason," Andromeda said.

"I see. Well, I need to inform you that a few minutes ago, I witnessed the ambient mana in this room drop to nearly nothing twice. Both times were followed quickly by Albert Nedely being injured in some way," Ferdinand said.

A look of pure devastation appeared on Andromeda's face. "Is he going to be alright?" she asked.

"I believe he will. It seemed that his injuries were mostly surface level," Ferdinand reassured her.

The room fell silent, and Andromeda struggled to even find the will to breathe.

"I know that this is a lot to deal with, but I need to know as much as I can. This room is designed entirely to isolate mana in all forms. You should be unable to use magic, let alone affect things outside the room at such a level," Ferdinand explained.

"I don't know, it just felt natural. All I had to do was focus," Andromeda replied. Sensing the pain in her voice, Ferdinand wanted to lighten the mood.

"It seems like every time someone leaves you alone, you surprise them with some new peculiarity," Ferdinand said with a small laugh, attempting to bring a touch of levity to the situation.

"I keep hurting people, even when I don't try," Andromeda said, her voice slightly hoarse. Ferdinand felt a metaphorical knife plunge into his heart at her reaction. It seemed she didn't perceive his words as lighthearted.

"I didn't mean to shame you. Rather, I meant to say it endearingly," Ferdinand clarified. His words were genuine, but Andromeda didn't seem convinced.

"You say that, but you're just another victim if you think about it," she said. The oath, something Ferdinand remained ever vigilant about. He couldn't mention her abilities in any way, among other things. He didn't consider it a harm but rather a cost of their working together. However, it seemed that Andromeda didn't take the situation as well.

"Andromeda, may I ask something?" he inquired. She remained silent, and he took that as an invitation. "I may not have known you for long, but you strike me as someone who does not care much for yourself."

"What?" she asked.

"From what you have told me, it seems as though every action you take is never to serve your own best interest. And in the few cases it does, you do so only because the alternative would be worse for another," Ferdinand said. "Our oath only stood to benefit the Lander family, and once burdened with a being inside your mind, your first instinct was to protect them. The same goes for another being that tried to kill you. One of the first things you asked about when I entered your mind space was the safety of another person. Even now, you made me swear to help this island at the risk of your own life, and yet you're more concerned about hurting Albert Nedely, someone who actively plotted against you, than your own safety."

"I don't think… Well, I don't feel like I don't care for myself. I just feel like…" she started to say, then frowned.

"Yes?" Ferdinand prompted.

"What use is there in helping myself?" she asked.

Ferdinand blinked, and the gears of his brain ground to a halt as he processed what he had just heard.

"Excuse you?" he said, taken aback.

"I mean… I can do all these things. Heal people, fix broken things, and I'm capable of so much more with just a little practice. Other people don't have nearly that much, so why would I focus on myself?" Andromeda stammered out, her words coming just as her mind formed them.

"That… Hold on, no, that's just not right. Are you listening to yourself?" Ferdinand said as he gripped his nose. Sometimes, he forgot that despite all the drama in her life, Andromeda was still young. He sighed and tried to find the words he wanted to say. "Do you know the story of 'The One Who Burned for the Light'?" Ferdinand asked.

"No?" Andromeda said.

Ferdinand blinked, and the gears of his brain ground to a halt as he processed what he had just heard. "Excuse you?" he said, taken aback.

"I mean… I can do all these things. Heal people, fix broken things, and I'm capable of so much more with just a little practice. Other people don't have nearly that much, so why would I focus on myself?" Andromeda stammered out, her words coming just as her mind formed them.

"That… Hold on, no, that's just not right. Are you listening to yourself?" Ferdinand said as he gripped his nose. Sometimes, he forgot that despite all the drama in her life, Andromeda was still young. He sighed and tried to find the words he wanted to say. "Do you know the story of 'The One Who Burned for the Light'?" Ferdinand asked.

"No?" Andromeda said.

"Then let me enlighten you," he said.

In a land far away, in a time long since gone, there was a kingdom—a shining, beautiful kingdom. Its lands were the safest; its people the happiest. They knew no hardship or pain, and they prospered because of it. All this was by the careful hand of their king. He was a man of great power and will, one who could bend the winds to his word and urge crops to grow with a calm utterance. His people loved him with all their hearts, and in turn, he loved his people more than anything else.

His every thought and feeling were dedicated to the lives of his subjects. Every battle fought was a promise for improvement; every failure met the greatest shame in the king. For as powerful as he was, he was not perfect. In his quest to protect and provide for his kingdom, the old king neglected himself. His days were filled with endless toil, attending to the needs of his people and ensuring their happiness. He worked tirelessly, never sparing a moment for rest or leisure. His heart ached for his subjects, but his own soul slowly withered away.

Time passed, and the king's majestic appearance slowly faded. He lost the spark of joy in his eyes, and the passage of time turned his hair gray. The ever-present weight of the needs of his people always pressed upon him, and his strength and vitality diminished.

Even as his strength waned, he faced every threat to the peace he had built with all the might of the man he once was. In times of famine, he would empty his granaries for the people. In times of pestilence, he would be in the streets, helping whomever he could. In times of war, he would be the first to strike at the enemy and the last to leave the battlefield. He pushed himself beyond the brink, sacrificing his own well-being to protect his beloved kingdom.

As the years went on, the results of the king's tireless pursuit of happiness finally caught up to him. His hands no longer commanded the winds, and his words no longer reached the fields. Try as he might, he could not win the war he had fought with time. His mind faded, his memories turning cloudy. His frail form could hardly hold a sword, let alone lead an army.

The people, only knowing peace and happiness, did not notice the king's plight at first, as his golden eyes and warm smile soothed all but the greatest of ills, but it was when people saw him less and less when they first thought something might be amiss. But as happy as they were, they suspected that their glorious king was immune to such hardships and went on living their fantastical lives.

Of course, all happy tales eventually must end. Finally, the king could stand no longer, so much of his strength gone, he was a hollow shell of the man he once was. Even as he smiled and waved, the people saw the decline. Many tried to raise the spirit of the tired king, but all failed. The man who once led them into the golden light now sat in dim twilight, so feeble that he could barely stand. The people realized that in their desires and dreams, they had forgotten that one must suffer the ravages of reality so that their fantasy might live on.

All too soon, the kingdom lost its beloved king. To say that the shame and heartbreak of the kingdom was vast would be an understatement. The pain of the king's loss was so great that the sky wept, and spirits once hostile returned to their slumber. The entire world, both real and fantastical, mourned the loss of the great man they once called their king.

“The One Who Burned for the Light.”

His words hung heavy in the air as Whisper relayed the last of the story to Andromeda. Ferdinand then laid the moral plainly.

“We are story book heroes, nor titans of myth, nor gods on high. No matter how much power we may hold, and how much good we may do, giving all we have will only leave us with nothing in the end. If you’re goal is to protect everyone you care about, you must start with yourself.” Ferdinand said.

“You’re not going to tell me to leave again, are you?” She asked.

“No, I am asking that you remember that even ignoring the turmoil your death would cause, it would do far more harm to those around you then any amount of good you would do otherwise.” He said.

In the darkness of her dead senses, Andromeda could only feel. Despite that, in front of of her, she could sense something so much stronger than the others. It was a feeling that she could only describe as feeling like silver.

“I… I think I can explain what I did now.” Andromeda said. Then she slowed her breathing, calmed her heart, and focused her mind. This time, she did not press, instead, she only focused her mind on the silver feeling in front of her.

Ferdinand waited, unsure of what Andromeda meant by that. But when her eyes locked on him for the first time since he had seen her on this island, he knew she wasn’t speaking idly. Then he felt a familiar, and yet distinctly alien feeling that he had felt several times before. Once with Argram, once before with Andromeda and the other two, and now again with her. But so much more intense.

All at once, his body was inundated with an immense amount of mana. The kind of draw one might only receive by draining a mana catalyst, but it was constant. His body, trained through decades of experience in the arcane, instinctively performed numerous wasteful techniques to expend the excess mana. All in an attempt to remove as much mana as physically possible. Even through it all, the mana flowed freely through him, greater and greater strength.

In the space of time between realizing it had gone to far, and raising his hand in protest, it had grown far beyond what he could hand. Even a moment longer and he was very sure his mind would fade, or worst, his life might end.

“Stop.” He said, and a moment later the flow of mana ceased.

“Did that do anything?” She asked.

There were too many questions, hundreds, maybe thousands. In front of him was a singular person who possessed more potential for study and research than any living being alive or dead. But there wasn’t enough time.

“It did, but what exactly you’re doing is unclear. I have to admit, for all my knowledge and experience, I have no words to give you that would explain even a fraction of what you do. From the topic I cannot speak about, to these “White” and “Whisper” entities, your mental space and your dominion over it, and now this “feeling” method you posses, among so many others, you practically do not follow the rules of this world. That is nothing to say how the Arch seems to interact with you.” Ferdinand said.

“So what does that mean?” Andromeda asked.

“What I mean to say is that I am fairly confident that no one in this world will be able to give you the answers you’re looking for. Only you can do that.” Ferdinand responded. Andromeda’s expression sunk.

“So I’m alone.” She said. Her words being as clear as words could be, no warble or wrongness. Just pure thought spoken.

“Not in the slightest.” Ferdinand said, hearing this surprised her, and she once again looked at him even though she should been unable to. “I’m not going to give you some sappy speech about friends and family being there for you, that’s for you to decide. What I will say is that there is an entire world of things just as strange as yourself. If you find enough of it, and if you understand enough of it, you’ll understand yourself, and when you do that. You can come back and tell the rest of us what you are. Is that fair?”

He watched as a range of emotions played over her face, confusion, fear, then relief, and an uneasy sigh. “I can live with that.” She said.

“Living is exactly the goal.” Ferdinand said with a smile, and in another first since she arrived, Andromeda smiled.