While he crafted, Avery usually tried his best to make abstraction of his unfortunate circumstances, and focus solely on feeling for any change in the channeling of arcane energy. Perseverance was the mother of success, and he had promised himself that one day he would tame that elusive mana and become a master of magic. To achieve that, he would constantly study and experiment with mana. Nothing had worked yet, but he had no intention of giving up.

  Today, though, was a different story. He just felt too weary and depressed, and just couldn’t muster the energy to discipline his mind and avoid pointless dwelling on his morbid thoughts.

  His thoughts went to the usual dark places, complaining about everything, wallowing in helplessness, and generally immersing himself in misery.

  His unruly imagination portrayed the dim gorge as an inescapable prison, a place in which you would forever feel trapped and weighed down by despair and hopelessness, a black hole with no escape.

  He felt excessively fatigued and discouraged, and couldn't help but dwelling on the horrible possibility he would be stranded here for all eternity, lost and forgotten, alone in this wretched world where no one would ever find him.

  His anguish grew so great, it gained an almost physical sense of weight, pressing on Avery, demanding he admit his powerlessness.

  He had felt this way many times during this last year, but he had always managed to tear his thoughts away from such disheartening subjects, and force himself to always, always, push despair away to remain positive and optimistic.

  It might sound impossible to discipline his thoughts and stay positive, but once he fell into depression, it would be a million times harder to climb his way out of it. It was imperative for his survival that he retained the ability to concentrate on carving runes, and a mental breakdown was his most fearsome enemy.

  For two years, he had succeeded in keeping loneliness and despair at bay, but it was not that he had achieved some kind of zen state, where he was at peace with his lot in life. Instead, it was his relentless race against time that had kept him sane.

  Each time he carved a rune, he would put his all into it, using every bit of mental energy he had to use, doing his very best to make it perfect. At this point, he doubted anything short of death could make his focus waver. There was no place for misery in his life, his thought were completely dominated by the glowing glyph.

  Even when he paused to rest, his mind would be too exhausted, almost incapable of thinking of anything, be it positive or negative. Along with the boost he suspected the rune shard he absorbed gave him and his fear of death, it had been enough to avoid more severe mental consequences.

  However, this wasn't so true anymore. He had made insane progress, and runes were no longer challenging. He had reached a bottleneck, where engraving was becoming easier while his mental capacity was still growing, leaving him with a lot of energy to spare for more unpleasant and self-destructive thoughts.

  The emergence of all those demoralizing thoughts was not a surprise, but that did not make them easier to fight against. His survival rested on his constant blacksmithing, but was it worth it? Was his life really worth living? It was the same thing day in, day out, a tedious song with no soul, enthusiasm or passion. His calligraphy had reached perfection, and he didn’t even have the satisfaction of improving anymore.

  Whether he died today, or whether he persisted for a thousand years before surrendering himself to the reaper, would there be a difference? His epitaph would still end with “Avery carved the same rune over and over again for XXX years until he despaired and ended his life.” Be it a year or a million years, it could all be encapsulated in the same heartbreaking sentence.

  Besides, this world had cultivation, so surely it must have reincarnation? If he died, maybe he would reincarnate as a prince, or the son of an immortal, living his new life on easy mode. Even if he was a poor slave, he had trouble imagining it would be worse than his eternal solitary confinement.

  Even if his life really was worth living, surely he could afford a break? He had quite a few spare points, so what was the harm with lying down for a few days and lazing around for a change?

  Unable to take it any longer, Avery uttered a deep sigh and lowered his pen. A short rest would do no harm, and instead was a great idea.

  He ought to have more faith in himself, as it was evident as soon as his mind was well rested, he would assuredly be in high spirits, bursting full of motivation. After all, doing nothing and idly waiting for the next time he was miraculously in a productive mood really was the way to go.

  Despite having made his decision, Avery stayed frozen staring at his hand. He just needed to loosen his grip a tiny bit, and his stylus would fall to the floor, and he would be free to unwind and relax. Otherwise, he needed to stay strong, lift his arm back up, and maintain the grind.

  Finally, after a full minute of motionless glaring at his hand, Avery mustered his courage, slowly raised his pen, and started drawing one last rune. He would take a break, but not right now. Right now, he would make at least one last effort.

  He couldn't promise more, but at least he would do one more rune. Whether he would do one more after that would have to be determined once this one was completed. Right now, he would make at least one more glyph, and he would put his all into drawing it.

  He bravely attempted to monitor the mana flowing through him, but was far from attentive, still too preoccupied by the hopeless circumstance he was in, and how low his chances of escape truly were.

  In the end, though, he gave it his all. He poured every ounce of his willpower into his glyph, and only after a countless amount of mental determination did he finally tap his stylus to the ground.

  He had to fight every second to stay focused, and ignore the creeping feelings of despair. His head still swam with an icy concoction of misery, and he was barely managing to concentrate a mere few seconds at a time, before the feeling of powerlessness would return, depicting the canyon as an inescapable jail with indestructible barriers, keeping him trapped in a hell he could never hope to escape.

  It was when he was succumbing to despair, convinced he would stay imprisoned for all eternity that a miracle happened. He was so shocked his hand jerked and ruined his work, but he could hardly care about it now. After a year of immutability, he finally felt the evanescent energy suddenly stir up and get channeled with more vigor, making the engraving process slightly faster.

  His joy at having finally stumbled across a way to improve and shorten the crafting process, as well as a potential first clue on mastering magic was so intense, it promptly blew any negative thoughts out of his head, and instead caused him to burst out laughing, jumping and dancing around excitedly for a few minutes. This was his first breakthrough in ages, and it was a massive one!

  Avery sauntered around for a while and enjoyed the rare moment of novelty, then rushed to grab his stylus and began experimenting, conjuring all kinds of images related to incarceration, and comparing how the eccentric energy reacted.