Time inside the wooden enclosure did not move the way it should have.
There were no windows, no shifts in light, no clear beginning or end to a day. The passage of time had to be measured through memory, through the rhythm of thought, through the rare interruptions of sound beyond the walls.
Constantine adapted quickly.
He always did.
He sat against the wooden wall, his posture relaxed but never careless, and allowed his mind to work through the situation again and again. Every interaction. Every word Vaelthir had spoken. Every movement she had made. Every inconsistency.
The Mad Elf was not simply unstable.
She was observant.
And worse—she was entertained.
That made her unpredictable, but it also made her exploitable.
Rune magic could not be taught.
That was the foundation of everything he had learned so far.
It could only be inherited. Passed from something that did not belong to this world to something that did.
A closed system.
A paradox that trapped anyone who tried to approach it logically.
But Constantine had never been bound by conventional systems.
He had already broken rules that should not have been broken.
He had absorbed knowledge that should not have been transferable.
And so, after exhausting every line of reasoning, he arrived at the only conclusion that made sense.
He did not need to learn rune magic.
He only needed to copy it.
The realization settled into him with a quiet certainty.
In the Mirror Realm, he had taken countless skills—large and small, refined and crude, useful and useless—and made them his own. He had never questioned whether he was "allowed" to possess them.
He simply did.
Rune magic would be no different.
If he could witness it closely enough… if he could reflect it through the system…
Then it could become his.
That left only one condition.
A mirror.
Vaelthir, as a collector of magic, would undoubtedly possess reflective artifacts. Surfaces. Tools. Something that could serve as a gateway.
If Constantine could reach even a single mirror in her presence, the system would do the rest.
Everything depended on that moment.
Which meant he needed a reason to be brought closer to her.
A reason she would accept.
A reason she would not question too deeply.
So he constructed a lie.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
A wandering merchant who had lost his way.
A man who had heard rumors of a powerful elf.
A desperate soul searching for something impossible.
A cure.
For blindness.
It was a perfect lie.
Because it was pitiful.
Because it was believable.
And because no one would suspect ambition hidden behind such hopelessness.
Constantine remained still, his blindfold in place, his breathing even.
From the other side of the wall, Ren spoke occasionally, filling the silence with idle conversation. Constantine responded when necessary, but his focus never wavered.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
A full month.
The door opened without warning.
Constantine stood immediately.
Not hurried.
Not startled.
Simply ready.
Soft green light filtered into the enclosure, followed by a familiar presence.
Light.
Unstable.
Curious.
Vaelthir stepped inside.
Her expression held mild surprise, as if she had rediscovered something she had misplaced.
"…oh," she said casually. "You're still here."
There was no apology in her tone.
Only amusement.
She walked around him slowly, her eyes tracing his form with open curiosity.
"You didn't die."
"No."
"You didn't try to escape."
"No."
"You didn't make a scene."
"No."
She stopped in front of him, tilting her head slightly as she studied his face.
"…how dull," she murmured.
Then her lips curved into a small smile.
"…and yet, not at all."
She folded her hands behind her back and leaned forward just slightly.
"What do you want from me?"
This time, her voice carried intent.
She was no longer simply playing.
Constantine did not hesitate.
"I seek a cure for my blindness."
Silence followed.
A long, evaluating silence.
Then Vaelthir smiled.
Slowly.
Wider than before.
"…that's it?"
"Yes."
Her gaze sharpened as she observed him.
Searching for deception.
For hidden motives.
For anything that would break the illusion.
But Constantine gave her nothing.
No hesitation.
No emotional fluctuation.
No trace of urgency.
Only a calm, empty request.
Vaelthir laughed softly.
A quiet, amused sound.
"…humans really are simple creatures."
She turned away briefly, as if considering something, then looked back at him with renewed interest.
"Fine."
She stepped closer.
The air around them shifted instantly.
It became heavier.
Denser.
As if something unseen had begun to press down on the space itself.
Vaelthir raised her hand slightly.
Then she began to speak.
The words were wrong.
Not in meaning, but in existence.
They overlapped unnaturally, as if two voices were speaking through the same mouth.
One was hers.
Clear.
Light.
The other—
Deeper.
Distorted.
Not meant for human ears.
The sound twisted through the air like something alive.
It did not simply echo—it carved.
Etched itself into reality.
Constantine remained still, his blindfold still covering his eyes.
He did not expect the spell to work.
He could not.
His blindness was not natural.
It had been imposed by the system itself.
A limitation.
A restriction.
No external force should have been able to override it.
"…take it off."
Vaelthir's voice cut cleanly through the layered chant.
Constantine paused for a fraction of a second.
Then raised his hand.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He untied the blindfold.
The fabric fell away.
For the first time in a long while—
He opened his eyes.
Crystal blue.
Sharp.
Unfaltering.
And he saw.
Light flooded in.
Not painfully.
But completely.
The wooden walls around him came into focus.
The faint green glow filtering through unseen gaps.
The intricate texture of the wood.
The subtle imperfections.
And Vaelthir.
Standing before him.
Clear.
Defined.
Real.
Constantine's breath stilled—not from shock, but from recalculation.
This should not have been possible.
His gaze sharpened as his mind worked rapidly.
The system did not intervene.
Did not reject the change.
Did not attempt to restore the restriction.
Which meant—
This was not a simple restoration.
It was something else entirely.
Something that existed outside the system's expected parameters.
Vaelthir watched him closely.
Her expression filled with quiet satisfaction.
"…well?" she asked softly.
Constantine did not answer immediately.
Because for the first time since losing it—
He could see.
And for the first time since entering Sylvaranth—
Something had occurred that he had not predicted.