Arriving at the edge of the cliff where Lassim was last known to be, Hallen and his team were met with a scene of eerie destruction.
The earth itself told the tale of the struggle that had taken place: the ground was etched with scorch marks, the blackened earth weaving a pattern of tendrils etched across the ground—a clear signature of Lassim’s desperate unleashing of his lightning abilities in what must have been a ferocious defense.
Just a few steps away, the cliffside itself bore witness to the immense forces that had been at play. A massive section of the rock face was violently carved out, leaving a jagged void where stone once solidly existed.
The edges of this newly formed crater were not merely broken; they seeped with a dark, viscous substance that ebbed slowly. This sinister residue pulsated with a dark energy, emitting faint remnants of the signature abyssal energies.
This was the leftover essence from Mercy’s void orb—a residue that not only Hallen, but every spirit warrior that had encountered the legion of the Abyss recognized all too well.
Hallen’s heart plummeted as he took in the extent of the devastation.
His vast experience as a cultivator gave him an intimate understanding of the situation and the presence of abyssal energy was a grim marker he had almost spoken into existence with his previous warning of caution to Lassim.
Overwhelmed by a mixture of fear and fury, he collapsed to his knees, his hands instinctively clutching the electricity scorched earth as a heart-wrenching cry escaped his lips. "No, not this... not the cult."
Gathering himself amidst the shock, Hallen’s mind raced with grim possibilities. "He must have been taken... or worse, he’s down there," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he stared towards the depths of the ominous crevice.
The thought that Lassim might have been captured into an abyssal prison by the cult was a terrifying prospect. Such situations were not only perilous but most captives by the cults come back with their mind’s broken and return as clinically insane. Their minds fully devoted and preaching the death of others and worship for the horrid Dragal.
The crew, sensing the severity of the situation, rallied around Hallen, their faces etched with apprehension and uncertainty. They understood all too well the dire implications of the cult capturing the Young Master; delving into such a situation was impossible for a mere 8 year old to return from safely, let alone anyone else where even the strongest could fall victim to their influence.
Hallen rose, wiping the tears from his eyes with a mixture of anger and resolution hardening his features.
"We must find him," he declared, his voice resolute, cutting through the heavy air. "Prepare for descent. We need to explore this crevice and trace any possible chance that he’s just fallen into some elemental plane down below. If Lassim is there, we will bring him back, no matter what it takes. I also want a team to scour the surroundings.
Search for any other signs of a struggle or breadcrumbs the Young Master might have left us while being carried away. I want every leaf overturned and every footprint checked. We MUST find him!"
Just then, the first and second battalions of the Aetheria Kingdom arrived, their presence a formidable sight as they quickly began to set up command posts and coordinate with Hallen’s crew. The commanders approached Hallen, "We’ve set up a perimeter and begun a detailed search of the area. We’ll assist in descending into the crevice and scanning for any traces of Lassim."
Hallen nodded, grateful for the swift support.
With the additional support from the battalions and the backing of the royal couple, the operation gained a new level of urgency and resource.
With grim determination, the crew set about their preparations. Half the crew equipped themselves with ropes and gear designed for vertical descents in case of the depths below blocking mana control, as was common with some elemental planes that might restrict flight.
The other half and the battalion teams were equipped with advanced detection gear as they formed search parties that fanned out to cover more ground.
The atmosphere was charged with tension and worry as they all sought to retrieve their lost Young Master, hopefully from the depths in some obscure hidden plane instead of from the clutches of a terrifying cult.
They tried to hold out hope that it was the former rather than the later…
~~~~
In the depths of the underground village, Lassim sat cross-legged, the rough textures of the cavern floor beneath him.
His face, marked by the dim light of the flickering torches that lined the stone walls, was etched with concentration and uncertainty.
The High Priestess, Sanvra Yathrin, stood in front of him. The weight of her request lay heavy on his young shoulders.
"[I’m not some special person that you think I am, but your situation is really sad. If there’s any way I can help, I’ll promise that I’ll try]," Lassim replied in the Drow language, his words slightly halting from the recent integration of their tongue into his mind.
His commitment to help was sincere, yet the doubt in his ability to make a real difference gnawed at him.
Resolute in at least attempting, he first sought to see if he could speak with Famthar again, the main head of the gods that seemed to always be watching.
Lassim closed his eyes, seeking the tranquility needed to meditate. He drew in a deep, steady breath, trying to clear his mind of the oppressive feel of the surrounding mana which seemed almost tangible, like a thick fog pressing against his senses.
As he extended his spiritual senses outward, seeking any thread of divine presence, the atmosphere felt increasingly dense, as if resisting his efforts.
The Drow’s plane was steeped in the dark influence of their corrupted god, and it felt like an invisible force was squeezing around him.
Within the stifling silence, Lassim concentrated harder, pushing his mental energy further, his brow furrowed in frustration.
Then, amidst the oppressive mana, a faint whisper trickled into his awareness, fragmented and elusive, "...A..rb....bso...Abs....b..."
Lassim’s eyes snapped open, confusion and frustration knitting his features. "What? Ab..rb? Abs..sorb…? Absorb? Absorb what?
What does that even mean?" he muttered to himself, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.
The message, if it was a message, was maddeningly vague, leaving him more questions than answers.
Sanvra, observing him closely, stepped forward. "[What did you hear, my star?]" she asked, her voice a soft echo in the vast chamber.
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"[I don’t know]," Lassim admitted, shaking his head. "[It was like a whisper but I didn’t really understand. It said something about ’absorb,’ but I have no clue what it wants me to absorb or what it’s referring to.]"
Sanvra considered his words, her expression thoughtful. "[Absorb could mean many things]," she mused. "[Do you think it’s a clue with how to deal with the corruption?]"
Lassim nodded slowly, the idea not quite clearing the fog of confusion but offering a sliver of direction. "[Maybe... Do I need to absorb something from here? Like some part of this place? Do you have anything that needs to be ’absorbed’? Or perhaps… Maybe… it’s about absorbing knowledge?
Should I learn something from you?]"
Determined to explore every possibility, Lassim and Sanvra debated on what the many things he could ’absorb’ within their plane.
In the end, they agreed to start by delving deeper into the lore and history of the Drow and the nature of their corrupted realm, hoping to uncover what he might need to ’absorb’ to aid them.
With Sanvra’s guidance, he would begin by learning more about Khaalseru’s past, the nature of the corruption, and any myths or legends that might shine light on the cryptic message.