Moon Owl tucked Illusionary Mist’s words close to her heart. When she stepped into Cantata Two, she swore to guard this land, a vow drawn tight like silver thread. Even if Illusionary Mist never reminded her, she would pour in everything.

Boom...

The expedition ship lurched like a whale striking a hidden reef. The broadcast crackled calm: they were in slow descent, riding Abyssal convection for a while. That steady voice soothed frayed nerves like warm oil on cold water.

After ten-some minutes, the ship sank onto gritty black sand. A dust-choked gate, dark as ink, eased open and folded into stairs. They walked down like black ants leaving a steel hive.

As boots hit the ground, their jet robes shed the clinging Abyssal Aura like torches driving off fog.

Moon Owl stepped onto the Abyss’s sable sand and lifted her eyes. The void ahead was an endless night sea; far off, a few pinpricks marked the path they had come. That thread of light was knitting closed, swallowed stitch by stitch by boundless darkness.

Her silver robe steadied her, making the treacherous ground feel level beneath her soles. She’d studied beforehand: each plate of the Abyss drags with different gravity. The expedition uniforms carry gold or silver Array Patterns that tune the wearer’s senses, helping them adapt fast to this harsh realm.

She pulled her gaze from the void and let it fall on the barren, horizonless sand. Cold rippled through her like wind through reeds.

“This is the Abyss.”

No hint of life. Only desolation and bones buried deep. Sometimes the void struck like a Blade, slapping the sand and leaving thin, terrifying scars.

She glanced back at the ship. Its alloy skin, laced with obsidian dust, was pitted and scored with countless fine, long scratches. The marks matched the scars in the sand—signatures carved by the void.

Illusionary Mist stood not far away, watching the passage home inch closed. Worry shaded her eyes, a cloud over a small moon—she was thinking of her little sister. Moon Owl moved to comfort her, then saw Illusionary Mist square her shoulders, spirit kindling again.

The leader in a black robe banded with gold stripes called the assembly. She commanded the gold-patterned Magic Maidens—Illusionary Mist’s group—and Moon Owl’s team as well. She would guide this expedition and issue the tasks.

Most leaders are veterans from prior runs, embers that refused to go out. They carry the pioneers’ will, tempered by failures and danger, and stand here yet again.

“Before we move, two things.” Her voice cut steady, like a bell in fog. “I know some of you don’t get along. Down in the Abyss, drop it. She might be the one who keeps you alive. There are a thousand dangers here. We don’t chase completion. We chase coming back breathing.”

Moon Owl had only read of the Abyss’s dread in books. Hearing that refrain from seniors again, her nerves strung tight like a bow.

Even so, gold-patterned Magic Maidens carry hard quotas. Silver-patterned sisters have tasks too, but no fixed thresholds.

When the briefing ended, they split into squads. Few wanted Moon Owl and Illusionary Mist’s group, so they pulled in a few from friendlier regions. Five made a team.

“Illusionary Mist, sis—what’s your assignment?” Moon Owl had grown close enough to drop “senior” for “sis,” and Illusionary Mist didn’t mind in the least.

“Collect a set amount of Obsidian Stone or Monster bones. One of the two must be fulfilled.”

Every expedition burns through fortunes; without returns, there’s no profit, and that decides size and duration next time. Gold-patterned Magic Maidens earn more, but they shoulder duty and risk. They must bring back materials for the next run, or Monster corpses of equal value. Other valuables count, if the worth is enough.

Their other three teammates: one from the Ninth District, in silver, adept at shaping liquids that flow like living rivers. One from the Eleventh District, in gold, same assignment as Illusionary Mist, known for raw physical prowess. The last was from the Nineteenth District, gold-patterned, a bit out of step in dress—she kept a pure white navy cap perched on her head, fingers always guarding it like a prized shell.

She was unusual in other ways. She didn’t hold a Magic Stone in the traditional sense. She had been contracted as a Magic Maiden. Her bonded creature was a spider, and she could channel its gifts.

Moon Owl and Illusionary Mist traded abilities with them. Illusionary Mist’s art was mental—she could guide and bind thoughts. Moon Owl worked with space.

The team marveled at their rarity. With both mental and spatial on tap, they thought, reconnaissance and tasks might flow smooth as a spring.

“Don’t pin too much hope on me,” Moon Owl said, cheeks warm like embers. “Heads-up—I only entered Cantata Two last month. Fixed-point teleport and the like? I’m not great yet.”

Her words splashed cold water over the Eleventh and Ninth District girls. It was natural. They’d imagined the legendary spatial Magic Maiden would make goals fall like fruit. Hearing Moon Owl was still green, their high expectations dropped into the trench. Illusionary Mist and the Nineteenth District girl didn’t care; their calm held like stones in a stream.

The squad barely formed before a quarrel sparked. Illusionary Mist talked them down with patient words, and with no other teams nearby, the Eleventh District girl finally came back into line.

Illusionary Mist walked point. The Nineteenth District girl watched the rear. Both stayed sharp, wary of Monsters bursting from nowhere.

Moon Owl moved in the middle, a little lost, unsure where her hands should be. The Eleventh and Ninth District girls threw her cold looks. To them, Moon Owl was no better than a First Symphony novice—poor with Mana, skilled only in space-adjacent tricks.

“Ease up,” the Nineteenth District girl murmured from the back, voice soft as silk. “Everyone passes through that stage.”

“I know!” The Eleventh’s big voice rolled over her like a drum. “I’ve been there. If we were topside, I’d cut her slack. But we’re in the Abyss. I won’t share a team with a half-baked stranger who doesn’t know her own power. I won’t give her my back.”

She wasn’t wrong. Moon Owl was the least seasoned in the squad. Even silver-patterned sisters often lingered years in Cantata Two with thick resumes. In that light, “half-baked” fit.

“Not being cruel—just facts.” The Eleventh’s words thudded like stones. “The Abyss eats the careless. She’s here because spatial Mana is rare. If she can’t use it well, reconnaissance won’t benefit. Worse, she might drag us.”

Moon Owl took the blows in silence. Her head dipped; her feet matched the team, step by step, like a shadow stitching to a body. In her heart, she admitted the Eleventh girl had a point.

“You’re already working hard, little Moon Owl.” Illusionary Mist’s voice brushed her mind like a warm breeze—another facet of her mental gift. “Your strength will be honed by this run, I promise. On this expedition, your ability will shine.”

“Thank you… sis.” Moon Owl’s answer was steady, breath smoothed like a calm lake. She kept close to Illusionary Mist’s back. The Eleventh’s harsh words turned to fuel in her chest. She would grow into a true Magic Maiden.

The Abyss’s darkness and wasteland made day and night blur like ink. Illusionary Mist glanced at the clock on her belt. Five hours since departure. By topside time, it was night.

Moon Owl cradled the map. If nothing went wrong, ten more minutes would take them past this barren stretch into the Unabyss Domain marked on their charts.

Veterans back from the Abyss had claimed the Unabyss Domain teemed with Monsters and held resources tens of times richer than the surface. Most coveted was a pitch-black mountain wrapped all year in thunder.

Lightning scoured that mountain constantly, and under the Abyss’s touch it turned into black blocks—pure energy crystals by all readings, without a hint of impurity.

Crystal-like plants grow on those stones, facets gleaming. Washed by thunder, they hold a near-liquid thunder pulp. Taken, it greatly boosts a lightning Magic Maiden’s Magic Spells and strength. It can also suppress the side effects that come after Chapter Three is unlocked.

The herb is rare, met by fate more than search.

Chip off just two chunks from that mountain, and they’d hit HQ’s quota.

Funny, in a way. Expeditions were meant to probe the Abyss’s secrets, but recent runs had shifted toward mining the Thunder Mountain. HQ didn’t mind. If the coffers brimmed, it was fine. Exploration could wait; securing Thunder Mountain’s bounty came first.

“We head for Thunder Mountain,” Illusionary Mist said, voice clear as a compass chime. “It’s rich, and we shouldn’t need to risk much. Other squads will go there too. Safety in numbers.”

No one objected. Fewer fights meant more strength saved for the real threats.

Moon Owl and the others quickened their pace, moving deeper toward the Thunder Mountain in the Unabyss Domain.