《The Foulest Deeds [A LitRPG/Isekai Mercenary War Fantasy]》


 Chapter One: Gacha Reward

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter One: Gacha Reward</h2>


    <hr>


    John''s hands were covered in blood, so too was the entirety of his body and the hallway around him. The blaring red lights, which fluctuated in intensity, turned the hallway into a cruel mimicry of a blood vessel. The alarms of the ship echoed through the empty corridors, their sound mingling with the grotesque stillness of the scene. Dead bodies lay sprawled across the floor, silent witnesses to the carnage, but amidst it all, there stood one lone figure-John. His focus was entirely on the spinning wheel before him.


    His eyes were fixed on the panel of light, the small mystical display spinning, spinning, as if it held the key to something more important than the nightmare unfolding around him. The blood pooling at his feet was an afterthought, something outside his world of focus, a silent testament to the chaos he had caused. His gaze never wavered from the wheel, as if any moment could hold the promise of salvation -or doom.


    Still, he could feel the blood on his skin. It slithered down from his forearm, clung to his wrist, trickled over his palm, and pooled at the tip of his fingers, waiting. The weight of it was suffocating, a visceral reminder of what had transpired. But John didn''t allow himself to look down. He couldn''t. Not yet.


    Then, just as the wheel slowed to a crawl, a single drop of blood fell from his fingertip. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, his breath steady but his heart racing. In that brief, suspended moment, the hum of the system seemed to resonate through his body, as if to confirm his fate. The air around him pulsed with static, his body tingling with anticipation.


    Buzz.


    The sound shot through him like an electric shock. His eyes snapped open. The wheel had stopped.


    He didn''t dare glance at the prize it had chosen for him. The blood on his skin seemed to thicken, to dry and stain him further, but it was nothing compared to the weight of what was to come.


    He could not hide from the result.


    Seedling! Congratulations


    Although unlucky you may seem, your luck has proven itself. You have won the top prize of the draw


    Reward: Ultimate Integration


    (Rank: Diamond +)


    Do you wish to use it?


    Yes/No


    John Stared at the reward, his eyes tearing up, his heart a steam engine, his mind a wave of raging emotions, What have I done?


    ¡°Why?¡± He asked, his voice a whisper, but he knew the reason, his focus stripped away, then, his eyes finally wandered the hallway, and he saw, saw what his greed for more success and life had caused.


    Acquaintances littered the hallway like broken puppets. Among them, he spotted the body of Phoenix-the Korean idol he had flirted with just hours earlier. She had been a prominent member of the expedition to the new city on Mars. His gaze searched for her face, but there was nothing left-only brain matter, splintered bone, and a pool of crimson blood. John gagged, his heart clenched, and he collapsed to his knees, weak and trembling. The ship seemed to spin around him as he shut his eyes. In the suffocating darkness, the bitter taste of vomit lingered on his tongue, and the pungent smell of iron hung thick in the air.


    I... I only killed one person, he tried to reason with himself. But the blood clinging to his skin felt like an accusation. He could still hear the echoes of the massacre-the others tearing each other apart.


    And yet, he had walked away with only one death on his hands, while the rest had annihilated each other.


    Yes/No


    The question began blinking as if prodding John to pick an answer. He didn''t. John felt his heart beating furiously as he looked between the two options. He had expected a way back to earth, but now he was faced with an option he had no idea what it meant, he was confused, a feeling that got his fist clenching and teeth gritting, but now he just felt small, out of his depth.


    At the end John knew his answer, why, he had wondered, and he knew, John was a rising star in the technological world back on earth, he had created a company for power armors and other mecha tech and he still wanted more, John didn''t want it to end, the success, he still had more growth in front of him, he didn''t know what ultimate integration meant but he would take it over death, John in the end was human and not just any, he was scum, even if it had been a decision made out of fear he knew deep within himself that he would do it again, i¡­ I''m sorry, but it''s every man for himself. He thought as he confirmed


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Yes.


    Ultimate Integration has been activated


    Be warned seedling:


    The process of ultimate integration is many and Random.


    Be prepared!


    Standby¡­


    Standby¡­


    Suitable integration Found¡­


    Process initialising


    1, 2, 3


    The numbers twisted as a brutal vertigo wracked John''s body and mind and then he was falling, his body hit the metal ground with a echoing clung and the hallway was still, his unmoving body seemed to fit into the bloody picture of the hallway as his chest rising and falling, slowly stopped and life no longer existed in the hallway.


    John¡¯s world was a churn of darkness and bubbling emotions, a thick, unyielding wave pressing down on him. He felt the urge to weep, to sink to his knees - if he could feel them - and beg forgiveness. But in the end, he was a man of logic.


    I don¡¯t know what this is, but I¡¯m not dead. At least I¡¯m still alive, he thought, steadying himself. But the ache remained, a hollow drumbeat in his chest, as the image of her face - the idol he¡¯d met hours earlier - burned in his mind. She had been captivating: crimson and black-dyed hair framing her delicate face, full pink lips drawing him in, mirth-filled eyes that seemed to see right through him. Then, like a battering ram, the memory of her broken face slammed forward, and he recoiled, trying to bury it.


    But he stopped himself. This time, he didn¡¯t look away. He faced the memories head-on, like a judge delivering his own verdict. The System message had been clear, its words both ominous and cold: survive this ¡°event¡± and gain entry to the Integration Zone. The details had been more disturbing than the message itself, though-the Integration Zone was Earth.


    The choice that followed had been merciless. Death for all but one-or death for everyone. For John, it wasn¡¯t fear that spurred him into action. It was something colder, sharper: simple logic.


    Everyone else had dismissed it as a prank, unsettled but willing to let the timer run out. John couldn¡¯t afford that risk. If this was a joke, it would end when I tried to kill. But the System hadn¡¯t stopped, as if it were waiting for someone to make the first move. In that suspended moment, he sensed something from it-something beyond technology, a presence, a will. He realised the others felt it, too. They had all moved then.


    He could still see the man¡¯s face, the one he¡¯d strangled. He barely knew him, a face blurred by casual indifference, yet now it was etched into his mind like a stone carving.


    This better be worth it, he¡¯d told himself, hands trembling as he¡¯d let the lifeless body drop.


    Now, in the shadowed silence, John found his emotions-a chaotic river-beginning to cool. The horror receded as his calculating side took hold, anchoring him. He asked himself a single, relentless question:


    Was it worth it?


    He didn¡¯t know. Not yet. In the darkness, both literal and figurative, he came to a realisation.


    I don¡¯t think I¡¯m normal.


    John didn¡¯t know how long he had lingered in the darkness. It was timeless, weightless, until the silence fractured, and he felt the faint call to awaken, like the gentle end of a long dream. Awareness trickled in, and his head began to ache, a dull throb that pulsed through him as he felt a connection forming between mind and body.


    The first part to respond was his fingers. Stiff, unyielding, like they¡¯d been frozen in place. With slow, stilted jerks, he tested their movement-fingers, then toes, his lips twitching in a sluggish response. It felt like shedding layers of rust, his joints grinding to life, gradually yielding to his control. Finally, his eyelids, heavy and sealed tight, began to flutter.


    Before they opened, another sense awoke. The scent of something faintly sweet reached him, teasingly familiar and oddly addictive, threading through the haze in his mind. And then, touch-a hand, clasped tightly around his own. The warmth was a shock, soft and tender against his skin, with a hint of hesitance in the way it held him.


    Finally, his eyes flickered open in slow steps, pulling him fully into the waking world.


    Then for what felt like an eternity John heard the voice of another human and it was a word he had never heard directed at him ever.


    "Son." The word was hesitant, like her touch, her voice calm, rich, and slightly husky, yet trembling at the edges, unravelling with emotions too raw to hide. John felt it-every quiver, every break in that voice so close to falling apart. He was lost in its depth, until he felt the warmth of a tear land softly on his cheek.


    John was lost in the emotions of the beautiful woman that had called him; her son. He was caught off guard by the notification that appeared in front of him then.


    Congratulations Seedling!


    First Step of integration complete


    Second step of integration complete


    Third step in process¡­


    ¡­


    Brace yourself seedling

 Chapter Two: Hail Thy Hand of Death

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Two: Hail thy hand of death </h2>


    <hr>


    The first few days had been a blur.


    John¡¯s body had not been his own¨Ctwisting with pain one moment, numb and detached the next. Every nerve felt alive with the aftershock of what the System had done. The transformation had consumed him in ways he wasn¡¯t prepared for. But as the days bled together, a semblance of normalcy began to creep back into his mind. The moment Phoenix¡¯s and the man he had strangled faces disappeared into the depths of his memories, he realised that nothing would ever be the same again.


    Now, ten days later, he was beginning to understand just how much that single choice had altered the course of his life. The questions still burned¨CWho was he now? What had he become? And more hauntingly¨CWas it worth what he had sacrificed?


    The third step has been completed!


    Full body integration¡­ Completed


    Soul integration¡­ Completed


    Mind integration¡­ Completed


    Branches merging¡­ Completed


    Traits merging¡­ Completed


    Status now available


    Command: Status


    Welcome seedling to the Multiverse!


    John suspected he''d be getting his answers to his questions soon enough. He scanned the notification before his eyes. What does all of this mean? he wondered. I really need a type of Internet, but¡­ His thoughts trailed off as he looked at the woman sitting beside him. Apart from the ever-present pains of what the System had been doing to him, there was one other constant: the woman who had called him ¡°Son.¡±


    She sat in an antique armchair, upholstered in dark green, with faint sunlight filtering through the window behind them, adding to the ambient glow of the chandeliers. Before them was a large, intricately carved desk, dominating the room with its presence. The desk¡¯s surface was carefully arranged with ink pots of various colours, a feather quill, and neatly stacked papers. The room smelled of old parchment mixed with her signature scent¨Ca faintly sweet, floral fragrance that had become nearly addictive to him.


    Feeling his gaze, she turned to look at him, her bearing regal¨Clike a queen, or was she one? Her hair was long and dark, impeccably styled in a different way each time he saw her, but always neat. It framed her face, which was beautiful but sharp: eyes an intense green, nose small and perfectly shaped, lips a dull pink. Her entire appearance was enhanced by her luxurious emerald gown, embroidered with intricate golden patterns, an air of power as commanding as the room itself.


    "Do you want me to carry you?" she asked, looking at him expectantly.


    He didn''t answer, and he could see her eyes dim a little at his silence, her smile turning faintly sad. "Well, don''t worry, Chronifer," she murmured, almost as if reassuring herself. "I¡¯ll be done soon, and I¡¯ll be giving you your lessons soon."


    The way she spoke to him, so softly, as if he might break¨Cor as if she might break¨Cfelt surreal. The idea of softness didn¡¯t seem to fit her; it felt as out of place as John in a child''s body. But as he looked at her, John realised something that startled him. Since when did I stop minding being called Chronifer?


    He nodded absentmindedly in response to the woman he now knew was his mother.


    "You nodded at me, didn¡¯t you!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a mixture of joy and disbelief. She grabbed his small shoulders, searching his eyes, a faint but fierce hope sparking in hers.


    John felt a pang of guilt for not truly responding to her. But he¡¯d managed to piece together a few key details about his situation. He¡¯d come to suspect that the child he now inhabited¨CChronifer¨Chad been born with something missing, an emptiness that left him incomplete in some fundamental way. She had tended to him, despite it all, had raised him carefully even through that emptiness.


    And now, despite the urge to let her see more of him, he reminded himself that he had to be cautious. He had a plan: small, gradual steps of growth to avoid suspicion, a slow emergence that wouldn¡¯t expose him as a stranger in a child''s skin. This was just another secret he would try to bury deep, even if it meant forgetting his true name. John. He had paid a heavy price to get here. Until he could weigh the benefits, he wouldn¡¯t risk ruining it.


    <hr>


    Later that night, after his mother had tucked him into bed, John came to a startling realization. I didn¡¯t even try to deny her as a stranger. Strangely, it didn¡¯t feel unnatural to him. Deep down, he knew one of his greatest desires had always been a family¨Ca father, a mother, maybe even siblings. But life as an orphan, shuffled between different foster homes, had never allowed that dream to take root.


    John¡¯s eyes snapped open at the sound of his door creaking open, then softly closing. She must have gone back to her room. He had avoided checking his "status" while his mother was nearby. From experience, he knew people couldn¡¯t see the system¡¯s messages, but it was hard to conceal the telltale gaze¨Cstaring into empty space as if reading something invisible.


    Status, he thought not knowing if he had to say it out or¡­


    Before him a long list of attributes blinked into existence, the language was not English, it seemed like runes or sigils, yet he could understand them.


    That is strange.


    Status


    Name:


    Chronifer Montcroix-Wythe


    Race:


    Human


    [modified]


    Traits:


    [Adaptability], [Resilience], [Endless Tongue], [Mind Bastion], [Formless], [Zenith Physique], [Child of Legacies]


    Bloodline:


    N/A


    Titles:


    N/A


    Rank:


    Seedling


    Branches


    [Locked]


    [Locked]


    [Locked]


    [Locked]


    Leaves:


    N/A


    Vines:


    N/A


    Auxiliaries:


    N/A


    Harbingers:


    N/A


    Cruel Thesis


    Physical Operator


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Strength: 1¡Á


    Fortitude: 1¡Á


    Cognition: 1¡Á


    Lithe: 1¡Á


    Mutation Actuator


    Flesh defilement: 0%


    Temporary:


    N/A


    Adjustable:


    N/A


    Permanent:


    N/A


    That''s a lot of things¡­ I don''t understand! He screamed in his mind. He looked through the list, Human, well that''s nice, but what the hell is modified!


    Then as if the system had been listening a notification popped up.


    Race:


    Human


    [Modified]


    Humans are one of the most common races through the multiverse, their adaptability and resilience a weapon of survival, but you are not just any human, your heritage Is long and complex and you are a product of this complexity, a reaction to humanity subverted and Secrets hidden in blood.


    That was a lot. Of course humanity is a common race, they''re like a living reproduction machine. John joked laughing about his race in glee. Adaptability and survival. Blah, blah, blah, of course my lineage is long, can''t you read, have you seen my new surname? Montcroix-Wythe, He smiled with pride, having only that surname seems worth the ultimate integration, he joked. What does humanity subverted means and what does it mean secrets hidden in my blood? I don''t like the sound of that.


    Well that''s a lot, I bet I was a normal human in my past life though. He concluded.


    Let''s see, how did I get my race to show me its description? John wandered, I focused on the modified, ah, yes that''s it. Oh, It''s the words in the brackets.


    Traits:


    [Adaptability]


    A hallmark of human survival, this trait allows one to quickly adjust to new environments, challenges, and circumstances. It empowers growth through adversity and change, enabling individuals to adapt and thrive no matter the circumstance.


    Humanity adapts!


    Well that was boring, John thought, he was quite disappointed in the fact that the first trait that reflected humanity he read seemed so boring, no mythical additions. Then he re-read through the trait again and then¡­ Well, scratch that this may be enhanced, well I have to see about that over time. John felt an urge to understand more about this trait but he knew that won¡¯t be happening anytime soon. He clenched his small hands, he estimated he wasn''t older than five.


    His eyes wandered to the next trait.


    Traits:


    [Resilience]


    A back bone of humanity, the endless capacity to endure and recover from physical, mental, and emotional hardships. This trait enables humans to withstand extreme stress, recover quickly from injuries or trauma, and persist through adversity without breaking. This is what humans are made of.


    Another basic, well, I guess they could be a bit more enhanced. John thought back to the situations he had gone through so far and concluded, if I have to keep going through such stuff¡­ I''ll definitely need this to be enhanced. Let''s see the next. He thought.


    Trait:


    [Endless Tongue]


    All races in the universe were born from the First Potential, the First Will. Through this shared origin, they possess the ability to speak the first tongue. All minds are connected by a single source.


    However, other tongues exist¨Cforeign and lesser compared to the Endless Tongue. This trait does not grant you the innate ability to hear those lesser tongues, but it ties you to the boundless, unifying speech of the Endless.


    Is this¡­ endless tongue what the system is written in? Also what mother speaks? John Was all but sure about that fact, yet the endless tongue wasn''t the topic that drew his gaze. First potential, the first will? What are they? This all sounds like a creation myth? John legs kicked the bed in excitement.


    I wonder what the other ones are? Maybe relating to the modified underneath my race, or maybe just personal?


    Traits:


    [Mind Bastion]


    Your mind is a bulwark, a bastion and your lineage demands it. The secrets of your blood are unknown¡ªuntested allies or foe, your mind is your fortress and your hope, stand strong. Child of Legacies.


    John read through the words with horror, and amazement, ¡°allies or foes?¡± ¡°Fortress and your hope?¡± Well I''ll be damned just what kind of family have I been reborn into? Is my blood alive or something? Or is it more mystical like ¡°ancestors¡± and such? Or maybe both. John rolled from his lying position and sat at the edge of his bed. Well this can actually be seen as a good thing, it gives me a defence against whatever secrets my blood holds, that means I have a fighting chance¡­ his mind trailed off, maybe his mother would know something about it, after all this mentions blood. He shuffled the thought around, well, I''ll ask her¡­ when the time is right.


    Traits:


    [Formless]


    Your mind, unlike most, is unfettered within its walls, enabling you the adaptability to be without a form and to be of all forms. Your mind can bear it, and you can be anything, will be everything. Your lineage has prepared for this¡ªbe proud. Hail thy hand of death, Montcroix-Wythe.


    Beware, for defilement still lingers.


    Now, this was cool until the end. He sighed, I saw defilement somewhere, oh, yeah, the Cruel Thesis, that doesn''t sound nice, he called up the status again, read through the later parts of the status and his face darkened, only the name, Cruel Thesis makes me scared, then there''s stuff like ¡°physical operator¡±, ¡°Mutation Actuator¡±. John had a bad feeling about all of that, and actually appreciated the formless trait, it actually seemed to offer him an advantage, and, Hail thy hand of death, that was sick and also scary, just what kind of family have i reincarnated into?


    Trait:


    [Zenith Physique]


    ??? Pass the trial of Movat¡¯ha to unlock the full capabilities of this trait.


    Damn, I was actually looking forward to reading this one. Well, I think it''s self explanatory, maybe a sort of trait that makes me superhuman. I''ll think about it after the next. He rushed on to the next.


    Trait:


    [Child of Legacy]


    ??? Pass the trial of Movat¡¯ha to unlock the full capabilities of this trait.


    Well, shit! John fell back onto his bed, the disappointment hitting like a punch, what even is the trial of movat¡¯ha? Well I hope mother knows. He smiled, then slapped his face lightly. What the hell, you''re a twenty-seven year old, why are you happy about having a mother? But he had already broken into a grin.


    Hopeless


    He still had one more thing to check, though he had little hope it would yield anything exciting.


    Branches


    [Locked]


    ***


    Not even a single word? Ugh! Chronifer his eyes showing his rightful disappointment.


    John looked up into the darkness, his thoughts churning as he tried to make sense of everything¨Cthe traits, the name, the family. His mother had murmured cryptically about his father, and he doubted he would¡¯ve had these traits if he were still on Earth. But this wasn¡¯t Earth anymore; that much was clear.


    He didn¡¯t fully understand what was happening, but he could already see potential advantages. The traits and name mentioned by the system seemed significant, even valuable. The fact that his lineage was described as long hinted at possibilities he hadn¡¯t yet explored.


    Still, he couldn¡¯t ignore the possible downsides. Secrets hidden in his bloodlines, and his system¡¯s vague remarks about his heritage being both a blessing and a curse only added to his unease. Whatever it meant, he suspected it could turn out to be as much a danger as a gift.


    Then once again he asked himself the questions that had lingered at the edges of his mind like wraiths.


    Who am I now? Chronifer Montcroix-Wythe¨Ca son, once an orphan.


    What have I become? Human, but so much more.


    Was the sacrifice worth it?


    He stared into the darkness. The ship¡¯s haunting stillness crept back into his mind: the bitter chill, the iron tang of blood, the lifeless silence. Those memories wrapped around him like a shroud, unyielding.


    And yet, in the void of those thoughts, the answer formed.


    Whatever this is, Earth will not find it easy.


    His fists tightened, trembling under the weight of his resolve. He didn¡¯t know if this was salvation or ruin. But still¡­


    Yes. With that though he felt a part of him die.


    John was gone. He closed his eyes.


    In his sleep, the world seemed to hold its breath. The moonlight dimmed, fading until it vanished entirely, leaving behind only stillness and shadow.

 Chapter Three: Mothers Harsh Love

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Three: Mothers harsh love </h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifer hadn''t anticipated the sudden shift. It struck fast and hard, derailing his carefully planned displays of gradual growth, shattering the illusion that he had any real control over his new life.


    His mother, Slora, had become an unpredictable variable. For the first ten days after his rebirth, she¡¯d kept a steady, predictable routine with him¨Cgentle conversations, basic alphabet lessons, enough interaction to observe him without revealing too much. But now, her approach had shifted.


    ¡°Have you finished The Tree Within by Mofius?¡± Slora asked. Her voice was steady, rich, and husky, intimidating in its calmness. There was a weight behind it that demanded attention, though it carried a trace of warmth, as if she was reluctant to reveal too much harshness to her son.


    As Chronifer entered her study, he reflected on the shift that had followed his first look at his system¨Ca change so immediate and unyielding it left him reeling. Almost overnight, his mother¡¯s demeanour sharpened into something coldly intense, pressing him with quiet demands that bordered on relentless. She tested him with a determination he¡¯d only glimpsed before, eyes hollow yet piercing as she urged him to learn faster, retain more, and speak with a precision he wasn''t supposed to show yet. Though some would call it abusive, Chronifer knew better¨Cthis wasn¡¯t cruelty but a calculated force, driving him to a pace he hadn¡¯t planned for. His own careful control had been lost in her storm of expectation, and he struggled to keep up, feeling as if he were a ship without a sailor in unknown waters, desperately trying to re-establish a foothold on his own life.


    He nodded to her question, holding up the book briefly before glancing around the room. The study, like much of the mansion, was shrouded in faint shadows, yet it felt different here¨Cthis was his mother¡¯s sanctuary, her domain where she managed her affairs. Chronifer wasn¡¯t entirely sure what those affairs entailed, but one question that had lingered in his mind had already been answered: she was no queen. After all, what kind of queen stayed locked away in an empty mansion?


    His gaze drifted to the towering shelves of dark wood, stretching from floor to ceiling and lined with countless books. Yet, his attention was fixed on a single empty spot. Stepping forward, he placed the book back in its place with care¨Ca small, deliberate act of completion in this shadowed and sacred space.


    ¡°Come here, my soul,¡± she said¨Ca term of endearment she¡¯d been using more lately, one of many in rotation. Sun, love, my dear, son... Chronifer suspected she just disliked his name. Chronifer. Though he mused to himself, it does sound cool.


    He crossed the room toward her, passing the heavy desk and stopping beside her chair. She lifted him effortlessly onto her lap.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± she said, her voice laced with a hint of a smile, ¡°answer these questions carefully. But if you miss any, you¡¯ll be expected to finish five books in a week.¡± Chronifer turned to her, his expression one of pure horror, eyes widening in silent protest. His mother only laughed, and then, with a smirk, added, ¡°Make that six.¡±


    Chronifer, a dedicated hater of most curses, unleashed everyone he knew in the silent fury of his mind.


    His mind flashed back to a particular low point: a book she¡¯d given him, the first which she expected him to finish by the end of the first week. It was massive, the size of a small boulder and filled with more words than every textbook and article he¡¯d ever read on Earth combined. The title, Sword Styles of the Mal¡¯al¡¯atis Region, had sounded intriguing at first¨Cuntil he realised he had zero foundational knowledge. Days went by just for him to comprehend the basics of sword forms, and the further he read, the more obscure it all became. The author¡¯s enthusiasm bordered on obsession, with page after page of sprawling notes, diagrams, and maddeningly detailed explanations. To the writer, sword styles seemed to be life itself, leaving little room for Chronifer to even grasp anything beyond them.


    Yet, through the relentless struggle, he¡¯d managed to learn a thing or two¨Cnot just about swords, but about the multiverse itself. Each style in the book was designed around superhuman principles, drawing directly from the ¡°Branches¡± his status screen had hinted at. These Branches weren¡¯t merely skills or techniques; they were powers, rooted deeply in the fabric of the multiverse.


    In his exasperated reading, the book had revealed mere fragments of that vast, layered structure¨Cthe multiverse, a massive fold of universes and mystical dimensions known as pocket realms, all interconnected and split into regions. He¡¯d barely scraped the surface, but even that glimpse had left him in awe, and a little wary.


    It was clear that Slora wasn¡¯t making him read these books for pleasure. This was preparation, and he had begun to understand exactly what for. He had read six books so far through the month, the majority of which focused on monsters, human autonomy, and other races. Well, it was obvious from the system¡¯s race category that others existed¨Che had reached that conclusion after the fact was spelled out to him¨Cbut reading about them in such detail was another matter. Chronifer didn¡¯t know how to feel about the fact that he was knowledgeable enough to pass an exam on various ways to kill humans, other races, and countless monsters. The thought left him uneasy, though he wasn¡¯t sure whether it was the knowledge itself or the reason he was expected to acquire it that disturbed him more.


    He turned back to the paper his mother had laid out on her desk. I''m definitely going to ace this one, I''ve already got to finish three books within a week now. Chronifer looked at the questions and got serious, aiming to keep the pace unchanged. Chronifer had come to realise that he wasn''t normal, or rather his body was not, he had consumed books, bigger than dictionaries in days and retained the knowledge.


    Chronifer had been pained to let go of his sails but he had come to a concession on this particular topic, slora knew what she was doing and he bet his counterparts on earth weren''t getting this theoretical education but rather a practical one, the message of the system still lingered at the edges of his mind. Well this is better, I could have been playing kid for months, while I died of curiosity.


    Ten questions, Chronifer looked the questions over, this is definitely not what a five year old was meant to be answering. Chronifer remembered his mother being all panicked about him reaching six the way he currently was. Chronifer didn¡¯t know what would happen then but apparently it was big enough for his mother to squil.


    Whatever I better focus extra hard, it''s definitely not because I''m scared or anything.


    He looked at the questions, actually reading them.


    ¡°Mother,¡± he said hesitating, his voice tiny. ¡°Are these questions from all the books I''ve read?¡± He turned to look into her green eyes.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± She trailed off, her voice not what her face suggests, ¡°you know what, it''s time for lunch, I''m famished.¡± She added standing up, she shifted his position into that of a simple princess carry.


    Chronifer shifted around in his mothers hands and smiled. Well there goes the exam and yay to mother''s cooking. The first day slora had cooked in his presence he had expected to eat something subpar but she had been a goddess, Chronifer had never tasted anything better than her cooking.


    ¡°Let''s have a talk about the books, which was your favourite, again?¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s mood plummeted


    ¡°A Guide to Morphborn and Trueborn Anatomy by Ryuu Gregor Shinasho,¡± Chronifer offered, as his Mother opened the door and entered the hallways of the mansion.


    Slora¡¯s feet falls echoed off the polished dark marble floors, the sound reverberated through the lengthy, and labyrinthine hallways. Oil paintings of battles and monsters lined the walls, each painting drawn with exquisite intent. Crimson and black tapestries hung at regular intervals, their patterns entwining symbols of the family horrifying insignia, which sent chills down Chronifer''s spine.


    ¡°Why?¡± Slora asked, her voice echoing.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    The clan insignia, black and dull gold, was hunting: it featured the face of a crying, chubby infant¨Cfeatures exaggerated in a way that distorts innocence into something unsettling. Its cheeks were swollen and glossy With streaks of gold that represented tears, while it''s mouth was opened in a silent scream, The eyes, hollow and dark, gave the impression of something lost, insatiable.


    Small, delicate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting forth amber glow along the hallways, which sent stretches of shadows along the walls, making the hallways grand and hunting.


    ¡°Well, I guess, I like the author''s humour.¡± Chronifer answered, his mother walking unhurried but seeming to eat up distance regardless of common sense.


    ¡°You like Ryuu¡¯s humour?¡± His mother laughed. Chronfier could sense a joke, he didn''t know about, does she know him? Perhaps. Before he could say anything she spoke through her laughter, ¡°Your father isn''t going to like that, he finds Ryuu jokes to be old, oh, I wonder his reaction when his son thinks they''re funny.¡±


    ¡°Do you know Ryuu?¡± He quickly added then, since his mother hardly talked about his father, he pounced on the opportunity. ¡°When will father come back?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯ll meet him eventually. After all, he¡¯s part of the Spiral. Your father, on the other hand, is on, let¡¯s say¡­ a passion mission.¡± She smiled, her eyes sparkling with distant memories, her husky voice tinged with reminiscence. ¡°Anyway, using the Genmagus Sword Style, which muscle groups are the easiest to target for reducing an enemy¡¯s mobility?¡±


    Chronifer gaped at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. There she goes again, he thought, frustration bubbling as she so casually dismissed the topic of his father¨Cand this Ryuu person. His curiosity about his father grew with every unanswered question, and now there was Ryuu.


    But then her words registered fully, and his eyes twitched. What the fu¨C He caught himself, cutting off the thought as he forced his mind to focus on the question.


    ¡°Oh, I''ll give you only thirty seconds to think up your answers, but fear not my soul, I''m very accurate at keeping track of time.¡±


    ¡°Just kill me.¡± He said before he could stop himself.


    He looked at his mother, and she met his gaze. For a moment, there was silence¨Cthen she burst into laughter, the sound light and unrestrained. Chronifer hesitated but soon found himself joining in, his laughter awkward at first before growing genuine.


    ¡°Twenty seconds left,¡± Slora said through fits of laughter.


    Bloody¡­


    ¡°Well, there are a few key muscle groups that fit the style¡¯s rhythm,¡± he began. Organising his thoughts.


    ¡°Go on,¡± His mother said expectantly.


    ¡°For quick results, the adductors in the thigh are ideal. Genmagus relies on fluid, angled strikes, so cutting here weakens an opponent¡¯s balance, allowing for shifts around them easily. Hitting the quadriceps above the knee adds to this, slowing their pivoting to counter.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s eyes were closed as he visualised how the style would be best utilised.


    He continued with confidence. "Then, there¡¯s the biceps brachii and forearm flexors. Genmagus strikes are often close-quarter, so¡­¡± his mother cut him off by nodding her head.


    ¡°Good, the next question is¡­¡±


    <hr>


    By the time they reached the kitchen, Chronifer had answered about fifteen different questions regarding sword styles and the anatomy of both Trueborns¨Craces born sapient¨Cand Morphborns, monsters and animals who gain sentience and the ability to morph their forms.


    They reached the kitchen and Chronifer took a seat around one of the tables near the center island. The moment they entered, his mother stopped her questioning and began cooking. But then she did something she usually didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Do you know your father is a lucky man?¡± she asked as she worked.


    Chronifer scoffed. And how am I supposed to know that?


    ¡°I know nothing about my father?¡±


    His tone had an edge. For months now, he¡¯d been curious about the person he would be calling ¡®father¡¯ in this new life, but his mother always masterfully killed the topic.


    She didn¡¯t turn to look at him as she spoke. ¡°Of course you don¡¯t¡­ he¡¯s been gone for six years.¡± Her voice carried a bitter edge, each word deliberate, like she was cutting through the silence with a dull knife.


    ¡°I was about to cut ties with the Montcroix-Wythe clan and go back home,¡± she continued, her tone quieter now. ¡°But then you woke up. And just when I¡¯d nearly given up¨Clike he could sense it¨Cthe bastard sent me an apology.¡±


    The final version I''m going with her hands stilled. The silence stretched unbearably long before she whispered, ¡°He doesn¡¯t even know he has a son.¡±


    The words hit him like a blow to the chest. He doesn¡¯t even know? This wasn¡¯t just drama ¨C it was the wrong kind of drama.


    She kept talking, her voice unsteady. ¡°And I can¡¯t even blame him. I¡¯m sorry¡­ but¡ª¡± Her words faltered, dissolving into silence.


    What? She can¡¯t blame him? Damn this. Chronifer¡¯s thoughts raced. He had experienced something with his mother that he¡¯d always wanted¡ªfamily. Something he had never truly known in his past life.


    A tightness coiled in his chest, suffocating. His heart pounded, the sound deafening in his ears. How was he supposed to fix this?


    And then, he found his answer. It wasn¡¯t entirely honest, but honesty didn¡¯t matter. He wanted a whole family, not the broken pieces of one. So, he went through with his plan.


    His breathing grew labored. His hands trembled. His vision blurred. His body betrayed him, but he barely needed to act ¨C his emotions came too easily. He truly did not want his family to fall apart before it even began.


    ¡°My soul¡­ My soul!¡±


    His mother¡¯s voice tore through his spiraling thoughts. In an instant, her hands were on his face, lifting his chin. She knelt before him, eyes wide with concern.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Why are you panicking?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± His throat constricted, the words barely a rasp. "Don¡¯t¡­ don¡¯t leave him.¡±


    Chronifer no longer knew where the act ended and his real emotions began. He only knew the goal: keep his mother from leaving his father ¨C  the man he only knew by name.


    If he turned out to be a terrible person, then¡­


    His mother froze. Her hands stilled on his face. Her expression shifted ¨C shock, confusion, then something softer.


    The plea hung between them, unguarded and vulnerable.


    ¡°Please,¡± he choked out, voice cracking. ¡°Don¡¯t let this family fall apart.¡±


    Her gaze softened. The unreadable expression she wore melted into quiet resolve. She exhaled deeply, brushing the tears from his face.


    ¡­When had those even gotten there?


    ¡°Okay,¡± she murmured, pulling him close. Her warmth steadied him, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    A simple promise. But it was everything he needed to hear.


    <hr>


    Three days later, Chronifer was still embarrassed. Even though it had been an act, the fact that he had reduced himself to a crying mess made his skin crawl. But it had worked. His mother had become more open with him, especially regarding the Montcroix-Wythe clan.


    She still withheld certain things, saying his father would explain them instead.


    That only made Chronifer more curious.


    His mother¡¯s words that night had painted his father as a terrible man¡­ but there had been something else beneath them, something left unsaid. A reason she had not acknowledged, Why could she not blame him.


    Chronifer didn¡¯t know what to expect of him, but he was certain of one thing ¨C if his father truly was a terrible person, he had no problem leaving with his mother.


    <hr>


    The day after his little performance, a new month had begun.


    His mother gave him an instruction: Reread the six books you have. Over and over. Until you know every word.


    She also gave him newfound freedom ¨C he was allowed to explore the entire mansion and its yards.


    And so, he settled into a routine.


    Mornings started with exercise, something ingrained in him from his past life. There were no clocks in the mansion, so he let his body guide him. That became his early and mid-morning ritual.


    Late mornings were for reading. Afternoons, for wandering through the mansion, memorizing its halls and absorbing its hidden knowledge. Evenings were spent with his mother, discussing the books.


    Sometimes, she told stories ¨C not about his father or the Spiral, but of the Multiverse, of heroes, gods, and figures lost to time. Stories that shaped his wants.


    And then, one day¡ª


    Chronifer found himself face-to-face with a demon.


    His body tensed on instinct, every sense sharpening.


    In an instant, the quiet days of reading and training shattered, replaced by a pulse of danger he had almost forgotten.


    And in that moment, he realized¡ª


    This was what his mother had been preparing him for.

 Chapter Four: Only Hopelessness is Afforded.

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Four: Only hopelessness is afforded.</h2>


    <hr>


    The Slave(POV)


    The world knew three rules that preceded the Montcroix-Wythe¡¯s invasion speech. Even slave number one-thousand-ten knew them by heart, though he couldn¡¯t say he cared. What he hadn¡¯t known, hanging by his legs strung from the balcony of Dygan Swan''yenns himself, was that the Montcroix-Wythe clan would dare attack the Dygan Syndicate. He sighed, a weary exhale of resignation. They get crazier every generation, he murmured in his thought. Wonder who it is this time?


    Not that he had to wonder for long. With a shudder that seemed to darken the sky itself, the city of towering golden glass spires was plunged into shadow. The slave barely had time to look up before his stomach twisted, almost making him lose hold of his stomach contents - and empty his bladder. The sky was obscured by a black-gold horror that seemed to loom over the city¡¯s fractured towers. He knew the insignia. Every Trueborn, Morphborn, slave, creature, and mind-controlled machine in the city knew it as easily as they knew fear.


    It hung there, oppressive and grotesque: black and dull gold, a crying, swollen infant''s face, exaggerated to the point of horror. Golden streams ran down cheeks twisted in a grotesque scream, and hollow, lifeless eyes seemed to look down with a hunger too deep to satisfy. Even the creatures that dotted the sky, ships and vast-winged beasts, once in frenzied motion, stilled under its gaze. The city beneath seemed to hold its breath.


    Then, a voice, gravelly, deep, and tinged with annoyance, rolled through the city, seeping from the walls, the air, the minds of every soul trapped within reach.


    ¡°I hate that I have to say this,¡± it growled, almost sulking. ¡°Damn it¡­ now you¡¯ll think I¡¯m saying it because of you. I was getting to it, for gods¡¯ sake! As if it matters¡­¡±


    The voice shifted, irritation fading into cold indifference.


    ¡°Thy hand of death has come for the Dygan Syndicate.¡± A pause, dripping with contempt. ¡°Hail Montcroix-Wythe.¡±


    The thud of fists striking chests echoed¡ªa grim, ceremonial beat. One. Two. Three.


    ¡°Hail the Spiral.¡± Another set of beats. ¡°Hail the Sombre Remembrance.¡± The final beats, and then silence.


    ¡°Hail Cipher, the Still Reaper.¡±


    And then, the sounds of the city vanished, cut off so completely it was as though the world had been plunged into a void where even silence was absent. The slave couldn¡¯t hear his own pulse, couldn¡¯t hear his own thoughts, only felt the panic building in his chest. He looked around, mouth open, unable to scream, as everyone seemed to flail in the deafening nothingness, unable to sense even the trembling of their bones. The reaper had come, and he¡¯d brought death to sound itself.


    ¡°Hail Cipher, the Lurking Dirge.¡±


    Now, the shadows began to move. Tendrils of darkness crept from the buildings, from beneath walkways and hanging cables, as if alive, coiling in agonised movement, spreading through the city like the limbs of something insatiable. They twisted around creatures and men, sent ships spiralling into their depths, and clawed at every soul that dared to stand under the now-empty, silenced sky. Some citizens fell to their knees, some attempted to scream or flee, but the shadows wove around them, indifferent to life or fear.


    Then, with a final, unshakable weight, the voice closed in, reverberating like an aftershock that made even the slave¡¯s blood run cold as he felt for his thoughts¡­ there was nothing.


    ¡°Montcroix-Wythe has come.¡± The silence gave way to the soft, mocking whisper of dismay itself: ¡°Despair.¡±


    The insignia darkened and flared, sealing the city¡¯s fate as the world turned quiet once more.


    Then they came, plummeting from the sky like fallen stars, blazing white-hot as they tore through the clouds. The slave¡¯s gaze tracked their descent, his eyes wide and unblinking, his mind hollow - not by his own choice, but because a Fiend had stripped him of will, leaving only silence. The sight clawed through his ashen skin and settled into his bones like ice.


    In one shattering instant, a vast expanse of spiraling towers collapsed, as if crushed by an unseen hand. Dust and debris rose in thick clouds, swallowing the air, yet no sound followed, as though even chaos itself had been smothered by some merciless will. From his high vantage, the slave could see it all - people, tiny as ants, scrambling over each other, fleeing, vanishing beneath waves of falling stone.


    He was void of thought, but in some buried corner of his mind, something shuddered, a primal fear pushing against the emptiness, clawing to escape the invisible grip of the Montcroix-Wythe¡¯s Fiend. The wind whipped him about, dust and debris brushing his skin like an afterthought.


    The slave watched as the Syndicate forces surged toward the landing site from every direction, sky, ground, all cardinal points converging in a coordinated rush. His gaze caught on a single figure moving among them: a bulky man with brown hair, striding forward with brutal intent. Even in his dazed state, the slave¡¯s fists clenched, his cold eyes following the man with strange, desperate focus. Then he saw her, a woman with almost no clothing, gliding behind the man like a shadow. Something flared in his chest at the sight, a flame that made his teeth grind. Even through his empty mind, he could feel his hate burn as he squeezed his hands so tightly they bled, his teeth scraping against each other, yet he could only watch.


    But his heart skipped, and a wave of dread overtook him as he saw another figure, a familiar old man descending from the clouds, though he was not part of the Montcroix-Wythe forces.


    Through the void of thoughts and sound that Cipher Montcroix-Wythe had summoned, the voice of the old man tore through it like a cruel saviour. Though all others were bound by Cipher''s suffocating silence, the old man seemed above it, his words rippling through the air as if defying the very laws of reality.


    ¡°Still nursing petty grudges, boy?¡± The old man¡¯s voice, though frail, carried an ancient weight that reverberated through the city like a distant earthquake. Sun-golden robes hung motionless as he drifted down from the heavens, untouched by the swirling winds that now clawed at the world. ¡°I see you¡¯ve reached the fifth rank. But to what end? Revenge? Foolishness. The Dygan Syndicate will not fall with me, child. Turn back while you still can.¡±


    The sky itself seemed to recoil from the weight of his words, rippling like disturbed water. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, writhing as if alive, twisting toward where Cipher had landed.


    ¡°Enough of your empty proclamations, old man,¡± Cipher replied, his voice a low, precise whisper that struck like a dagger. The air froze with his words, and the shadows around him writhed violently, coiling like serpents hungry for blood. ¡°Run, and perhaps the Shagus will grant you the mercy of a swift death.¡±


    The old man¡¯s golden robes flared with a sudden burst of light, his fury palpable. ¡°You! Since when did the Montcroix-Wythe stoop so low as to wield the powers of the Spiral? Is your pride so thoroughly broken?¡± His roar was like thunder, cracking the sky apart as streaks of light slashed through the clouds.


    Cipher''s reply took a while to come as if considering if the old man was worthy of his words. ¡°Pride is the epitaph of fools,¡± he said, his voice rippling through the air like the whispered secrets of a nightmare. The shadows surged upward in response. ¡°And you, old man, have carved yours in the stars. I am merely here to deliver the end you have long since written for yourself.¡±


    The slave, bound by terror, felt his body tremble uncontrollably. His blood froze as the clash of these two forces churned the very fabric of the world above.


    Then, like a tidal wave, thought came rushing back, crashing against the walls of his mind and the impenetrable silence that enveloped the world. What should I do? What should I do? But then he remembered¡­


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    There were three rules that always accompanied the Montcroix-Wythe invasion.


    One. Fear no oaths or masters, for only truth matters before thy hand.


    I owe no loyalty to Dygan; I¡¯m no enemy! he screamed within, and as if in reply, he felt a subtle nod - a dark acknowledgment.


    Two. Lie, and death awaits you and your blood.


    Before him, men, women, and children began to twist and warp, tearing apart in horrific spirals of gore.


    Three. Sinners shall know the sweetness of pain and the shadow of death.


    Across the sprawling city, the slave saw the chosen few writhing in agony, but the Dygan members were hit hardest. The old man flicked his fingers, and the chaos stilled.


    Above all, a single truth hung in the air, unspoken yet undeniable, like the Sword of Damocles:


    To the prey, escape is not granted. To the prey, begging is futile. To the prey, hope is lost. To the prey, life is forsaken. To the prey, only hopelessness is afforded.


    ¡°Close your eyes,¡± came a chilling, soothing voice, a whisper, soft yet deliberate, just loud enough to be heard but impossible to pinpoint. It was different from the earlier voice, Cipher. The slave guessed.


    He didn¡¯t hesitate. Reaching for his thoughts, he found them absent once more. Obediently, he closed his eyes, and the world went mad.


    A tempest tore through him, flinging his body like a tattered rag caught in the fury of an unseen storm. Though his eyes remained shut, flashes of blinding light pierced through his lids, and the world shattered with deafening crashes that destroyed the dense silence that had ruled everything. Time lost all meaning in the chaos.


    Suddenly, he felt his bond wrenched free from the balcony. The howling winds dragged him violently, slamming him against the cold spire behind him. The force knocked the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping soundlessly, his instincts screaming to open his eyes. But something deeper - primal and gut-wrenching - held them tightly shut.


    A vicious updraft hurled him skyward, his body weightless caught in the reach of powers beyond imagination. His mouth opened in a silent scream, the cacophony around him swallowing every sound. The crashing roars grew closer and more frequent, his terror echoing in the hollow emptiness of his mind.


    Flailing wildly, his fingers searched desperately for anything to hold on to. By some strange twist of fate, they found purchase¡ªsomething gripped his hands. He couldn¡¯t think, couldn¡¯t process what it was, but he clung to it with every ounce of strength.


    The wind roared, a force that seemed alive, shifting and writhing around him. Or perhaps it was him moving through the storm. His thoughts had abandoned him entirely; only instinct remained, raw and unrelenting, guiding his trembling hands and hammering heart.


    And then came a silence so immediate the slave felt the cursed stillness of the Montcroix-Wythe had descended once more. He strained against it, only to realise he could hear his own breathing, faint and shallow. Then, a whisper echoed in his mind. By Umyhar. He thought the words, but they felt hollow, stripped of the reverence they once carried.


    Umyhar. The old man, bred into his mind as a God, eternal, untouchable, the one whose presence was said to hold the Syndicate¡¯s stars in place, had been confronted.


    And... he felt as though the worlds had gone mad. The air itself seemed heavier, warped. But no - it wasn¡¯t just a feeling. They really had.


    ¡°Lad!¡± shouted a gravelly voice, tired and filled with frustration. ¡°He¡¯s fucking terrified, this generation has truly gone weak. Open your blasted eyes, cunt¡­¡±


    The slave recognized the voice, his eyes snapping open as his body recoiled. His hand was trapped in the man¡¯s firm, unyielding grip.


    The slave''s breath caught in his throat as his gaze climbed to the man¡¯s face - or what served as one. Staring back at him was a mask, plain and cold, carved from pale porcelain marble. A single claw mark ran jaggedly from the top right to the lower left, as though something primal had once tried to tear the soul from within. Behind the masked face of the man floated a pulsing halo of white light, its intensity searing into the edges of his vision, as if it sought to brand itself into the depths of his mind.


    The man was draped in a white coat that flowed unnaturally, its movement like liquid silver caught in an unseen current. Beneath it, a black suit clung to his body, its surface embroidered with intricate golden patterns that writhed like living sigils - demonic, blasphemous, and ancient. It was armor not meant to protect, but to declare dominion. Around him radiated an aura so palpable, so suffocating, it twisted the very air into a pale white steam that coiled and writhed with malicious intent. It wasn¡¯t merely power - it was a weight, pressing against the fabric of reality itself, as though daring it to break.


    ¡°Lad! You¡¯re not thinking of stealing my clothes, are you, little shit?¡± The man¡¯s voice came in waves, gravelly and guttural, each word crashing like a tidal force against the slave¡¯s battered senses. It wasn¡¯t the sound that terrified him, it was the vibration, the primal dread it carried, as if his very essence trembled under its weight.


    Cowardicelore. The name slammed into his thoughts like a hammer on brittle glass, shattering his fragile composure. His mind recoiled at the weight of the name alone, his heart racing as though it sought to escape his chest. This was not a man, this was something far greater, a force dressed in human form. He was part of the Montcroix-Wythe clan, yes, but no mere part, he was an extension of their cruelty, their dominion, their terror. The aura was blinding white, yet there was no comfort in it, only an abyssal horror, a light that didn¡¯t illuminate but instead burned, stripping away all pretense of safety.


    The slave''s mind was cast in utter horror, his thoughts a tumultuous churn, his mouth a gaping mess. Why? What? Why is he talking to me? Why? What''s going on?


    ¡°Poor boys out of his depth¡± Another voice came from his side purring.


    The slave¡¯s head snapped to the side, and his breath hitched. She stood there, a vision of allure and terror, her form clad in flowing garments that shimmered like liquid shadow, laced with crimson patterns that pulsed like molten veins. Plum leaves swirled lazily around her, dissolving into mist as her aura radiated power, an intoxicating mix of beauty and devastation.


    Her glowing dark abyssal and predatory eyes held cruel amusement, and her deep red lips curved into a knowing smirk. Two obsidian horns crowned her head, her lush black hair shimmering as if alive. The air around her shimmered, oppressive yet inviting, her presence a maddening pull of lust and dread - a siren¡¯s call laced with ruin.


    ¡°What? Isn''t he getting too full of himself?¡± Came the gravelly voice of cowardicelore.


    ¡°Darling, his got every right to me be so, reaching the fifth rank is no joke and besides,¡± The woman who held the slave''s attention like a pet on a leach, looked towards him. She''s my goddess, she''s everything. ¡°He needs us to keep an eye on someone¡­ interesting.¡±


    I''ll do anything¡­ Wait¡­ no, I''ll, No! The slave closed his eyes, a deep rage flaring within him, he felt his eyes grow moist, he hated everything at that one moment, but still his hate for himself stood above all, his weakness irritated him and it had been so for as long as he could remember. But what choice do I have? It was a sad thought but one that had followed his every move.


    He opened his eyes to find both figures looking at him.


    ¡°Interesting indeed.¡± Said Cowardicelore. The woman nodded her head, her face contemplative.


    ¡°It¡¯s gone,¡± the slave whispered, his voice breaking as a bitter laugh clawed its way out. Tears streamed down his face, unbidden and hot. Cowardicelore finally let go of his hands.


    ¡°The city¡­ it¡¯s gone. Damned them all. Damned them!¡± Then he saw it - the body of Swan''yenns, the cause of his nightmares, of his self-loathing. His laughter and tears kept flowing. I¡¯m free¡­


    Cowardicelore let out a sharp, humourless chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s right, Bloodline Patriarch,¡± he said, each word like a blade carving the truth into the slave¡¯s soul. ¡°Cipher offers you a place within the Spiral - at the side of his unborn kin.¡±


    The slave froze, his laughter dying in his throat as the weight of the words slammed into him. His breaths came shallow and frantic, as though the very air around him had turned to ash.


    He looked out over the ruins of what had once been his prison. The city was no more, reduced to rubble and scars upon the earth. Yet amidst the devastation, there were signs of life - figures moving against the backdrop of annihilation, faint and blurred by the haze. The sound of distant battles rolled across the horizon, a haunting reminder that destruction was not truly over.


    The slave¡¯s knees buckled as the magnitude of it all crushed him, Bloodline Patriarch? Me. His tears turned to trembling sobs, his hands gripping the shattered ground as though it might anchor him to a reality that was slipping further and further away.


    ¡°Why me?¡± he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking under the strain of his despair. ¡°Why is it always me?¡±


    Cowardicelore tilted his head, his masked face impassive and cold. ¡°You should be honored, lad. This is no curse, it''s an opportunity. Don¡¯t disappoint him.¡±


    The woman at his side smiled, her expression both amused and pitiless. She said nothing, only watched as the slave wrestled with the chains tightening invisibly around him.


    The slave¡¯s trembling lips moved in a whisper, a prayer or perhaps a curse. ¡°Damn me. Damn us all.¡±

 Chapter Five: Full Mansion

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Five: Full Mansion</h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifer had been enjoying the month, a slow grind toward what he believed was a brighter future. For a five-year-old, he felt sharper, stronger, more capable than he had any right to be. His understanding of the System had grown by leaps and bounds, and every small victory hinted at bigger triumphs ahead. But that fragile sense of progress shattered on the last day.


    ¡°My words can never explain how sorry I am,¡± said the soothing voice of the man kneeling before Chronifer¡¯s mother.


    He was the same shadowy figure who had terrified Chronifer earlier, a figure shrouded in an unsettling mask. Black wood, tipped with two sharp horns framing a dull golden halo suspended between them. its eyes were deep, dull crimson, with faint golden pupils at their centers, and its mouth twisted into a cruel smile, revealing unnervingly white teeth. The mask¡¯s eerie design had sent chills through Chronifer¡¯s small frame, cooling his heart with dread.


    But then, his mother had appeared ¨C silent, her presence cold and commanding, like a wraith. She had uttered only one word:


    ¡°Cipher.¡±


    Then Cipher had taken off the mask. He was a slight man clad in dull black robes, etched with golden patterns at the edges. His hair, a pale gold, matched his eyes, his skin flawless and pale. Chronifer saw where he''d inherited his looks. His father¡¯s features were unmistakable, but something told Chronifer he would be even better looking.


    Hours later, they gathered in the mansion¡¯s private living room. Chronifer stood at the far corner with the strange boy and the other man, both new arrivals accompanying his father. The man, a middle-aged figure, had pale, almost colourless skin. His dull white hair and patchy, uneven beard framed lips that seemed drained of vitality. His mocking smirk extended to his pale eyes, making him appear both calculating and arrogant.


    But it was the boy who captured Chronifer¡¯s attention. He looked starved to the point of emaciation, his ashen skin stretched tight over protruding bones. Dark bruises marred his sickly complexion, and his skeletal frame seemed barely able to support the tight skin that clung to it. He stood silently, his hollow eyes scanning the room with a mix of apathy and fear.


    ¡°You told me before you went off that you''d be back in two years,¡± Slora said, her voice calm but measured. Her hands rested neatly in her lap.


    ¡°I have no excuses,¡± the man said, his eyes flicking past the velvet chairs arranged in a circle to Chronifer. ¡°I thought there would be no problem¡­¡±


    He was cut off by Slora¡¯s voice, tight with frustration. ¡°You didn¡¯t even send me letters. You just left me, I was all alone in this system-forsaken mansion!¡± Her calm cracked for an instant, her voice rising. ¡°Why? I was so lonely.¡±


    Slora lowered her head, hiding whatever expression she wore from view. The man¡¯s eyes darted once more to Chronifer, a flicker of something passing through them. Chronifer felt his stomach twist in confusion. Why does he keep looking at me?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t there. I missed you just as much,¡± Cipher said, his gaze briefly flicking to Chronifer. The boy beside him seemed more intent on blending into the room¡¯s emerald walls, though his ashen skin made it hard to disappear. Still, he had one ear turned toward the conversation, listening intently.


    The man, on the other hand, just seemed tired ¨C like a spectator to a show he was too weary to care about.


    What is even happening right now? Chronifer thought, his confusion deepening. Why are they talking like this, right in front of us? He glanced from one to the other, feeling more out of place than ever. This isn¡¯t how I imagined this conversation would go¡­


    ¡°Although¡­ I hope¡­¡± The man hesitated, glancing at Chronifer before continuing. ¡°At least you had our son, Chronifer?¡±


    Wait, was my name given by my father? Was mother not calling it rebelling against him? Isn''t that kind of petty? He wondered, amused.


    Slora¡¯s eyes flickered his way, a brief moment of tension before she answered, her voice soft but firm. ¡°He hadn¡¯t always been here.¡±


    Cipher''s eyes narrowed, his thoughts turning inward. ¡°Was that why the birth moon came only two months ago?¡±


    Birth moon? Chronifer frowned, piecing the puzzle together. What¡¯s that? Two months ago¡­.


    Slora gave a single nod. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been a fool, Slora. In all my time away, I¡¯ve realized how much I need you, more than anything. You¡¯ve always been the one to keep me going.¡± Slora met Cipher¡¯s gaze, a smile slowly forming on her face, loving, yet tempered by the practicality that had always defined her. She slid off her chair and wrapped her arms around him tightly.


    ¡°I love you too,¡± she murmured, her voice soft but grounded.


    Chronifer stood frozen, completely taken aback when the man beside him whispered the same words. His lips moved in quiet sync with Slora¡¯s. Chronifer¡¯s eyes flickered between the two of them, still grappling with the surreal shift. What the hell is happening? he thought, his mind racing. How is this so simple? I thought these two ¡°parents¡± of mine would be at each other¡¯s throats. Why does this feel so... easy? His confusion intensified, leaving him rooted in place, utterly baffled.


    The two slowly pulled away from their embrace, as if the action itself caused them pain. They stared at each other for a long moment, eyes drawn to one another¡¯s lips, moving closer. Chronifer instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, Oh, no way, he thought. I can¡¯t watch this. He thought embarrassed for both of them.


    But before anything more could happen, a gravelly voice sliced through the tension.


    ¡°Alright, lovebirds,¡± the voice drawled, a playful edge to the words. ¡°I get it, you two haven¡¯t seen each other in a while. But I¡¯d much rather see your usual cold sides than this... mushy nonsense.¡± His gaze flicked between them with a pointed glance. ¡°And I¡¯m pretty sure the little turds over here feel the same.¡±


    Chronifer let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he was holding, a wave of relief washing over him. Thank goodness.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    <hr>


    Not long after that conversation, Chronifer found himself at the center of attention.


    "Your mother has told you about me, hasn''t she?" Cipher asked, his voice low and deliberate, crouching in front of Chronifer. There was something in his expression now, something new, that caught Chronifer''s attention.


    Chronifer nodded, his posture casual despite the pressure of Cipher''s gaze. "Yes. She told me you''re my father, your position, and your name. Nothing else, though."


    Cipher studied him, his expression unreadable, as if weighing each word. For a moment, his eyes softened ever so slightly ¨C a subtle shift, but noticeable to Chronifer.


    "You carry her confidence well," Cipher remarked, his tone colder, but with an unmistakable edge of pride. He straightened slightly, the faintest glimmer of excitement flickering across his unchanging expression. "You are sharper than I had expected."


    I''m going to be so damned handsome, I won''t even need the surgeries. He was delighted.


    Cipher studied him for a long moment, his gaze sharp and contemplative. "You speak with confidence. I can see your mother¡¯s insight has left its mark on you," he said, his words clipped and deliberate.


    "I can¡¯t say for sure," Chronifer answered, his eyes briefly darting around the room before settling back on Cipher.


    Had I spoken too well? He wondered. Chronifer had stopped taking much precautions with his mother and had not thought about hiding it from his father.


    "Chronifer is far more than that," Slora interjected smoothly, her tone warm and husky yet commanding. "Our son is a genius," she said, her voice carrying a quiet pride that filled the space.


    She leaned into the chair¡¯s backrest, crossing her legs with a poised elegance that radiated pride.


    His eyebrows rose slightly. Huh?


    Slora continued, her posture elegant as she spoke. "I gave him the sword styles of the Mal¡¯al¡¯atis Region, meant to challenge even an advanced student ¨C and he didn¡¯t just finish it.¡± She explained gesturing soothingly with her hands, looking at each figure in the room, even the boy who still stood at the corner of the room and the man who stood leaning against the piano at a small podium.


    ¡°He understood it.¡± Her voice was gushing with both pride and a hidden awe. ¡°I intended it as a way to gauge his limits, to see how far he could be pushed, but I underestimated him. He exceeded all expectations."


    Chronifer¡¯s stomach tightened, his hands growing clammy as his heart beat hollowly in his chest. Had I... dug my own grave? The relentless days of reading flashed through his mind, each one more gruelling than the last. He swallowed hard. All this suffering... It was my fault.


    A month ago, he might have screamed at the unfairness of it all. But now, a flicker of satisfaction replaced the bitterness. Instead of a sorrowful smile, a faintly pleased one grew on his face.


    "The brat¡¯s head is swelling already," a gravelly voice cut through the moment, full of mocking humour. "Someone ought to stomp on that pride of his before it leads him into the jaws of a nobody¡¯s death."


    Chronifer¡¯s jaw tightened, his eye twitching, but he refused to rise to the bait. His father, Cipher, on the other hand, turned to the man and nodded.


    What was that?


    "What¡ª" Chronifer began, but Cipher cut him off with a subtle gesture.


    "Yes," Slora answered smoothly, her words like an echo of something long understood.


    Chronifer watched the silent exchange, his eye twitching again in growing irritation. Wow, they are so connected, but what does it even mean?


    "Mother," he said at last, his tone direct but respectful. "Could you explain what you¡¯re talking about?"


    Slora turned to him, her gaze softening, though her posture remained upright and regal. "I believe I¡¯ve told you before," she began, her voice deliberate, each word chosen with care. She paused, her fingers toying with the ring on her necklace. The family insignia gleamed faintly under the light, as though sharing in some unspoken burden.


    "You were born with an affliction that kept you in a deep sleep for a very long time," she said at last, the weight of her words softening the room¡¯s atmosphere. "Then, a few months ago, you woke up. But even then..." She exhaled quietly, her gaze momentarily distant, as if wrestling with a memory she couldn¡¯t quite banish. "I was afraid for you."


    "Why?" Chronifer leaned forward slightly, his curiosity sharpening.


    Slora studied him for a moment before continuing. "Your father¡¯s great-grandfather bound this domain with a ritual," she said, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper ¨C pride, perhaps, or the faintest trace of caution.


    As she spoke, the gravelly-voiced man began playing the piano, the notes weaving a bittersweet melody through her explanation. The sound grounded the moment, turning the room into a strange mixture of comfort and tension.


    "When a child of the Montcroix-Wythe family is born," she continued, "the moon is supposed to lose its colour. A symbol, a sign of the bond and its strength. But when you were born, that didn¡¯t happen." Her words carried no blame, only a quiet, factual tone that somehow made them heavier. "Even when you woke, the ritual didn¡¯t activate ¨C at least, not until ten days later."


    Chronifer blinked, his mind catching on her words. So that was why.


    Slora sighed softly, her hands folding in her lap as though bracing herself. "That delay," she said, her tone gentler now, "has created... complications. Political ones. But I¡¯ll explain those in detail later."


    Chronifer sank back into the velvet chair, his thoughts racing. I knew it. That¡¯s why she started pushing me so hard. And no doubt, those ¡®complications¡¯ are tied to me reaching six.


    What changed that made the ritual activate, though? It only took him a second to realise. It was the moment I accepted my role as Chronifer, wasn¡¯t it? Definitely.


    "Mother," he said after a moment, his voice quieter but no less direct, "is that why you¡¯re so worried about me reaching six?"


    "Yes, my soul," Slora said softly, her voice brushing against his frustration like a balm. For a moment, her gaze seemed to carry everything she hadn¡¯t said ¨C her worry, her expectations, and something he could only describe as hope.


    "Well, looks like you¡¯ve got some competition, Cipher," the gravelly voice interjected again, his amusement undercutting the weight of the moment. The notes of the piano seemed to twist with his tone, playful yet intrusive.


    Slora turned a sharp, disapproving look toward him, though she said nothing.


    "Enough," Cipher said abruptly, rising from his chair. His tone was flat but carried a quiet command that left no room for argument. "I¡¯m about to die of hunger."


    The way he said it made the statement seem casual, but there was a weight behind it ¨C one Chronifer couldn¡¯t quite grasp, though he felt it settle in the room.


    "We¡¯ll have dinner now. We¡¯ll discuss this further tonight." Without waiting for acknowledgement, he rose and strode toward the dining hall.


    The weight of his parents¡¯ words settling over him like a cloak. His mother¡¯s explanations had filled in some blanks, but there were still far too many questions unanswered. Like the secret of his blood? The Movat¡¯ha trials? What was the Spiral and more about the Montcroix-Wythe? And Chroifer was going to get them all.


    Later that evening they hadn''t discussed anything because Cipher and the man who Chronifer didn¡¯t know his name had fallen asleep almost immediately after they had eaten.


    Instead Chronifer found himself talking with the boys who had lurked in the other man''s shadow and only few minutes into their conversation Chronifer was left with only one thought:


    Just what kind of family had I gotten born into!?

 Chapter Six: Knowledge Is a Foundation

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Six: Knowledge Is a Foundation </h2>


    Chronifer could still feel the cold sweat on his back, the lingering aftermath of his conversation with the boy who bore no name. That talk had stirred something deep within him, something primal, a realisation of what he had become and the faint reawakening of a hunger that had once driven him in his past life.


    The boy¡¯s words had unravelled a hard truth: he was no one.


    No longer was he a name that graced every headline, a figure whose fame and wealth turned even his smallest actions into events that the world watched with bated breath. All of that was gone. Now, in this second life, he was just one of countless others.


    Yes, he bore the name Montcroix-Wythe, a name feared and revered across the multiverse. But no one knew the name Chronifer. The weight of his family¡¯s legacy was immense, but would he hide beneath it? Or would he forge his own legend, carve his own tale of horrors and mythical deeds that would stand apart, unshakable in its own right?


    His steps slowed as he passed the door to Slora and Cipher¡¯s room. His mother and father. The very things he had lost. Famous, powerful, feared, admired¡­ influential.


    He paused there, memories pulling him back to another time, another life. In that life, as John, he had built everything from nothing. He had clawed his way up, one agonising step at a time, defying the odds to create an empire. But the System had taken it all from him, reduced his existence to ashes.


    And yet, here he stood, reborn. Given a second chance. This time, he wouldn¡¯t start at the bottom. This time, he wouldn¡¯t claw and scrape for survival. This time, he would prey.


    He heard muted voices through the door, Slora and Cipher¡¯s tones low, unreadable. They were his parents now, a constant reminder of everything that had changed. That sound alone crystallised a stark truth in his mind:


    He was John no longer.


    John had fought for every scrap, for every breath, in a world that had given him nothing. But John was gone. Chronifer had taken his place, a name brimming with potential, teetering on the edge of greatness or ruin. His future was ripe, almost too ripe, and it would spoil if left unattended. He would seize every opportunity, crush every obstacle, and claim everything he had lost ¨C and more.


    The conversation with the boy with ashen skin replayed in his mind, the words and their implications circling like a predator.


    Was he ready?


    He exhaled deeply, his resolve hardening as he turned away from the door. Yes.


    The decision had already been made. Now, there was only one path forward. If it feels too easy, it isn¡¯t the right path ¨C only the hard road leads to what matters.


    <hr>


    Chronifer stepped out of the mansion, his mind lingering on his conversation with the nameless boy. It played through his mind.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Chronifer had first noticed the boy standing silently in the corner of a dim hallway. His frame was thin and hunched as though the walls themselves might swallow him whole. Despite the grime covering him, the boy¡¯s features caught Chronifer¡¯s sharp eye ¨C ashen skin with a faint metallic hue, silver hair tangled and dull, and lifeless, pale lips.


    His face, even in its gaunt state, held a sculpted elegance: taut like polished obsidian with a nose that might have belonged to a master artist''s model. The eerie glow in his pure white eyes served as pupils, an unnatural contrast to the dirt smeared across his angular features. Even his hands, slightly too long to be human, trembled as they hung by his sides, bony and raw from labour.


    Well. I knew there were other races, but damned does he Look like a multi million dollar tv show character.


    Chronifer approached with an easy smile, trying to put the boy at ease.


    ¡°Do you not talk?¡± he asked, extending a hand. ¡°My name¡¯s Chronifer. Looks like we¡¯ll be seeing a lot of each other.¡±


    The boy¡¯s head dipped slightly, his expression unreadable.


    ¡°I talk,¡± he said finally, reaching for Chronifer¡¯s outstretched hand with both of his own, a hesitant gesture that spoke volumes. The tension in the boy¡¯s movement was palpable, like he was bracing for something to go wrong.


    Chronifer tilted his head and, seeing the hesitation, retracted one hand with a wave. ¡°Relax. One hand is fine.¡±


    The boy nodded, but his frown deepened as he glanced at his hands. He seemed almost ashamed of them.


    ¡°That¡¯s nice,¡± Chronifer continued. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°I... I don¡¯t have one,¡± the boy admitted, his voice tight. Though he stood a full two heads taller than Chronifer, he seemed to shrink in that moment, retreating into himself.


    Before Chronifer could think of what to say, the boy stiffened. His eyes fluttered briefly, and a faint but noxious smell seemed to emanate from him. Then, almost imperceptibly, his form blurred, blending into the dim light of the corridor like a shadow.


    ¡°Cool!¡± Chronifer stepped forward in excitement, his golden eyes gleaming. ¡°You just did something!¡±


    ¡°What? I did nothing¡­¡± The boy¡¯s voice wavered as he glanced down, avoiding Chronifer¡¯s gaze. He shifted on his feet as if hoping to escape notice.


    Chronifer, not one to miss a moment, fixed him with an expectant look. ¡°Oh, come on. You can tell me. What was that? It looked pretty useful!¡±


    The boy hesitated, but something in Chronifer¡¯s tone coaxed him forward. ¡°Cowardicelore¡­¡± he murmured, the word barely audible and tinged with guilt. ¡°He called me that once... and... a Bloodline Patriarch.¡±


    Chronifer blinked, taken aback. ¡°A Bloodline Patriarch?¡± He reached out instinctively as the boy swayed on his feet. His hands caught the boy¡¯s bony shoulders, steadying him. ¡°Hey, are you alright?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± the boy said quickly, though his voice betrayed him. His glowing eyes flicked upward briefly before darting away.


    Chronifer leaned in slightly, his voice gentler now. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ tired,¡± the boy admitted, his tone reluctant, as though the confession itself might bring trouble.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Chronifer nodded thoughtfully, patting the boy lightly on the back. ¡°See? That wasn¡¯t so hard.¡± He gestured down the hallway. ¡°Come on, I¡¯ll show you to a free room. Maybe you can explain this ¡®Bloodline Patriarch¡¯ thing on the way.¡±


    The boy hesitated again before following, keeping to the shadows as they walked. ¡°A Bloodline Patriarch is someone who¡¯s the first to possess a Bloodline,¡± he began, his voice low but steadying as he spoke.


    Chronifer tilted his head, curious. ¡°What¡¯s a Bloodline?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± The boy paused, searching for the words. ¡°It¡¯s what happens when someone¡¯s body develops a unique branch connected to their body and soul. When Essence flows through their soul tree, and into their body, the reaction with the branch creates something rare, almost like an inheritance, but it¡¯s born within you. It¡­ I hear it can change you.¡±


    Chronifer was thankfully not lost about Branches and the soul tree anymore, the last book he had read: The Tree Within having explained the basics of it all. Branch huh, so the body develops an affinity? And It works as some sort of catalyst for a mutation. Interesting.


    ¡°Huh.¡± Chronifer¡¯s interest deepened as he processed the explanation. His mind wandered briefly, wondering if he himself might possess one or, better yet, become a Patriarch someday. ¡°So... Do you know yours?¡±


    The boy¡¯s face darkened, his steps slowing. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said softly. ¡°There¡¯s a seal placed on me.¡±


    ¡°A seal?¡± Chronifer echoed, glancing back at him.


    ¡°I cant view the system status.¡± The boy¡¯s voice wavered as he continued, his hands clenching at his sides. ¡°When your father and his second wiped out the Dygan Syndicate, they found me. His general, Oniihino, promised to remove it someday... but for now, I don¡¯t know anything.¡±


    Chronifer frowned but kept his tone light. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll figure it out soon enough. When they do, promise you¡¯ll tell me what your Bloodline is, okay?¡±


    The boy¡¯s glowing eyes widened slightly in surprise at Chronifer¡¯s sincerity. He nodded quickly. ¡°I will.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s grin returned, sharp and playful. ¡°Great! Now, about my father, what¡¯s a ¡®second¡¯ and who? And who are the Dygan Syndicates? What do you mean he wiped them out?¡±


    The boy spoke carefully, his words measured. "Your father... I wouldn¡¯t presume to know much about him beyond what¡¯s widely known," he said, addressing the topic with reverence. "Your father, the Lurking Dirge, is a living legend, like all the Montcroix-Wythe, and the Division Lords of the Sombre Remembrance. But of course, you¡¯d know far more about that than I ever could. The missions they¡¯ve accomplished, the things they¡¯ve done..." His voice trailed off, filled with awe.


    Chronifer almost interrupted to demand details about those accomplishments, but he restrained himself.


    The boy hesitated, his hands fidgeting nervously as if trying to wipe away invisible sweat. His gaze dropped, avoiding Chronifer¡¯s piercing eyes filled with curious glee. "I don¡¯t think this is widely known," the boy finally said, "but your father¡­ he¡¯s become a Rank Five. A Fiend. A Demigod"


    Chronifer blinked, his thoughts racing. He could feel the power behind the word, it felt like something tangible.


    The boy continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "A Second, as I understand it, is more than a lieutenant. They¡¯re the most trusted representatives, the extensions of their lord¡¯s will and authority."


    Chronifer¡¯s eyes narrowed as he connected the dots. "Hold on. You mentioned Cowardicelore earlier." His tone sharpened. "Is this Cowardicelore¡­ my father¡¯s Second?"


    The boy nodded, shrinking slightly under the weight of the question.


    "The pale-haired man?" Chronifer pressed.


    Another nod.


    Chronifer groaned, the implications crashing down on him.


    The boy waited for Chronifer to collect himself before daring to speak again. "The Dygan Syndicate, my masters, were once thought to be the peak of the black market. They ruled in shadows, untouchable... or so I was taught. But before your father, his Second, and his seven generals..." His voice faltered as he stared into the dimly lit corridor, as if haunted by memories only he could see.


    "They crumbled," the boy said softly.


    <hr>


    Chronifer walked through the yard, the conversation with the boy from the previous night lingering in his mind. The boy had said little but revealed enough. Now, he knew more about Cipher, the existence of his generals, though not much, and his second, the man drilling the boy.


    ¡°C''mon, little piss. Is that all you¡¯ve got in you? After all the food? Is this the strength you can muster? Don¡¯t stop until you faint, or I tell you to stop,¡± the man barked, pausing with a low giggle. ¡°Though I should inform you, that¡¯s never.¡±


    Chronifer jogged toward the boy, laying down beside him. Without a word, he joined in, matching the boy''s crunches.


    The mansion''s grounds loomed around them, their grandeur steeped in an uneasy stillness. Ancient trees lined the edges, their dark green leaves whispering faintly despite the still air. Rare, dark flowers bloomed amidst twisted vines, their eerie beauty stark against the dark earth.


    ¡°What¡¯s this, now?¡± the man, called Cowardicelore by the boy, growled.


    ¡°Dante, peace. I don¡¯t mind the boys training together,¡± came a voice from behind. It was soft, almost a whisper, yet it carried authority that demanded attention.


    Dante, the man called Cowardicelore, snorted. ¡°I think you¡¯ll mind when your boy starts talkin¡¯ like a real man. Not some weakling.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Cipher said, his tone calm and precise. ¡°Son, come with me.¡±


    Chronifer was at his side before the command fully left his lips.


    ¡°Morning, Father,¡± Chronifer greeted.


    ¡°Morning, my son,¡± Cipher replied as they began walking.


    The yard stretched before them, a labyrinth of stone pathways and marble statues. Some were chipped and worn, their once-proud faces weathered by time. To the east, a small lake shimmered black, reflecting the faint light of the overcast sky.


    Chronifer had a thousand questions, but his father¡¯s steady silence swallowed them. The sounds of rustling trees, the chirping of crickets, and the distant whistle of the wind filled the air. He glanced at Cipher, who seemed perfectly at ease in the quiet.


    Finally, Cipher spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made a decision. Your mother and I have agreed on how things will proceed.¡±


    Chronifer tensed. His father¡¯s calm voice made every word heavier.


    ¡°Your training begins in earnest now. Physical, intensive. Knowledge is a foundation, but action sharpens it into a blade.¡±


    He paused, glancing at Chronifer. ¡°I¡¯ve seen the books you¡¯ve read. Theories, guides, anatomy, monsters. You¡¯ve laid a foundation, and for the next three months and twenty days, we¡¯ll make it solid. Your mother will ensure you¡¯re crammed with more knowledge, but I¡¯ll teach you how to wield it. After your birthday, the pace will change. More combat. More brutality. Because six is when official training begins.¡±


    Chronifer nodded but hesitated. Finally, he said, ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll do it. More than that, I¡¯ll do more.¡±


    Cipher studied him, his golden eyes sharp. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I want power,¡± Chronifer answered.


    Cipher tilted his head slightly. ¡°Is that all? No grander reason?¡±


    Chronifer faltered. The memory of Dante¡¯s harsh words replayed in his mind, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He feared the obscurity of a nobody¡¯s death, fading into nothingness without leaving a mark.


    But he couldn¡¯t say that. Not yet.


    ¡°I... I don¡¯t think so,¡± he said, the lie sticking in his throat.


    Cipher¡¯s gaze lingered on him, then softened. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Power is a start. It¡¯s a framework. The rest will come.¡±


    They walked on, the statues seeming to watch as father and son disappeared into the shadows of the towering trees.


    Two days later, Chronifer¡ªa gym bro in his past life and a relentless hard worker in this one¡ªfound himself grappling with a profound philosophical question:


    Where does hard work end and insanity begin?


    His conclusion was simple:


    Help me!

 Chapter Seven: Where Does the limit lay

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Seven: Where Does the limit lay</h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifer had known, after finishing the book A Tree Within, that everything was not as it seemed. The idea that a tree was growing within his soul might have been laughable, a fragment of some fever dream, if not for the face he saw every morning in the mirror. He still had trouble calling it his own. Though the kid was more good looking than he ever did at that age and looking at his parents, he could just tell the kid would grow into a more refined and attractive man than he used to be, it felt... alien. And yet, it made the book¡¯s claims harder to dismiss.


    The book had provided him with crucial insights into a part of his status screen:


    Rank:


    Seedling


    Branches:


    [Locked]


    [Locked]


    [Locked]


    [Locked]


    Leaves:


    N/A


    Vines:


    N/A


    He knew, at least, that his rank as a seedling would change when he turned sixteen. At that point, his essence would begin to flow safely through his Soul Tree, reducing the risk of flesh defilement, a term that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. However, A Tree Within had been the smallest and least detailed of the books he''d read, leaving him with more questions than answers.


    What was clear was that his status, for now, was supposed to be restricted, he had no doubts his reincarnation had changed that fact. He suspected this was the reason his parents hadn¡¯t asked many questions about it yet, probably assuming that, as a seedling, he was unremarkable. Safe.


    Still, the book had shed some light on the broader mechanics of his Soul Tree. Branches, it explained, were affinities, powerful links to multiversal laws that existed on every level. Leaves acted as nexuses of control, focused on those affinities. But vines? Vines were a mystery the book had left unresolved. No matter how many times he re-read that section, their significance remained frustratingly obscure.


    Five days into his training, however, one part of the book lingered in his thoughts, etched into his memory:


    "A body with a Soul Tree is more than its base race. Its limits stretch far beyond the ordinary. I suggest you reach that limit."


    So with that sentence ever lingering on the edges of his mind, Chronifer decided, insanity seemed to be needed to become what he sought to be.


    ¡°Who the fuck told you little wastrels that you''re done?¡± Dante barked, his gravelly voice the narrator of all Chronifers nightmares. It sent chills down his spine.


    The nameless boy now named Nyte by Dante was already on the ground in position for more push-ups before Chronifer.


    ¡°The lordlings seem to have problems following orders.¡± He laughed, a ugly thing. ¡°We''ll fix that.¡±


    ¡°Give us another fifty push-ups.¡± Quietly from the side came Ciphers voice sounding like an angel but preaching a gospel of sorrow.


    Chronifer obeyed though he was loath to do so, knowing this was him joining in on Nytes training, his training hadn''t begun, like his father had called it the first day, ¡°stretches¡±. Cursing himself, Chronifer pushed himself up and reclined back down and then up again.


    His mind was dark like the days still young and unclear.


    ¡°Done.¡± Dante said. The mist clung to the ground like a shroud, muffling their grunts and the dull thuds of their collapsing bodies.


    Chronifer had only gotten three hours of sleep, his body was still aching for the intensity of the workout from the past day, he had no doubt that he would have damaged a muscle or two if he had been back on earth, but now he was tired, extremely so but that was it. If challenged he could still go.


    Like he could hear his heretical thoughts Dante conformed.


    ¡°Lads these days, I bet my grandmother would be stronger than you little farts.¡± He taunted, kicking both of them. ¡°Up! Up! You know what''s next, give me one-fifty pull-ups.¡±


    Chronifer and Nyte were off to catch the low hanging branches of the hunting trees, Nyte reached the tree before Chronifer and was already pulling himself up by the time Chronifer reached him, Chronifer began. Nearing the end of the sets his arms were trembling like a rope fraying at the edges, but he gritted his teeth at a glance at the boy, Nyte, who had dropped to the ground.


    By the time Dante announced the leg exercises, Chronifer''s body felt like lead. Yet, there was no stopping ¨C squats, lunges, jumps ¨C all marked by Dante''s relentless jeers and Cipher¡¯s quiet, unyielding demands. Every moment dragged on, each movement feeling like a climb up an endless hill.


    When Dante hounded them through their final sets, collapse wasn¡¯t an option. Before they could even think to stop, he had them running laps around the mansion. The dark wooden structure loomed in the misty pre-dawn light, its stillness a stark contrast to Dante¡¯s hoarse voice. His insults were vivid and overly detailed, targeting their stamina, determination, and even their lineage.


    "Faster, Nyte! Chronifer! I¡¯ve seen corpses move with more grace!¡± Dante barked.


    The ordeal was far from over. After what felt like hours, they were granted a thirty-minute break. It was just enough time to eat and brace themselves for the next punishment. Both boys slumped into stillness. Nyte¡¯s portions were notably larger than Chronifer¡¯s, but he wasn¡¯t touching them. Instead, Nyte sat near the dark wooden structure of the mansion, the shadows cast by its walls seeming to mirror his emotions.


    Chronifer¡¯s arms were so strained that holding his spoon felt like trying to lift a boulder. He fought to keep it steady, forcing himself to eat despite the ache. But Nyte? Nyte wasn¡¯t even trying.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to eat?¡± Chronifer asked, raising an eyebrow. His own arms trembled as he struggled to grip his spoon, the strain from the morning exercises making even eating a challenge. Still, his body had already begun acclimating to the pain, but the dread of what came next hung over him like a death sentence.


    Nyte shook his head, his exhaustion palpable. But as Chronifer¡¯s eyes lingered, the boy finally picked up his spoon. His hand trembled violently, the muscles twitching as if they¡¯d forgotten how to obey. With great effort, he managed to bring food to his lips.


    Chronifer felt a pang of concern. I hope he¡¯ll be fine. Chronifer watched him, concern flickering beneath his otherwise composed demeanour. Nyte, though never social, had grown eerily silent since the training began. His gaze, once cautious and guarded, had dulled into something distant, like a shadow of himself remained to endure the exercises.


    Occasionally, Nyte would mumble something under his breath, fragments of words about sleep and simpler labour. The weight of the boy¡¯s exhaustion was palpable, and it scared Chronifer. When he¡¯d first spoken to Nyte, the other boy had seemed weathered, but now it was as though he was unravelling entirely. His prior tiredness had been a mental weight, but now it extended to every fibre of his being. Nyte¡¯s will wasn¡¯t breaking, it was disintegrating, like a sandcastle eroded by relentless waves.


    ¡°Nyte! Time¡¯s up. You know the drill,¡± Dante barked from a distance.


    Chronifer¡¯s stomach churned as he watched Nyte rise, his movements sluggish yet obedient. The boy¡¯s back was bent under the weight of something intangible, and as he walked away, Chronifer¡¯s lips parted, ready to speak.


    A familiar, low voice interrupted him.


    ¡°The boy will be fine,¡± Cipher said, his tone a quiet reassurance. ¡°Dante is no fool. Now come.¡±


    Chronifer hesitated, casting one last worried glance toward Nyte. He didn¡¯t entirely believe his father¡¯s words, but he knew better than to argue. With a reluctant nod, he followed, acutely aware that, despite his adult mind, he couldn¡¯t yet claim maturity in this world.


    As they walked, Cipher broke the silence, his tone calm but commanding.


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    ¡°The Dance of Mirrors¨Cour family¡¯s fighting style¨Cis unlike what most people think it is. Many believe it to be a sword style.¡± He paused, glancing at Chronifer with sharp eyes. ¡°They are wrong. It is an art of the mind above all else.¡±


    Chronifer smiled, a little embarrassed, sensing his father¡¯s awareness of his curiosity.


    ¡°I... didn¡¯t know we even had a family style,¡± he admitted. Until now, Cipher had only drilled him on reaction and prediction exercises ¨C intense workouts that left no room for formal techniques. It had culminated in choosing a weapon, with Chronifer finally settling on straight jian after countless trials.


    ¡°Well, now you do.¡± Cipher gave a small, knowing smile. ¡°Today, we begin the real training. But before you can learn the Dance, you must understand it.¡±


    Cipher spun a dagger in his hand, its blade whistling sharply through the air. His movements were fluid yet precise, perfectly matching Chronifer¡¯s own speed ¨C a deliberate display. Chronifer instinctively stepped back, his heart racing. He nearly tripped, but his reflexes saved him at the last moment.


    He grinned, pride gleaming in his eyes. At least my reflexes are intact.


    ¡°Acceptable, but not good enough,¡± Cipher said with a hint of disapproval. ¡°When I¡¯m done with you, son, you won¡¯t just be good enough. You¡¯ll be more than exceptional. You¡¯ll be the best, someone even perfectionists envy.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s shame flickered briefly before being replaced by anticipation. He was hooked.


    ¡°So... what¡¯s the style about?¡± he asked, curiosity sparking.


    Cipher¡¯s gaze grew serious. ¡°The Dance of Mirrors is not just a sword style, Chronifer. It¡¯s a philosophy. No two members of the Montcroix-Wythe family share the same vision of it. I¡¯ll teach you the foundation, but the interpretation, your Dance, will be yours to create.¡±


    Cipher didn¡¯t step back, nor did he appear to move. Yet, impossibly, he was suddenly several feet away. Chronifer¡¯s breath caught. How...?


    ¡°Come at me,¡± Cipher commanded, tossing a black dagger through the air. Chronifer sidestepped, letting the blade fall to the grass before retrieving it. Cipher shook his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips.


    Chronifer lunged forward, knowing full well he couldn¡¯t hurt his father. His strike, a vertical slash ¨C was clean and precise. Cipher¡¯s response was unnervingly perfect, catching the blade¡¯s edge with his own dagger, mirroring Chronifer¡¯s movement as if they were reflections in a mirror.


    Chronifer stumbled back, shocked. Cipher mirrored his retreat, copying every detail down to the positioning of his feet.


    ¡°The first foundational mechanic and philosophy of the Dance,¡± Cipher said, his tone level, ¡°is Reflection. Observe and mimic your opponent.¡±


    ¡°Again.¡±


    Chronifer dashed forward, his footfalls muted on the grass. He struck wide, a horizontal slash aimed at his father¡¯s side. This time, Cipher¡¯s response came as a curved strike, sending Chronifer¡¯s dagger spinning into the air. Before he could process the movement, he had already fallen to the ground.


    ¡°Did you see it?¡± Cipher asked, his tone as indifferent as if he were discussing the weather.


    Chronifer pushed himself up, shaking his head. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Again,¡± Cipher commanded.


    Chronifer attacked once more, this time focusing entirely on his father¡¯s movements. When Cipher¡¯s blade clashed with his, it twisted ¨C just slightly ¨C but enough to redirect Chronifer¡¯s strike entirely.


    This time, he noticed. ¡°You twisted my strike,¡± Chronifer said, awe creeping into his voice. ¡°It¡¯s like a fractured mirror, similar, but off just enough to change everything.¡±


    Cipher¡¯s lips curled into a satisfied smile. ¡°Exactly. That¡¯s the second foundational mechanic and philosophy of the Dance: Distortion. Alter your opponent¡¯s movements for tactical advantage. Reflection is only the beginning. The real power lies in what you do with the reflection.¡±


    He gestured for Chronifer to attack again. ¡°Now, come.¡±


    Chronifer launched into a series of strikes, wide slashes, thrusts, feints, testing every angle he could. Each time, Cipher countered with subtle shifts, until finally, after over twenty exchanges, Chronifer paused, realisation dawned on him.


    ¡°You¡¯re exploiting my moves,¡± Chronifer said slowly. ¡°Turning my strength into a weakness.¡±


    He was a little shocked at his own savvy regarding fighting moves so far but he supposed it was unavoidable seeing his mental shelf of books he¡¯d read.


    Cipher nodded, lowering his blade and sitting cross-legged on the ground. ¡°Correct. The third foundational mechanic and philosophy: Destruction. You reflect and distort, and in doing so, you uncover both your opponent¡¯s strengths and their weaknesses. Then, you attack the foundation of that strength, collapsing it entirely.¡±


    Chronifer stood, processing everything his father had said. The ideas were profound, intricate, and, most of all, overwhelming.


    ¡°Speak,¡± Cipher said, sensing his hesitation.


    Chronifer hesitated but spoke his mind. ¡°I get it. I understand the theory, but... it sounds impossible to use in an actual fight. It¡¯s so... complicated.¡±


    ¡°I see your worries, but end them. What seems insurmountable now becomes possible with time and effort,¡± Cipher said, his voice steady and reassuring as he dismissed Chronifer¡¯s doubts with a calm wave of his hand. ¡°Reflection, distortion, and destruction, these are the marrow of the style. But remember this: with the Dance of Mirrors, your greatest weapons will always be your mind and body.¡±


    Chronifer nodded, intrigue flickering in his golden eyes.


    ¡°The Dance of Mirrors,¡± Cipher continued, ¡°has no starting stances, no rigid forms to follow. Instead, it teaches you to see, to listen, and to process. It is a repository of countless styles, each one faced, studied, and conquered. To master it is to become an artist, weaving together the rhythms of disparate techniques, deconstructing them, and even destroying them. The goal is to become formless.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s heart skipped a beat at the word, though he masked his reaction with practised calm. His mind, however, was racing, drawn back to the memory of his trait.


    Traits:


    [Formless]


    Your mind, unlike most, is unfettered within its walls, enabling you the adaptability to be without a form and to be of all forms. Your mind can bear it, and you can be anything, will be everything. Your lineage has prepared for this ¨C be proud. Hail thy hand of death, Montcroix-Wythe.


    Beware, for defilement still lingers.


    So this was its purpose.


    ¡°Father,¡± Chronifer began cautiously, skepticism tingling his tone, ¡°isn¡¯t this style just¡­ copying and pasting others?¡±


    Cipher¡¯s lips curled into a faint smile, amusement glimmering in his gaze. ¡°So it is,¡± he said, throwing Chronifer off balance for a moment before continuing with a soft laugh. ¡°And yet, it is so much more. At its foundation, it may seem like mimicry, but as you advance, it transforms. The Dance evolves, becoming something entirely unique to its wielder.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Chronifer asked, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued.


    Cipher¡¯s expression grew thoughtful, his tone turning almost contemplative. ¡°If the three foundational mechanics: reflection, distortion, and destruction, are the marrow, then the four principles are the bones, organs, and muscles of the style. Without them, the Dance remains lifeless, a shadow of what it is meant to be.¡±


    ¡°What are they?¡± Chronifer pressed, his voice betraying his eagerness. As he spoke, he realised how bright the day had become. At some point, the morning mist had burned away, leaving the world bathed in clear sunlight.


    Cipher rose smoothly, brushing specks of grass from his hands, and stepped closer to his son. His hand came to rest lightly on Chronifer¡¯s shoulder, his faint smile softening into something almost paternal. The sunlight gleamed against his sharp features, lending him an air of quiet authority.


    ¡°Calm yourself, son,¡± he said, organising his thoughts before speaking again. ¡°The Dance of Mirrors is not merely about movement or technique. It is a philosophy, one guided by its four principles. The first of these is ¡®Reflections Are Conversations.¡¯¡±


    Chronifer raised an eyebrow, scepticism clear on his face. ¡°Conversations? You¡¯re saying a fight is just... talking with fists?¡±


    Cipher¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Exactly. Every movement of an opponent is a statement, an expression of their intent. A punch, a feint, a step, they all speak volumes about who they are and what they want. The practitioner of the Dance listens and responds. But¡± he raised a finger, ¡°you do not respond as you receive it. You distort it back sharper, twisted, and layered with echoes of other styles.¡±


    He took a step back, spreading his hands as if framing a larger picture. ¡°Think of it this way: they say, ¡®This is my strength.¡¯ You reply, ¡®I¡¯ve seen better.¡¯ They ask, ¡®Can you keep up?¡¯ You laugh and answer, ¡®No, but I can outlast you.¡¯ A true conversation.¡±


    Chronifer nodded slowly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s one. What¡¯s next?¡±


    Cipher¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°The second principle: ¡®The Essence Over the Surface.¡¯¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s mind flickered to his mother. So, she had good reason when she forced me to study the sword styles of the Mal¡¯al¡¯atis region...


    Cipher¡¯s voice cut into his thoughts. ¡°A shallow imitation is weakness, Chronifer. The Dance demands understanding. Each opponent¡¯s style must be deconstructed to its core, not just its strengths, but its vulnerabilities. To see beyond the surface means grasping the rhythm of their movements, the emotion driving their strikes, the philosophy underpinning their choices.¡±


    He gestured toward the window behind them. ¡°When you fight someone, you don¡¯t just see them; you see their reflection in you. The more you understand their essence, the easier it is to dismantle them.¡±


    Chronifer frowned thoughtfully. ¡°So... it¡¯s not about copying them. It¡¯s about seeing their foundation and making it crumble?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Cipher said, a hint of pride in his voice. ¡°That brings us to the third principle: ¡®Destruction Through Distortion.¡¯¡±


    He reached for the small mirror hanging on his belt and held it up between them. ¡°The Dance is not about perfectly reflecting someone else. It¡¯s about distorting their image until they cannot recognize themselves. When you reflect an opponent¡¯s technique, you fuse it with fragments of other styles stored within your mind, creating something new, something sharper, something that exposes every flaw in their original.¡±


    Cipher¡¯s voice dropped slightly, his tone weightier. ¡°The goal is not to mirror them but to shatter them. Let them see their imperfections reflected in you.¡±


    Chronifer tilted his head, the weight of the concept settling in. ¡°And the fourth?¡±


    Cipher grinned, flipping the mirror in his hand like a coin. ¡°The fourth and final principle: ¡®Multiplicity in Combat.¡¯¡±


    Chronifer blinked. ¡°Sounds... complicated.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Cipher admitted. ¡°The Dance of Mirrors do not simply reflect one opponent. They reflect every opponent you¡¯ve ever faced and every style you¡¯ve ever encountered. This creates an unpredictable, multidimensional form of combat, overwhelming your enemy with movements that feel both familiar and alien. To fight you is to fight themselves, fractured, multiplied, and better than they ever were.¡±


    He stepped closer, holding the mirror up to Chronifer¡¯s face. ¡°The Dance is not just a style, son. It¡¯s a way of seeing the world, of understanding people, of wielding everything you¡¯ve ever learned. And now, it¡¯s your turn to learn it.¡±

 Chapter Eight: Tides of Endurance

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Eight: Tides of Endurance </h2>


    Chronifer had often wondered, as many modern humans from Earth did, how people survived before the advent of smartphones and other entertainment mediums. His current life provided an unflinching answer to that question.


    There was no time to be bored.


    Before dawn¡¯s first light, he was already awake, immersed in an unrelenting regimen of exercises dictated by Dante''s foul jeers and ciphers'' quiet expectations. His mornings ended with laps around the Montcroix-Wythe mansion ¨C a sprawling, four-winged structure of dark wood, its vastness making even basic cardio an exhausting feat. Only after this endurance test came a short break for food. Then, as if the universe conspired to remind him of its cruelty, his real training began.


    His days were consumed by Cipher¡¯s ruthless lessons in The Dance of Mirrors, a combat style that seemed as much philosophy as technique. Each session pulling him and Nyte in different directions, Nyte training was in the sword style: Deaths Gambit, Cipher had described it as the creation of Dante ¨C better known as Cowardicelore ¨C a deranged mercenary whose twisted brilliance had forged a style as ruthless as its creator. Chronifer tried not to think of the boy pulling deeper Into himself, he had never been a extrovert or a talker but he was withering


    I had really hoped we could be friends. I just hope he doesn''t break now though.


    Cipher¡¯s expectations were crushing, his methods calculated to break lesser wills. He began with the most grueling introduction imaginable: drills. Hundreds of strikes ¨C vertical, horizontal, diagonal, thrusts, and shadow parries ¨C every single day. The count steadily grew until it reached a staggering thousand repetitions for each.


    ¡°To master the complex, you must first master the basics to their core,¡± Cipher had said.


    Initially, Chronifer had believed the strikes were simply to build muscle memory. It wasn¡¯t until Cipher introduced the concept of Hearing the Song that he understood the deeper purpose. It was preparation for reflecting or rather the core on which it all stood.


    Cipher explained the idea with his blend of philosophy and brutality, his love for the style ever present. ¡°Every style has a rhythm, a flow ¨C its song. If you can¡¯t hear it, you can¡¯t survive it, and you won''t be able to flow with it¡±


    The first step was to observe and replicate rhythm. Cipher demonstrated a simple, steady sequence: a vertical slash followed by a lateral sweep, ending in a thrust. Chronifer¡¯s task was to repeat it perfectly, not just once, but until his body understood it instinctively.


    The task seemed simple at first, but Cipher¡¯s standards were merciless. ¡°You¡¯re not listening, Son,¡± he said chillingly calmly after Chronifer¡¯s first attempt. ¡°Think of this as music. You hum a song and you do not know a word of its lyrics, or emotion it carries but still you can capture its rhythm. Do not think deeply. not yet, just feel the style and reflect it.¡±


    At first, Chronifer was frustrated. His body ached, his muscles screamed, and his mind wavered under the constant critique. Yet, slowly, painfully, he began to see what Cipher meant. Each style carried a rhythm, a pattern that guided its movements like a song. By the end of the first month, he could identify those rhythms, though mimicking them was still a struggle, it was like moving to a tone not yet established or understood, the words carried by it not yet known, the emotion conveyed yet still blurry.


    Cipher¡¯s praise was rare, but when it came, it was genuine. One evening, after Chronifer had flawlessly mirrored a sequence Cipher demonstrated, his father gave a rare nod of approval, and a soft encouraging smile growing more present through their training. ¡°Good. You¡¯re hearing it now. That¡¯s the first step. Remember, though ¨C the song isn¡¯t yours yet. Hearing isn¡¯t the same as mastering, you''re yet to understand it, how to use the rhythm or what lays beyond and underneath it¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s progress wasn¡¯t limited to observation. Cipher demanded application. He introduced sparring sessions where Chronifer had to ¡°hear¡± Cipher¡¯s rhythm and react accordingly by reflecting. The results were¡­ disastrous.


    Cipher moved like a predator, his strikes fluid yet unpredictable. Every attack carried a rhythm that Chronifer struggled to grasp, let alone counter. By the end of the first session, Chronifer lay bruised and humiliated on the training floor. Cipher offered no sympathy.


    ¡°Failure is the beginning of learning,¡± he said simply. ¡°Get up, Son.¡±


    And so, the cycle repeated: drills, sparring, failure, reflection. With each repetition, Chronifer grew sharper. He began to anticipate Cipher¡¯s movements, catching glimpses of his repeating and inconsistent tone in the rhythm of his attacks. It was far from perfect, happening more inconsistently than not, but it was progress, all of these had to be accomplished while using the same rhythm or style as Cipher.


    One day, after weeks of grueling practice, Cipher stopped mid-session and regarded Chronifer with an unreadable expression. ¡°You¡¯ve heard the song¨Chence reflection. Good. Now we distort it.¡±


    Distortion, as Cipher explained it, was the art of disrupting an opponent¡¯s rhythm without losing one¡¯s own. Chronifer had remembered thinking about how complicated the style had sounded when Cipher had described Distortion as "Altering your opponent¡¯s movements for tactical advantage" now he knew his father had been simplifying it.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t enough to hear the song ¨C you had to bend it to your will.¡± Cipher had explained


    Cipher¡¯s lessons shifted focus. Now, sparring sessions weren¡¯t just about survival; they were about manipulation. Cipher would execute a sequence, and Chronifer¡¯s task was to interrupt the flow by Chronifer distorting the rhythm¨CCipher changing the style he uses for every bit of ground Chronifer gained. A misplaced strike, a feint, or even a poorly timed movement could be enough to throw Cipher¡¯s rhythm off balance.


    The difficulty was maddening. Cipher¡¯s rhythm felt unshakable, reflecting its rhythm, a chore. Adding distortion makes it seem like trying to break the tide. Yet, as weeks turned into a month, Chronifer began to find cracks. A subtle misstep here, an unexpected feint there¡ªsmall victories that earned him fleeting praise, all the while using the same style and rhythm as Cipher,  Chronifer had seen it like trying to beat a master at his game, but he was making progress at it.


    All the while he felt a new understanding blossoming.


    Chronifer still felt like there were layers to the style he was missing. If it were to be described as a song, there was the rhythm and flow which he had designated as the hum, and then there were the lyrics¨Cwhich he was close to understanding. then the other layers of instrument and then there was the emotion and message the song was sending. He felt like he was only seeing the peak of the iceberg but he tried not to lose sight of that peak.


    The lyrics which Chronifer was close to conquering were the flaws and vulnerabilities of a style he had come to realise.


    ¡°You¡¯re learning,¡± Cipher said one evening after Chronifer managed to distort the rhythm of a sparring sequence. ¡°Barely. But you¡¯re learning.¡±


    The drills intensified. Cipher introduced increasingly complex rhythms, changing his style, forcing Chronifer to adapt on the fly. He pushed Chronifer beyond exhaustion, often without warning. ¡°An enemy won¡¯t wait for you to catch your breath,¡± Cipher reminded him.


    Despite the pain, Chronifer could feel himself improving. His movements grew sharper, his mind quicker. He could anticipate Cipher¡¯s attacks with increasing accuracy, and his distortions became more deliberate, more effective, and his ability to feel the rhythm and flow, although still slow compared to Cipher movements, was getting better.


    He had also come to the realisation that distortions worked best when they weren''t just an altered reflection of the opponent but also a mix of other styles he had experienced from Cipher.


    Slowly through hours and days of brutal sparing he had come to slowly begin to feel the lyrics, he could now find flaws and vulnerabilities although, inconsistently and dependent on the style Cipher was using.


    One evening, after a particularly brutal sparring session, Cipher called a halt. ¡°You¡¯ve done well,¡± he said, his voice carrying a rare note of approval. ¡°You¡¯ve passed the second mastery. You¡¯re not perfect, but you¡¯re close enough.¡±


    The words sent a jolt of pride through Chronifer¡¯s exhausted body. For the first time since beginning his training, he felt like he was truly getting somewhere.


    But Cipher wasn¡¯t finished. ¡°You¡¯re on the edge of mastery, son. Don¡¯t let it go to your head. The third mastery isn¡¯t about hearing or distorting, it¡¯s about, well a lot of things, but I''ll say this, it about Sharpening the Mind and Expanding Knowledge¡±


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    As Cipher¡¯s words sank in, Chronifer felt a strange mix of pride and dread. He was finally making progress, but the path ahead promised to be even more grueling.


    Chronifer would love to attest his perseverance through the foreign art of battle styles to his iron will but the truth was far more simple, it was all thanks to his mother Slora, she had packed him fat with knowledge about battle styles and he had even been able to recognise some familiar styles and counter them more easily due to his reads.


    But his real Solace were the strolls he and his mother took round the mansion, when the sun was a crown above the horizon. And his time spent with her in the study and library alike reading books, she was also mostly the one who carried him to his room when he dozed off, although he had to admit he had just as much knowledge as teas and families to stare clear of their women


    So as his training session with his father was reaching its end there were two things Chronifer was looking forward to. His mother cooking, he hoped since Dante did cook at times, the food tasting like death and sadness. And also the strolls.


    ¡°Focus, Son,¡± Cipher said as he and Chronifer moved fluidly through the forms of one of Cipher¡¯s most practiced styles. His voice was calm yet sharp, each word deliberate. ¡°The third rank is about consolidating your progress. You¡¯ve learned the flow of multiple styles, but you¡¯ve failed to grasp their core.¡± He paused, correcting himself. ¡°Except, of course, those you¡¯ve studied in depth, due to your books.¡±


    Chronifer allowed a small smile to tug at his lips, recalling the rare moment when his father had shown surprise. It had been subtle, a slight raise of both eyebrows, but Chronifer knew that was as much shock as Cipher would ever reveal.


    ¡°This mastery is simple in concept but difficult to achieve,¡± Cipher continued. ¡°You¡¯ve learned to flow with rhythm¨Creflecting it, and to alter it. Now, you must master the skills that made those feats possible¡­¡± His voice trailed off, his sharp gaze cutting through the momentary silence. Chronifer understood without further prompting.


    ¡°My observational skills,¡± he said. Cipher nodded, gesturing for him to continue. ¡°My instincts, speed, flow, flexibility, and the ability to reflect other styles, even if only at a surface level.¡±


    ¡°Brilliant as always, my son. All correct. The last point is especially crucial,¡± Cipher replied, his tone steady but edged with approval. ¡°You¡¯ve been reflecting the rhythm of styles, yes, but only at a shallow level. You¡¯ve relied on instincts and raw skill to carry you this far. Against a truly refined style, those same strengths will lead to your downfall.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s faint smile faded, his expression turning serious. Cipher stepped closer, his voice dropping into a more deliberate cadence. ¡°Take this to heart: never use the Dance of Mirrors until you¡¯ve reached Mastery Four, or at the very least, the latter stages of Mastery Three.¡±


    He let the words linger before continuing. ¡°This phase is about preparing you for higher-level opponents. Through sparring with me, you will build your understanding. Your task is to uncover the core of each style I show you. Learn it. Understand it. Then store it away, nestled firmly within your mind as though it were a library, a repository.¡±


    Cipher¡¯s voice sharpened, carrying an edge of urgency. ¡°This mastery is not just about reflection or distortion. It¡¯s about collecting knowledge, honing your skills, and preparing for the layers of complexity within every style you¡¯ll encounter. The foundation you build now will determine your survival later.¡±


    He stepped back into a ready stance, his golden eyes narrowing. ¡°Mastery Three allows you to anticipate and counter styles. At this level, you¡¯ll only catch glimpses close to a style¡¯s core ¨Cits intent¨C but that is enough. You¡¯ll start to recognize stances and see fragments of an opponent¡¯s arsenal. That awareness, even in pieces, is where you need to be to wield this art with any measure of safety.¡±


    Cipher¡¯s movements became precise, deliberate, as he demonstrated a stance. ¡°Now, show me what you¡¯ve learned. This time, don¡¯t just follow the rhythm, seek its purpose. Feel its pulse. And most importantly, uncover what lies beneath.¡±


    Chronifer had high expectations, he could almost imagine himself reflecting opponent¡¯s moves before they made it, using their styles against them and crushing their foundations and using distortions to attack them with fury. He could almost see it, if he learned further he would be able to move more fluidly, flowing with the rhythm, seeing flaws and vulnerabilities, understanding and predicting stances and moves, even seeing intent.


    Chronifer pushed forward, learning the stances of the style his father showed him, he could see them helping him with his distortions.


    However Chronifer couldn''t see the frown growing on his fathers face.


    The day¡¯s training had drawn to a close, and Chronifer was looking forward to his walk with his mother when he stumbled upon a scene he hadn¡¯t anticipated.


    ¡°Get up, lad,¡± Dante growled, his voice carrying a restrained edge.


    Nyte lay sprawled on the ground, staring blankly at the darkening sky. But his eyes, those lifeless, empty eyes Chronifer had grown used to, were now aligned with something primal: pain, anger, and defiance. Chronifer¡¯s pulse quickened. Damn it, I saw this coming. He rushed toward them.


    ¡°Get. Up,¡± Dante repeated, his tone brooking no argument.


    For the first time in months, Nyte spoke, and his voice carried a weight Chronifer hadn¡¯t expected. Raw. Exhausted. Shaking.


    ¡°No¡­ no, no, no. I don¡¯t want this!¡± Nyte¡¯s hands rose shakily to his face, trying to smother the tears that spilled over. His words were broken, halting, but as they poured out, his body moved, dragging him to his knees. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for this life. I didn¡¯t ask to be born. I didn¡¯t ask to be a slave of the Dygan Syndicate. And I didn¡¯t ask to be taken by you!¡±


    The last words tore out of him like a scream. His body quaked, his shoulders heaving as he fought the tidal wave of emotion. ¡°I want to be free, even just once. I want to be lazy. I want to live my life my way. Or better yet¡ªjust end it! Throw me away! I¡­ I¡ª¡± His words choked off into silence as he collapsed inward, wracked with sobs that seemed to bleed from his very soul.


    Chronifer stood frozen, shaken. He saw himself in Nyte, he had always seen a shadow of himself in the boy. But now he realized he hadn¡¯t understood him at all.


    ¡°Get up, lad,¡± Dante commanded again, his voice a hammer striking steel.


    But Nyte didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°No! Just kill me like you killed them! What do I even live for? Not for myself!¡± Nyte¡¯s roar was hoarse, steady, and hollow, the cry of someone stripped bare of hope.


    ¡°This, boy, this is life,¡± Dante snapped, his voice dark and cutting. ¡°To another man, speaking to me like that would have cost him his tongue, and I¡¯d have pissed on the bloody stump. But you? You bark about freedom like a whipped dog. So tell me, then: what do you want? What¡¯s this great, noble goal that makes you so different from the rest of us? Speak.¡±


    Nyte recoiled, his face twisting in disgust ¨Cdisgust with Dante, with the world, and with himself. His voice came low, trembling but determined. ¡°Give me a cutlass and a plot of land. I¡¯d farm it. I¡¯d live a normal life. That¡¯s all I want.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s stomach tightened. He pitied the boy, but he couldn¡¯t understand Dante¡¯s methods ¨C or his cruelty. His parents, watching from a distance, remained silent.


    Dante¡¯s laugh exploded, a harsh, mocking sound that reverberated like a whip crack. He clutched his stomach as he doubled over, his laughter slowly dying into a cruel sneer.


    ¡°A farm?¡± Dante spat the word like a curse. His face twisted in fury. ¡°Every day, I stand here teaching you a style I¡¯ve forged through battles that nearly killed me, and this is how you repay me? Spit in my face, why don¡¯t you?¡± His voice dropped, simmering with quiet rage. ¡°Do I enslave you by giving you strength? Do I bind you in chains by making a man out of you? Do I shackle your pitiful existence by giving it purpose?¡±


    Nyte¡¯s voice cut in, sharp and desperate. ¡°I don¡¯t care about power!¡±


    ¡°Then you don¡¯t care about life,¡± Dante snarled. His tone was cold now, final. ¡°You¡¯d rather waste away. Is that it?¡±


    ¡°I want to live. I want to¡­¡± Nyte¡¯s voice cracked, his defiance faltering. ¡°I want to rest. I want to sleep, just once without nightmares. I want to eat until I¡¯m fat, walk free with no chains, no marks, no seals. I want to be lazy. I want to be free.¡±


    Dante stepped closer, his presence looming. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. ¡°Then you want power, lad. Power to rest. Power to eat your fill. Power to walk free without someone branding your back. You think power is just about fighting?¡± He leaned in, his words like a dagger to the gut. ¡°It¡¯s not. Power is the right to be left the hell alone. Without it, you¡¯re nothing. A punching bag. Trash. A toy for others to play with.¡±


    Nyte stared at him, his face pale, streaked with tears and snot.


    Dante straightened, the anger leaving his voice, replaced by a chilling calm. ¡°Strength, boy, is the only way you¡¯ll ever have peace. And if you don¡¯t want peace¡­¡± He turned and walked away, his voice lingering like a shadow. ¡°Then you don¡¯t want to live.¡±


    Chronifer watched as Nyte crumbled, his body folding in on itself as he sobbed into the dirt. His mind raced, calculating.


    What should I do?


    After a beat, Chronifer stepped forward.


    Chronifer crouched beside Nyte, the boy¡¯s sobs muffled by the dirt. For a moment, he just watched, waiting for the storm to pass. Then, in a low, steady voice, he spoke.


    ¡°You want to quit? Fine. No one here can stop you. But if you give up now, you¡¯ll never get that farm. That peace you¡¯re begging for? You¡¯ll die before you see it.¡±


    Nyte didn¡¯t look up, his voice raw. ¡°What do you know about it? You¡¯re not a slave. You don¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Chronifer said. ¡°I don¡¯t. But I know what it¡¯s like to be trapped, to feel like nothing you do matters.¡± He paused, softening his tone. ¡°I¡¯m offering you a deal. We go through this together. I¡¯ll watch your back when it¡¯s too much, but you don¡¯t get to quit. You stay in the fight. One step at a time.¡±


    Nyte¡¯s shoulders stilled, and for a moment, Chronifer thought he¡¯d gotten through. But when the boy finally turned to him, his eyes were empty again.


    ¡°No,¡± Nyte whispered. ¡°I can¡¯t do this. I don¡¯t want to.¡± He turned away, curling into himself.


    Chronifer¡¯s jaw tightened, frustration and pity warring within him. He stood, brushing the dirt off his hands. ¡°Then stay down,¡± he said coldly. ¡°But don¡¯t expect the world to stop kicking you while you¡¯re there.¡±


    Without another word, he walked away, leaving Nyte behind in the gathering dark.

 Chapter Nine: When Change Knocks

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Nine: When Change Knocks</h2>


    The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the mansion¡¯s black-wood grounds. Chronifer strolled alongside his mother, their steps falling into a steady rhythm. The air carried a weight of approaching change ¨C his birthday loomed ever closer, and with it, a tide of expectations he could feel but not yet see.


    ¡°I''m really scared about the Sombre Remembrance, father was clear about me joining as a division lord.¡± Chronifer began. ¡°I was excited about joining but that was until he actually explained it to me, the elite group of the Spiral meant to take on the impossible missions, doesn''t that just seem ruthless?¡±


    ¡°And yet your father still lives Son¡± Slora encouraged.


    ¡°Yeah, but there is always a fear, knowing that you have to accomplish what is seen as impossible.¡± Chronifer added, remembering the odds he had to face as John, he wanted to be more than that but still, having to face impossible challenges on every turn would be maddening. Chronifer with all his dreams and ambitions was left unsure if he would even survive such a life.


    "Don''t worry; your father is the one training you, so you should have no fear.¡± Slora comforted


    ¡°I guess so, I really do.¡± His mother patted his hair gently, not ruffling his hair.


    ¡°Now did he tell you about the Spiral?¡± Slora asked, gently, her husky voice measured and light.


    ¡°Yes, on second thought, no,¡± Chronifer began but quickly corrected. ¡°He just told me how the Spiral was created by six clans and that among all of them, the Shinasho''s where the least funny,¡± He turned to his mother with raised eyebrows ¡°I''m guessing you told him that I liked Ryuu¡¯s jokes.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes I did.¡± Slora said her voice carrying a hint of a smile, chronifer looked at her beautiful face and there was one indeed.


    So Ryuu Gregor Shinasho is part of one of the clans who created the Spiral, like us the Montcroix-Wythe, interesting.


    ¡°Didn''t he tell you more about the Spiral, though?¡± slora inquired.


    ¡°Not really.¡± Chronifer answered, with a shrug


    "Well, apart from the Shinasho''s being the least fun, let me give you a little lesson on what The Spiral of Wickedness truly is," Slora began, her voice calm and familiar yet spoken with majestic resonance. "To the worlds and other organizations, we are but a mercenary group, and yes, we are that. But what we truly represent is a declaration¨Ca Declaration of freedom."


    Her tone carried a weight, each word deliberate, as if carving truth into the very fabric of existence. "We do not limit ourselves by the rules of engagements deemed too dark or too vile for others. No, we engage in all things, even the Foulest Deeds." Here, she paused, allowing the gravity of that statement to settle, branding it onto Chronifer''s soul. "But that is merely a smidgen of what makes us a declaration. We are not bound by the mere notion of payment; we choose what we desire. The amount does not choose us. All that matters is our will. We are the architects of our destiny, the shapers of our fate and of those we deem our clients and allies, unbound by the chains of morality or coin.¡±


    Before Chronifer could answer or could shake the goosebumps and chill flowing through him like a wave he saw a figure on the periphery of his vision.


    Nyte stood a short distance away, his posture unsure but his gaze focused. Ashen-skinned and lean, the boy seemed taller than Chronifer remembered. Something about his presence unsettled the moment, like a wind shifting direction.


    Slora noticed and smiled faintly. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it. I¡¯ll be in the library.¡±


    She departed, leaving the two boys alone among the towering trees. Chronifer turned to Nyte, whose expression betrayed inner conflict.


    ¡°You offered me a deal,¡± Nyte began, his voice quiet but laced with tension. ¡°Why?¡±


    Chronifer tilted his head, thrown by the question. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Why are you doing all this?¡± Nyte¡¯s words came quickly, as if he feared losing the nerve. ¡°For power? For your family? Or is it just so people fear you?¡±


    The questions hung heavy between them. Chronifer hesitated, unable to summon an answer.


    ¡°Why did you offer me companionship?¡± Nyte pressed on, his voice trembling with something raw. ¡°Was it pity? Or just another chain of kindness?¡±


    The words hit Chronifer like a hammer, forcing him to confront an uncomfortable truth. A chain of kindness¡­ is that what this is?


    Chronifer¡¯s mind raced. He remembered his life as John¡ªcutting ties with friends, betraying them, sacrificing everything for success. By the time he¡¯d reached the stars, he¡¯d been nothing but hollow, his heart devoured by cold calculation. Every move, every relationship had been a tool, a game. Was this any different?


    The answer was clear. Yes.


    But it wasn¡¯t only that. Beneath the blackened edges of his ambition flickered a faint, stubborn ember, tainted, but real, empathy. He wasn¡¯t chasing purity; he wasn¡¯t trying to redeem himself. But he was building something new, and this time, he wouldn¡¯t let it crumble into emptiness.


    Chronifer looked around the grounds, the mansion, his mother, his father, Dante, and Nyte. If they were the ones on the line, what would I do?


    He thought he could let them go. But in the silence behind that thought, the emptiness stirred, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.


    No. Not this time.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I want beyond power,¡± Chronifer admitted at last. ¡°But I know this, I won¡¯t abandon you, Nyte. Or anyone who stands with me. If I rise, we rise. Together, we¡¯ll find something worth all of this.¡±


    The words came with surprising weight, anchoring him in a way he hadn¡¯t expected. This was something new ¨C a promise, not just to Nyte, but to himself. Loyalty to my family and all I deem worthy of it.


    Nyte studied him for a long moment, as if trying to gauge the truth behind the words. Finally, he nodded, his tension easing. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Chronifer started to reply, but a voice interrupted.


    ¡°Unfortunately, all vacations must come to an end.¡±


    Dante¡¯s figure emerged from the shadows, his presence commanding as always. For a brief moment, a faint halo of light flickered behind his head before fading into nothingness.


    ¡°Your training begins tomorrow,¡± Dante announced, a faintly remorseful tone dripping from his words. ¡°Oh, and good news, Oniihino calls for you.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s mind raced. Were they waiting for this before removing the seal?


    He cast a glance at Nyte, who looked more resolute now but still uncertain. Chronifer exhaled deeply. Tomorrow begins a new chapter for both of us.


    The days crawled by towards Chronifer¡¯s sixth birthday, the weather turning colder with each passing moment. Training became routine, a dull ache fading into normalcy. Dante''s approach to training Nyte became unconventional, allowing Nyte to choose when to train. If the boy felt up to par and Dante agreed, they''d simply lounge and talk instead.


    Their time around the dining table served as a reprieve from the hard labor and toiling. His mother engaged his father in talks about politics, while Cipher would always praise her, thanking her for giving him the opportunity to focus on his blade. Meanwhile, Dante would whisper to Nyte about gambling games, offering glimpses into a world beyond training.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    There were many such moments, and Chronifer found a rhythm he enjoyed, a slow and peaceful flow. Nyte, too, seemed to be growing, his first opinion voiced during one of Slora¡¯s tea taste testing sessions, a ritual of idle luxury amidst their rigorous lives.


    Winter struck hard, colder than anything he had experienced before, but for the first time in months, Dante''s hateful shouts didn¡¯t wake him.


    Still, Chronifer rose early, tapping the sigil on the wall ¨C a habit now ingrained. Three taps and the soft light of the chandelier illuminated his room. He moved to the mirror, pausing to admire his reflection.


    Pale-golden hair tousled from sleep framed his sharp, delicate features. His golden eyes, still heavy with drowsiness, caught the light just right. ¡°Looking amazing as usual,¡± he mused, tilting his head. ¡°Truly angelic.¡±


    His skin was pale but alive, unlike Dante¡¯s ghostly complexion. His lean frame showed no outward signs of his rigorous training, but that didn¡¯t stop him from spinning in place with a wicked grin.


    ¡°Well, I look like I¡¯m going to break hearts today,¡± he declared dramatically, punctuating it with an evil laugh, although he just looked like a particularly stubborn toddler.


    His reverie broke when movement caught his eye. A flash of black hair in the mirror froze him mid-spin. His head snapped toward the figure. Slora stood there, a bemused smile on her face.


    Chronifer¡¯s stomach dropped. Kill me.


    ¡°I¡­¡± He stammered, wondering if the floorboards could swallow him whole. Slora chuckled lightly, covering her mouth.


    ¡°Happy birthday, son.¡± Her tone was soft, warm but not overly celebratory.


    Chronifer nodded stiffly, following her into the hallway. The air felt sharper, and his embarrassment clung like a second skin.


    ¡°So¡­ what now?¡± he ventured, trying to fill the silence.


    ¡°Now?¡± Slora echoed, her tone playful.


    ¡°I mean, six feels¡­ significant? You¡¯ve all been talking about it like it¡¯s special.¡±


    Slora glanced at him, her expression unreadable. ¡°Six is when children start socializing properly. It¡¯s also when formal training begins. The important part is your father¡¯s domain.¡± She paused, her gaze turning thoughtful. ¡°But there¡¯s something else you should know.¡±


    Chronifer raised a brow. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°You may face some¡­ skepticism.¡± Her words were careful, her tone measured.


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°About you being Cipher¡¯s son. Most children your age have been known to the community for six years. You, on the other hand, were officially recognized only three months ago after the Birth Moon. You look the part, your Montcroix-Wythe heritage is obvious ¨C but people love to gossip. I¡¯ve dealt with the political implications, but whispers are harder to silence.¡±


    Chronifer groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Oh, I¡¯m not going to enjoy this.


    ¡°Oh, and son, are you sure that¡¯s what you really want to wear today? The visitors may think you¡¯re taking the ball unseriously,¡± Chronifer¡¯s mother remarked with a pointed tone.


    Chronifer froze at her words, then laughed lightly. She had to be joking, right?


    ¡°Mother, you¡¯re joking... right?¡± he asked, his voice teetering between humor and disbelief. ¡°Mother?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a simple surprise party,¡± she replied, her tone dismissive. ¡°Don¡¯t overthink it. It¡¯s not just for you, but for all the kids.¡±


    Chronifer sighed, but then his panic set in. He spun on his heel and bolted back to his room to change.


    Curse this! he thought, flustered.


    Several minutes later, he finally emerged, a small mirror in hand as he meticulously adjusted his already-perfect appearance. His reflection gleamed back at him, but something about the moment felt... odd.


    Instead of heading straight to the ballroom, he made a detour to the dining room, his mind drifting toward food. As he glanced in the mirror once more, the unsettling feeling of being watched returned. He lowered it to find Nyte standing in the doorway, staring at him dubiously.


    Chronifer shrugged, offering a causal explanation. ¡°There¡¯s going to be a ball,¡± he said, as if that summed up everything.


    Nyte winced and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°Damned Dante won¡¯t let me skip this one.¡±


    ¡°Well, then we¡¯re in this together,¡± Chronifer replied with a grin, relishing the thought of having someone else share his misery.


    He studied Nyte for a moment, noting the subtle but undeniable changes in the boy. When they first met, Nyte had been like a blank canvas, with thin tears. Now, he was becoming something more, a painting in progress. Yet Chronifer couldn¡¯t help but feel uneasy about the influences shaping him.


    Most of it came from Dante: his carefree, almost reckless demeanor had left a noticeable imprint on Nyte. But there was also a hint of Cipher in the mix, reflected in Nyte¡¯s stoic silence and reactions. Still, Nyte¡¯s personality wasn¡¯t entirely borrowed. Unlike Dante or Cipher, who thrived in the limelight, Nyte shunned it entirely. He disliked praise and loathed attention, preferring solitude over spectacle.


    Nyte had kept his promise to Chronifer, though, and had shared the name of his bloodline: Blood of the Pale.


    Chronifer had been incredibly jealous. The name was so effortlessly cool. Nyte hadn¡¯t disclosed its full description, however, citing Dante¡¯s advice: never reveal the specifics of one¡¯s bloodline.


    As they entered the dining room, Chronifer¡¯s mother had already prepared food for both boys. They devoured it with a shared enthusiasm before finally making their way to the ballroom, a place Chronifer rarely visited within the vast mansion.


    One step into the ballroom, Chronifer froze, breathless. He had attended countless award shows in his past life, but as his gaze swept over the room, he realized this was something entirely different. This was not Earth. This was another world.


    The magnificence of the ballroom was overwhelming, almost oppressive. The air shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance. For a moment, Chronifer stood motionless, caught in a tangle of emotions. There was awe, yes, but also a deep, gnawing repulsion. The sheer beauty of the room felt like a cruel contrast to the harsh reality he knew this multiverse represented. His body felt cold as flashes of memory surged: the spaceship, the books he''d read, the constant reminders that this was a world of death and hardship. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder, for a fleeting moment,  how all of this beauty would come falling down.


    Its vaulted ceilings seemed impossibly high, as if they touched the heavens themselves. Crystal chandeliers floated above, untethered and cascading a glistening light across the space. The polished black-and-gold tiles below mirrored the radiance, their inlaid patterns swirling like constellations in a starry sky. Midnight-blue walls stretched endlessly, adorned with celestial murals that gave the impression of stepping into a boundless universe. Golden balconies lined the room¡¯s edges, offering a perfect view of the grandeur below.


    Chronifer had avoided this ballroom for years. It had always felt haunting in its emptiness, cloaked in shadows that seemed to watch him. But tonight, it was alive, pulsating with brilliance, even if no one else was there except for the tables of floating food, drinks, and other extravagant delights.


    He glanced at Nyte, who seemed just as out of place as he felt. Together, the two of them drifted through the space, their movements slow and cautious, as though the room itself might swallow them.


    Time slipped by as they wandered the ballroom, until a figure stepped into view.


    It was Slora.


    She wore a playful smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ¡°Well,¡± she began, her voice lilting, ¡°this was actually just a joke. There¡¯s not going to be a ball.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s face twisted in betrayal, but before he could speak, Slora raised a finger to silence him.


    ¡°But¡­¡± she continued, letting the pause hang in the air. ¡°There is going to be storytelling.¡±


    A familiar voice echoed across the room, gravelly and commanding. Dante¡¯s.


    ¡°Sit tight, lads,¡± he called from a podium at the far end of the ballroom. ¡°Here comes a story you¡¯ll never forget.¡±


    The room seemed to hold its breath as Dante began, his voice heavy with gravity.


    No doubt this was his idea. Chronifer thought with an eye roll


    ¡°This is the tale of the first mission me, Cipher, and an old friend of ours ¨CHazriel Noctis¨C ever went on. Though I should make one thing clear: Hazriel is not a coward.¡±


    Nyte arched an eyebrow, while Chronifer leaned forward, intrigued despite himself.


    ¡°It was a mission deemed impossible,¡± Dante continued, his tone grim. ¡°Countless had failed before us, young lords, princes, rising stars. All of them died. The goal? To clear a planet that had become a dungeon.¡±


    The room grew colder as Dante¡¯s words sank in.


    ¡°And the system¡¯s restriction was this: only three Rank Two''s could enter.¡±


    Before Dante could continue, the air around them seemed to ripple. A sudden, deafening buzz rang out, silencing everything.


    Chronifer froze as a message appeared before him, glowing and unmistakable:


    System Announcement!


    A new universe has been successfully integrated. Rejoice!


    The words burned into his vision, and the weight of their meaning pressed down on him.


    This was no ordinary night. This was a moment that would change his life ¨Cand the entire multiverse¨C forever.

 Chapter Ten: Words of Woman and Girls

    <h2 style="text-align: center"> Chapter Ten: Words of Woman and Girls</h2>


    <hr>


    The system message echoed in Chronifer¡¯s mind like a cold dagger. It wasn¡¯t merely a notification; it was a reminder that his former life ¨C his existence as John ¨C had been real. It wasn¡¯t a dream or a forgotten fragment of a distant past. That life was part of him, and now, it was clawing its way into his present. He could feel it in the very air: a suffocating pressure, an unbearable weight that made his heartbeat thunder. The rhythm grew frantic, pumping, surging, as if trying to answer a call he didn''t yet understand.


    Around him, his parents stood motionless. For the first time, they seemed caught off guard, their usual composure shattered as the world itself seemed to hold its breath. The air thickened, spiralling into a moment so tense it felt like reality might crack.


    System Announcement!


    A New Universe has been successfully integrated. Rejoice!


    New Universe Sealed down from outsiders.


    Duration: 36,525 Days, 24 Hours, 59 minutes, 59 seconds


    Seal Negated by Incursion challenge under system rules.


    Event for Incursion permits will be held in twelve years.


    Be prepared!


    Qualifications: Rank 1 to Rank 2


    The words reverberated through Chronifer''s body like a seismic shock. But his attention was drawn elsewhere to the change in the room.


    For a week, Nyte had shared a few stories about his parents and Dante, recounting feats that sounded larger than life. He''d described Cipher, the man who had annihilated a whole planet''s population without moving an inch. Slora, whose very name was a terror, whispered among those with secrets to hide. And Dante, the Darling of Death, whose enemies fled in droves, as though even Death itself refused to claim him.


    Until now, these tales had been nothing more than words, vivid but intangible, only hinted at by moments of extraordinary feats. But now, Chronifer felt the truth of them.


    Like a tsunami cresting the horizon, an almost visible force indescribable was unleashed from them in their shocked states.


    It was overwhelming, a power so vast it defied comprehension. It filled the air like a storm of spurs, coursing through his veins like molten sap, invading his neurons with roots that sought to rewrite his very being.


    It wasn''t just one power; it was many. He couldn''t distinguish them, only endure their combined force. One reverberated through his heart, making each beat echo as though it searched to fill a void. Another pressed against his thoughts, leaving them unmoored and untethered, drifting in an empty expanse.


    It felt like standing before something infinite -unchallenged, boundless, and waiting. A storm of contradictions tore through his mind, body, and spirit, breaking down every barrier of understanding.


    Chronifer collapsed to his knees, trembling as though his body were being rewritten at its core. His head struck the cold floor, and in that moment, through blurred vision, he caught a glimpse of Nyte. The boy was crumpled beside him, blood streaming from his nose, his eyes red and unfocused. His body was drenched in crimson, and Chronifer wasn''t sure if it was his own or another''s.


    Then the darkness came.


    It lasted less than two seconds, but it might as well have been an eternity. For the first time, Chronifer and Nyte had felt the full weight of powers that transcended mortality -powers that encroached upon realms reserved for gods.


    The two boys didn''t wake for weeks. But even as they opened their eyes again, the memory of that moment lingered, etched into their very bones.


    Chronifer woke to the sound of fierce whistling, as though the wind had found a voice and now roared with unnatural fury. The cold was a living thing, creeping into his bones and stealing his breath. His teeth clenched against the chill, and his body was drenched in a cold sweat that clung to every crevice ¨C his armpits, his palms, even the small of his back.


    The room was dim and quiet aside from the relentless wind. A faint glow came from a fire that had long since dwindled to embers, its warmth barely reaching the center of the space. Frost traced intricate patterns along the edges of the dark wooden walls, the carvings of beasts and warriors seeming to shimmer with icy breath. The floor creaked faintly under the weight of winter¡¯s chill, and the air was sharp, each inhalation cutting like glass in his throat.


    His eyes snapped open, and there she was. A woman¨Cno, a goddess at first glance¨Csat beside his bed. Her beauty was an overwhelming force, a radiance that almost blinded him. But as his senses returned, the illusion began to unravel. That purity in her features, that perfection, twisted into something darker. Her dark eyes held no warmth, only a deep, primal unease, her obsidian horns casting her away from human comfort. Her smile, curved and seemingly gentle, shifted into something sharper, more predatory. She wasn¡¯t a goddess.


    She was Oniihino, his father¡¯s first general and the Queen of Strife.


    The mistress of torment and ruin, loomed beside him. She was terrifying, yet her presence carried a familiarity that pierced through his fear, one developed from hearing his father tales of her over practice and tea. Still, Chronifer couldn¡¯t stop himself from shrinking deeper into his sheets. The memory of the pressure his parents had exuded earlier gripped him again¨Cthe weight of it, the way it made him feel insignificant, like an ant dreaming of being a sun.


    Standing beside him was another monster with such overwhelming power, he had seen her statue in the mansion before and knew of her stories told by Cipher himself.


    ¡°Darling, don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re afraid of this innocent young lady?¡± Oniihino teased, her voice dripping with playful exaggeration. Each word was accompanied by a flourish of her hands, her tone theatrical as though she were putting on a performance. She reached for a porcelain cup and saucer from a small table near the bed, handing it to him with a flourish.


    Chronifer accepted it, his hands trembling, his heart hammering faster with each passing second. He couldn¡¯t look away from her.


    ¡°As you may know, I am Oniihino, the one and only,¡± she continued with a dramatic flair, her words lilting like the opening lines of a grand speech. ¡°The most beautiful in all the worlds, universes, and dear I include the pocket realms and more. And you may call me Aunty.¡± She moved gracefully, her robes trailing behind her as she crossed from the foot of the bed to sit beside him.


    Her clothing, though casual compared to her infamous grandeur, carried an unmistakable air of timelessness. She wore a flowing robe of muted scarlet, its hem embroidered with swirling patterns reminiscent of smoke and clouds, outlined in pale gold thread. The sleeves were wide and draped gracefully as she moved, and a loose sash of dark jade cinched her waist, tied with a careless elegance. Her hair, dark as midnight, was swept into an unkempt bun secured with long pins that gleamed like polished bone. Strands of hair fell around her face, softening her sharp, otherworldly features, yet peaking from her hair were two dark horns. Despite the casualness of her attire, it carried the weight of something ancient, a style born in an age long forgotten, but still holding power and prestige.


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    She placed a hand on his shoulder, startlingly light and delicate. ¡°Won¡¯t you introduce yourself to Aunty, darling?¡± she asked, her voice softening to an almost maternal tone.


    Chronifer opened his mouth, but no sound came. His hands trembled, his breathing hitched, and tears welled in his eyes without warning. The room felt distant, his body heavier than he could bear. He could hear his sobs, faint and far away, as though they weren¡¯t his own. He felt hollow, like his very being had been severed from the moment.


    Oniihino¡¯s teasing smile faltered, replaced with a flicker of distress. Her amber eyes darted around the room, searching for something unseen, her composure cracking. It was as if empathy itself was an alien concept to her. Her hands hesitated before gently cradling his face, her expression softening as she spoke again.


    ¡°Take a deep breath, darling. You¡¯ll be fine,¡± she murmured, her tone shifting to one of quiet sincerity. ¡°It¡¯ll heal over time. I¡¯m so sorry you had to experience this. Truly, I am. But don¡¯t worry. Your Aunt will be here for you.¡±


    Her words, spoken with what seemed to be uncharacteristic empathy, wrapped around him like a blanket against the winter cold. Slowly, the sharp edges of his terror dulled. A strange calm seeped into him, softening the rigid grip of fear. His body relaxed against the sheets, and his mind surrendered to the pull of sleep once more. Oniihino¡¯s hand lingered on his shoulder as his consciousness faded, her whispered words the last thing he heard.


    The wind outside howled louder, rattling the frost-kissed window panes, but within the room, a fragile, unfamiliar warmth settled.


    When Chronifer awoke once more, the room was silent and Oniihino wasn''t there by his side, his mother was nowhere to be seen as was his father and even Dante. He tried to move his hand. It obeyed there was no stiffness to it, then he tried to move his legs, he felt heavier than anything he had ever lifted. He pushed himself into a sitting position and remembered that the last time he had awoken, there was a constant whistling of the wind, he turned to look at the window and it was blurted out with thick layers of ice, whose cold seeped into the room.


    Chronifer tried to speak. ¡°Mother¡­¡± his voice was cracked and deeper than it should have been, it was husky Like his mother, it reverberated but still it was light and small like a child''s voice.


    There was no answer to his Small call.


    He rolled off the bed and tried to stand, his legs hurt, but holding his bed he managed. He looked Around Nyte was nowhere to be seen.


    His mind flashed back to his birthday, the moment that had left him bedridden and he found the memory a blur, the pain a distant memory, there but insubstantial, ugh, he turned away from the memories with a winch from a sudden violent headache like a clearer glimpse of the memories, he decided to keep away from them for the time being.


    Slowly. painfully. He walked out of the room and into a hallway red and gold, covered with paintings of different beautiful women all clad in red and cold, their dressing light and enchanting. Are these all witches?


    He continued walking along the hall, choosing random paths as he descended. Along the way, he found a clear window, and what he saw froze him to the core.


    Chronifer had known the mansion was only a fragment of the Montcroix-Wythe clan¡¯s vast domain. He was aware of the intricate sigildry workings¨Cthough not fully understanding them, the wards that cloaked the mansion, shielding it from weather and harm. Yet seeing the winter beyond the perimeter now, he realized he had been living in paradise.


    He¡¯d glimpsed the edges of the estate once, where towering spires of black and walls of night-dark metal stretched up into the clouds. He knew those imposing structures marked the Montcroix-Wythe family compound. Yet even that, vast as it was, had been nothing compared to what lay beyond.


    Now, for the first time, Chronifer beheld Onyx Thorn ¨C the city of the Montcroix-Wythe.


    The buildings rose like ancient sentinels, towering pavilions interwoven with massive trees of dark, alien wood. The layout was immaculate, a blend of natural and unnatural that felt otherworldly. But it wasn¡¯t the architecture that arrested him. It was the suffocating embrace of winter.


    The streets were buried under an ocean of snow, shimmering in a desolate, ghostly white. Spikes of jagged ice jutted from buildings, encasing walls and roofs like grotesque adornments. The cold radiated even through the glass, and not a single soul moved through the frozen expanse.


    Chronifer stared at the scene, a shiver running through him. This was Onyx Thorn ¨C a city as harsh and unyielding as the family that ruled it.


    Chronifer shivered at the unnatural sight of the city he had only heard from his mother''s stories


    How do people survive such a winter? Chronifer wandered.


    He soon moved on, however, as even the immaculate sight of the snowstorm could not hold him. As he struggled down the hallways, muffled voices began to reach his ears.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t mean any harm, Mistress Wombessa,¡± came a younger voice, soft yet tinged with defiance.


    ¡°Shut up, child,¡± replied a stern, low-pitched feminine voice, cutting her off sharply.


    Chronifer froze, pressing himself against the cold wall, straining to hear.


    ¡°Mistress Womb¡­¡± another voice stammered, trailing off with a sharp intake of breath, as if in fear.


    Silence hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, before the chilling voice returned.


    ¡°What do you have to say for yourself, Shully?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± The girl¡¯s voice faltered, her words drowned out as the first speaker jumped in again.


    ¡°Mistress Wombessa, it wasn¡¯t her fault¡ª¡±


    A sharp cracking sound interrupted her defense. A slap? Chronifer wondered, his brow furrowing.


    ¡°You do not, ever, interrupt me,¡± Wombessa said, her voice deliberate and slow, each word a blade cutting through the air. ¡°Now, Shully?¡±


    Soft sobs reached Chronifer¡¯s ears, faint and muffled.


    ¡°Tensasa¡­ she was using Ruhira,¡± Shully¡¯s shaky voice continued, trembling but steady enough to make her point.


    ¡°How does that concern you?¡± Wombessa snapped, her tone icy and unforgiving.


    ¡°It does,¡± Shully cut in again, her voice firmer this time.


    Another sharp sound echoed ¨C a second slap, yet the girl did not falter. ¡°I¡­ I, why don¡¯t you and Oniihino protect her more? She¡¯s the kindest person here, and you¡­¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± Wombessa¡¯s voice dropped, low and menacing. ¡°You will go to the west tower and apologize to Lucene for assaulting her pupil.¡± A pause lingered, as heavy as the silence before a storm. ¡°Now.¡±


    Hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway, fading into the distance.


    Chronifer¡¯s breath hitched as Wombessa addressed one of the remaining girls. ¡°Tensasa, why do you feel you can order Ruhira around? Is it because of her kindness? Because she doesn¡¯t know when someone¡¯s requests are out of hand?¡±


    Though the question was directed at Tensasa, Chronifer had the distinct feeling the reprimand was meant for Ruhira, if she indeed was the first girl to speak, but Chronifer was only guessing.


    ¡°Do not answer,¡± Wombessa commanded, cutting through any attempt at a reply. ¡°Now, get lost.¡±


    The faint sobs of the girl were swallowed by the sound of retreating footsteps.


    Chronifer began creeping forward again, careful to avoid detection.


    ¡°Go and find your mistress,¡± Wombessa said suddenly to the remaining girl, her voice carrying a sinister edge. ¡°And pick up her visitor. Let no one see him.¡±


    A door slammed shut, leaving Chronifer with a racing heart.


    Had she seen me? he wondered.

 Chapter Eleven: A Place of Witches

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Eleven: A Place of Witches</h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifer only froze for a fraction of a second before shifting his stance, resting his back against the wall and placing one leg up casually. Folding his arms, he thought wryly, I might as well go down looking cool. It wasn¡¯t likely he was in real trouble¨Cafter all, she¡¯d called him ¡®visitor.¡¯ That was at least one point in his favor.


    He wasn¡¯t prepared for what he saw next. The girl who emerged from the curve in the hallway was... breathtaking. It wasn¡¯t just her beauty, though that alone was enough to stagger him. It was something more¨Csomething unplaceable that made her feel otherworldly. He forced himself to look at her forehead rather than her face, but the image lingered, unbidden, in his mind.


    Her sharp features carried a softness, offset by her deep green hair¨Can unusual color that shimmered as if kissed by moonlight. Her pupils'' amber. Her eyes, puffy from tears, glowed beneath oversized gold-framed glasses, their light a quiet defiance against whatever sorrow had touched her. Dangling emerald earrings swayed gently as she walked, each step a study in grace. The soft coral of her lips contrasted with her fair skin, a single vibrant note in an otherwise muted palette.


    Her attire, too, caught his attention. The dress shared similarities with the garments worn by his father and even himself, rooted in the same traditional aesthetic, but it carried a distinct elegance that set it apart. Its floor-length skirt flowed in deep violet hues, shifting to a wine-red gradient at the hem, like a sunset caught in motion. Gold embroidery danced across the fitted bodice, accentuating her figure, while loose, sheer sleeves lent an ethereal quality to her movements. The style reminded him of the structured grace his father often favored, yet it was unlike the fashions of his mother and Dante. Even her heels ¨C ornate, golden patterns glinting with each step ¨C seemed crafted for someone accustomed to commanding attention.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she said softly, her smile breaking through the traces of her earlier tears. ¡°I¡¯m Ruhira, pupil of High Mistress Oniihino. She mentioned she had a special visitor¡­ who shouldn¡¯t be seen¡­¡± She gestured for him to follow.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± Chronifer asked, keeping his tone neutral and deciding not to introduce himself just yet.


    ¡°Your room. High Mistress Oniihino will probably meet you there this evening.¡± Her steps were deliberate, unhurried, as she glanced back at him. ¡°You don¡¯t look like the High Mistress, though. She called you her nephew.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Chronifer hesitated, weighing his options before settling on the simplest explanation. ¡°It¡¯s a distant relation.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. I don¡¯t believe you,¡± she said with a startling frankness. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but she said you and your friend are her nephews. He¡¯s a Sitsi¡¯an¨Cnot even half-human, pure. You¡¯re human, which is believable, but you look more like¡­¡±


    Her words trailed off, and her expression shifted as realization struck.


    ¡°You¡¯re the Montcroix-Wythe son¨Cthe one who didn¡¯t get the birthmoon.¡±


    Chronifer sighed, the weight of recognition pressing down on him. With a small, dramatic bow, he replied, ¡°I¡¯m Chronifer Montcroix-Wythe. Nice to meet you. You mentioned my friend. Where can I find him?¡±


    For a moment, Ruhira froze, her amber eyes wide as she studied him closely. Then, with surprising grace, she dropped to one knee and bowed deeply. ¡°My liege, this Sister greets you.¡±


    Chronifer blinked, caught completely off-guard. He stammered the first thing that came to mind. ¡°Uh¡­ you may stand?¡±


    She rose quickly, though her sudden deference left Chronifer grappling with a new, uncomfortable thought: Was he seen as royalty? A young master?


    ¡°W-welcome to the Jade Coven,¡± she said, her voice faltering as though unsure how to address him now.


    Jade Coven? The name intrigued him. That sounds amazing. But instead, he asked, ¡°My friend, where is he?¡± Clearing his throat, he added, ¡°And what¡¯s the Coven about?¡±


    ¡°Your friend was carried off by one of my master''s comrades, who I now guess was¡­ was Cowardicelore¡­¡± Her eyes darted around as she spoke the name.


    So Dante took him. I hope he''s fine. What about my parents?


    After a moment or two after nothing happened, she seemed to remember his other question. ¡°You don¡¯t know? The Jade Coven is one of the main powers in Onyx Thorn. Some even count it among the great families under your clan.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s confusion must have been plain on his face. He avoided her gaze, suddenly finding the walls more interesting.


    ¡°Well,¡± he started carefully, ¡°to be fair, my education was focused elsewhere ¨C fighting, monsters, survival.¡± He shrugged, his voice husky yet still holding a pronounced childishness. ¡°Family politics wasn¡¯t exactly a priority.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t blaming you,¡± she said softly, her tone carrying a sincerity that caught him off-guard. ¡°Sorry¡­¡±


    Her apology was genuine, not the hollow kind meant to soothe pride. Chronifer noted this, appreciating it more than he cared to admit.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind telling you about the Jade Coven¨Cor the other families¨Cat least what I know about them,¡± she offered, her voice steadying. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind listening.¡±


    Chronifer smiled, extending his hand with deliberate confidence. ¡°Certainly, Ruhira?¡±


    ¡°Ruhira,¡± she confirmed, clasping his hand firmly, though a slight tremor betrayed her nerves. ¡°Pupil of High Mistress Oniihino and former daughter of the Nocthegen family.¡±


    The formality of her introduction seemed to anchor her, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Yet a flicker of unease remained in her emerald-green eyes.


    ¡°Well,¡± she began, smoothing her glasses with a deliberate motion. ¡°The Jade Coven is part of the Caj¡¯malarie ¨C or, as some might translate it, the Witch Sisters. Though the Endless tongue doesn¡¯t quite capture the depth of the meaning.¡±


    Caj¡¯malarie means Witch Sister. So calling herself a sister fits, I guess. Chronifer almost shrugged but stopped himself, watching her adjust her glasses again, her face brightening with enthusiasm.


    ¡°The Caj¡¯malarie,¡± she continued, her voice gaining momentum, ¡°is led by High Mistress Oniihino, who also oversees all the coven leaders. She¡¯s the head of heads, so to speak.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Chronifer interrupted, raising a hand, his curiosity piqued. ¡°Does she have her own coven? I mean, I saw her here not long ago.¡±


    Ruhira smiled softly, as though indulging a child¡¯s earnest question. ¡°Why would she need a coven when she already commands them all? Every coven leader answers to her.¡±


    Chronifer nodded slowly. That¡­ makes sense, I guess.


    ¡°Although,¡± Ruhira added, her tone lightening with a hint of pride, ¡°the High Mistress does favor the Jade Coven. It¡¯s where her office is, after all, and where the entire Caj¡¯malarie began. You could say it¡¯s the heart of everything.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Chronifer muttered. ¡°But if she¡¯s in charge of everyone, does the Jade Coven even have its own leader?¡±


    Ruhira chuckled, the sound soft and amused. ¡°Funny you asked. You¡¯ve already met her, Under Mistress Wombessa, the leader of the Jade Coven and High Mistress Oniihino¡¯s right hand.¡±


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    ¡°Oh,¡± Chronifer said, the memory clicking into place. He hesitated, recalling the sounds of harsh slaps from earlier. ¡°And the other covens? Are their leaders¡­ different?¡±


    ¡°I bet.¡± She began. ¡°From what I hear, the only Under Mistress as harsh as Wombessa is Ba¡¯awolewa of the Shagus Clan Coven. The others are¡­ easier to work with, or so they say.¡± She said conversationally, adjusting her glasses.


    So each clan within the spiral has a coven. He thought.


    Pale light poured in through the evenly spaced windows, each beam shimmering faintly as it broke through thick layers of ice clinging stubbornly to the glass. The reddish stone walls radiated a low, steady heat that seemed at odds with the frost outside. Carved into the stone were intricate designs that shifted subtly in the flickering light, as though alive, watching, waiting.


    Chronifer in a moment of silent went through the knowledge he had acquired.


    First was the name Shagus, he only knew of his Clan and the Shinasho¡¯s due to his father surprising hate of their jokes and now he knew one more the Shagus. He had also noted the fact that Ruhira had introduced herself has Oniihions student which he surmised made her very important, he also did not miss her calling Wombessa Oniihinos right hand woman, or the name of the Shagus under mistress.


    But before he could continue his series of shockingly fast thought threads Ruhira spoke. ¡°... Shully is the real unlucky one.¡±


    ¡°Sorry I didn¡¯t hear you?¡± He asked.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing,¡± Ruhira said, with a small smile.


    ¡°What do you guys do?¡± Ruhira who''s walking pace had increased significantly tilted her head at that. ¡°The Caj''malarie.¡±


    ¡°Oh, simple actually,¡± She began in understanding. ¡°We are masters at politics, business and teaching. Look into the politics, business and education systems of the Spiral and you''ll find us there. We also do a bit of other things¡­¡± She ended with a mysterious edge.


    Chronifer immediately asked about the ¡°other things,¡± but Ruhira, clearly in a playful mood, began teasing him with non-answers.


    After a bit of silence filled only by the melodic steps of both Chronifer and Ruhira after her teasing, Chronifer offered another question.¡°Is there anything else i need to know?¡± he said.


    ¡°Oh, you need to know everything,¡± Ruhira replied with a sly smile as they climbed another staircase. The steps felt strangely warm beneath his slippers, faint grooves worn into the stone from countless years of use. ¡°Otherwise, you might cause a war ¨C or worse, a feud.¡± She seemed more at ease now, her tone growing playful.


    ¡°The Caj''malarie, like most organizations in the multiverse, exists to gain power. But we also help¡­ as advisors, mostly. Of course, we''re known for our darker work. Plagues, catastrophes, the kind of destruction that makes the multiverse tremble.¡±


    She turned, a smile curling on her lips, but her eyes gleamed with something darker. Chronifer shivered. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her knuckles white ¨C a signal of something restrained, something volatile beneath her calm exterior. ¡°Imagine starting a feud with us.¡±


    Chronifer was amazed and by the shaking of his hands, scared. The light flickered faintly across the stone walls, casting fleeting shadows that danced like specters. Yet So much power, he thought. This was real power, the kind that had been unattainable in his past life as John, constrained by rules, reality, and his own insignificance, in the grand scheme of the existence he had known.


    But here, his limit wasn¡¯t shallow, or made so by the very rules of existence, no.


    Here, his limit was boundless.


    Their conversation continued as they ascended, the winding stairs seeming endless. Chronifer glanced back, surprised by how far they had climbed. His legs burned faintly, but the steady warmth emanating from the walls helped ease the strain.


    Ruhira, undeterred, continued her lesson. ¡°On the topic of the great families, there are fourteen under the Montcroix-Wythe. I don¡¯t know everything about them, but I can at least tell you their names. It¡¯ll help you recognize someone when they inevitably try to impress ¨C or threaten ¨C you with their lineage.¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± Chronifer prompted, curiosity piqued.


    ¡°There are the Nocthegn,¡± she began, then paused, glancing at him with a wry smile.


    Chronifer caught the look and frowned. ¡°Oh, oh.¡± He exclaimed in realization. ¡°You¡¯re from one of the great families.¡±


    ¡°I was part of one,¡± she replied, her tone shifting slightly. ¡°I¡¯ve moved on.¡±


    Chronifer noted the subtle edge in her voice¡ªpride mixed with something deeper, more guarded. He thought to press her for details but held back, filing it away for later.


    ¡°Anyhow,¡± Ruhira continued briskly, ¡°then there¡¯s the Dreuxmore. They¡¯re basically strategic geniuses, generation after generation. I bet it¡¯ll still be the same now.¡± She climbed another step, her voice bouncing lightly off the stone walls. ¡°Then there¡¯s L¨¦ovarre, Scaevus, Morcaide, Tou¡¯ken, Lofthan, Oranxi, Thrivlanky, Polack-Dot, Vorrik, Azielis, S¨¦lian, and Drosian.¡±


    Chronifer tilted his head. ¡°That¡¯s it? You¡¯re not going to tell me anything about them?¡±


    Ruhira sighed, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but my knowledge of them is... patchy at best. The Nocthegen, Dreuxmore, and maybe the Vorrik, I could give you something on them. The rest? They¡¯re just names to me.¡±


    He hummed thoughtfully. ¡°Still, knowing the names is a good start.¡±


    Ruhira nodded, continuing up the stairs. ¡°Just remember, every one of them will have a reputation they expect you to know. A single misstep, like calling someone a Polack when they¡¯re a L¨¦ovarre, could cost you an ally or gain you an enemy.¡±


    Chronifer chuckled dryly. ¡°Sounds exhausting.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it is,¡± she replied with a grin. ¡°But that¡¯s the price of power. You¡¯ll figure it out soon enough.¡±


    Chronifer raised an eyebrow. ¡°But... Can I really make an enemy of them? Aren¡¯t they all under the Montcroix-Wythe clan?¡±


    Ruhira laughed, a sharp, knowing sound. ¡°Oh, absolutely. You could gain an enemy easily. They might refuse to work with you ¨C no trade, no diplomacy, no missions. And that kind of blow can cost you far more than you''d think.¡±


    Hmm, stressful. She seems to know a lot about politics. I see the advisor part of the Witches now.


    A silence fell between them as they continued walking, the faint echoes of their footsteps the only sound in the air. Chronifer felt the weight of a choice lingering. He could keep her at arm¡¯s length, like so many others from his past life, or...


    ¡°Do you want to be friends?¡± Chronifer asked, his tone light but sincere. ¡°You can tell me all your witch stuff and stop by to visit me every now and then.¡±


    They reached his room just as he finished, the curved hallways behind them giving way to a private space.


    ¡°Sure thing, Chronifer,¡± Ruhira replied with a smile, waving as she turned to leave.


    He walked into the small room and shut the door. Almost immediately, boredom assaulted him like relentless waves. There was no book to read, no sword to practice with ¨C only the monotony of silence. Sleep seemed like the only escape.


    But it didn¡¯t last long.


    ¡°Darling, are you going to sleep through my visit again?¡± Oniihino¡¯s voice, smooth and lilting, slipped into his dreams. ¡°Although, you should know, I¡¯ll be away for a few days.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s eyes snapped open, his heart already racing.


    ¡°Up, up now, darling,¡± Oniihino said lightly, standing at the foot of his bed. Her garment was as stylish as ever, a rich emerald hue that shimmered faintly under the dim light. Her figure was graceful, charming, yet predatory.


    ¡°Good day¡­¡± Chronifer hesitated, unsure how to address her.


    ¡°Oh, dear, just call me Aunty¨Cor even ¡®dear¡¯ if you prefer,¡± she suggested with an amused calm, moving closer to sit at the edge of the bed.


    ¡°Good day, Aunty,¡± he said cautiously, instinctively shuffling a fraction away. Her presence felt overwhelming, like a storm contained within a human form. Yet, she only smiled, shifting slightly closer.


    Ugh. This woman.


    ¡°The Council has summoned the new generation of the Spiral to the Eyeless Center in one week,¡± she began, her tone both pitying and knowing. ¡°I¡¯ll escort you when the time comes, but let me warn you now¨Cyour life is about to become Damnation. Truly.¡±


    Her words hung in the air, heavy with foreboding.


    ¡°I know your education has been¡­ limited, but let me tell you this: everything will soon descend into chaos. Bedlam. Most will not survive what¡¯s coming. Your parents were wise to begin your training in the arts first. These days you have left, these fleeting days of peace¨Cwill be the last you¡¯ll know for years. Rest while you can.¡±


    Chronifer wanted to speak, to ask a dozen questions about his parents or what she meant by ¡®bedlam,¡¯ but his tongue felt heavy, his mind reeling.


    ¡°Your parents are caught up in the Council¡¯s plans,¡± she continued, her voice softer now. ¡°You won¡¯t be seeing them anytime soon.¡± She paused, her eyes briefly meeting his, something almost maternal flickering there.


    Before he could respond, she stood. The air around her seemed to shift as though the room bent to her presence.


    ¡°For now, I¡¯ll leave you with these words¡± she said, her voice steady and formal. Then like a memory she was gone and like a storm Chronifer¡¯s mind thundered Into motion.


    "What bedlam?" Chronifer whispered to the empty room, his heart a drumbeat of dread.

 Chapter Twelve: Show Me Your Most Vile Creation

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Twelve: Show Me Your Most Vile Creation </h2>


    <hr>


    The dread drove into Chronifer¡¯s heart like a stab, his mind only now fully awakening as it quivered against Oniihino¡¯s words. His thoughts churned, relentless and suffocating, each question mounting one after another, yet despite the promise of chaos, death, and change, he found a strange sense of quiet. He had expected this¨Cthe very thing his training had prepared him for. No longer lost in the illusion of a world tilting toward ruin, he stood at its edge¨Cand that, in itself, calmed him, if only a little. The danger loomed, yes, but it was no longer an unseen event, a distant shadow beyond the horizon. He could feel it now¨Ccloser, more tangible¨Cbut still beyond his comprehension.


    His mind still quivered at an unknown danger. What form of chaos lay ahead? What bedlam stood before him? And would his training¨Cshort as it was¨Cbe enough to help him?


    More questions lingered: When would he see his parents again? Who were these mysterious Council members? And was all of this tied to the Integration? He believed it was, but he couldn¡¯t be sure.


    With a deep sigh, he sank back into the softness of his bed, his eyes drifting toward the frozen world outside the glass. His heart raced, beating in time with the steady rhythm of fear


    <hr>


    The next morning, a sharp knock jolted him awake. Chronifer groaned, his mind foggy and his body sluggish as he swung open the door. Standing there was a new face looking down at him.


    The girl before him exuded an air of youthful mischief, her jet-black hair cut into a tousled bob that framed her sharp features. Tattoos of intricate designs peeked from under her sleeves, winding like tendrils along her pale arms. She stood with the kind of nonchalance that suggested she was used to being where she didn¡¯t belong, her intense eyes glimmering with amusement.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Chronifer grumbled, irritated at the intrusion.


    He groaned inwardly. I thought I wasn¡¯t supposed to be seen. But¡­ why?


    The girl opened her mouth to respond, but she was promptly pushed aside by a more familiar figure: Ruhira.


    ¡°She¡¯s Shully,¡± Ruhira explained, her voice steady as she shifted a stack of books in her arms. ¡°My best friend and pupil of Mistress Wombessa.¡±


    ¡°Good morning!¡± Shully chimed with a grin. ¡°Can we come in?¡±


    Chronifer sighed, stepping aside. He wasn¡¯t particularly in the mood for company, but resistance felt pointless.


    ¡°Sure,¡± he muttered.


    The girls entered, heading straight to the small wooden desk in the corner of the room. They deposited the books with an audible thud before turning their attention back to him. Chronifer shuffled back toward the bed, still trying to shake off his grogginess.


    Shully leaned conspiratorially toward him, her grin widening. ¡°So, I hear you¡¯re a Montcroix-Wythe. Did you know there are rumors going around? About you?¡±


    ¡°Shully,¡± Ruhira interjected sharply, drawing her friend¡¯s name out in a slow warning tone, although her expression said she was interested


    ¡°What? I don¡¯t believe them,¡± Shully said with a mock-innocent shrug, her playful demeanor unshaken. ¡°But you know, girls talk. I hear things.¡±


    Chronifer groaned, rubbing his temple. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of what people say. Could you let me wake up properly first? And by the way, where do I even take a bath? I smell awful.¡±


    Ruhira winced apologetically. ¡°That¡¯s... a bit of a problem. This wing doesn¡¯t actually have a bath. You¡¯ll have to manage for the week.¡±


    Chronifer stared at her, unblinking. His left eye twitched.


    ¡°Great,¡± he muttered, sinking back onto the bed.


    Shully giggled, plopping down in the chair beside the desk. ¡°You¡¯re going to love it here, Montcroix-Wythe. No baths, endless rumors, and the most charming company. What more could you want?¡±


    ¡°Shully,¡± Ruhira scolded again, shooting her friend a glare.


    But Shully only laughed, her playful energy undiminished. Chronifer buried his face in his hands. It was going to be a long week.


    ¡°We''ve been tasked with building a blueprint for our leaves, at least one from each branch,¡± Ruhira said, her voice filled with eager determination. ¡°And both the High Mistress and Under Mistress said you could help us. What do you think?¡±


    Chronifer was out of his bed in an instant.


    ¡°I¡¯m so in!¡± he replied, his eyes shining. ¡°So, what are we doing?¡±


    Chronifer had learned about blueprints from the book A Tree Within. He was hooked on the concept and eager to gain some practical experience. Although they would need¡­


    ¡°Well, both of you can do mine,¡± Shully said, stretching as if she had just woken up. ¡°I slept late last night.¡±


    Chronifer glanced at Shully, noticing something. She didn¡¯t bow or do anything formal, something he had expected when meeting people. Strange. He made a mental note to ask Ruhira about it later.


    ¡°No, you''re not getting out of this one,¡± Ruhira reprimanded, sending a stern look at her friend. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ what are we doing?¡± Chronifer asked, eager to move forward.


    Ruhira had to be the kindest person he¡¯d met in this life. He looked at her as she opened her mouth to explain, a flicker of doubt passing through his mind. I hope she survives through it.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ll be working on three of my branches and two of Shully¡¯s,¡± she explained, pulling out some books. ¡°Creating a leaf is always difficult because of the need to chase uniqueness.¡± She brought out three thick blackish leather objects from the stack and placed them on the table.


    Chronifer walked up to them. ¡°Are these¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Architect''s Ledgers!¡± Shully said, placing her palms on his shoulders. Chronifer was about to react, but her next words sent him into a fit of laughter. ¡°Where all ideas go to get a reality check of how mundane they are.¡±


    The author of A Tree Within had used a similar phrase. Chronifer smiled, feeling a bit of comfort slip in as he finally felt on steady ground. His mother¡¯s education had prepared him for most of this.


    I¡¯m definitely not dumb. I know enough about the Soul Tree and essence flow control, although that won¡¯t be useful until I¡¯m sixteen. But I can work with this.


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    ¡°So¡­¡± Chronifer hesitated, knowing that asking about people¡¯s branches could be a sensitive matter. ¡°What are your branches?¡±


    ¡°Oh, sorry,¡± Ruhira began, a touch of frustration in her voice. ¡°Mine are quite rare and a bit hard to work with. High Mistress Oniihino says it¡¯s a good thing, lots of the leaves I create turn out unique, but it¡¯s super hard to create what¡¯s expected of a witch from them and have the idea get a good potential rating.¡±


    Chronifer could feel her frustration, but he wasn¡¯t the one to ease her mind.


    ¡°I keep telling you, your branches are cool,¡± Shully said, peeling her hands off Chronifer¡¯s shoulders and slinging an arm around Ruhira¡¯s. ¡°You just haven''t seen it yet. One day, people are going to want your branches.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Shully,¡± Ruhira said, seeming to regain her enthusiasm.


    ¡°Just telling the truth,¡± Shully assured her.


    ¡°Hmm, my branches are: Scarlet, Sanguine, Crimson, and Ruby. That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s going to be a lot of fun to work with,¡± Chronifer said, his mind blanking on ideas. Well, I never said I would have any ideas. He excused his vacant mind.


    ¡°You think so?¡± Ruhira asked, her smile hopeful. ¡°Do you have any ideas?¡±


    ¡°Well, I need to hear what these expectations for a witch¡¯s leaves are first,¡± Chronifer said


    ¡°Oh sure.¡± Ruhira said, her voice sharpening with clarity. ¡°A witch''s leaves are meant to embody absolute power¨Cno limits, no rules¨Cjust the raw ability to take what should never belong to us. Life, death, emotions, the elements, even time itself¨Call of it is ours to twist, corrupt, and remake as we see fit. It¡¯s about breaking the world apart and putting it back together in ways that make people fear what you¡¯ll do next, but that can also be of assistance to allies. That¡¯s what¡¯s expected of a witch. And my branches¡­ well, they don¡¯t always give me that kind of control.¡±


    Chronifer looked at her, remembering her words in the stairwell.


    Okay, so witches are absolutely wmd¡¯S but there''s more than that explanation though¡­ He thought his mind connecting dots between his image of the Caj''malarie and the expectations.


    ¡°What about you, Shully?¡± He turned to the other girl, curious about her reply.


    ¡°I was getting jealous you didn¡¯t care,¡± Shully said, dramatically wiping her eyes. ¡°Anyway, mine are¡­¡± She took a few steps back.


    ¡°Scale,¡± she said, mimicking the movement of a scale with her two palms measuring, judging. ¡°Oaths.¡± She linked her fingers together like a chain, connecting, holding. ¡°Bound.¡± She disconnected her linked fingers in a quick motion, clasping her fists around each wrist, subduing, limiting. ¡°Shatter.¡± She traced her hands slowly across her skin, then wrapped them into tight fists. She opened both hands in a sharp movement, destroying, severing.


    Chronifer was intrigued and found himself applauding. Shully seemed pleased and bowed with one fist clasped within the other.


    "That''s a solid list of branches, easy to think up things with. But the uniqueness and potential can be tricky," Chronifer said with a smile. "Anyway, don''t either of you have any ideas?"


    "I''ve run out," Ruhira admitted. "I get fifty to eighty percent uniqueness, but the potentials are all between zero and twenty."


    Chronifer patted her forearm, since he couldn¡¯t reach her shoulders. Then he turned to Shully, who was shaping up to be a fun addition to their work.


    "Well, I think I¡¯ve got one or two, maybe three or four... It''s hard to keep track," she replied to his look.


    "Well, try them out. Let me see," Chronifer urged. He caught Ruhira shaking her head by his side. I''m definitely going to think of something.


    "Okay, little man, okay," she said, walking over to the armchair. She picked up a golden quill lined with golden feathers.


    I''ve definitely got to grow up, how do they even take me seriously? He thought looking at the ground which seemed ready to kiss him.


    Chronifer stood beside her, intrigued, while Ruhira stood behind the chair, her eyebrows raised.


    Shully¡¯s hand moved decisively, and as the quill touched the Architect''s Ledger, golden light erupted, as though she had cracked the surface of the Ledger. Chronifer¡¯s eyes widened with a gleam; the quill didn''t move, but he could see ghostly flickers of gold, like shadows of Shully''s hand moving across the leather surface of the Ledger, writing in the depiction of the endless tongue. More cracks appeared across the leather surface of the Ledger, and below, two percentage counters fluctuated, jumping between zero and one hundred percent.


    Then it all ended, the gold vanishing as if it were a fleeting dream.


    But then the two percentage counters appeared once more, this time settling at the center of the leather surface of the Ledger, revealing the potential and uniqueness of Shully¡¯s idea.


    Uniqueness (45.08%)


    Potential (69.99%)


    ¡°That looked amazing.¡± Chronifer exclaimed the first flashy mystical sight he had seen. I wonder what the mechanics behind it. Well, whatever.


    Ruhira looked at him then she smiled darkly, ¡°you won''t be saying that for much longer.¡± She said her voice was eerie.


    ¡°Another bad one.¡± Shully mumbled frustrated. ¡°Ahh, how are we supposed to get both ninety to hundred percent on both  uniqueness and potential?¡± She said her voice sounded too dramatic.


    Shully looked ready to cry, Chronifer didn''t know if he was supposed to believe her emotions but he just held her shoulder for assurance, although he didn¡¯t really care, he just wanted to put a quill on the leather and go wild but then something caught his attention, her skin cold against his palm, almost like that of a snake. Weird, Chronifer thought but tried not to react.


    ¡°Okay then, let me give this a try.¡± Ruhira said, tapping Shully to stand up. She sat down and began the process once more, Chronifer stood by her side for the first minute in amazement, after the second he looked at Shully, she only offered a shrug, her face passive. She sat on the bedside, like that the minutes passed and turned to hours. Chronfier not knowing when Shully had slept off.


    He sat on the floor by the side of the bed, his boredom mounted and he began thinking of an idea for Ruhira branches, with the minutes his idea grew from an unrealised mess to something sensible and from there made slow progress.


    ¡°Is this supposed to take this long?¡± He mumbled, not expecting an answer.


    ¡°Yes, for more intricate ideas it takes anywhere from one to eleven hours.¡± Shully offered as she sat up.


    She giggled. ¡°You know what I did back there was a basic practical example to show someone.¡± She giggled as if she''d been waiting for him to ask that question.


    ¡°You¡­ you made me feel it only took a few minutes.¡± Chronifer accused, his small yet husky voice sounding betrayed. Damned the tree within for only touching upon the ledger and not fully exploring it.


    ¡°Yeah, and it''s always fun to watch.¡± Shully laughed. ¡°Well, I am sorry about it, but I really couldn''t help myself and don''t forget Ruhira knew as well.¡± She said innocently then mumbled, ¡°too bad she didn''t get to see your reaction.¡±


    Chronifer sighed, that was when the hunger hit him, and his stomach didn''t wait before making its emptiness privy to the world. It growled, drawing Shully¡¯s attention and Chronifer¡¯s embarrassment.


    ¡°I''m famished.¡± Chronifer said in a low voice. He sighed, how do I even get food?


    Shully ruffled his hair, then jumped off the bed and walked majestically to the door. ¡°I''ll be back with some goodies.¡± She smiled, her shine raised up like that of a hero. ¡°You''re going to lend me a hand with my branches though, right?¡± She asked puffed chested.


    ¡°Certainly.¡± He said, God , anything for food.


    She opened the door. ¡°Maybe a child''s idea would certainly work.¡± And then she was gone, Chronifer left eye twitched once more, he took in a deep breath and sighed he supposed he had to remember he was still a short little kid.


    Not long after that Ruhira stared and Chronifer was on his feet in an instant, gaze glued to the Architect''s Ledger.


    Once again the golden light vanished and then a few seconds after reappeared.


    Uniqueness (90.97%)


    Potential (80.99%)


    ¡°Fuck this!¡± Exclaimed Ruhira, slapping the Ledger away. One look at Chronifer and all her anger drained away. ¡°I''m so sorry, Just a little point and I would have had it. It''s really frustrating. I''m so sorry.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no issue,¡± he offered but rephrased, when he saw that her eyes were getting moist. ¡°Don''t worry I''ve got quite the idea. I just need a bit of food¡­¡±


    Shelly slammed into the room with a full tray of food and a silly smile on her face. Well, here we go.

 Chapter Thirteen: O’Cunning Witch

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Thirteen: O¡¯Cunning Witch</h2>


    <hr>


    ¡°Are you sure you''ve got all the procedures down?¡± Ruhira asked her emerald eyes, gazing unblinking, her coral painted lips pinched into a line.


    ¡°I''ve definitely got it.¡± Chronifer assured for the umpteenth time, rolling his eyes.


    He Packed his pale golden hair into a man bun, and proceeded to scratch at his neck it itched fiercely, Just the first day and I''m already dying. Chronifer wondered what will become of his completion.


    ¡°Okay then, here goes nothing.¡± He said, pushing past his fear of losing his clear skin.


    Chronifer lowered his oily hands clasped around the quill to the Architect''s Ledger and¡­ Nothing happened, except from a giggle escaping Shully. It sounded like she had been trying to suppress it, then like a dam it burst out of her in spurts.


    Chronifer turned to her, her silence through most of Ruhira''s more detailed explanation over their snack break on how to use the Ledger now seemed suspicious.What had we been missing?


    ¡°You¡­ you guys looked so serious.¡± She said pushed out between fits of laughter. ¡°Ahh, tell me how did you guys expect to use the Ledger without essence?¡± Shully asked with a teasing smile that promised a joke of whoever answered it.


    How could I have forgotten about that? Chronifer thought embarrassed at his total and utter folly, he slowly looked away from the girl and faced the Ledger.


    ¡°Oh, he really hasn''t unlocked his essence yet¡­ and besides that¡­¡± Ruhira began with a sheepish smile. ¡°He won''t be able to work on my branches without channeling essence through it.¡±


    Shully burst into another fit of laughter. ¡°Your look of realization is just amazing.¡± Looking at her friend Ruhira seemed to find the whole situation funny and burst into laughter as well, both laughter grew as they seemed to feed off each other''s manic laughter until only coughs seemed left of the joy.


    Chronifer unfortunately did not find the situation funny, he had just wanted the moment to pass quickly, instead the opposite.


    He knew Essence would only be available to him when he reached sixteen and also the ability to unlock his branches but his mind seemed to have skipped that fact.


    ¡°Ahh, that was fun,¡± Shully entoned in a fulfilled voice. ¡°The child lord here, probably still has the restricted system, and is far from having his soul tree accept essence. And like you mentioned, Ruhira, you have to channel the essence, even if he had the essence to make the Ledger work, since it''s with your branches you need to channel the essence through his hand.¡± She took in a small inhale and smiled smugly.


    ¡°Aww, thank you, you''re the absolute best.¡± Rubira praised her friend, who seemed to glow under the praise.


    ¡°It''s nothing, I''m just built like a sage.¡± Shully agreed, nodding with an accepting smile.


    ¡°Okay then, let''s do this.¡± Chronifer exclaimed once more. Silence. Then the two girls burst into laughter again for another long agonising minutes.


    God, is this the crime of mistakes.


    When they finally stopped, Shully seemed to have gotten her fill of laughter and actually gave them instructions, Ruhira placed her hand over Chronifers. Her soft pale palms covered him entirely and he could only curse his body as to how small it was.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡± She asked, standing at the side of the desk. He didn''t answer immediately, he turned to the window and saw that the Pale sunlight still shone beyond the window, it seemed they were in the late afternoon, he took in a breath and then nodded slowly.


    ¡°Yes, you know the branch already.¡± He answered. Dropping his hand, this time with less fanfare and reverence.


    The vertigo slammed into him like a barrage, he felt like he had been spun around for hours and was let loose violently, his eyes saw countless colours of lights, his ears heard a shirking whistling noise that seemed to unleash spikes of pain straight into his brain, his heart sounded like a chaotic engine pump sparking embers into flames.


    Like a rising tidal wave the feelings mounted, climbing like a unending storm leaving disasters and wreaking havoc and then¡­ utter and pure quiet, like he had been tossed into the eye of the storm and he found peace, and then before him like Rubira had tried to described he saw an endless constellation of stars, only it was so much more than her words could capture, Chronifer froze awestruck.


    This¡­ this is beautiful.


    Before him the Constellation of stars blazed like multiple suns, their colours varying, like a kaleidoscope of colours, and every single one of them not just sounded but slammed meaning into his mind.


    There was no explanation befitting the impartment of knowledge but there before him, one thundered its meaning like a burst artery spurting blood like a steam pot, it echoed of endless bleeding and suffering, the loss of vitality, it was the aspect of blood loss.


    Chronifer had found himself before the cosmic interpretations of a Law, one of Ruhira¡¯s branches: Scarlet.


    If Chronifer had knees he would have fallen, there was no word he knew that could describe his emotions, his awe at Ruhira talk about the power of the Caj''malarie, his respect at his parents and clan might, His clouded fear of the might as well. They all seemed so far away from him, the ability to have his name among the rank of those he feared and respected, but here as if painted on the universe laid his path to that level. Maybe even above.


    Ruhira had told him the name of this place. The Constellation of Laws she''d called it. A place where all of the multiverse Laws are broken down into smaller parts know as aspects, these laws are of everything, known and unknown and it is from this place that the races come to forge a leaf to harness the powers of their branches, their affinities and link to these multiversal laws.


    And Chronifer was here to do just that.


    He felt a bubbling joy fill him up like a bottle about to burst open.


    Before him he looked at a billion, trillion, no, countless amounts of aspects to the scarlet law, that stretched endlessly in all directions.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He tried moving his hands¡­ nothing, and the rest of his body ended at the same result, only his eyes seemed to function. Yet he didn''t panic and it was definitely not because Shully had thankfully pointed the fact out to him.


    Okay, first think of the aspects you feel lay at the foundation of your idea. Chronifer recited Ruhira¡¯s quick lesson. Aspects he knew was a partial explanation to the law


    He thought of his idea and found a few aspects, first was solar energy, how do I¡­


    The Constellation seemed to spin like a globe before him or was it him who was lurched around? He had no idea, and didn''t care one bit, he just had a feeling he couldn¡¯t explain, it overcame him.


    From before him the meaning of the Constellation Flowed into his mind and like a peripheral noise the other meanings also sneaked into his ear but with focus he seemed to cut them off and focus on the Star, no. aspect. Before him.


    It declared endless energy from the heavens, energy from the light, from the celestial kings. His amusement mounted, he heard no voice, saw no writing, yet he just knew.


    Amidst his amazement his perspective shifted as if consumed by a vision, he saw a young boy, he kneeled in seeming exhaustion, around him laid a desolate, and ash covered Landscape offering no hope or solace of survival for only death lingered yet when the boy finally moved, he gazed not on the hopeless landscape but upon his blood covered hand and cast on it was the sun, its colour red, angry and majestic, the boy looked up, pressing his hands back against his gaping wound and smiled at the sun, like it has rekindled something deep within him he struggled to his feet once more and took one step forward and then another.


    Yes. this is it! He exclaimed his emotions heavy, the vision had held a raw emotion that did not dwindle his amazement but instead seemed to kindle his dreams and drive, the vision had given him hope and fire.


    Then from a distance as if a thought forgotten yet recognized has forgotten he felt his hand move and the wooden quill against his fingers.


    Before him a mini star appeared burning brightly but like the giant aspects before him gave off zero heat, or cold.


    Then he thought about another aspect. One he highly predicted most people had linked with Scarlet. Heat, unbearable heat.


    Once again the myriad constellations of aspects rolled and Chronifer found himself facing an aspect.


    The meaning came this time like many whispers, from all directions and non, it whispered of warmth, warmth so deep it reached the bones, Then came the vision, a hunting gore covered room dyed a deep scarlet hue, blood sprayed and poled everywhere, boiling and sizzling with a mix of flesh and chunks unrecognisable organs. The room boiled, the colour of its light changed due to the heat, it warped the air in a scarlet haze, it lurched away from Chronifers mind with his acceptance, before him slightly to his right side two aspects now lingered.


    He paused for a moment, the vision having shocked him a bit. Had they exploded due to the heat? He shook the question away.


    What next? He wondered. something focused, hmmm. He lingered for a fair amount of time, ah, yes.


    He thought of a beam steady, focused and destructive. The spin was minimal this time and before him, like a laser the meaning shot through him, in a flash, force, focused light, heat unmatched. Its meaning came.


    The vision came, vivid. In the sky flew a man of regal bearing. He was watched by a sole soldier who stood amongst a field of corpses, and he seemed not far from death as well. Behind the battlefield was a village of women and children. Not once did the soldier look at the corpse of his fallen comrades, not once did he look away from the enemy, not once did his sword shake. The lips of the floating man moved, still the soldier stood, a silent bulwark. Then without preamble a beam thicker than his forearm and even that of Dante shoot towards the man, Like a wrath of great vengeance and wrath the soldier parried and the skies seem to tear and rip. The vision shattered like a sword shattering.


    Chronifer gasped, what in hell. The amount of resolve held by the man spoke to Chronifer, not for protecting people but what meant the most to him.


    He didn''t know for how long he stayed there overwhelmed by the scope of death he had seen but the third aspect before him soon called for his attention.


    Oh. He thought, recovering from the scope of the Battle and then wondered if he needed any more aspects but he didn''t. What now? He remembered Ruhiras lesson.


    ¡°Imagine your idea.¡± She had said.


    Chronifer did just that.


    He thought of a woman walking underneath the sun, her body absorbing the sun light and heat, then she pointed her finger and a beam of condensed light and heat blasted forth. Then she absorbed the sun''s energy once more and manipulated the electrical energy absorbed, creating heat waves and dimming the light of the sun, absorbing the heat from her surroundings.


    The thought was not vivid, but like it was a catalyst the aspects before him shimmered brighter and brighter and then Chronifer eyes opened and before him he saw golden light vanished and then two familiar percentage counters appeared in the middle of the Ledger.


    Uniqueness (90.05%)


    Potential (92.94%)


    Chronifer exhaled and then he saw a system message appear before him, which he hadn''t seen the past few times since he wasn¡¯t in contact with the Ledger.


    Leaf Blueprint Acquired


    Leaf Name:


    Solar leech


    Leaf Description:


    You are the mistress of the celestial king, the sun. You command its energies and make it bend to your whims. You are the heat of the sun and the world beneath your feet.


    Whisper your words O¡¯cunning witch.


    Do you wish to acquire this Leaf?


    Yes/No


    Acquire to see effects


    Chronifer read through the Leaf description and looked back at both girls, at his first try, Chronifer felt a quiver of excitement echo through him. The unknown emotion grew with his excitement.


    He saw Ruhira¡¯s face in shock and Shully wide eyed with a smirk, and then he smiled, the girls exploded with screams of disbelief and Chronifer smiled his heart set free of the future before him and he shouted a resounding and joy filled: ¡°Yeah!¡±


    When was the last time Chronifer had felt this way? He was happy, not just that he felt pure unadulterated joy, and deep within he finally felt the strange emotion. It was: wonder, a bountiful feeling of discovery and progress.


    The reason for the emotion was as vivid as his smile as Ruhira and Shully ruffled his hair and showered him with praise, he had seen his father, mother, and Oniihino do multiple things beyond common sense things the multiverse promised, now he had touched upon that power that boggles the mind


    In that moment Chronifer found another thing that spoke to him just as much as power and fame, it was simple yet it set into his mind like a pillar, it was adventure, Chronifer wanted to get out of walls and see the world beyond and worlds that the multiverse held and other mythical things he might not even know yet.


    He looked at both girls not even knowing when he had been pulled to his feet and pumped his fist, ¡°let''s do this!¡±

 Chapter Fourteen: A Poetic Evening

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Fourteen: A Poetic Evening </h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifer soon realized that creating the leaf had taken hours. The echoing darkness beyond his window confirmed it. Ruhira had taken the Architect¡¯s Ledger to store alongside her own creation, leaving only two remaining. Shully, however, had insisted that hers would be the focus of the next day.


    Before parting, Ruhira explained that the blueprints would need to be submitted to the Under Mistress before they could officially join the summons. Their brief goodnight had been filled with heartfelt thanks, though Ruhira maintained her usual composed demeanor throughout.


    That night, Chronifer still felt the lingering high of standing before the Constellation of Laws. The wonder of it buzzed in his chest - a heady blend of awe and satisfaction. Yet, even this sense of accomplishment couldn¡¯t keep the creeping fear at bay.


    Six days. Six days until he would face the unknown. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. Today had passed in the blink of an eye, leaving him torn, part of him yearned for more time, while another wished the countdown would hasten so he could face the inevitable. What lay at the end of these six days? What trials awaited him? What of his years to come?


    The quiet of the night wrapped around him, amplifying the weight of his questions. For a while, they lingered in his mind, refusing to let go. But eventually, even they faded, surrendering to the pull of sleep.


    Chronifer woke up the next day not to the knock of Shully or Ruhira, but to the fierce itching of his body. The howling snowstorm outside did little to cool his burning skin, and he felt as filthy as a pig. The feeling gnawed at him, but it wasn¡¯t enough to dampen his drive. He couldn¡¯t even do his usual exercises, which only deepened his frustration. Instead, he forced himself through some stretches before he began shadow training, a practice he knew well.


    With no sword in hand, he imagined one - its weight, its balance - and danced through the forms, flowing from one style to the next. His body moved on instinct, each motion of the stances a muscle memory, each twist and turn an echo of the practice his father had instilled in him.


    He imagined an opponent. The image was blurry at first, fleeting, often vanishing before he could seize it. Still, he persevered, using the styles his father had taught him to create intricate, twisted deflections. Something stirred inside him. He felt more alive, more awake than he had in days. The style however felt off.


    But before he could check what was different about the flow, a knock at the door broke his concentration.


    And so, the day began.


    Chronifer¡¯s mind was still clouded by the uncertainty of the upcoming Integration, so he asked Ruhira and Shully about it. Surprisingly, neither knew much about it, and their answers were vague at best. They knew that it would bring immense opportunity for power, but beyond that, the specifics were unclear. The lack of answers didn¡¯t help Chronifer¡¯s anxiety. He had hoped for some clarity, but the fear of the unknown only deepened.


    The Integration was twelve years off, yet Oniihino had made it seem his life from now till then would be tormenting. So he wondered what challenges would lay beyond the summons.


    The girls discussed the completion of their blueprints. The four blueprints were the challenge laid down by Oniihino and the under mistresses to select ten witches from each of the six covens, a process reserved for the thirty most promising witch students - the "Kin."


    Shully, true to form, was the first to try. This time, however, she didn¡¯t break free from the Architect¡¯s Ledger in a matter of minutes. She sat there for hours. When she finally broke free, the results were disappointing: the potential score was a high ninety-five percent, but the uniqueness barely touched fifty.


    Shully cursed, slamming her hand down on the desk. "Damnit, that¡¯s not enough!" The string of expletives that followed was more expressive than any words could convey, even cursing she kept a light almost joking demeanor.


    Chronifer, watching her from the corner, felt a wave of ideas flood his mind. Shully¡¯s two remaining branches, Shatter and Oaths. Still, when he finally got the chance to test his own input, the results were even worse: a staggering uniqueness score of only thirty percent, while potential was just shy of ninety-nine percent.


    Frustrated, Chronifer stood and paced around the room, he sighed, letting it go.


    Finally, it was Ruhira¡¯s turn. She was calm as always, but there was a flicker of excitement in her eyes. As Shully held her hands to channel essence through Ruhira¡¯s hand and into the Architect''s Ledger, the room seemed to come alive with energy. After what felt like an eternity, they had a breakthrough. Ruhira¡¯s blueprint for Shully¡¯s Oaths branch reached an impressive near-equal ninety-five percent for both uniqueness and potential.


    Ruhira beamed, a look of satisfaction dancing on her face. She couldn¡¯t help herself; her excitement bubbled over. She spun in place, her hands moving like a conductor¡¯s. ¡°We did it!¡± she cheered, her voice ringing with joy.


    Chronifer smiled faintly.


    Once the girls returned to their rooms, leaving him alone, Chronifer paced back and forth, his thoughts churning. Oniihino¡¯s words echoed in his mind: "Chaos, bedlam, and death." The Summons was approaching, and so was the unknown that lay beyond it and even beyond that was a greater unknown the Integration. He thought back to his list of monsters and races, memorizing their anatomy in case battle became inevitable. Knowing the body, man or monster, was the key to striking clean, efficient blows. He¡¯d be ready, he thought. At least, he hoped he would be.


    The days leading up to the Summons passed in a relentless blur, each moment weighted with tension. For Ruhira and Shully, the pressure to secure their spots was paramount. With only ten available in their coven, every passing hour tightened the noose. By the third day, half the spots were gone. By the fourth, just five remained. When the fifth day ended, only three openings were left¡ªan unforgiving reminder of how close they were to missing their chance.


    Shully, usually full of humor and charm, became a whirlwind of focus, her every moment spent perfecting her Ideas. Her frustration with low uniqueness scores was replaced by an almost frantic determination. Ruhira, though more composed, was not immune to the stress. Her sharp mind worked tirelessly to refine her ideas, but even she faltered at times, her calm demeanor cracking under the weight of what was at stake.


    Chronifer, in contrast, faced a quieter yet equally daunting fear. The Summons represented a threshold - a leap into the unknown for which he felt unready. While Ruhira and Shully saw the event as an opportunity, Chronifer¡¯s unease lay in the challenges that would follow. He saw the potential it presented but felt unprepared to face it. Desperation pushed him into his routines, shadow training and repeating the forms his father had taught him. Yet each attempt seemed to only deepen his frustration.


    The hum of the styles, their seamless flow and rhythm, came to him with ease. The "instrumentals" - the stances and forms - were second nature, a melody his body could play without thought. Yet the "lyrics" eluded him. The flaws and vulnerabilities, the subtle imperfections his father''s performance had once revealed with such clarity, seemed to vanish whenever he practiced alone.


    It was as though the styles had lost their voice in his hands, reduced to hollow motions devoid of meaning. The realization gnawed at him, leaving him restless and uncertain. He knew the answer lay somewhere beyond his current understanding, but the path to finding it felt shrouded. It troubled him deeply, this sense of being stuck, he felt truly lost, unsure of how to even begin approaching the question.


    Chronifer had hoped to find comfort in his training, yet he only encountered more worries reinforcing his question. Was he prepared?


    The Architect¡¯s Ledger became both a tool and a torment. Its glow reflected the intensity of their effort, casting long shadows in their cramped workspace. Each success was followed by a new obstacle. On the third day, Shully finally completed her blueprints, her relief short-lived as Ruhira pushed forward, still racing against the dwindling time. It wasn¡¯t until the fifth day that they managed to finish Ruhira¡¯s final blueprint, a painstaking collaboration that saw both girls rushing out into the corridors to submit their work before the morning.


    Chronifer watched them go, left alone in the quiet of his room. The silence felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the countdown ticking away and the challenges still to come. Tomorrow would be the second to last day and Chronifer found himself restless for it to come and Pass.


    His sleep that night felt like a blur, an eye blink and the next thing he knew It was morning. His body itched fiercely but he was already used to it, his skin was getting reddish spots, which Chronifer mourned.


    The day crawled forwards at a snail''s pace, the morning felt as long as all the previous days together, Chronifer was sure his hostile thoughts would drive him mad, his heart fluctuating from sharp painful slow downs and daze-inducing fast beats. So when the knock came he rushed to the door like it held his sanity


    He opened the door to find¡­ no one, not Shully or Ruhira, instead of a human or animal, standing there in the shape of a full grown man was a spiraling mass of vines covered in barks and pink blossoms, Chronifer took Several steps back in the time it took him to make those assessment, the door still swinging open.


    He heard more than felt his heart rate pick up, his visions seemed to focus on the monster.


    A voice came from the creature, which Chronifer had expected to attack him.


    ¡°Oh dear, my humble servant here would never attack you.¡± The voice giggled, it was familiar, the lilting and flirty way of speech familiar. ¡°Well, If it escapes my control that would definitely be the first thing it does but that matters little.¡±


    Letting his posture ease a little from the ready stance he had fallen into, Chronifer ventured a guess.


    ¡°Oniihino?¡± He inquired, he took a few steps back ignoring her disturbing assurance.


    ¡°Yes, dealing, I know you must have missed me, but unfortunately aunty is an important woman in a very busy time,¡± Oniihino said, her voice remorseful and dramatic.


    ¡°If I did miss you, I''ll probably hate myself by now seeing what''s standing before me.¡± Chronifer said his eyes searching the bare rook for the weapon he knew wasn''t there.


    The monster''s body shifted and tangled, like a riving mass of thick individual vines wrapped around each other coiling. Twisting. Expanding. As if the wood was¡­ breathing. ¡°Come let me get a closer look at you.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± Chronifer exclaimed, she''s mad! ¡°Come back with your beautiful self, world''s most beautiful like you said.¡±


    ¡°What a naughty young man, you should know I''m blushing.¡± Oniihino said her voice carrying a light giggle ¡°Step into the Monster.¡± The totally insane words came in a casual tone. Then the Monster''s body untwined, Chronifer took a step back, the vines untangled with a writhing sound to reveal a dark empty void within its hollow untangled mass.


    ¡°Absolutely not¡­¡± Chronifer began.


    A series of tendrils exploded from the monster''s dark, seemingly endless innards, cracking through the air like deadly whips. The first lashed toward Chronifer''s waist with blinding speed. Instinct roared to life - he spun into a horizontal flip, his body twisting laterally, just inches above the tendril as it passed harmlessly beneath him.


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    He crouched low, legs coiled like springs as he landed, ready to launch again. Another tendril shot toward his chest, forcing Chronifer into a desperate backward roll toward the wall behind him. The vine slashed through the air where he¡¯d just been, smashing into the window with a heavy, splintering thud


    A third one surged at his face before his feet could fully steady. Kicking off the floor in a daring side flip, he twisted in a vertical arc, narrowly evading the vine as it snapped just shy of his hair.


    He landed lightly on one of the writhing tendrils, its surface shifting beneath him. Using it as a springboard, Chronifer flipped sideways, vaulting onto his bed. Mid-flight, another one lashed across his path, missing him by a breath.


    His landing on the bed was hard but controlled. Yet beyond the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, Chronifer couldn''t help but feel a surge of disbelief - not at the relentless barrage of tendrils, but at how instinctively his body responded, how he moved with precision and grace he didn¡¯t know he had.


    The room grew suffocating with tendrils snapping and writhing, each one seeking to ensnare him. Heart pounding, he rolled to the side, dodging two more as they smashed into the mattress behind him.


    The space around him shrank as the tendrils multiplied, choking the small room. Chronifer¡¯s breath came in sharp gasps, adrenaline surging through his veins. He was ready for his next move - until there was no room left.


    The vines stilled for a moment, then whipped toward him from all corners. They lashed out, tangling, wrapping around his limbs, pulling at his skin with an eerie, silent hunger. The suffocating air in the room couldn¡¯t compare to the way the pulsing, warm vines coiled tighter around him. They clung to him like living chains, their grip tightening with every second.


    Chronifer¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, his breath growing shallow, quick, and panicked.


    The constricting vines squeezed harder, and suddenly, the world around him went black, as if the tendrils themselves had dragged him into a darkness far deeper than the room they¡¯d filled. A suffocating, crushing darkness that felt all too familiar - a dark void similar to the one that had lurked within the creature itself.


    ¡°Aunty!¡± Chronifer called out. ¡°I''m too young to die!¡± Chronifer shouted his panic looming


    ¡°Ooh hush, dear.¡± Oniihino¡¯s voice echoed out, ¡°why go through the stress to kill you with a monster when I could have mushrooms growing within your lungs?¡±


    Chronifer was quiet after that question but he was screaming within himself. I want my parents!


    ¡°No one told me that particular detail.¡± Chronifer Admitted. His heartbeat slowed down. ¡°Where am I? Why not come get me yourself?¡±


    Oniihino¡¯s giggle sounded through the darkness. ¡°This darling, is a pocket dimension where the Vizsius stores food.¡±


    ¡°Food?¡± Chronifer knew of the concept. But only in books, and he didn''t like being in the position of food, that rang of death.


    ¡°Stupid boy. I told you I had control of the monster,¡± Oniihino said, her voice laced with playful reprimand. ¡°I know you really want to see your beautiful aunt, but when a pseudo-God is searching for your food, you get creative with transport.¡±


    ¡°Wha... food? Me?¡± Chronifer asked, his earlier shock mingling with confusion and an undercurrent of fear. He couldn¡¯t quite grasp the terror such a title should invoke. The fear seemed alien, out of reach¡ªtoo foreign for him to fully understand. A pseudo-God, searching for me?


    ¡°Yes, darling,¡± Oniihino¡¯s voice echoed from the darkness, as if it came from everywhere at once. ¡°Your family certainly wants me old. Give me a darling boy, and then another with the same name comes along, looking to take him.¡±


    Chronifer felt his brain spinning, wants her old? Same name? Oh¡­ oh¡­


    ¡°The¡­ pseudo-God Is from my family? The Montcroix-Wythe?¡± Chronifer tried his voice unsure.


    ¡°Well of course darling, didn''t I say that?¡± Oniihino answered as if exasperated by his question being dumb.


    Of course? Dante I think I spoke bad about you too quickly. Chronifer thought his left eye twitched. So my parents did want this person to get a hold of me.


    ¡°Who from my family if you don''t mind me asking?¡±


    ¡°Fashina, dear boy.¡± Her voice came.


    ¡°Fashina?¡± Chronifer asked, feeling sheepish.


    ¡°Slora, that woman. You''re grandmother.¡± Slora provided.


    ¡°Why¡­¡±


    ¡°Leave that be darling, you''ll be arriving soon, you''ve been stressing enough.¡±


    Chronifer wanted to know more about that, why didn''t his parents want him to see his grandmother? But he didn''t push, he supposed he''d learn about it in time.


    ¡°I''ve not been stressed.¡± Chronifer lied. How did she even know that?


    Oniihions laughed a low sinister laugh that held no teasing or joy. ¡°You want to try lying to me again within this monster? Do you darling?¡±


    ¡°I''m sorry I lied, I''ve even been losing sleep over it, Aunty Oniihino.¡± Chronifer said doing a full spin on his point. He wasn''t particularly scared to admit his fear of the people around him, he was totally powerless against them, his only saving grace was being in their good graces.


    ¡°Yes, I know.¡± Oniihino declared. ¡°We''ll talk about it over tea in a bit.¡±


    ¡°Tea?¡± Chronifer asked, a bit reluctant.


    ¡°Don''t you like good cosan tea, mixed with tenlen bee honey?¡± Oniihino asked, unsure.


    ¡°My best, but¡­¡± Chronifer was cut off


    ¡°Cipher¡­ didn¡¯t tell you?¡±


    ¡°My dad loves telling stories of his friends.¡± Chronifer offered to Oniihino¡¯s flat toned question. ¡°I would beg you to not poison my tea.¡±


    ¡°Don''t listen to Cipher darling, he was mistaken, my flowers aren''t all poison.¡± Chronifer nodded to her words, praying into the darkness that he doesn''t get his father and his division experience of being poisoned before arriving at a battlefield.


    ¡°Sure thing.¡± Chronifer said smiling, the darkness didn''t talk back. ¡°Aunty.¡± he added


    ¡°Always a pleasure, dearling.¡± Oniihino said in a smooth flow.


    ¡°Brace yourself, dear.¡± Chronifer had less than a heartbeat to comply.


    In an instant, he was shot out of the abyss inside the monster, hurled toward Oniihino, who sat calmly awaiting him. She raised a single finger, its red-painted nail gleaming like a command.


    Chronifer¡¯s body slammed to an abrupt stop, a crushing pressure coursing through him. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, and he plummeted straight down.


    ¡°You¡¯re finally here. Come join me,¡± Oniihino said, not waiting for Chronifer to gather himself.


    Chronifer glanced around, taking in their surroundings, as he gathered himself. The room was small, its walls made of thin wooden frames that held rice paper panels. The paper was painted with a series of dancing women, dressed in red, black, and gold. An unseen light source illuminated the room softly, casting a gentle glow on the artwork.


    Behind him, the door he had shot through had vanished. In front of him stood a low red wooden table, with a soft mat laid out for him to kneel upon. On the other side sat Oniihino, elegantly dressed and smiling.


    Her face was like polished marble, smooth and radiant, her deep black eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. Her raven-colored hair was intricately braided, held together with long golden spikes. Her lips were naturally pink, unadorned by lipstick.


    She wore layers of white and red robes, patterned with meaning and symbolism. Kneeling with her legs tucked beneath her, she rested gracefully on her own mat.


    He approached and took his place on the mat, legs tucked underneath him.


    Finally! He thought, he felt a calm settle into his heart, from the darkness of the monster''s inners to the news about his grandmother, a pseudo-God searching for him, his fear had been mounting but now he felt more settled and although, his father had told him nothing good about Oniihino making tea, he loved teas, his mother¡¯s tea sessions had made him grow fond of their taste and the traditions surrounding them.


    Oniihino Picked up the kettle set on the side of the table that seemed made of porcelain yet radiated a deep, hot red shine from the carvings.


    She poured the light purple tea into his cup, filling it halfway with practiced ease. Setting the porcelain teapot down, she reached for a slender bamboo container, shaking it with an elegant rhythm that seemed to calm the air itself. ¡°I see questions in your eyes,¡± Oniihino said, her voice soft but certain. She placed the container aside and offered him two incense sticks. ¡°I also see the weight of your tiredness.¡±


    Chronifer took the incense without a word, rubbing their tips to spark a flame. One after the other, he placed them in their holders, watching the thin trails of smoke curl upward as though they might carry his thoughts with them. ¡°When you came to me last, you told me my days ahead would be chaos,¡± he said, his voice low. ¡°That most would die.¡± He hesitated, then added, ¡°I think I¡¯ve slept better while Dante was waking me before dawn.¡±


    ¡°This one¡¯s on me,¡± she admitted, though her tone carried neither regret nor apology. Instead, she studied him for a long moment, her gaze sharp as a blade, her usual flirty tone gone. ¡°You¡¯re worried about the hurdles ahead?¡±


    He nodded, lowering his head slightly. ¡°I¡¯m just six, Aunty,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I already feel powerless in the peace I know. What will I be in a world of chaos?¡±


    Oniihino¡¯s hands stilled as she opened the bamboo canister, revealing the bronze-colored honey within. Its tantalizing aroma swept through the room, light but potent enough to taste on the tongue. Yet her focus remained on him. ¡°Why do you fear?¡± she asked, her tone cutting through his doubt like a knife through fog.


    Chronifer flinched at the question, his fingers tightening against the wooden table. ¡°You called my future chaos and bedlam,¡± he said, breaking their gaze to stare at the incense. ¡°You said most wouldn¡¯t survive. How could I not fear?¡±


    ¡°I know what I said, dear boy.¡± Her faint smile returned as she picked up a spoon to stir the honey into the tea. ¡°But your words ring hollow. I can hear it.¡±


    Chronifer glanced up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    She sighed softly, turning her attention to the swirling liquid in her cup. ¡°You don¡¯t fear the future. Not really.¡± Her voice dropped, taking on a gentler cadence. ¡°You fear yourself. You fear being too small, too young, too unprepared to stand in a world that demands more than you believe you can give.¡±


    Her words struck him harder than he expected. Chronifer stared at the red wood of the table, unable to meet her eyes. She had seen through him - exposed a fear he hadn¡¯t even put into words.


    ¡°You¡¯ve trained with Cipher and Dante, haven¡¯t you?¡± she asked, her voice soft but insistent.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he admitted. But the weight in his tone was unmistakable. ¡°For only six months.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Her tone carried a rare gentleness now, one he only knew in his mother, Slora. ¡°But there are things you must hear, darling.¡±


    Chronifer felt the same subtle force he¡¯d encountered before - a pressure that lifted his chin without him realizing it, forcing him to look at her. His heart thudded, as if the moment carried more weight than he could yet grasp.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re too small,¡± she said. ¡°Too young. Undertrained. You believe the chaos will swallow you whole before you can grow into your strength.¡± Her eyes bored into his, unwavering. ¡°But those fears are dressed in fine clothes of ignorance.¡±


    Chronifer blinked, his confusion evident. ¡°Ignorance?¡±


    ¡°Do you know the monster I used to bring you here?¡± she asked, her smile brightening with a hint of mischief.


    ¡°No.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I know of the Vizmaus, but those are just beasts. They don¡¯t have essence.¡±


    She chuckled lightly. ¡°The Vizmaus is the beast variation. What I used was a Vizsius - a Rank Two monster. Its strength and speed were diminished because of my interference, but you understand what that means, don¡¯t you?¡±


    He nodded slowly, his knowledge limited but clear on one thing: the gap between ranks was massive and he was without one yet.


    ¡°You feel unprepared,¡± she continued, her voice taking on a stern edge. ¡°Yet you¡¯ve been trained by Cipher and Dante - men who haunt the nightmares of even the most powerful. And here you sit, belittling yourself without ever testing your strength against the world.¡±


    She leaned forward, and her words grew sharper, like a blade honed to perfection. ¡°Do you intend to remain safe, shielded from life¡¯s whims until you feel ready? Or will you take the reins of your life and forge yourself against the challenges it throws your way?¡±


    Her words pierced through him, settling deep in his mind, his heart, his very spirit. They were more than words¡ªthey were a call to action, a force that seemed to patch the cracks of his doubt and fortify his resolve. He stared at the tea in his hands, its surface rippling faintly, as though reflecting the tumult within him.


    Oniihino¡¯s smile softened. ¡°Fear will always follow you, dear boy. But it¡¯s your choice whether to let it lead or to let it temper you. The world will remember those who rise against it - not those who wait for permission to stand.¡±


    Chronifer felt the weight of her words settle in his chest, heavy yet steadying. He looked up, no longer avoiding her gaze. He would not shrink from the trials ahead. He would carve his name into the world, not out of fear, but out of the strength he would forge from it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the reins,¡± he said softly but with growing certainty. ¡°I¡¯ll make the world remember me.¡±


    Her smile widened, satisfied. ¡°Good. That¡¯s the spirit of a Montcroix-Wythe.¡± She nodded. "You''ll need it to live past tomorrow"


    End of Part 1 - Raised in Black

 Chapter Fifteen: Slave no Longer

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Fifteen: Slave no Longer</h2>


    <hr>


    ¡°Oi, Drazel¡­ Bring¡­¡± The voice fluctuated at the edge of his consciousness; he couldn¡¯t focus on the distant yet familiar words.


    Nyte felt an immense pressure bearing down on his consciousness, it echoed from a memory on the forefront of his mind, it thundered with authority, demanding he surrender to its power, stop trying, give up, and fall into the unfathomable darkness of the endless sleep.


    "You¡­ on¡­ Harbinger essentials¡­¡± Came a voice as if through water, Nyte couldn''t focus on it, he dared not.


    The pressure consumed his entire world, just like the Dygan Syndicate, like Dante and Cipher until he had stood up, became something more than the slave the Dygan Syndicate had created, shaped him to be, he became a person, not a slave, for the first time he had tasted something. Autonomy.


    Now against the pressure that radiated from the memory of the cruel outburst from his master and Chronfier parents powers, he refused to yield. He held onto his half-conscious state and pushed. He couldn''t feel his body, but he could feel the force he exerted ¨Clike pressure building in his skull. It anchored him, yet it brought unimaginable pain.


    Once again Nyte saw the truth in his master''s harsh words, he felt his anchor slipping, giving way. Who was he after all against such power? He refused it but what power did his defiance hold?


    Non.


    Nyte had defied his master out of self-hate, a self-loathing that had consumed him entirely. He had expected death for his rebellion. Instead, Dante had treated him like a person, offering him a choice. That had been Nyte¡¯s first taste of autonomy, and saying those words had taken all his strength ¨Cyet, in that moment, he had felt more alive than ever.


    His master had been right, autonomy, freedom. They required power, power to make once choices, power to resist oppression, power to rest, and grow side by side with Chronifer and watch each other''s backs. Yet against the echo, the memory of his master and his friends'' power he had been brought to a state where his resistance seemed so futile. Could he ever control his own decisions in such a world? Nyte didn¡¯t know but yet against the crushing and disastrous force of the memory he made another decision for himself for he was no longer a slave.


    One day¡­ he thought with a grunt, the pressure making thought hard. I''m going to¡­ become powerful¡­ powerful enough to have full control of my decision, my, my¡­ I''m¡­ going to have my own¡­ autonomy


    ¡°Stop¡­ fucking bitching¡­¡± thundered the voice through his screaming mind.


    Nyte didn¡¯t let up, he fought, struggled as much as he could, but he had not been strong enough. As he felt his anchor cease to hold him, he felt a deep torturous regret, what would it have looked like, a life where he made his own decisions? Be free from the oppression of power? There was so much he could have experienced yet.


    He felt the pressure cut out so instantaneously he felt a dazzling vertigo slam up his mind. Then like an attack his sense of his body returned, the feel of the soft mattress beneath him, the folds of the blanket, then came the smell of something burning, it smelled of flowers.


    Groaning Nyte rolled out of the bed, he fell down further than down he expected, his bed hadn''t been that high in the Montcroix-Wythe mansion.


    ¡°Fuck¡­¡± He coughed out as he tried to get his eyes acclimated to the intense light.


    ¡°Never heard a truer word, little turd.¡± Came the voice of his master, Dante or as he was commonly known through the multiverse Cowardicelore.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± Nyte''s eyes began cleaning, but he felt an intense headache ravaging his head.


    ¡°That shouldn''t have worked according to the Harbinger essentials.¡± said a soft voice, so gentle that Nyte almost mistook it for that of a young girl.


    ¡°Shut your trap Drazel, you''re gonna sound dumb if you keep yapping.¡± Dante said, his Gravelly voice sounding annoyed, yet indulging.


    Nyte''s eyes cleared and he saw the familiar figure of his master, Dante squatting before him, his pale white hair, and eyes unsettling, his skin like that of a corpse but with a slight glow to it, his maddening self assured grin uplifted by his unchanging stubble.


    ¡°Master¡­¡± he trailed off as he caught the figure of the person behind his master to his side. It was not Cipher, or Chronifer, the strange little boy. Standing behind his master was an unfamiliar boy. He was tall, dressed in loose leather trousers and a plain, milk-colored silken top, while not exactly the same style that Cipher and his son favored, it held a more modern feel of their fashion.


    ¡°Ah yes, Nyte, meet your roommate for the next four days. Drazel Kain a smart dumb fuck.¡± Dante introduced,


    The boy Drazel opened and close his mouth multiple time as if finding the words of rebuke that wouldn¡¯t seem disrespectful, he seemed to have failed, standing back in reluctant silence,


    The boy ran his hand through his dark blonde hair streaked with black, cropped low. His face was smaller, lacking the stark, angular features of Chronifer and his family. Green-tinted glasses hid his eyes.


    Nyte slightly dipped his head to the boy, a gesture Chronifer had often used to acknowledge him. The boy reluctantly dipped his too.


    ¡°Now, then it''s time for me to get going, lads.¡± Dante stood up as he spoke.


    ¡°Wait. Where the fuck are we? What''s going on?¡± Nyte asked, confused. ¡°Where''s Chronifer?¡±


    ¡°In the Jade Coven, as for the rest. Drazel, update the lad. Fuck!¡± Dante spoke in a hurried manner.


    ¡°What happened?¡± The boy Drazel beat Nyte to the question, in response to Dante''s frightening loud curse.


    ¡°The Ruvashi Empire just sent another blasted Demigod! I''ve got to go, Little shits, I need the essence of this clone.¡± The figure of Dante burst into a multitude of creatures, snakes of different kinds, insects of different sizes and types all attached to a black core then like a mirage it was gone.


    ¡°What the fucks going on?¡± Nyte asked although still hung on his Earlier brush with death, his confusion intensified and his body pulsing with goose bumps. The creatures had all seemed skinned, their muscles and blood vessels open to see and the organs of some had hung in the air, their mouths had seemed to scream for freedom.


    ¡°The Integration.¡± Drazel, his voice a soft, yet hunting melody.


    ¡°Do you mean the system announcement earlier?¡± Nyte asked


    ¡°You should take a bit to rest up.¡± Drazel suggested, as he turned to sit down on his bed a ways from Nytes.


    The words of the boy might have Seemed a simple suggestions, but to Nyte it sounded like a command. Nyte didn¡¯t want to rest, he wasn''t a slave to what people wanted or decisions made for him.


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    ¡°Listening doesn''t hurt.¡± Nyte said he had made a decision, he would make his own decisions, and aspire to his own wants.


    ¡°Are you sure about that?¡± Drazel said his eyebrows pitched up, his voice holding a soft hint of curiosity.


    ¡°Sure.¡± He said with a single nod. His headache caused him to winch.


    Nyte smiled as the boy shrugged. It was a peculiar feeling ¨Cmaking his own decisions. He felt free, though he knew it was a lie. He had seen it before; his choices only mattered in front of the weak, those not so different from himself. But before true power, before overwhelming oppression, they would falter.


    He would always remember how Slora had asked for his opinion during her tea tastings ¨Cnever demanded, only asked. That small gesture had meant something. Nyte could live with that. He respected her for it.


    ¡°Introductions anew. Coherent introductions.¡± He began seeming to release his anger through the words. ¡°I, my friend, am Drazel Kain, Youngest Sigildry Master of the Fumasubah academy. Now, you?¡±


    ¡°I''m Nyte,¡± he began, not sure of what to say next. Whatever. ¡°Pupil of Dante.¡±


    Should I have added Bloodline Patriarch? No, that seems stupid.


    ¡°Spectacular, As to updates¡± Drazel began, adjusting his glasses. ¡°The Integration Occurs ever inconsistent from thousand of years to hundred thousands of years.¡±


    Nyte nodded. ¡°How does it affect our current situation?¡±


    ¡°Pardon my rambling.¡± He said with a small giggle. ¡°I''ve been consumed with books on integration, you see. My thoughts are pushing the bounds of my tongue.¡±


    He seemed to think for a while, then another.


    ¡°Ah, Excuse me. I at times get taken in thought.¡± He said. ¡°It affects us, my friend, being here due to one little detail from the System Announcement.¡± Drazel Looked At Nyte as if expecting him to guess the reason.


    ¡°What?¡± He asked.


    ¡°The Incursion.¡± Drazel said, with a visible sigh ¡°An Event that allows passage for a restricted few of stated ranks into the new universe.¡±


    Nyte nodded along, not really caring for Drazels''s obvious enthusiasm.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Nyte frowned. He didn¡¯t see why a new universe was such a big deal ¨Cthere were already countless others in the multiverse.


    ¡°Yes! It is the reason you''ve found yourself here. All the young generation youth of the Spiral qualified by the rank limit have been summoned.¡± He outlined to Nyte. ¡°As to the Summons, I suppose we will be seeing what lies in wait for us. My guesses, not applying.¡±


    So we''ve been summoned by? Nyte could guess however he didn¡¯t like the answer: the council?


    Yet he still felt he wasn''t understanding why this integration would matter enough to cause such waves. The multiverse had been calm for so many years.


    ¡°Why is it such a big deal? What''s up with my master? Why would the council bother?¡± Nyte asked, confused although like most of his emotions he kept it off his face.


    ¡°The Integration, the Incursion, they¡¯re the future, Nyte. It ensures power to those with the capacity to get the utmost from it. Titles, bloodlines, technology, people and a myriad of other things. It''s a total power wave, capable of making the powerful more so or tumbling them and birthing new powers.¡± With a tamed voice that made his soft and gentle voice almost imperceptible he continued. ¡°Total war. Factions are all moving to claim treasures, opportunity and even squashing oppositions. All this to set a better pace for their young who will actually enter the new universe.¡±


    ¡°It all falls on our shoulders?¡± Nyte asked, not sure if he wanted that kind of responsibility.


    ¡°Yes, but only if you affirm the summons.¡± Drazel said.


    Nyte took a deep breath.


    What would Chronifer do? He''d go, of course. Yet Nyte found Himself asking what he wanted. Power and¡­ to keep my deal with Chronifer.


    He would do it, he would seek power like his master had wanted but not because his master had wanted it for him, no he would do it so he''ll be able to have uncontested say in all his actions and decisions and also for a hand held out to him in his darkest time. One that offered companionship in watching each other''s back and growing towards power together.


    ¡°Where is the Jade Coven?¡± Nyte asked.


    <hr>


    Nyte woke to the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand beside Drazel¡¯s bed. The chandelier¡¯s light had been dimmed to an imperceptible flicker, while the embers of the fire-heart in the center of the room radiated faint heat. Thick black curtains covered the windows, swallowing the world outside in darkness.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Nyte muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep. He glanced at Drazel, who sat cross-legged on the bed, munching on dried snacks with a book in hand. ¡°Or is it, good night?¡±


    Drazel tilted his head, setting his book aside to pull out a pocket watch. Its silver surface gleamed faintly, the intricate sigils engraved on it catching the light. ¡°It¡¯s three. Why would you wake at such an ungodly hour?¡±


    Nyte shrugged. He didn¡¯t feel like explaining. Months of training had made early mornings a habit. Still, hearing the time ¨Cthree o¡¯clock¨C was surprising. Back then, he and Chronifer had trained relentlessly, starting from midnight until sunrise, he felt shocked at their tenacity.


    ¡°It matters not,¡± Drazel said, snapping the watch shut. He removed his glasses and turned off the lamp. Shuffled around in the darkness before offering: ¡°A comforting night to you, Nyte.¡± Moments later, he was asleep.


    Nyte sat on the edge of his bed, restless. He pushed himself up, moving to the window. Sliding the curtains aside, he was met with pitch-black darkness. When he touched the glass, a chill shot through his hand. He pulled back, startled.


    Warmth replaced the cold a moment later, and faint golden lines shimmered across the glass ¨Csigils, their intricate pathways glowing faintly in the darkness. To a human, they might have appeared as dim golden etchings. But to Nyte, they burned like the sun, though they caused no pain to his eyes.


    They¡¯re protecting against the cold, he realized. His eyes shifted to the darkness beyond the window. Snow.


    Nyte¡¯s shock didn¡¯t linger long. Buried in snow? As long as they weren¡¯t dying, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to care much.


    His attention shifted to the room¡¯s two doors. The first opened into a bathroom ¨Ca beautiful one, sure, but it couldn¡¯t hold a candle to the opulence of the Montcroix-Wythe mansion. He shut it with a sigh, his fingers lingering on the polished handle before moving to the second door.


    This one opened into a long, dimly lit hallway. Nyte paused, his curiosity pulling him in two directions. For an outstretched moment, he considered searching, letting the tension of decision weigh on him. But in the end, his apathy won. He turned back into the room, shutting the door with an audible click.


    The silence enveloped him again as he began the one routine he¡¯d once cursed. The stretches, the rhythmic movements ¨C it was all muscle memory now. Yet, something had shifted. The exercises felt... good. Smooth. Almost comforting. Was it simply the absence of his master¡¯s barked commands? Or the strange weight of choosing this routine himself?


    As he finished, faint voices drifted from the hallway beyond the door. People were stirring, their footsteps and chatter bleeding into the quiet. The still hours of the night were fading away.


    Nyte took a quick bath, letting the warm water work the tension from his muscles. When he returned to his bed, however, he stopped short.


    A flat, long box sat on the neatly folded sheets, its edges catching the faint glow of the chandelier above.


    He approached it cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning the surface. A folded note rested on top, the handwriting unmistakable.


    Forgot about this. Totally understandable, right?


    Yeah, no. Screw that. Doesn¡¯t matter.


    This is a gift box. From me, Cipher, and Slora. Open it only if you choose to answer the Summons. Inside, you¡¯ll find survival.


    Insincerely, Dante.


    Nyte¡¯s fingers tightened around the note as his eyes scanned the words again. Trepidation crept through him, slow and cold, spreading from his chest like frost over a windowpane. A sickening fear churned in his stomach. Was he truly ready to face what the Spiral demanded of them? To take the first step into the Incursion¡¯s unknown chaos?


    His breath wavered, uneven at first. But he forced himself to inhale deeply, grounding himself in the stillness of the room. There was no turning back now.


    With trembling hands, Nyte reached out and lifted the lid of the box.

 Chapter Sixteen: Wet Dreams of Wealth

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Sixteen: Wet Dreams of Wealth </h2>


    <hr>


    At the slightest lift of the lid, it burst upward a sound reminiscent of a burst of air from a closed mouth, then from the box came a tide of¡­ haze. It was a technicolour haze with multiple hues and it rolled towards Nyte like the waves of a relentless ocean.


    He took a step back, then somewhere within himself he found he recognised the haze, mid step he froze and watched on curiously as it approached him.


    Least it can do is kill me. He giggled softly within his mind, his face a black canvas, he didn''t even flinch when the lid crashed on the floor beside his bed.


    You have acquired an Auxiliary


    You have acquired an Auxiliary


    You have acquired an Auxiliary


    ¡°Ah!¡± He exclaimed, I was right.


    Nyte horridly called up his system status like he would post the Auxiliaries, a small smile grew on his face, who would have thought? Me getting not one, but three fucking auxiliaries.


    STATUS


    Name:


    Nyte Dante


    Race:


    Sitsi¡¯an


    [Modified]


    Traits:


    [Lineage Memory], [Endless Tongue], [High Perception], [Dark Shelter], [Unseen sights], [Cu-jar''kuhun]


    Bloodline:


    [Blood of the pale]


    Titles:


    N/A


    Pure Essence:


    0/1000


    Rank:


    Sprout


    Branches:


    [Unlock Quest]


    [Unlock Quest]


    [Unlock Quest]


    [Unlock Quest]


    Leaves:


    N/A


    Vines:


    N/A


    Auxiliaries:


    [Arkandris Ark]


    [Fortunia Medalis]


    [Tricksters Husk]


    Harbingers:


    Presence - 15ft


    N/A


    Cruel Thesis


    Physical Operator


    Strength: 1¡Á


    Fortitude: 1¡Á


    Cognition: 1¡Á


    Lithe: 1¡Á


    Mutation Actuator


    Flesh defilement: 0%


    Temporary:


    N/A


    Adjustable:


    N/A


    Permanent:


    N/A


    He went through his system status everything was the same from his race to his vines from there the magic began.


    He looked at the first auxiliary he had gained wishing to get more detail.


    Auxiliary:


    Arkandris Ark


    Rank:


    Bronze [Soulbound] [Sealed]


    Type:


    Armament


    Lore:


    "Arkan! Lumenu! Aradis!"


    These were the final words of Arkandris, the first and last of his people to ascend to godhood. Gift. Future. Progress. His last decree, spoken as both blessing and curse. He left behind a gift for his people¡ªa sword forged from his death, for their future, a symbol to lead them to progress. But his wish went unanswered, and with it came the downfall and extinction of his race.


    Now, the Ark lingers as both burden and legacy, waiting for one worthy enough to wield its power and carry the name Arkandris into eternity. Bear the gift. Bear the burden. Let the name Arkandris Ark be known once more.


    Abilities:


    [Sealed]


    [Sealed]


    [Sealed]


    [Sealed]


    [Sealed]


    [Sealed]


    [Sealed]


    [Sealed]


    Nyte felt a chill run through his spine at the lore of the sword, if not for the terrible weight of it, but for the sole fact that the sword had been created by the System from the death of an actual God.


    Nyte had never heard of the God, a bit of curiosity arose in him but he quickly quenched it, his interest captured by other aspects of the blade. Like the fact that it was Soulbound and sealed, Nyte knew not to speak of any of both facts aloud, he had seen such Auxiliaries getting people missing.


    Rank:


    [Soulbound]


    Speak this vow of brotherhood with the Blade and forever chain your soul and that of Arkandris Ark together


    ¡°By will and by blood, I bind myself to thee, Arkandris Ark. From this moment until the dust claims my bones, we are one¡ªblade and bearer, soul and steel. No hand but mine shall wield thee, no path but mine shall guide thee. In darkness and in light, in triumph and in ruin, I shall not forsake thee, nor shall thou forsake me. Let our paths entwine, unbroken, until the end of all things.¡±


    Nyte read through the vow, he knew of only one benefit Soulbound Auxiliaries carried, the sharing of ranks with both the wielder and the Auxiliary, yet Nyte doubted that was the only benefit. He was a bit frightened to tie his soul to a weapon, yet it called to him. What would my master do? Nah, that''s a arse idea. Urg fuck it. He already knew what he wanted, yet he felt making the decision too quickly could be bad.


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    With a sigh he decided to look at more of the Auxiliaries details.


    Nyte and the other slave''s idea had been right it seemed, Auxiliaries with sealed abilities were more powerful. Nyte felt his decision tilting further in one direction.


    Rank:


    [Sealed]


    The abilities of this auxiliary are too powerful and have been sealed to the minimal starting rank, use pure essence allocation to unlock and aid ability usage.


    Nyte and the other slave''s idea had been right it seemed, Auxiliaries with sealed abilities were more powerful. Nyte felt his decision tilting further in one direction.


    Abilities:


    [Sealed]


    0/25,000 Pure Essence


    Nyte froze, he read the amount of pure essence required and sighed. Just how powerful is this sword? He wondered. Knowing that ascension from rank one to two wouldn''t even cost as much pure essence. Zero out of a thousand proved it.


    He looked though the other sealed and all showed him the same thing: unseal the first ability.


    He debated within himself for a moment, it was either to summon the blade or not. He chose to see what the other Auxiliaries held in store for him.


    Auxiliary:


    Fortunia Medalis


    Rank:


    Bronze


    Type:


    Wile


    Lore:


    ¡°Piss off¡±


    Those sadly were the last words of the gambler, why had he been killed, and who had killed him? Do you care or do you desire only wealth? Like his murder, vile


    Abilities:


    [Toss those dies]


    [I know the game]


    Nyte found himself intrigued by the Auxiliary, which he had no idea in exactly what shape or form it would turn out to be. it called to him, was this his path to riches?


    Abilities:


    [Toss those dice]


    Type: Passive


    Essence drain: Abysmal


    Effect: Feel the perfect toss, become the master of rolling the dice.


    Fucking interesting. Nyte tried activating the ability but he couldn''t feel any connection. Maybe I have to summon it first. He decided to check out everything before summoning. He called up the other ability.


    Abilities:


    [I know the game]


    Type: Active


    Essence drain: Moderate


    Effect: The Gambler knows all games, he''s played them and broken them.


    Nyte found himself wondering where he could gamble. Oh, I have no money.


    He moved on to the next auxiliary, his mind still caught by the last two, The power of Arkandris Ark and the Whimsey of the Fortunia Medalis, he could see aspect of his master in both though, the blade could be the customary long blade for the Death''s Gambit and the Fortunia Medalis could be seen as an addition for his love of gambling. What else? Nyte wondered. A rope? He guessed he knew that was a big part of the style, Or maybe a short sword?


    The Auxiliary details popped into being before Nyte.


    Auxiliary:


    Tricksters Husk


    Rank:


    Bronze


    Type:


    Armour


    Lore:


    The nameless trickster was a phantom on the battlefield¡ªstruck down a hundred times, yet never bled. Blades met only air, and those who swore they had fought him could never recall his face. Was he a man? A shadow? A lie?


    Then, one day, he vanished. Some say he slipped past death itself. Others claim he shed his own form, leaving behind only his hollow husk¡ªa relic of deception, mischief, and the art of never being where you''re expected.


    Now, the Husk lingers, waiting for the next fool¡ªor master¡ªto step into its game.


    Abilities:


    [Guess again]


    Nyte had definitely not forgotten that armour''s existed during his guessing, in fact he had left it out, because it was obvious. He nodded to his shameless thoughts and, briefly considered if the armour would be the skin of this trickster, definitely not, right?


    Abilities:


    [Guess again]


    Type: Active


    Essence drain: Moderate


    Effect: Your movements are harder to perceive, your tricks are less perceptible.


    He nodded, the ability would definitely be useful for the type of style the Death''s Gambit was, but Nyte found himself wondering how strong these abilities would be, given their ranks, he wondered how much limitations they would have.


    He finished going through the detail and his eyes finally saw that something extra laid within the box as the system display vanished from before his eyes.


    ¡°An Architect''s ledger.¡± He heard the soft voice of Drazel come from beside him.


    When had he gotten there?


    Nyte looked at the boy.


    ¡°I''ve been off slumbering for a couple minutes.¡± Drazel offered. ¡°Did he by improbable chances help you with fussels?¡±


    ¡°He didn''t. I have no nothing.¡± Nyte said with a small shrug. ¡°By Architect''s Ledger do you mean the thing used to create leaves?¡±


    Drazel nodded, through his frustration of Nytes first reply. Nyte picked up the black leather sheet and quill, it was nothing like Nyte had expected. It felt thick but seemed normal radiating no power. The quill was just as simple as the leather of the ledger.


    He looked at Drazel.


    ¡°Although he did leave me with an Auxiliary that assists in gambling, I don''t know why he''d do that without leaving me fussels.¡± Nyte said wonderingly.


    Drazel piped up, his gloom fading away.


    ¡°I suppose he did allow me to do our finances during our stay.¡± Drazel said, quickly adding. ¡°Though we do have a countable amount left. I might have made a massive miss calculation¡±


    ¡°How many?¡± Nyte asked, raising an eyebrow. If his guess was right and they were in an inn, then he didn¡¯t want to starve to death.


    ¡°Four full rank-one fussles and two empty,¡± Drazel said, sounding less certain than usual. ¡°It¡¯ll be enough for food until the end of tomorrow.¡±


    Nyte¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°How many did he give you?¡± He wasn¡¯t sure why he asked. He didn¡¯t really care. Maybe a little.


    ¡°Fifty.¡±


    Nyte stared at him. Or more accurately, at the green-tinted glasses that hid his eyes. His expression didn¡¯t change, but his mind paused for just a moment.


    Fifty fussles.


    ¡°What the fuck did you use that much money for?¡± Nyte asked, his voice rising slightly, head tilting.


    Drazel sighed. ¡°Here¡¯s the thing, Nyte. It was all for an excellent reason. I¡¯m working on an extensive sigildry project.¡±


    Nyte nodded. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°I needed a number of tools. But¡­ I overestimated my chances of multiplying the initial amount.¡±


    Nyte¡¯s expression didn¡¯t shift, but his voice was sharp when he asked, ¡°Gambling?¡±


    Drazel ran a hand through his hair, his usual composure slipping. ¡°I¡¯ve been stuck as a sigildry master for three years now.¡± His voice carried a weight Nyte hadn¡¯t heard before¡ªfrustration, maybe even desperation. ¡°Got the title at fifteen. Now I¡¯m getting old.¡±


    Nyte snorted. ¡°You¡¯re eighteen.¡±


    Drazel shot him a look. ¡°And at thirty, I¡¯ll be nothing but another sigildry master who never broke through. Do you know how many of us stay stuck at this level forever? I need¡ª¡± He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. ¡°I need an edge. And that takes resources.¡±


    Nyte nodded, considering his next move. A decision was here, sitting in front of him. He could help. Just like his master and Cipher had helped him. And like them¡­


    I need to gain something from helping, don¡¯t I?


    He gave the thought a mental nod. He spent a moment thinking, weighing the choice.


    Fuck it. I just want fussles.


    ¡°fifty-five percent of everything earned,¡± Nyte proposed.


    A small spark of satisfaction flickered inside him. He was acting on what he wanted. He had the ability to go for it.


    Drazel blinked. ¡°What?¡± His confusion was obvious.


    ¡°I might have a way to help you. Double the money. Assist your logical capacity.¡±


    ¡°A second¡ª¡± Drazel adjusted his glasses. ¡°The auxiliary?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Drazel considered for only a moment before nodding. ¡°After my bath¡± He was already stumbling toward the bath, long legs moving awkwardly.


    Nyte exhaled, shaking his head. Didn¡¯t even bargain.


    Every fucker with their own interests, I guess.


    As for Nyte? He was about to get rich, buy himself some nice clothes, maybe a mansion. After all, at the end of the day, the fussles belonged to both of them.


    Drazel walked into the bathroom, new clothes in his hands and a towel, there seemed to be a spring in his steps.


    Looking at the closed bathroom, Nyte remembered that he hadn¡¯t summoned any of his Auxiliaries to check them out, so he decided to summon Arkandris Ark first.


    He stretched out his hand before him opened his palm and thought the name: [Arkandris Ark]


    Nyte reached out, and the system answered. A chill raced through his skin, electric. The haze coiled around his fingers, twisting like living smoke. Another chill, and the haze thickened, swirling with quiet promise. The third chill struck deep, a shiver not of cold, but of something greater: power, purpose. And then, with effortless grace, the sword materialized, its hilt settling into his open hand like it had always belonged there.


    He was left breathless. The blade was a masterpiece of elegant yet baleful artistry.


    The hilt, long enough to accommodate both his hands with room to spare, rose into a dangerously arced pommel, a crest of lethal beauty. Created from golden, steel-like metal, it felt strangely comfortable despite its bare, unyielding surface. The crossguard curved subtly outward, guiding the eye toward the blade¡¯s length.


    The fuller stretched nearly half the length of the 1.12-meter blade, its first segment adorned with golden patterns and script etched against a pitch-black backdrop. Where the gold and black met their end, a deep blue took over, its surface carved with silver constellations, radiant suns, and celestial sigils. These patterns flowed seamlessly with the fuller until they, too, gave way¡ªwhere silver consumed the rest of the blade, a whisper of raw lethality.


    It was art, but a dreadful one¡ªcrafted for death.


    In Nyte¡¯s grip, the sword felt perfect, its balance absolute, its hold immovable. The air itself seemed to shudder as he shifted it, the edge humming, vibrating, as if thirsting for blood.


    Nyte''s eyes widened. Wow. Although Nyte felt wonder at seeing the sword he couldn¡¯t help but get a foreboding feeling within his gut. Just what waited for them?


    Nyte didn¡¯t know but gritted his teeth and affirmed his decision to stay the course.

 Chapter Seventeen: A world beneath the Snow

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Seventeen: A world beneath the Snow</h2>


    <hr>


    Oniihino(POV)


    "Why did you lie to the boy?¡±


    Oniihino did not flinch at the waves of power seeping into the room from behind her. Instead, she moved with deliberate patience, preparing a cup of tea. Her long fingers traced the rim of the cup before she lifted it to her lips. She took a sip, letting the warmth linger on her tongue, lashes lowering in satisfaction. Then, she placed the cup down with a soft clink, her touch precise and measured.


    She reached for one of her branches¡ªa boundless potential, her link to an absolute multiversal law. Bloom. Through it, she accessed a sliver of that vast law she was eternally aligned with. Before acting, she felt her leaves¡ªfive in total¡ªbefore settling on one. The power hummed with life and untapped potential. Then, she activated it. Seeds of Self.


    Her body withered, wrinkles deepening across her form, until she crumbled into flakes. In the next breath, she regrew like a plant enduring countless hardships, now seated on the opposite side of the table¡ªwhere Sloras¡¯s boy had sat.


    She crossed one leg over the other, an absent motion of ease. Shoulders loose, back arched just enough to suggest both comfort and provocation. A soft sigh left her lips as she traced a finger down her sleeve, drawing attention to the hidden fan within.


    Why should she fear? Did a beast fear prey caught between its jaws?


    "What lie would that be, honored one?" she asked, her tone delicate yet laced with amusement.


    She remained still, basking in the silence, though her fingers moved¡ªlightly tapping against the wooden table in slow, rhythmic beats. Tok. Tok. Tok. A countdown to her growing frustration. She longed to be with Cipher and the others, on the battlefield where she belonged.


    "Gu-mushen," the voice introduced itself. "You know what I speak of."


    At his words, she tilted her head slightly, the curve of her neck exposed in a careless display of vulnerability that was anything but. A tight smile unfurled, nothing like the genuine ones she had shared with the young Montcroix-Wythe. The relaxed ease of her previous conversation slipped away, replaced by something far colder, yet, more familiar.


    When she spoke again, her voice carried a softness that barely veiled the sharpness beneath.


    "Ah," she mused, trailing a finger along the edge of the boy¡¯s cup, as if contemplating something far removed. "You misunderstand, Honored Gu-mushen. It was more of a test."


    Something inside her stirred at the situation. The part of herself that had gone dormant in the presence of the child clawed its way to the surface. Her heartbeat quickened¡ªnot from fear, but from something far more primal. A slow inhale, as if savoring the scent of blood in the air.


    Tension, or more specifically conflict.


    "A test?" Gu-mushen echoed.


    Oniihino leaned forward just slightly, her fingers brushing over her collarbone before resting at her sleeve. She did not rush to explain. Only when the silence thickened did she allow her lips to part.


    "Yes, a simple test of brilliance. Surely, you noticed.¡± She let the words linger. If he had noticed simple, of he had not... A simple amusing insult. She continued.


    "Besides, the monster had been reduced to base Rank One strength. The boy¡¯s raw instincts and skill matched it. And he is yet to fully mature, to even feel the wall of his body¡¯s limits before the ranks."


    A slow, indulgent smile stretched across her lips, but the expression was too poised, too deliberate¡ªa blade honed to cut. The air around her thickened, an unspoken challenge laced in the silk of her tone. Beneath it, a quiet, restrained hunger for violence leaked into the space. She would soon be free, she would hold on.


    "Hmmm. Truly, a vile woman," Gu-mushen mused, amusement threading through his tone.


    Her lashes fluttered slightly. Mocking. Indifferent.


    "The Patriarch finds your assistance pleasing. You will be rewarded. As for your test¡­ we shall see its results. If your sneaky words lead the boy to death¡ªor to something more desirable."


    She rolled her eyes in a lazy motion, yet there was a sharpness behind it. The rewards of those in high places did not interest her. She needed only one thing, and it was not to be found here, it was in the field of battle, in the cry of the dying, and something new although she had not acknowledged it.


    If he cannot figure the test out, Sloras holds the blame. A faint smirk curled her lips. After all, isn¡¯t he a genius? He should notice. I made him sound stronger than he is¡ªright?


    And yet, despite her belief in the child¡¯s potential, frustration simmered beneath her skin. Not at him. No, at the presence before her. For all her pride, she dared not direct her anger at the true cause¡ªthe Patriarch. He, along with Cipher, had tasked her with preparing the boy. Yet, here the patriarch was sending his pet, the Polack-dots family''s assistant head, to interrogate her about the very thing he had demanded. The lack of trust grated on her nerves.


    She longed for battle. Let her witches handle the politics; she belonged more on the field.


    As Gu-mushen¡¯s presence faded, Oniihino exhaled, fingers tapping against her fan.


    Then, she stilled.


    A sharp sting bloomed in her palm. Slowly, she lifted her hand, watching as dark red liquid gathered in slow, lazy rivulets, trickling between her fingers. She had clenched her nails too tightly, cutting into her own flesh in absent frustration.


    "Look what you¡¯ve done."


    Her voice was a murmur, void of anger or regret. Instead, she brought her palm to her lips, tongue gliding over the fresh wound. The taste of iron sent a shiver through her spine. A quiet, cruel pleasure.


    Her fingers flexed, blood still damp on her skin. The battlefield called. The weight of her chains in her hand, the chaos of war, the dance of flesh and steel.


    "Soon," she whispered. "Very soon."


    With practiced ease, she smoothed her sleeves, straightened her posture, and reached once more for her tea. She took a sip, expression serene.


    But the hunger in her eyes never faded.


    <hr>


    Chronifer(POV)


    Chronifer dreamed, and yet, he knew, Slora, answered one of the first questions he had ever asked her.


    ¡°The system?¡± she asked gently, her husky tone making her seem like the most powerful woman Chronifer had ever encountered.


    ¡°Yes, Mother. What is it?¡± he asked hesitantly, still unsure of how to act back then.


    ¡°It''s quite simple, my sun. The system is a guide for our survival,¡± she began as she went back to signing papers arrayed before her. ¡°The system is everything. Our powers all originate from it, and it is the only reason we aren''t dead from living in a universe so filled with essence. So I reiterate: the system is survival.¡±


    Chronifer saw a bright light beyond the figment of the dream, but before it could rip him away, his younger self considered a question that still lingered in his mind to this day.


    Then how have we survived on Earth?


    He woke up to find himself curled around a long casing¡ªhis parents'' gift, which Oniihino had given to him.


    Their conversation came back to him now: her frightening words, which she had not explained, and the question she had asked.


    She had given him two choices: one, to take assistance from his family for the near future; the other, to forge ahead by his own might.


    Chronifer had found the answer easy. He knew what he wanted¡ªhis own story, forged by his hands. Yet his family was already part of his new legacy, no matter how much he tried to separate himself. In that moment, he came to a realization: there was no point in trying to become a fable of his own. He would strive for his own might but still rely on his family. So he made his decision¡ªnot to take their assistance... yet. He went with the first option.


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    He would make his foundation of his own strength and from there who knows.


    With that decision made, Oniihino told him he had passed. Apparently, he had been under a test. Then, she offered him the only gift his parents had given him.


    After that they had separated


    He unfurled himself and stood up from the bed. With a sudden feeling of lightness, he found himself in a huge bath, the case floating beside him.


    ¡°What in...¡± he gasped.


    ¡°It''s only a bath, darling,¡± Oniihino''s rhythmic voice flowed through the warm white haze covering the bath. ¡°Take your time to ease up before we begin heading for the summons.¡±


    ¡°Where are you?¡± Chronifer asked, slowly moving his hands to cover his now bare crotch. He was very much naked.


    ¡°I am everywhere, dear boy. Or do you want me to join you?¡± she asked in a playful tone.


    Chronifer ignored her, his mind circling back to the fact that this was the day of the summons. His heart thudded steadily in his chest, and he found himself ready to face whatever was to come.


    Not long after Chronifer was clad in a dark, layered ensemble, its design both practical and refined. A high-collared turtleneck hugged the throat, seamlessly disappearing beneath an overlapping outer garment that fastened at the side with a subtle knot. The fabric draped with a controlled weight, its long sleeves falling just past the wrists, offering both coverage and ease of movement. Below, a flowing, pleated lower garment extended past the knees, it''s dark folds shifting with each step Chronifer took by Oniihinos side, partially concealing the fitted trousers underneath.


    He and Oniihino walked down a big auditorium that glowed with a deep emerald light and the paths were made of polished jade. Across the massive space of interwoven space paths where carriages and different breeds of beasts of burden.


    Oniihino headed for a particular carriage heavily designed with a mix of jade, gold, and red paint. Harnessed to it was a massive wolf like beast.


    She climbed into the carriage.


    ¡°Aren''t you coming, dear?¡± Oniihino asked her head sticking out with a playful smile


    ¡°What about Ruhira and the other girls? And¡­ doesn''t this carriage need a coach man?¡± Chronifer asked worried about both girls, if they had gotten through.


    ¡°The coach men will be here in a moment.¡± Chronifer nodded along, a bit pleased to hear something like coach men existed. ¡°The girls are also on their way. I''m here earlier because of you. We need to keep you hidden, remember?¡±


    ¡°Ah, I can''t say I actually did.¡± Chronifer said as he climbed into the carriage an awkward smile on his face.


    ¡°Are you with the flute?¡± Oniihino asked, her hands outstretched, her fingers painted a deep purple.


    ¡°Yes. I''ve got it¡­ here.¡± He said handing it over to her, curious to find out why, she asked. His mind briefly remembered his parents'' message along with the flute. No man should be so cursed to only master chaos.


    ¡°Do you know how to play anything?¡± Oniihino asked, a teasing smile in her eyes.


    ¡°Well,¡± Chronifer laughed with a sheepish smile. In truth, he did know how to play¡ªhe knew how to play very well. One of his friends had taught him during some of the darkest days of his life as John, and he had always found the flute to bring him peace. It was his only support in all his decisions; it provided him warmth and comfort when no one else would see his side.


    ¡°Here, I''ll play you one song, you could learn with that.¡± Oniihino lifted the translucent glass flute to her lips, it had a cylindrical build with hand holes and mouth piece all spaced diligently across its length.


    Oniihino began, Chronifer watched her hands as it danced across the translucent flute, the sounds a melodic journey, bursting with emotions.


    As Chronifer watched her play, he found his mind slowing down, he felt more In touch with himself, within him was worry, for his parents, Nyte and shockingly Dante. Then there was anticipation for what was to come and the burning desire to come out victorious from a challenge and last of all encompassing all of these emotions stood one giant emotion, it was wonder.


    Chronifer wanted to see what stood outside all the walls that had surrounded him since his rebirth. Chronifer felt a soft smile growing on his lips.


    Before he knew it the song was finished, Oniihino handed the flute to him.


    ¡°Give that a try. Go on.¡±


    Chronifer tried and succeeded. Well, I might just as well adopt the title of flute genius.


    Oniihino looked at him, eyebrows raised, her lips softly parted and she raised her chin.


    ¡°Dear, I specifically heard from you, a moment ago, that you hadn''t ever learned to play.¡± She asked in her voice, suspicious. ¡°Did Slora teach you?¡±


    ¡°I''m serious, I just did as you did, father taught me to copy quite well.¡± He said with a smile. ¡°And I didn''t say any such thing.¡±


    She looked at him, eyes squinting.


    ¡°whatever.¡± She said in a dry voice.


    Chronifer was left smiling softly at her behaviour and watching the auditorium, through the tinted glass windows, he watched with interest as normal looking human men approached wearing tailored uniforms with top hats. They walked casually and laughed as they approached, some held bottles in hands, taking occasional swigs.


    The men stopped at a path near their carriage and got into a heated discussion, Chronifer could hear quite a bit of it.


    ¡°I''m telling you gutter bound idiots, that little man was a real gambling man, he was on a roll¡± one of the men said angrily.


    ¡°Shut your senseless trap, Semy. Yeah, we all saw him win straight rows of games. But it seems your sappy arse didn''t see him lose like a gutter bound and unlucky wastrel, during the latter games.¡± The man shut back.


    ¡°Both your problems if you pull out punches, I won''t be getting sacked from this job.¡± Entered another man.


    ¡°Well, I know what I''d be doing with my weekly pay.¡± Another man besides the man, Semy started.


    ¡°Me and you, Xed. I''m getting on my knees and begging that beautiful lad to help me double, nah, quadruple my salary.¡±


    ¡°Selsa will be smiling big with that one.¡±


    ¡°Sure will.¡±


    ¡°Until they catch the kid cheating.¡±


    The conversation got all chaotic as both agreements and arguments picked up all of a sudden.


    The conversations went on for a while but as the witches and their student appeared through the wide crested doors the men all stiffened and formed into an organised line, hiding bottles of rum, whiskey and other alcoholic drinks, while organising and straightening out their uniforms.


    ¡°Alright Kin''s.¡± Came a stern wizened voice that reeked of discipline. Chronifer had in fact heard the voice before. ¡°From here on out, you are all witches, you''ve proven yourselves over and over, again and again. Standing before you is an opportunity not just for you but to make the coven stronger. This a chance for you to become seconds, generals, commander and recognised by large families across all six clans and by even the council of six. Keep this within your skulls though, your only obstacle is death. Now, what says you?¡± Asked Mistress Wombessa


    ¡°Ever for sisterhood, ever for the six blood of coven, ever for the hand that binds. Pride for the Caj¡¯malarie.¡± Came the answer in a cacophony.


    Across the crowd of men Chronifer couldn''t really see Wombessa and only managed to spot Ruhira''s head of green hair.


    ¡°We shall see. Now each witch to her carriage. Semy!¡± The coach man scrambled from the back of the men frantically.


    ¡°Yes, yes, yes Honoured Mistress Wombessa of the jad¡­¡± He said, his voice wavering.


    ¡°Enough of that rubbish. You will be taking that carriage.¡± She paused and Chronifer did have to guess as all the men in standing in a huddle turned towards their carriage. ¡°That, young Semy, makes you head of this movement, for inside that carriage waits high mistress Oniihino.¡±


    Semy wiz was heard through the crowd, ¡°yes.¡± He finally said.


    Chronifer tried to catch sight of Wombessa, but she remained elusive. Soon after, the carriages began rolling toward a separate exit that curved into a sharp decline.


    Before Chronifer could discern what lay ahead, a burst of sound and scent struck him. First came the chatter of countless people¡ªa familiar cacophony of human voices that swelled into a louder-than-life buzz. Then the smell hit: a perplexing mixture of sweat, a tang reminiscent of pancreas, and other odors he could not recognize.


    Oniihino, silent since the flute incident, turned to him with a smile and giggled, ¡°What a caged little thing¡ªwelcome, dear boy, to the snake tunnels.¡±


    They emerged from a tunnel wall carved into and around the imposing jade tower underneath the ground, where several similar entrances stood. The coachman maneuvered through a smaller passage, and Chronifer¡¯s eyes widened in wonder.


    Before him stretched a massive tunnel, its height sufficient to house a twenty-story building and its width equally impressive. Above, countless streams of golden water cascaded, producing light and casting a warm, bright glow throughout the passage.


    Ahead lay a city at the peak of life¡ªnot the desolate wasteland that winter had rendered Onyx Thorn to seem. Small passage''s, reminiscent of those near the earlier passage, appeared sporadically along the sides of the path, entangled with the smaller buildings.


    Said small buildings lined the side of the carriage paths in organised lines.


    Countless people lined the road, talking, walking, buying stuff. simply living. Chronifer watched them and felt a smile well up to his lips. He bit his lower lip in amazement, comforted by the sight of so many living souls. Though he hadn''t wondered if his life were an illusion, witnessing this vibrant, breathing place affirmed its reality, and made him ponder how Earth fared.


    His emotions flowed slowly like the gentle flowing stream flowing in the centre of snake tunnels


    Before he could completely calm down, a warm hand gripped his shoulder. Chronifer snapped his attention back to the carriage and saw Oniihino watching the supposedly empty seat beside him with intense eyes. He turned slowly. A man now occupied it, his eyes a piercing, offsetting crimson; his exquisitely tailored black suit, adorned with silver inlays, caught the light with each subtle movement; and his short, jet-black hair framed a face that radiated both elegance and enigma.


    ¡°Hello, Chronifer,¡± the man intoned, his deep voice reverberating through the carriage as if it carried secrets of its own. ¡°I''ve been looking for you.¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s pulse quickened. ¡°What brings you here, butler?¡± Oniihino asked, her voice colder than Ice and leaving Chronifer filling a deep unease

 Chapter Eighteen: Cabeld Striders

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Eighteen: Cabeld Striders </h2>


    <hr>


    ¡°Calm yourself, witch, while I introduce myself to the young Montcroix-Wythe.¡± Albus waved Oniihino off with a casual flick of his wrist. Chronifer caught the sharp clench of her jaw.


    ¡°I think it might be better to answer her first,¡± Chronifer suggested, not particularly eager to experience whatever had happened to him and Nyte again.


    Albus let out a bemused chuckle, his thin, pale lips curling into a smirk. ¡°Why not, Chronifer, why not?¡± He inclined his head slightly before turning his full attention to Oniihino. ¡°And what might your question be, witch?¡±


    There was an unmistakable edge in the way he said witch, one that made Chronifer recall how Oniihino had called him butler.


    Oniihino exhaled sharply, her anger seeming to fade, replaced by cold calculation. ¡°Are you here on behalf of Fashina?¡± Her voice was measured, cautious.


    Albus tilted his head as though considering the weight of the question. ¡°You see, that is a matter of perspective. I am, and I am not. The latter is more prudent, as I am here, in this carriage, at this moment, on my own behalf.¡± His gaze flicked between Oniihino and Chronifer, his smile never faltering.


    Chronifer¡¯s head spun. Even though he understood what Albus was saying, it felt like a mental test he was somehow failing.


    Oniihino, however, seemed to grasp his meaning. ¡°Then what do you bring concerning Fashina?¡±


    Albus placed a hand over his heart and bowed¡ªnot deeply, but just enough. ¡°Ah, now that, I unfortunately cannot say. I assure you, however, that it will not affect him in any manner his dear parents wish to avoid.¡±


    Oniihino seemed satisfied by that answer, or at least uninterested in pushing further. A yawn slipped past her lips, muffled behind a raised hand.


    ¡°Poor Oniihino,¡± Albus mused, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯ve been away from slaughter too long, haven¡¯t you? Lucky for you, this is your last day here.¡±


    Chronifer frowned at the statement. The picture forming in his mind was an unsettling one. He had known Oniihino was dangerous, but away from slaughter too long? What kind of people had he surrounded himself with? But he already knew the answer¡ªa faction of mercenaries who fought not just for pay, but for their own whims.


    Before Oniihino could respond, Albus waved her off once more.


    Chronifer took note of that fact, she seemed loath to speak after his dismissal, He couldn''t help but wonder who this Albus was.


    ¡°I am Albus Shau-rak. Voice of Reason, Keeper of the Underworld, and butler of the Montcriox-wythe.¡± He let the titles linger before flashing a knowing grin. ¡°And I would like to escort you to the Cable Strider.¡±


    Chronifer barely registered the offer. Cable Strider? Did everyone here just get assigned cool-sounding titles and names?


    During their journey, Albus had taken the time to explain his role in the Montcroix-Wythe domain. As the Voice of Reason, he was tasked with keeping the leadership bound to the rule and ensuring the rules remained just for the people. The title of Keeper of the Underworld was one he refused to elaborate on, only saying that he "wasn''t able to share." And as for the butler title, that was the only one he had explained with a tone that suggested he wished he could ignore it altogether.


    Albus had also detailed what the Cable Strider was, a feat of engineering, a transport like no other. And now, standing on the vast platform, Chronifer could only gape in wonder.


    Less than an hour later, their journey took them deep into the sprawling underground of Onyx Thorn, a city carved beneath the surface. Shadowed alleys, flickering lanterns, and buildings of dark stone blurred past their carriage as they wound their way through narrow streets. Then, just as suddenly, they ascended¡ªnot just to the surface, but beyond it.


    Higher and higher they climbed, piercing through frozen clouds. The air thinned, crisp and biting against Chronifer¡¯s skin, but the chill barely registered as they rode onto a vast platform.


    Then he saw it.


    A single, massive cable of obsidian metal stretched across the horizon. Its sheer scale defied logic, an endless line vanishing into the infinite void above. At irregular intervals, small bursts of light zipped along its length, shooting upwards and downwards at impossible speeds.


    Cable Striders.


    Albus had explained it during their ride¡ªhow the Cable Strider was a feat of engineering, a transport system unlike any other. But only now, before it, did Chronifer truly grasp its enormity.


    As their carriage came to a stop in a designated slot, Chronifer remained transfixed. The sight of the cable filled him with something unnamable¡ªan anticipation, an excitement, a thrill for adventure.


    Across the wide distance between them and the enormous cable, Semy came to a stop in a parking slot and so did the other carriages.


    Chronifer still entranced by the cable, occasionally caught glimpses of what he guessed where cable striders. Occasionally a zip of light was sent spinning across the cable up wards and downwards.


    ¡°So, Chronifer, Oniihino,¡± Albus said smoothly, ¡°you wouldn¡¯t mind me as your escort, would you?¡±


    Neither of them had given him a proper answer during the ride. Chronifer barely cared¡ªhe just wanted to see the Cable Striders up close, to know where it led.


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    ¡°Does it really matter who escorts me?¡± he asked, his voice carrying a sigh. He knew the politics in the clan ran deep, but at this moment, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to care.


    Oniihino adjusted the layered folds of her dress before responding. ¡°Between me and Albus? No. Albus is the voice of reason. He is the law. I am your aunt¡ªwe¡¯re family. It doesn¡¯t matter who you go with.¡±


    ¡°Then why not?¡± Chronifer said, moving to jump off the carriage.


    Before he could, Albus placed a firm yet strangely gentle hand on his shoulder. ¡°No, Chronifer, if you don¡¯t mind¡ª¡± He gestured toward Oniihino. ¡°Say your goodbyes.¡±


    Chronifer turned. ¡°See you in a bit, Auntie.¡±


    "I''ll see you when the time comes, now, I need to address the kin''s."


    Albus chuckled. ¡°A bit, he says.¡±


    Oniihino smiled faintly, but before Chronifer could fully process it, the world shifted.


    <hr>


    When the distortion of space settled, Chronifer found himself before a massive structure. It resembled a wheel¡ªonly instead of spokes, it was designed like an artistic hotel.


    A man in a crisp silver uniform rushed toward them. ¡°Honored Albus, what brings you here?¡±


    ¡°Escorting the little lord,¡± Albus replied casually.


    The man barely spared Chronifer a glance before his expression shifted into immediate recognition. ¡°Young lord, it is truly an honor.¡± Mid-bow, he seemed to catch himself, hesitating¡ªunsure whether to complete the bow or snap upright.


    ¡°The Strider is taking off soon¡ªwe must hurry.¡±


    ¡°Meet the lady at the front. She¡¯ll give you a room number,¡± the man called after them as they hurried inside.


    Chronifer couldn¡¯t help but grin. He had met so many new people in such a short time. He had missed this.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he shouted back.


    Once inside, Chronifer took a deep breath, steadying himself. Albus was watching him, smiling with that same unreadable amusement.


    ¡°So young, yet so fit. Truly something.¡± His eyes gleamed with curiosity. ¡°I wonder¡­ have you reached your body¡¯s limit yet?¡±


    Chronifer hesitated, recalling the lingering sensation from the tree within. ¡°I don¡¯t actually know.¡±


    Albus hummed in thought. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s answer enough. When you reach your Rank Zero limit, you just know.¡± He swung out a pocket watch, checking the time. ¡°And from then on, only ascension increases your strengths. But be warned¡ªneglect training, and your body will degrade.¡±


    Chronifer absorbed the words. So I always need to keep training. He clenched his fists slightly. Fine. I¡¯ll just keep going.


    At the reception desk, a woman barely looked up as she read: ¡°Strider 009 is currently locked down¡­¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°I''m really sorry, young lady¡­¡±


    ¡°Young lady. I''m sorry sir but I''m probably older than you.¡± The girl said.


    Chronifer looked at Albus and for some reason he had just known it when he first saw the man he wasn''t what he seemed. I thought people here would be more informed.


    The man looked at him and mouthed, ¡®Immigrant.¡¯


    It was clear that people in the multiverse aged slower, if ever, so it was a mistake to ever assume someone''s age.


    ¡°My bad. I''m truly sorry.¡± After a slight pause he added. ¡°Am I forgiven?¡± Albus said with a truly gentle smile, that spoke to the fact that he knew of his mistake.


    The girl blushed, brushing aside a strand of hair.


    ¡°Sure thing, handsome.¡± Chronifer watched on, not sure what he was experiencing.


    ¡°I''m here escorting Chronifer, young lord of the Montcriox-wythe Clan.¡± For the first time the girl''s eyes seemed to look down at him and they widened and then they flickered back to Albus and not his youthful face but his ensemble.


    ¡°I''m sorry Si¡­Sir Shau-rak.¡± She seems to remember Chronifer, before she could bow he stopped her.


    The pains of being born rich and royal. He found himself striking poses within his mind with that statement.


    ¡°It remains our fault for coming unannounced. I hope you can just do us a little favour and help us with a room?¡± Chronifer asked his three and nine foot height not even reaching the top of the counter.


    ¡°Certainly, thank you so much. Young lord.¡± And with that Chronifer had become the essence of a good young lord. He pulsed with pride and caught Albus shaking his head indulgently like a grandfather.


    ¡°Your rooms will be: Room zero, zero, zero and room X, X three. Here are your keys.¡± She said, handing out the keys to Albus.


    Then Albus led him down a long hallway, and the voice that had been the background noise intensified.


    ¡°Why had you come here anyways? Sir Albus.¡± He asked.


    ¡°Oh please just call me Albus.¡± He said with a pleased smile.


    ¡°Nothing much, can you keep this secret, it is something most do not know.¡± Albus said his voice and exaggerated whispers.


    ¡°I give you my word.¡± Chronifer nodded solemnly. This place although everyone is mad one way or the other up stairs they seem to have some of the best people. Chronifer thought.


    ¡°Well, I''m here to see my grandson. Lorn.¡± Chronifer tripped, Albus caught in by his shoulder.


    Although the man had given off a grandfatherly air, Chronifer was shocked to discover that he was indeed a grandfather.


    ¡°Oh, do you think I''m handsome too.¡± Albus said with a laugh and then he opened the door to the lounge and found a huge back blocking it.


    ¡°Can you please¡­¡± he was cut off by a deep voice.


    ¡°Shut up, can''t you see I''m trying to listen to something?¡± The voice came from the figure, beyond him what seemed like a quarrel seemed to be taking place.


    ¡°Just¡­¡±


    ¡°Shut up, bitch. Things are¡­¡± Albus taped a single point at the boy''s back and like a puppet with his strings cut he fainted.


    ¡° Common, Chronifer.¡± Albus guided, the people gathered around the big young man watching them with wary eyes.


    Chronifer followed feeling like had just jinxed himself with his earlier thought''s.


    They walked through the crowd to find a set of teens looking very much on the end of their temper and right there in the middle of the standoff was a familiar Ashen boy. Nyte.

 Chapter Nineteen: Murmuring Crowd

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Nineteen: Murmuring Crowd</h2>


    <hr>


    Qukula Gwo-han(POV)


    Qukula Gwo-han was going to become the head of the Gwo-han family. It was assured. He just had to make these two nameless creatures in front of him sign the damned contract.


    He glanced around. A fair number of people had gathered, their presence adding weight to the moment.


    Why do these nameless mongrels even resist? he thought angrily. But outwardly, only a winning smile remained.


    ¡°This is not a request, boys.¡± He gestured for one of the Wei brothers to step forward, the contract in hand. The taller human boy looked down at them, his eyes hidden behind those ridiculously stylish glasses.


    The boy wouldn¡¯t be a problem if a fight broke out. But his partner...


    The ashen-skinned Sitsi¡¯an, the one Qukula truly wanted, stood slightly behind the taller boy, looking as if he¡¯d rather be anywhere else.


    ¡°It may seem you are rather retarded,¡± the tall boy said, casually flipping through the contract. ¡°What was it you called yourself again?¡± He waved a dismissive hand. ¡°Never mind. We¡¯ll be on our¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop right there.¡±


    Qukula¡¯s anger spilled over. He wouldn¡¯t let them ruin his plans. His foolish brothers wasted time strategizing and holding meetings about business. They hadn¡¯t even bought a new mansion despite the family¡¯s growing fame. But Qukula understood the way of the world. Even figures like Dante and Fusan agreed: a man needed to enjoy the pleasures of life.


    And with these boys, it would all be possible.


    ¡°Listen to me,¡± he continued, regaining his composure. ¡°This is going to be a business partnership. With your betting skills, we¡¯ll build something truly incredible. An empire¡ª¡±


    He was cut off. His forehead veins bulged, but this time it wasn¡¯t the tall, lanky teen. It was the Sitsi¡¯an.


    ¡°Fuck off, boy. We made our decision. Now piss off.¡±


    The room went silent.


    Even Qukula¡¯s heart skipped a beat. Then came the fury.


    Who cared what happened to these bastards?


    ¡°Let¡¯s teach these bottom-barrel no-names a lesson,¡± Qukula sneered, stepping forward. As expected, the taller boy took quick steps away.


    Such weaklings should not have unearned confidence. It should be a sin.


    But the ashen-skinned boy didn¡¯t flinch. He simply waited.


    Qukula considered using his Leaf but resisted the urge. Instead, he reached within, touching upon another power, his Physical Operator, ready to enhance his attributes if necessary.


    He moved in.


    The Sitsi¡¯an¡¯s gaze flicked to his side.


    Qukula¡¯s punch was already flying, packed with all his strength.


    What a fool, he thought, then his instincts screamed at him to enhance his body.


    The chance never came.


    Like a storm, an attack came from the side.


    A hand snaked into his blind spot, striking the inside of his elbow with pinpoint force. His arm buckled mid-swing, nerves screaming as the precise impact turned his attack into dead weight.


    Before he could process the failure of his punch, his wrist was seized. The grip was an iron vice, twisting and yanking him forward, off-balance. The next moment, a shoulder crashed into his, wrenching his body downward in a brutal rotation.


    His knees buckled. His face nearly met the floor, until a sharp, searing pain stopped him cold.


    A twisted arm lock. His limb bent backward at a sickening angle, his shoulder strained to its absolute limit. The pressure was immediate and unforgiving.


    His breath hitched. His mind caught up.


    He was already defeated.


    Teeth gritted, he reached for his Leaf.


    The grip on his wrist tightened.


    A sharp pull.


    A flash.


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    The world spun.


    Then, darkness.


    <hr>


    Chronifer(POV)


    Chronifer stood up from the boys back where he had used his knee to plant the boys face into the hard polished ground.


    He felt a bit wobbly as everything he had done relied strictly on momentum and anatomy. He was fast, and strong for a six year old, but if he hadn''t weakened the boy''s hand making his strength irrelevant and moved quickly after that he would have lost.


    He turned back to see that Nyte was almost done with the boy goons with two other boys having joined in and helped him. The fight, if it could be called that, between him and the boy was done in seconds like Albus had told Chronifer would happen.


    Before Chronifer had acted he had asked the man about his chances, the man had been detailed and clear.


    ¡°You are not as strong as him, but you''re faster. You''re lucky he never hit his pre-rank limit before ascending.¡± Albus began. ¡°Simply hit him fast and take him out. If not he has access to his branches and maybe even a leaf. But the real threat is his ability to manipulate his physical attributes using the physical operator. If he does that you''ll be very out and embarrassed.¡±


    Chronifer had felt the boy''s body growing more stronger at the end, hence his prompt take out.


    He watched as Nyte and the other boys dispatched of the six goons of the boy. Nyte fought like a mistake, his actions never started and ended the way it ought to, each movement hiding five different moves, each punch hiding a spin, a shift of balance and it was truly a brilliant use of misdirection that baffled Chronifer.


    The control. He marveled.


    Under a minute the battle was over. The two other boys were just as skilled if not more so than Nyte.


    And Chronifer stood loath at the fact he hadn''t quite observed both of them, too focused on Nyte he had missed out on how quickly they had finished their opponents.


    One of them, he stood stood tallest among all of them, summoned a spike out of mid air, Chronifer raised an eyebrow, he had seen his parent''s do similar act, although he had a bit of curiosity towards the act, he had always chucked it up to special storages, like found in novels.


    From the other boy he heard a whisper.


    ¡°You have an auxiliary to rest your back on?¡± The other boy who stood at the same height as Nyte said.


    ¡°What, I''m too cool to stand straight.¡±


    The other boy shook his head in amusement. Chronifer smiled as well, yet he caught something from their whisper.


    Auxiliary, is that what they are. Interesting.


    Chronifer''s attention was soon snatched by the boy behind him.


    ¡°Fuck this!¡± Exclaimed the boy from where Chronifer had knocked him out. He struggled to his feet, his fist turning a sickly burning green. ¡°This ends here, plebeians.¡±


    Chronifer watched the boy''s hands as he fell into a complete focus, ready to use the dance of mirrors. He knew he stood little chance after getting a breakdown of what the physical operator did, yet he stood. Not because he believed in his strength, no, that would have been foolish, but because he knew in his bones Nyte stood with him and maybe the other boys as well.


    He knew Oniihino had been overly complimentary about his physical abilities, but she hadn''t lied. He could feel how potent his skill and instincts, it almost felt like he could exhibit almost any combat move he wanted, yet he still didn''t know where he stood with the Dance of Mirrors, and at times strength just trumped skill


    ¡°You''re Right. Qukula Gwo-han. This does end here.¡± Albus walked in from the side and the crowd seemed to pull back in a stifled and terrified silence. The gossip seized like suddenly finding one''s self in the eye of the storm.


    Chronifer was broken from his focus as the moderately tall man approached his corporate jet black and well polished shoes echoing his every step.


    ¡°You¡­ you are¡­¡± The boy, Qukula Gwo-han said.


    Hushed whispers gushed from the crowd answering the boys questions in hallowed awe.


    ¡°Brother, isn''t that Albus.¡±


    ¡°Hush! Don''t say his name.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean they''re here? I hear anywhere he goes the Dark Silo follows.¡±


    ¡°Qukula has done it now, he has drawn attention he can''t afford.¡±


    ¡°But Albus Shau-rak of all people, the principality himself.¡±


    Chronifer shivered at the awe laced through the crowd''s murmurs.


    He had known of his close proximity to people, if they could be called that anymore, that could apparently shatter him with thought alone. It scared him at times, yet it was also clear that he knew them in their relaxed states. That was why the boy''s fear didn''t shock him, but he still wondered about Albus. It was clear he had a reputation, a fierce one in fact, but for what and why? Oniihino had called him the law and that lingered behind Chronifers mind.


    Knowing or rather speculating about Albus and all the other adults in his life with illusive powers and reputation also pushed him forward, Chronifer wanted that level of power and he also liked the fact that his family were so powerful it was a sought of comfort on his back.


    ¡°The humble and kind Albus Shau-rak. And you Qukula have committed several mistakes this unfortunate day, at least for you.¡± Albus said with a smile. ¡°You have insulted these five boys ineptly and me in proxy.¡±


    The boy fell to his knees beginning.


    ¡°Forgiveness please. I have been a fool. Please spare me, spare me.¡± The boy cried, his body trembling the ground seems to gulp in unison, joined by a humming that started reverberating through the building.


    ¡°No, no, none of that now, Qukula, at the very least hear your mistakes before you grovel.¡± Albus came to stop besides Chronifer. ¡°Your biggest mistake was to address Chronifer here as a¡­ a plebeian.¡±


    Chronifer shifted under the sudden attention of the crowd.


    The boy''s head raised up to gaze at Chronifer searching and seemingly finding nothing special about him.


    ¡°Second was to insult these two other boys,¡± he gestured to the two boys that had joined Nyte. And third. You guessed it was trying to force and insult these two other young men.¡± Albus lectured


    ¡°..but..¡±


    ¡°Do. not. Speak.¡± He said an edge in his deep resonant voice. ¡°Now for introductions. This is Chronifer. Son of Cipher and Slora. Youngest of the Montcriox-wythe clan.¡±


    ¡°What.¡±


    ¡°I heard that was a lie.¡±


    ¡°He doesn''t look like a newborn to me.¡±


    ¡°You fool, didn''t hear what Slora said in her announcement?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it''s just hard to believe.¡±


    ¡°So it''s true.¡±


    ¡°I heard Slora got him off another man''s seed.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, she just messed with the Birthmoon.¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡± Chronifer said. Actually facing the crowd. ¡°Do not, ever, talk rubbish about my mother or father. That would not end well.¡±


    Albus laughed. ¡°Some people were about to lose their tongues there.¡± He turned from the crowd back to Qukula. ¡°Then you called the sitsi''an and the human over there nobodies.¡± The man laughed. ¡°That is Nyte, the apprentice of Dante, better known as Cowardicelore. His friend over there is sponsored by both Lord Cipher and Dante.¡±


    The crowd were now holding down their mouths but the gossip was strong on their faces and Chronifer found himself staring them down, his anger boiling at the insults at his mother. Chronifer shocked his head then.


    This isn''t worth my anger. They really weren''t important enough.


    Yes, Chronifer was infuriated by them insulting his mother, it felt like punches to him, it was illogical and Chronifer could see why, his family felt like a treasure to him, his greatest wealth, his mother and father were like a wish come true. Yet he knew he could not let his defensiveness towards them cloud his mind, his anger had been enough to show his loyalty and love, and his words had created a boundary, but now it needed to die, for anger never created anything of worth, at least if not controlled.


    ¡°Last you just called Tehn Lefthan and Lorn Shau-rak plebeians. You see why I feel insulted.¡±


    Chronifer walked back a little to where the tall lanky boy and Nyte stood.


    ¡°It''s been a while Nyte. I see you''ve gotten quite popular.¡± Chronifer said in greeting. ¡°Hello Nytes friend.¡±


    The other boy scoffed. ¡°Call me Drazel, young lord.¡±


    ¡°Drazel, nice to meet you.¡± Replied Chronifer.


    ¡°Thanks for the assist, Chronifer.¡± Nyte said, ¡°I think you grew¡­ nevermind I was mistaken.¡±


    ¡°That wasn''t a bad joke, Nyte.¡± Chronifer was pleased with the boy''s humour, which brought a smile to his face.


    ¡°I¡¯m just that good.¡± Nyte replied deadpan and matter of fact.


    ¡°Well, thank you for the assistance as well. I needed it.¡± Chronifer felt a bit proud that the boy seemed to be doing things for himself, although he saw how he seemed to want out of the whole action, the attention Albus introduced had drawn to him seemed like an affront to him.


    ¡°So do any of you know why the insult to Tehn was taken so personally by Albus. I get Lorn, that''s his grandson after all.¡±


    ¡°I''ve managed to gather the fact that Tehn Lefthan was mostly trained by Albus.¡± Drazel said.


    ¡°Ah, I see.¡± Chronifer turned to look at the boy, he gave up. He couldn''t sneakily get a good look at his face, his height was hateful.


    Chronifer shook his head feeling a bit overwhelmed by the amount of things he had to process since leaving the jade coven. From the snake tunnels, to meeting Albus, the cable striders and the cable, and now to meeting all these new People. Chronifer was happy that he was finally getting to see the world but he felt the wonder that had driven him forward crashing back down leaving him feeling dizzy.


    Yet he watched as Albus began speaking once more.


    ¡°Here is what''s going to happen.¡± Albus began his deep echoing voice crowing dangerously low. ¡°You''re going to write home. Tell your brothers that you''re no longer interested in their challenge; they offered you to become family head.¡± He paused. ¡°Then you''ll be forgiven.¡±


    The boy fainted.

 Chapter Twenty: A World Devouring Serpent

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Twenty: A World Devouring Serpent </h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifer walked toward his room, guided by a glowing arrow that floated above his key, pointing the way forward. He had no idea how it worked, but it was awesome.


    ¡°So they gave you auxiliaries?¡± Chronifer asked again, unable to help himself.


    Even after hearing Nyte¡¯s entire story, that part just stuck with him.


    ¡°Yeah, and an Architect Ledger to make my leaves after I unlock my branches.¡± Nyte grinned, fully aware of Chronifer¡¯s indignation.


    ¡°Whatever.¡± Chronifer scoffed. ¡°So, when I make some money, you can help me double or even triple it?¡± Chronifer inquired feeling a but of greed


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Chronifer narrowed his eyes.


    ¡°He¡¯s been considering stopping,¡± Drazel interjected, not looking up from his writing.


    ¡°Really?¡± Chronifer turned back to Nyte. ¡°Well, whatever you decide¡ª¡±


    ¡°Young lord, Nyte, and Drazel.¡±


    The voice was light, a little tired, yet undeniably easygoing. A tall boy came to a stop before them, a natural grin resting on his lips. His brown pupils, framed by olive and brown hair, held an easy going smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m Tehn Lefthan, and it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you all. A real big pleasure.¡± He shuffled into a clean bow. ¡°And I definitely wasn¡¯t hoping that helping out back there would put me in your good books. No, definitely not.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Tehn. You can call me Chronifer.¡± Chronifer offered a nod, smirking. ¡°And I definitely appreciate you helping me back there. It was absolutely not the reason you¡¯re in my good books now.¡±


    ¡°Ah, thank the System.¡± Tehn¡¯s grin widened. ¡°My pa would¡¯ve called that bribery. We can¡¯t have that in a just system, now can we?¡±


    He turned toward Nyte, who had been slowly slipping away in silence.


    ¡°Ah, Nyte, it would be a truly sad thing if I didn¡¯t greet you as well, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    Nyte froze mid-step, caught.


    ¡°Ah, definitely for you, definitely. Also, I definitely wasn¡¯t trying to avoid this whole conversation. No, definitely not.¡± Nyte mimicked an exaggerated tone, almost like his master, except without the cursing.


    Chronifer chuckled and turned to Drazel, who was still furiously scribbling in his small book.


    ¡°What an understanding fellow.¡± Tehn let out a small sigh. ¡°I think Lorn¡¯s grandpa should be done talking to him soon. I¡¯ll have to catch him. Let¡¯s all get to know each other better in the future.¡±


    ¡°If you could fight all my battles and keep me from ever having to duel anyone in public, you¡¯d be my best friend. I swear it.¡± Nyte declared.


    Tehn laughed. ¡°We shall see.¡±


    He turned and walked away, waving lazily at Drazel as he left.


    Nyte frowned. ¡°What does we shall see even mean?¡±


    Chronifer shrugged.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m gonna take a nap.¡± Nyte stretched. ¡°See you, Chronifer. Oh, and I wish you good luck.¡±


    Chronifer smiled.


    ¡°Yeah. You too.¡±


    Nyte linger for a while a bit of excitement building up in his eyes but he just shrugged and walked away.


    <hr>


    Chronifer entered the room, and found it to be a simple yet luxurious one. It contained furniture made out of black polished wood and marvel, embroidered with silver.


    Chronifer paused,


    So silver exists In this world, I would never have guessed. He joked to himself then walked to the huge bed occupying its own conner of the room.


    Jumped jumped into the bed it caught him in a comfy embrace, he sighed, thinking back to him and Nyte earlier conversation. He had gotten an amulet that granted lock and could bypass the security of betting houses, not only that, while Chronifer had gotten a test.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    He sighed, stretched out his hands and felt something on the bed. He sat up and saw a later, it was packaged in a solid paper envelope with golden embroidery, something he immediately assigned with the Montcriox-wythe. He turned it over to see a seal of a thorn.


    I bet I hadn''t seen this here moments ago.


    He looked up from the envelope, there was no one else in the room. He climbed out of the bed, and sat at the chair next to the bed positioned before a prominent window occupying a whole section of the rooms wall.


    He tore open the latter.


    From Fashina to grandson.


    Chronifer immediately made the connections. Albus had shown that he could teleport. He had brought something from Chronifers grandmother Fashina. With a sigh he continued reading.


    It is to my greatest sorrow that we have never been able to meet face to face as family ought to be. But as a cultured woman I find myself respecting your mothers wishes for ciphers mansion in the family estate remains in bothered. Chronifer could smell a twist coming from the amount of niceties stuffed into the beginning.


    So that''s why there are no helps or anyone else in our mansion? Mother.  Chronifr had guess that much though


    He dove into reading again: However I am loath to leave your political relationship with the families hanging uncultivated. I believe it would be in the best interest of your mother and father for me to handle those matters.


    Chronifer laughed swinging his legs which hung from the chair he sat upon. I saw this one coming, I saw it. What a loving grandmother.


    He continued reading: That is but a side thought though, what truly matters is you my dear boy, I hear your growing up quite fast, I hear you''ve pretty much already mastered the earlier stages of the dance and with only six months of training, a true genius. When you do get back, make sure to pay grandmother a visit. Oh and do consider signing the spot below, it would help me with the earlier matter, and do fold the latter into it envelope that would get it back to me. From Fashina Montcriox-wythe.


    Chronifer shrugged, he didn''t really have to think about it much, he wouldn''t draw much conclusions from this latter about his grandmother, she definitely wasn''t a good person or bad either. he just needed to know where she stood between does two lines,. His response however to the letter would be a simple one. Nothing.


    He folded the latter and tucked it back into the envelope.


    At that moment, Chronifer felt a sudden jerk to the side. He glanced outside¡ªand his breath caught.


    The Cable Strider had taken off.


    It spun around the colossal cable, its immense wheel-like frame turning in a slow, immutable ascent. The behemoth cable stretched endlessly into the void above, vanishing into the abyss of space. Yet, the Strider did not cling to it directly. Instead, a network of smaller cables latched onto the massive line, suspending it like a predator hooked to its prey. With each revolution, the smaller cables coiled tighter, spinning faster, drawing it ever upward¡ªsteady, relentless.


    Chronifer watched in stunned, reverent silence. The low hum of the Strider, the rhythmic tightening of cables, the steady climb toward the star-laden darkness¡ªit all became a backdrop to his mounting awe.


    The sound intensified, a rising, electric crescendo. His breath hitched, anticipation crawling up his spine. Questions filled the silence of his mind. Where did this cable lead? What did space look like from here? What wonders awaited him?


    He didn¡¯t have to wait long.


    The humming reached a furious peak, a symphony of motion and energy¡ªthen, silence. A final, sharp pop, like the universe itself had exhaled.


    Chronifer¡¯s body went weightless. The sensation was so absolute, so surreal, that time itself seemed to slow. In the silence, he turned his head, his heart hammering as he beheld what lay beyond.


    Incredible.


    The word wasn¡¯t enough, yet it was all his mind could muster.


    Then¡ªanother jerk. Gravity reasserted itself, dragging him back into his seat.


    Beyond the glass, an impossible sight unfolded.


    The vast darkness of space was not empty¡ªit was alive.


    Colossal cables, like the one he had just ascended, stretched across an unfathomably massive star system, linking planets in a breathtaking web of interstellar pathways. They spiraled outward from an absolutely titanic sun, its brilliance so immense it bathed the network in an ethereal glow, casting long, golden arcs through the void. The planets were not isolated celestial bodies but connected, woven together in a lattice of engineered wonder.


    Around the cables, he saw Striders¡ªcountless Striders¡ªstreaking like shooting stars, their spinning frames gliding along the pathways with effortless precision. In the depths of space, metal structures, like floating islands, drifted in the void, their lights flickering like distant constellations. And then¡ªfar, far beyond, at the very edges of his sight¡ªhe saw something that made his breath stall.


    An actual ship.


    A ship, sailing not through the vacuum, but between two colossal landmasses¡ªfloating continents¡ªencased in shimmering, translucent bubbles. Whole worlds suspended in the emptiness, defying every rule of nature he had ever known.


    And yet, this was only a fraction.


    His gaze followed the endless stretch of cables, weaving toward other distant suns, glimmering in the abyss like cosmic lanterns. This system was not merely vast¡ªit was endless, a boundless sprawl of worlds, pathways, and mysteries beyond reckoning.


    A hunger stirred in him, an insatiable urge to visit every planet, to set foot on those floating islands, to see where those ships were headed. The enormity of it all threatened to swallow him whole¡ªyet he had never felt more alive.


    This is beautiful. Chronifer thought, but soon another thought crossed his mind. Why are we heading away from it though?


    Like a dark answer to his question, the Strider spun and revealed what Chronifer in his gut knew without fail was their destination. A planet caught between the maw of a cosmic serpent.

 Chapter Twenty-one: Thanassiss – Between Jaw and Clouds

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Twenty-one: Thanassiss ¨C Between Jaw and Clouds </h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifer felt a mounting dread as they sailed toward the monster. A creature like this wasn¡¯t supposed to exist.


    But then, neither was he.


    He took a deep breath, steadying himself. His gaze locked onto the serpent. Its skin was the color of night, and only its head was visible ¨C the rest of its cosmic body lost in the darkness of space. Yet, every so often, green sparkles flickered across its form.


    I guess that''s where the Eyeless centre is. Chronifer guessed. Despite its apparent stillness, perhaps even its death, its mere existence unsettled him.


    He found old worries which Oniihino had put an end to begin rearing their head, a stream of unease crept into his mind, old questions he had conquered attempted to rise again, was he ready? Was he big enough? Before they could make him waver he stamped on them and firmed his resolve, yes he was scared, but he would not wait before he strived for what he wanted from life and himself. He was ready, not because he was prepared but because he wanted to be.


    <hr>


    Not long after, they were all streaming out of the Strider and onto a platform similar to the one they had left Onyx Thorn from. Chronifer hadn¡¯t paid much attention to the visible parts of the planet beyond the Serpent¡¯s Maw, but as they got closer, he finally took a good look¡ªand it was terrifying, yet beautiful.


    The land and water masses hovered in the air, fractured from the planet¡¯s core, yet still seemingly whole. Land and sea, separated yet intertwined, connected by massive roots and impossible streams of water that defied gravity. Standing on the towering platform, Chronifer took in the breathtaking view. Below, in the distant landmasses, were cities, mountains and forests. Unlike the grim image the serpent had provided, the world below radiated life, nature, and peace.


    Although to the other aide of the horizon the serpents maw hung like a beckon of a never ending doom


    ¡°Young lord, greetings. I am of the Dunsara,¡± a voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.


    Chronifer barely had time to process before a flood of introductions and pleasantries came his way. His mind quickly filled with family names, one after another, each person hoping to get in his good graces. He didn¡¯t care much about them personally, but he understood their importance. So he made polite conversation, letting them feel like they had earned his recognition¡ªthough, in truth, it was purely strategic. He would remember their names, their faces, and any useful details about them. If there was anything to gain from them in the future, he would take advantage of it.


    Yet, one thing struck him as odd¡ªnone of the families Ruhira had listed before had come forward. Instead, he noticed a few teenagers lingering at the edge of the crowd, watching from a distance. He spared them a glance before shifting his focus, scanning for Nyte¡ªonly to find the boy approaching him.


    ¡°Wow, you sure know how to draw a crowd. Too bad you couldn¡¯t pull Drazel from his notepad,¡± Nyte said dryly.


    Chronifer followed his gaze and saw Drazel standing apart, scribbling furiously, lips moving in constant murmurs.


    ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡± Chronifer wondered aloud.


    ¡°Making calculations¡­ the fucker¡¯s crazy. Leave him be,¡± Nyte replied with a shrug.


    ¡°I bet you just forgot what for, didn¡¯t you?¡± Chronifer asked, a smug smile playing on his lips.


    Nyte scoffed, crossing his arms dramatically. ¡°I¡¯m not letting your insult force me to prove myself.¡±


    Chronifer chuckled. ¡°Where were you earlier?¡±


    ¡°I was rebuffed by the wave of people swarming you,¡± Nyte said, glancing around as if expecting to be caught in another flood.


    ¡°You know you¡¯re probably going to attract attention yourself, right?¡± Chronifer pointed out.


    ¡°Yet, I haven¡¯t,¡± Nyte said, raising an eyebrow.


    Chronifer narrowed his eyes slightly. ¡°You seem different. More¡­ open in how you¡¯re speaking. And a bit happy.¡±


    Nyte blinked, looking down at himself as if searching for visible changes. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. You don¡¯t sound like it physically pains you to talk anymore, and you look¡ª¡± Chronifer paused, studying him. ¡°¡ªthrilled about something.¡±


    Nyte exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the silhouette hanging over the world. ¡°You saw the system and the serpent,¡± he said, leading into a thought.


    Chronifer nodded, waiting.


    ¡°When I saw it,¡± Nyte hesitated, as if unsure if he should continue. But he did. ¡°I knew at that moment¡ªfuck a quiet life. I want to see everything the multiverse has to offer. I want to explore, to witness more sights like that.¡±


    His voice carried a blissful wonder, yet underneath it lurked a deep sadness. A sadness of realization¡ªof only now understanding what he had missed out on.


    ¡°In that moment¡­ something inside me just clicked.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    Chronifer let the words sink in, then nodded. ¡°That makes two of us. I have to see everything too.¡±


    Both boys stood in silence, staring at the dark silhouette looming above one side of the world.


    Although their reverie didn¡¯t last long, the murmur of the crowd around them was ever growing and a sudden commanding and ushering voice drew both their attention.


    ¡°Arrivals from the Montcroix-Wythe Planet''s, welcome to Thanassiss. A teleportation Circle has been made for faster transportation from here to the Eyeless Centre. If you will, we would ask you to form fifty lines. You''ll be led through the circle one person at a time.¡± The voice ended and the crowd broke out into shouts, murmurs and scrambling.


    Chronifer, Nyte and Drazel rushed into the end of the second line made close to where the voice talked from. He spotted Tehn, who was already waving. He did the same. Then Tehn mouth: ¡°Good luck young lord.¡±


    Chronifer then gave him a nod.


    Chronifer found himself intrigued by the boy, in this life he wanted a group of people he would trust, those he''ll watch their back them his and something in the boy made chronifer want him as one of those people who will stand beside him. Tehn. He mused.


    After several more instructions from the man who Chronifer never actually got to see the first line with Tehn began marching Slowly then Chronifer¡¯s flowed after. Shocking swiftly, individual after individual Vanished in a burst of hazy fog.


    ¡°Truly Splendid, such an advanced teleportation Circle. Urg, I''ve got to focus on one thing, one thing.¡± Said Drazel, turning back to solving furiously.


    Slowly with the accompanying murmurs of the crowd, it was soon Chronifer¡¯s turn to step into the circle drawn of intricate golden geometrical symbols, they seemed to shine in the sunlight. They didn''t seem similar to what he had seen in any manner, but he supposed he wouldn''t know.


    In a burst, Chronifer found himself standing among countless others¡ªnone of them the people who had gone before him. Then, the frigid cold assaulted him, and a sudden void of sound seemed to devour the world. The pale, bleak monochrome that had swallowed the landscape caught his attention.


    He looked up. A faint shadow loomed overhead, obscured by dark, tumultuous clouds. Turning, he spotted something in the distance¡ªa colossal fang, barely visible through the haze.


    We''re inside the damned mouth of the snake.


    His stomach twisted with an uncomfortable fear.


    Shivering under the relentless cold, he forced himself to take in his surroundings. Before them, a circular podium stood, holding six massive paper-walled structures. Lanterns burned behind the thin walls, casting eerie glows through the intricate designs and colors that marked each one. Yet, no silhouettes lingered behind them. No sign of life.


    To the side, massive pillars stretched into the churning sky, vanishing into the dark ceiling of the serpent¡¯s maw. They formed circular loops, supporting the massive platform on which they stood. Below¡ªfar below¡ªChronifer had spotted what looked like land in the distance, but as he studied it again, doubt clawed at him. Was it truly solid ground? Or was it something else? A dark gas, shifting and churning like a living thing?


    Pushing aside the unease gnawing at him, Chronifer turned his focus to the others. Most seemed his age¡ªshort, hesitant, and afraid. A few carried themselves with the air of training and discipline, but only one figure truly stood out to him¡ªat least, among those he could observe.


    A girl.


    Her gaze swept the area, sharp and calculating. Then, crimson eyes met his pale gold.


    In that moment, Chronifer saw nothing childlike in her. Yet, he did not think she was like him¡ªnot someone who had lived another life. No, what he saw in her posture was something else. The poise of a fighter. A predator waiting for the moment to strike.


    For the first time, he understood what his father had meant when he spoke of the children of the Spiral.


    Now, he was seeing one for himself.


    <hr>


    Faurysa(POV)


    Faurysa Elisia-Betell Shinasho watched Cipher¡¯s son, questioning whether her father had been right about the praise Cipher lavished on his talent. The boy seemed too relaxed¡ªso much so that it almost looked as if he had never learned a thing about combat.


    She lowered her hand, still smiling as she observed the flustered boy. His reaction only reinforced an age-old joke about the Montcroix-Wythe clan: they were always socially awkward and¡­


    Her thoughts faltered when Cipher¡¯s son suddenly waved back, flashing a brilliant smile¡ªone that seemed almost rehearsed. She ached to pull out her jotter and start taking notes on his behavior, but something else caught her attention. As he shifted ever so slightly, she noticed it¡ªa faint.


    His bloody stance was a faint. He had hide the steady preparedness that came with being trained so well.


    Jealousy flared, tangled with admiration and resentment.


    Faurysa nodded at him with a smile, then turned away. As soon as her back was to him, her expression fell, exhaustion and turmoil pressing down on her. She made her way toward a tightly packed space, glancing over her shoulder. He hadn¡¯t followed. He had even stopped watching her.


    Yet she still felt watched.


    She took a deep breath, steadying herself. After everything her mother had sacrificed to give her life¡­ after years of training under her father¡­


    And then this.


    Cipher had arrived at their castle, speaking of his so-called genius son, singing praises. But what had shaken her father most was not the praise¡ªit was Cipher¡¯s question, one no creature in existence would ever expect from him:


    "How do I become a better father?"


    She and her older brother hadn¡¯t been allowed into the living area for the rest of the conversation.


    Ever since, she had wanted to see this Chronifer. And now she had.


    He had not disappointed her.


    She wished he had.


    Her two years of grueling training under her father, Ryuu Gregor Shinasho, seemed to have been matched¡ªif not surpassed¡ªby a boy who had been crippled for most of his life and had trained for only six months.


    Was Ennui right?


    The thought struck deep, a fear she dared not voice.


    Did Mother waste her life trying to fix me?


    The idea clawed at her, yet she had faced these doubts countless times and refused to let them fester. Instead, she made a decision.


    I¡¯ll make sure your sacrifice wasn¡¯t in vain, Mother.


    The words resonated more deeply than ever before,


    With that final thought, the air trembled¡ªan omen of their arrival.


    And then, the screaming began.

 Chapter Twenty-two: Then, There Were Screams

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Twenty-two: Then, There Were Screams</h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifers (POV)


    Chronifer watched the red haired girl, as she walked away, he felt a bit amused, as much as he could be within the tense atmosphere. When she had looked back the last time her eyes seemed to have been asking for a fight or maybe a challenge.


    Who knows maybe challenging her might be a fair challenge, since she''d be someone my size.


    He felt like laughing at his own silly thought, but before the smile could even reach his face, he felt something change and he felt his blood run cold. His head whipped around furious finding what a change but then his eyes caught a frightened child a bit taller than him to his side pointing with quivering arms.


    He looked.


    Where the paper walls had once held the faint light of burning lanterns, something else had now changed, shadows of different sizes now lingered behind each and everyone of them. Chronifer closed his eyes, they burnt and his head hurt badly, he felt like he had taken a bat to his head.


    A felt something hot on his face and felt for it, it was warm on his hands, he opened his eyes, which were now blurry and saw red. Chronifer felt a surge of panic. Was this the same as with my parents?


    Then he heard something as if from far away. Tearing through his panicked thought, a whisper? He felt unsure, he locked around and found a stampede, children seemingly overcome with madness running away from the podium and as though with his sight the sound returned a brutal cacophony of terror and raw fear.


    Chronifer made sure to look away from the podium where the harmful silhouette lingered, but then try to put his thoughts back together he felt something.


    It was knowledgeable and a fact, it felt like a truth he was meant to know as sure as breathing. The presence of the silhouette crushed him, yet, It was not an attack, nor was it intentional. It simply was. A fundamental truth that his existence could not deny. The despair that bloomed in his chest was absolute. He understood, with a clarity more damning than any revelation, that he was dead. That he had been granted salvation. That all things, good or ill, could befall him, and he would have no say in the matter. He could struggle, cry, fight¡ªbut it would be meaningless. He wanted to run. Not out of cowardice, but out of a primal rejection of the cruelty of this reality. A reality in which he was nothing.


    He could hear it clearly now, the crying of the children around him, the fear as some collapsed to their knees, there was a poignant smell in the air, it smelled of piss and despair.


    Yet Chronifer did not run, he knew not what sat before him, yet he knew one thing, he wanted what they had, their strength, yes Chronifer was nothing, but he had accepted that reality long ago, and deep in his stomach like a fire within a desolate snow scape Chronifer felt comfort for the warmth that burned within him, he would become something.


    He was not alone in standing heads facing the ground, or looking around and yet avoiding gazing at the podium. He saw other children, not just the red haired girl, they were many beyond his count but in their rigid and defiant stance he knew that a tempered ambition burned bright within these children. Yet they all shared one other fact in common: they swayed and shocked like lone trees against a hurricane.


    Chronifer, burning with curiosity, tried to take a quick look at the podium, his eyes swiveled past and he swayed, almost falling to his knees. his spine chilled as something deep within him quivered. It was not fear ¨C fear was something one could fight. This was something else, something more insidious, something Chronifer felt came from deeper within himself, originating from that inner most part of himself where a tree grew, his soul.


    What was that? Chronifer lowered his head, he felt it in his soul yet he felt it on his skin like it had caused a change on his body.


    ¡°Be home.¡± The word echoed from the podium like the voice of a kindly preacher and into the ears of everyone, yet at the same time the sound reached them Chronifer heard the voice as of overlapping, one had come through his mind and the other his mind. Chronifer shivered.


    Yet that was but the start


    Like a vision, the words carried explanations, Chronifer somehow knew that the people that had panicked, and not been able to withstand the pressure from the podium would be sent home.


    With the knowledge the space around them suddenly cleared by a significant amount. It was as if all signs of the panic going on had just vanished, but no, it was more than that. It seems as if they had never been here. Chronifer gulped.


    ¡°All left standing have passed.¡± Said a young feminine voice, with no particular special thing about it, except the weight it carried. The voice seemed to follow the same formula as the first, reaching him through both ear and mind, but the vision never came.


    ¡°Now, The Summons begin.¡± The same voice spoke. ¡°The Integration is here, out first. This is a boon to our future and it lies in your hands, for you are the future and us the past. We shall forge you however into what the future requires, for the past shall be the blueprint upon which a better future is built, That is all. This summons is but a prelude to what follows, your anvil and hammer. It is not dissimilar to the Spiral introduction, only tougher for we want the best of you.¡±


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    Chronifer could not have been prepared for the sudden understanding that bleed into his mind from the words.


    A test began by twelve that temperes the youth of the spiral till the day they turned sixteen and unlocked their system. But now it was hosted not by the youths'' family but by the gods of the spiral themselves. They needed the best and would forge the best.


    At the end Chronifers expectation and fear were realised, but thankfully he had made up his mind.


    A wizened laugh emitted from the podium yet it felt like it traveled through the stale air within the maw of the cosmic serpent.


    ¡°You have passed the first test. Standing before us.¡± Voice said, carrying a deep pride and amusement. ¡°Now a question, a choice, and I''ll tell you this, decide wisely: Do you seek our anvil for a chance at the Incursion? Hmm, do you? Or do you wish for normalcy, continue as you have always done? Wisely, wisely.¡±


    Before they could answer, some individuals vanished.


    What? Thought Chronifer in confusion. He had been expecting the understanding that followed the words but it seemed they had control over it.


    ¡°Consideration of the question is a refusal.¡± The first voice spoke up once again, still sounding kindly but with an almost authoritative conviction.


    So I could have been whisk back home just like that?


    "Now be ready. The second test begins¡ªcatch the golden cards.¡± The female voice rang out once more, a herald of the challenge to come. At the end of her words, golden cards¡ªshimmering like cash¡ªmanifested mid-air, darting through the space at dazzling speeds. "You have one minute. In failure, look up at the podium."


    The moment the podium was mentioned, Chronifer was already moving, dashing after a card that flickered past him. But he wasn¡¯t the only one.


    Chaos.


    A boy slammed into his side, knocking him off balance. His legs lost contact with the ground. Another impact followed, sending the world tilting, the floor rushing up fast. Unrelenting. He reached out to catch himself. From his peripheral vision, he caught sight of another figure lunging toward him.


    He gritted his teeth, shoulders burning, but kept moving. With a sharp push-up, he kicked off the ground, twisting mid-air. His leg whipped around in a brutal wheel kick, clearing space. Landing light on his feet, his eyes locked onto another card, relatively close. He lunged forward.


    His mind was razor-sharp, focused, as he wove through the mass of competitors. Some panicked, others moved with deadly coordination. He spun through gaps, slipped past blocks, vaulted over shoulders and heads¡ªrelentless.


    A flash of red hair.


    Chronifer halted, locking eyes with a girl heading straight for the same card. They glanced at each other, then back at the prize. Their moment of hesitation shattered as a swarm of competitors rushed toward the same goal.


    No hesitation.


    Chronifer struck first.


    He rammed an elbow into the spine of the nearest boy. Not a competitor anymore. Dropping into a low stance, he grabbed the kid and hurled him overhead. His screams were lost in the uproar¡ªthe shouts of desperate challengers and the hunting gaze of the Spiral Council, the gods.


    Chronifer was a beast among his peers.


    He tore through them¡ªpulling, striking, grappling. Every movement, sharp, efficient, brutal. And then, suddenly, the chaos parted.


    The card was right there.


    So was the red-haired girl.


    Her fingers stretched toward it, inches away.


    Chronifer didn¡¯t stop.


    His grip tightened on the head of a boy he had punched earlier. The card veered, dodging the girl¡¯s grasp. Without hesitation, he reached into the boy¡¯s mouth, feeling loose teeth beneath his fingers.


    The kid bit down.


    Pain flared through Chronifer¡¯s hand, but he ripped free, tearing the teeth from the boy¡¯s mouth.


    Three.


    He flicked the first fast and vicious¡ªaiming straight for the red-haired girl¡¯s eye. The second, he hurled toward where he expected the card to go, limiting its options. The last? He sent it toward the nearest competitor, forcing them to flinch.


    The golden card had nowhere left to fly.


    Except into his waiting hand. At contact the card melted and it felt like burning metal, Chronifer screamed. Even through the haze of pain and exhaustion, his mind barely registered the words now glowing on his wrist.


    First Challenge Conquered. (1/3)


    Next Challenge: War Child


    Goals:


    Kill 5000 Soldiers (0/5000)


    Kill  or be involved in the death of 3 of the 14 generals of Quaborne

 Chapter Twenty-three: Challenge Begins

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Twenty-three: Challenge Begins </h2>


    <hr>


    Chronifer awoke to a deluge of sound. For a gut-wrenching eternity, vertigo gripped him¡ªhis body weightless, flung through the air. Then, impact.


    His vision blurred, his skull throbbed, but the world tore into focus¡ªand it was a nightmare.


    "Shield wall!" A raw, throat-ripping command echoed through the crimson rain. The moon above was drenched in blood, its light casting phantom shadows across the battlefield. The trees loomed, their twisted limbs reaching for the sky like the hands of the dead clawing for salvation.


    Where¡ª


    His thoughts shattered as movement drew his gaze. From the wreckage of a shattered carriage, a man clawed his way free, his silhouette warped and monstrous. He jerked upright¡ªnot like a man who had been crushed beneath a carriage, but like something unnatural, something starved.


    Between them, scattered across the mud-slick path, children of varying ages fought in frantic clusters or fled into the dark.


    Chronifer tried to stand, but his limbs felt drained, his strength fleeting. The man lunged at him, eyes wild with hunger and fury¡ª


    Then, a whistle through the air.


    The man jerked. Stumbled. A hole pierced clean through his skull. He collapsed, lifeless, his expression frozen in that same maddened hunger.


    A primal fear surged through Chronifer. He needed to move. Struggling at first, he crawled toward the dead man, his body sluggish¡ªbut with every motion, his limbs responded more, strength trickling back into his hands and feet.


    He grasped the man''s cutlass, fingers tightening around the hilt, then darted behind a tree. His breath was ragged, his heart hammering. Peering out, he saw what had become of the battlefield.


    Scattered like discarded dolls, the butchered bodies of children, teens, and adults lay strewn across the mud. Torn throats. Cloven torsos. A woman slumped near him, her arms wrapped protectively around a baby¡ªboth impaled by a single spear driven through her back and into the infant¡¯s skull.


    Chronifer turned away, bile rising in his throat. His heartbeat quickened, the pounding almost deafening. The crimson rain drenched his tattered black clothes, while the filth of mud and blood clung to him like a second skin.


    From the distance came roars and the clash of steel.


    Then¡ªimpact.


    The tree behind him shattered into splinters. His heart went cold. Instinct took over, and he rolled away just in time. A cutlass now lay buried where he had crouched moments ago.


    "Let me eat you, boy!"


    The voice was a ragged snarl. A man stood silhouetted against the blood-red moon, his thin, sickly frame cloaked in shadows.


    "Won¡¯t you?" he rasped, vaulting over the remains of the tree. His posture was low, predatory.


    Chronifer¡¯s mind raced. He couldn¡¯t meet this foe head-on¡ªbut he had already hesitated too long. Before he could think of a proper counter, the man''s cutlass came screaming toward him, silver flashing in the red gloom, madness burning in his eyes.


    Chronifer leapt, bringing up his blade just in time. Impact.


    The strike was monstrous. It flung him back like a ragdoll, the sheer force rattling his bones. But he had angled his block just enough to deflect most of the blow.


    Gritting his teeth, Chronifer landed in the mud, his arms and legs aching, his breath coming hard and fast. But he stood.


    Feet planted. Cutlass steady.


    A trail carved in the mud where he had slide upon his landing.


    The man didn¡¯t stand long.


    In an instant, he was dashing toward Chronifer, eyes wild, teeth bared. Dread curled in Chronifer¡¯s gut¡ªa fear so deep it rivaled the one that had driven him his entire life.


    Yet, he did not falter.


    He couldn¡¯t hope to match this man¡¯s raw strength. The Dance of Mirrors was useless here¡ªhe lacked the power to reflect or deflect such overwhelming attacks. Instead, he turned to one of the many styles his father had taught him to incorporate into the dance¡ªreflections and deflections¡ªa style designed not for clashing blades but for turning an enemy¡¯s strength against them.


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    The cutlass came down, a blur of terrible, inevitable speed.


    Chronifer moved.


    He slid away, using the slick, rain-soaked ground to his advantage, slipping past the strike rather than meeting it. This was a style not meant for head-on combat¡ªbut for slaying the unbeatable.


    The man whirled, slicing in a vicious horizontal arc.


    Chronifer dropped, twisting into a spiraling crouch¡ªone leg planted, the other tucked above his thigh. His blade lashed out mid-motion, carving across the man¡¯s knee. The moment it connected, he kicked off with his folded leg, launching himself away before the man could retaliate.


    The man collapsed to one knee, a guttural moan escaping his lips¡ªone of twisted pleasure.


    Chronifer wasted no time.


    His blade flashed¡ªa clean, sharp slash to the neck.


    The man went down.


    Smiling.


    Chronifer watched the man fall and he felt nothing only a grim acceptance of the deaths that laid before him.


    <hr>


    By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, the screams had faded, and the bloodshed had come to an end. But the silence that followed was not peace. It was the quiet that follows after something had broken beyond repair.


    Amidst the blood, mud, and corpses, Chronifer watched as the sun¡ªstrange and pulsating, as if struggling to shine through the weight of the carnage¡ªannounced itself. The light cast long shadows over the shattered remains of the carriage, where the children were gathered, their hollow eyes fixed on the wreckage, Hunted.


    A man stood atop the pile. His leather armor was stained with grime and old blood, a shield strapped to his back. His face was ugly¡ªtwisted, burned, and red, as if melted by some past agony.


    "Good enough," he said, his voice scraping like embers caught in the lungs of a lifelong smoker. "From here, we walk to the Sheltered Road. Do not fall behind. Do not ask for water or food. As you can see, I have none." He clenched his jaw, his anger not for them. "Get into line. We leave this forsaken wood, let the Yongul Bandits have it."


    There was no protest. Only obedience. He offered no kind words or hope yet, it was all that was offered. Chronifer held on doubts he was teleported Here to be tested so he followed, all the while plagued by fear and a question


    The trek that followed stretched endlessly, the hours melting together into a ceaseless march. Some of the wounded soldiers collapsed, their bodies giving in to the wounds they had carried since the night before. No one stopped for them. No one looked back.


    The man¡¯s voice was the only constant, a cruel drumbeat driving them forward.


    "This is the only way."


    One by one, the children fell. Some stumbled during the brief moments of rest, slipping into an exhausted sleep and never waking up. The lucky ones died quietly. The others¡ªtoo weak, too slow¡ªwere left behind to whatever fate awaited them in the woods.


    When they finally reached their destination, it was not salvation.


    It was a deeper darkness.


    A chasm of war that did not kill you outright¡ªit kept you alive, made you endure, made you witness.


    "Welcome to the Battle for Sheltered Road."


    The man¡¯s voice rang out, but there was no triumph in it. Only the weight of truth.


    The sky was burning.


    Great boulders, wreathed in fire, tore through the heavens, splitting apart with explosive force as they rained down upon the battlefield. The ground trembled beneath the sheer mass of warriors moving in the valley below, a monstrous tide of steel and flesh, and the impact of the boulders cursing into them, like a piston to mortar


    The air was thick with screams¡ªnot the cries of men, but the howling of war itself.


    Colossal catapults groaned as they hurled devastation into the fray. Men rode upon the backs of giant, rhino-like beasts of war, their armor gleaming, their weapons drinking deep from the living.


    Blades met flesh. Bones shattered under the force of hammers and axes. The scent of blood and burning bodies thickened until the very air reeked of death.


    Chronifer stared at the carnage, his chest tightening, the fear clawing its way back to the surface.


    Would he die here?


    Would this choice¡ªthe one that had brought him to this madness¡ªprove to be more than he could bear?


    His hands trembled as he looked down at the words glowing beneath his skin.


    (1/3)


    Current Challenge: War Child


    Goals:


    Kill 5000 soldiers (1/5000)


    Kill or be involved in the death of 3 of the 14 generals of Quaborne


    This is insane.


    Why had I answered the summons again?


    ¡°Sir, our side¡¯s camp lies on the opposite side of us,¡± one of the man¡¯s soldiers said.


    Reluctantly, everyone turned to look.


    Nestled between two mounds of packed earth, the camp sat hidden in the valley¡¯s tear¡ªa fragile pocket of survival amidst the chaos.


    The man did not respond right away.


    Then, finally, he spoke.


    ¡°We can make it,¡± he said. ¡°The valley is narrow. We only have to run a short distance before reaching the camp. Most will die, but a few will survive.¡± His voice did not waver. ¡°And that¡¯s enough.¡±


    A younger man¡ªbow slung across his back, the same one who had saved Chronifer with a single well-placed shot¡ªlet out a dry laugh.


    ¡°Hasn¡¯t that always been the case?¡±


    Silence met his words.


    The valley they stood in was unlike the open war raging on the flatlands beside them. Here, the battle was smaller, compressed, its violence suffocated between the rising walls of earth. But that only made it more desperate¡ªmore lethal.


    There was no retreat.

 Chapter Twenty-four: Beneath are the Dead

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Twenty-four: Beneath are the Dead</h2>


    <hr>


    Looking over the field of death before him, where burning stone rained from the heavens, shattering men into splatters of flesh and shards of bone, Chronifer found himself wondering¡ªwhy had he chosen this path? What had led him here?


    He had considered politics once, but the idea never sat right with him. His mother had told him that some politicians wielded immense personal power, but their strength was rarely their own. Power in politics came from influence, alliances, and the warriors they commanded or worked alongside. It was a power built on dependence, and that did not appeal to him.


    The same reasoning had kept him from the path of a crafter. Many crafters were formidable in their own right, their creations capable of shaping entire battlefields, but their strength was tied to their tools, their resources, the systems they operated within. He did not want power that could be broken, stolen, or lost. He wanted something absolute¡ªpower that was his alone, beyond the reach of others.


    There was also his family. Warriors, renowned across the multiverse, their legacy was one of battle and blood. Walking the path expected of him offered more than straying ever could. And while he did not crave approval, he loathed the thought of standing apart for the wrong reasons¡ªof being the one who did not belong.


    But more than anything, he had wanted strength that could never be stripped away. A power so unshakable that even if he lost his clan, even if the Spiral turned its back on him, he would remain whole. He would not return to weakness. He would not be John again¡ªfragile, power built at the mercy of others.


    That was why he had chosen the warrior¡¯s path. That was why he was here.


    But standing amidst the ruin of the battlefield, he found no solace in that knowledge.


    The justifications, the logic¡ªit had all made sense before he arrived. But now, with the stench of burning flesh in his lungs, with screams drowned by the roar of destruction, only one thought remained.


    Was his wants worth chasing through this hell?


    The answer came not as certainty, not as resolve, but as a cold, suffocating weight in his chest.


    Fear. Crippling, undeniable fear.


    ¡°We can break through that thin line.¡± The man with the burned face pointed. Then his voice snapped. ¡°Fuck¡ªRUN! It¡¯s closing! If we miss this, we all die!¡±


    Chronifer didn¡¯t feel himself move¡ªonly knew that he had to.


    If he stopped, he was dead. If he fell behind, he was forgotten. He would not die nameless in the mud.


    So he ran.


    Cutlass in hand, legs pumping, faster¡ªfaster. His body howled in protest, hunger clawing at his insides, stomach knotted and twisting with each pounding step. Every footfall was pain, sharp and relentless.


    Yet, he did not stop.


    Not when the slope became too steep, the ground shifting underfoot. Not when the clang of steel and the guttural screams of the dying closed in like a noose. He ran, lungs burning, heart hammering against his ribs, until the moment they reached the enemy line.


    He fell into a stance his father had favored¡ªwrong, awkward, just like it had felt at the Jade Tower, like it had during the fight with the Yongul bandit. But it worked. His blade cut a man down to his side, shearing through flesh and bone. That was all that mattered. Kill. Stay alive.


    Then the crush of bodies hit. Soldiers slammed against each other, armor scraping, breath hot and ragged. Movement became hell, standing was worse. The charge had stalled, the enemy pressing back, their red-painted armor a blur in the chaos. Somewhere, one had slipped into their ranks. Chronifer saw him too late.


    The soldier thrust with his lance. Chronifer roared, hacking his throat open. Blood erupted in a gushing spray, hot and thick, filling his mouth, searing his eyes.


    He saw red.


    Not remorse. Not guilt. Just fear¡ªfear of dying here, fear of being nothing. It stiffened his limbs, choked his breath. But it drove him forward all the same.


    A hand clamped around his leg.


    Not land beneath him¡ª only bodies. He looked down and saw the dead and dying, crushed beneath the living. A soldier in red held fast to his ankle. Chronifer did not hesitate. His cutlass came down. Flesh split, bone cracked.


    Then came the sound.


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    A thousand whistles, like the wind screaming in death.


    Men dropped. Shields snapped. An arrow punched through a soldier¡¯s skull, bursting out his eye. Chronifer snatched the shield before the body hit the ground. Another arrow slammed into it. Then another.


    Pain. A burning spike in his side. A graze


    He screamed, turning to his attacker. A giant of a man, taller than any he had seen in this cursed world. Before the warrior could strike again, an arrow speared through his skull. He fell like a toppled tree.


    ¡°Scatter! Scatter!¡±


    The voice. The man with the burned face.


    Why¡ª


    No time for thought, only feeling. Heat. He looked up. Understood.


    A blazing boulder hurtling down.


    The impact was deafening. Earth cracked. Flesh burst. Blood sprayed in a brutal shockwave, bodies thrown like ragdolls. Chronifer flew.


    He crashed onto something soft. A body. A child. The boy¡¯s neck had snapped on impact. Chronifer was on his feet before he could process it.


    Running. Past the burning stone. Past a man torn in half, screaming as he bled out. He did not stop. Could not stop.


    The whistling came again.


    His shield¡ªgone.


    He dove, rolling under a corpse as arrows slammed down. Then up again, running. His vision swam. His legs ached. But the field had cleared¡ªonly a handful of them left, sprinting for camp.


    For the line of friendlies.


    The sound came again.


    No cover. No shields. Only death chasing at his heels.


    An arrow punched into his shoulder. Another into his calf. Then one through his palm. He stumbled. Nearly fell. But he ran. Stumbling, bleeding, gasping¡ªhe ran.


    Then hands grabbed him. Friendly hands. Hauling him into safety. Soldiers cheering, voices blurred, faces indistinct.


    He dropped to his knees.


    Tears blurred his vision. His body was pain. His heart was terror.


    And then¡ªrelief. Vast and consuming.


    He had survived.


    Darkness took him.


    <hr>


    Chronifer woke up to pain. A deep, aching throb in his body, like his very bones were bruised. His dreams had been haunted¡ªwar, fire, blood¡ªbut waking brought no relief. He felt¡­ clean. Too clean.


    He blinked sluggishly, his vision swimming as he glanced down. His clothes were gone, his skin scrubbed raw, his wounds stitched tight. Every breath pulled at the fresh sutures, each movement a reminder of how close he had come to dying.


    ¡°You¡¯re a tough kid, son,¡± came a calm voice from his side. ¡°It pains me that they¡¯ve brought kids into this.¡±


    Chronifer turned his head. A man sat beside him, thick-faced with dirty blond hair and a monocle perched over one eye.


    He tried to speak, but his throat was raw, stomach a pit of twisting hunger. He swallowed hard and forced out the words. ¡°Will I¡­ have to fight through that again?¡±


    The man shook his head. ¡°Gods, no. You¡¯ll be transported to Culona. That¡¯s where all the kids go. But for now, you¡¯re safe. You¡¯ll stay here until it¡¯s time to leave.¡± He handed Chronifer a bowl filled with apple slices and a cup of water.


    Chronifer hesitated before taking them. ¡°¡­Thank you.¡± His voice was barely a whisper.


    It hurt¡ªkindness. When people did him good with no ulterior motive, it gnawed at something deep inside him. He could understand cruelty, ambition, manipulation. Those, he could return in kind. But pure, unselfish good? That was something he doubted he could ever give back. And so, every act of kindness stung like a glimpse into what he could never be.


    He appreciated those who showed him kindness and wished them the best, but he knew he would never wish to be like them, or be able to give them the same treatment, hence the pain


    <hr>


    Days passed in slow recovery. The general¡¯s personal medical center became his world, a place of forced rest, bitter pain, and the gnawing weight of his own thoughts. He was not fully healed¡ªhis wounds still throbbed, his body still weak¡ªbut he was strong enough to move. And that was all they needed from him.


    The day came when he was told to leave.


    The cart rolled out of camp, pulled by thick-skinned beasts with horns like rhinoceroses. The children rode in silence, huddled together, watching as the waving hands of doctors and caretakers disappeared behind them.


    Chronifer didn¡¯t wave back.


    He felt his heartbeat quicken as they left the safety of the camp behind. The fear came with him. And so did the nightmares of dying.


    The journey was not peaceful.


    They were attacked more than once¡ªbandits and stray enemy soldiers, hungry for easy prey. The adults fought them off each time, but by the end, the group had thinned. The carts were abandoned. The path to Culona had to be finished on foot.


    Four children. Three adults.


    Step by step, they moved through the wilderness, wary, exhausted, haunted by the unseen eyes of predators in the trees. Every night was spent in tense silence, half-asleep with ears strained for danger. The darkness whispered of more battles, more bloodshed.


    And then, at last, they arrived.


    Culona.


    The moment they stepped through the gates, the silence struck them harder than any battlefield. No screams, no steel clashing, no catapults hurling death. Only a meadow of golden wheat, swaying lazily in the wind. The murmur of distant voices, the sound of life continuing on as if war had never existed.


    Yet, the fear inside Chronifer only grew.


    It felt wrong.


    Like he had walked into a trap.

 Chapter Twenty-Five: War Beneath the Blessed Land

    <h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Twenty-Five: War Beneath the Blessed Land</h2>


    <hr>


    They hadn¡¯t lingered in the streets for long before they were ushered into a guardhouse built into the thick stone wall.


    As they neared the entrance, Chronifer caught fragments of a hushed conversation.


    ¡°This will not end well. Finding Liquid Flame deposits is always a curse rather than a blessing. Look at what it has caused.¡±


    A woman sat with a group of others, her voice low, gaze fixed on a cluster of soldiers in black uniforms.


    ¡°Just look at what happened to Yongul,¡± another murmured grimly.


    ¡°If the Montcroix-Wythe clan catches wind of this again¡ª¡±


    ¡°No! No!¡± A third woman suddenly burst into tears. ¡°They won¡¯t. They won¡¯t.¡± Her voice cracked as she began reciting something¡ªprayer or desperation, it was hard to tell.


    Chronifer watched her. Pale golden eyes, dirt-covered golden hair¡ªa full-blooded Montcroix-Wythe. He didn¡¯t need to guess what she was feeling; the terror rolled off her in waves.


    ¡°Poor Yongulies,¡± one of the soldiers muttered.


    ¡°This is all the Montcroix-Wythe¡¯s fault,¡± a female soldier replied, her tone sharp. ¡°This is why we need to win this war and keep the Liquid Flame under wraps.¡±


    The weight of the conversation should have stirred something grim in him, but instead, Chronifer found it funny. He stood right behind them, within earshot, listening to every word. They had no idea. He almost laughed, but he held it back, the absurdity of the moment a strange balm against his ever-present fear.


    He wanted to ask what Liquid Flame was, but his curiosity felt distant, dulled by exhaustion. He also felt like he understood what his family had done


    No doubt they took a world because of something they wanted.


    The guardhouse doors swung open, and they stepped inside.


    A man sat waiting, his face sharp and wicked-looking, his eyes unfocused as though lost in thought.


    ¡°Sir?¡± The three soldiers and the city guard escorting them saluted.


    The man¡¯s gaze snapped to them, focus sharpening.


    ¡°At ease, fine men.¡± His eyes swept over the children clustered around Chronifer. ¡°I see you¡¯ve brought me reinforcements.¡±


    One of the soldiers hesitated before speaking. ¡°Sir, if I may ask you a question?¡±


    The man waved him on.


    ¡°I remember hearing that this land was blessed by a god from the Concinnity.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, son,¡± the man said. ¡°But the truth is, it only applies to the crops. With and around it.¡± He leaned forward slightly. ¡°So, how does an enemy that needs the resources of such a great farming city takes land that is divinely blessed?¡±


    Chronifer¡¯s toes curled against the stone floor. His mind latched onto the question like it was a riddle, tracing the logic, pulling on something familiar.


    ¡°Beneath the crops.¡±


    Silence followed. The soldiers and the other children turned to him, startled.


    ¡°You can talk?¡± The female soldier stared at him in shock.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Chronifer said simply.


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± the seated man interrupted. His gaze lingered on Chronifer before he smirked.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve brought me a sharp boy¡ªa fitting replacement for one of my squads.¡±


    <hr>


    The sounds of people grew unmistakable as they descended, following the man deeper into the earth.


    ¡°Listen up, soldiers,¡± he called over his shoulder, his voice steady even as his boots found footing on the sloping tunnel floor, lit by flickering torches. ¡°I am General Velo. I have kept Culona from falling for the last four months since this war began, and I will keep it standing.¡±


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    The tunnel soon widened into an open chamber, packed with soldiers. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and medicinal herbs, the soft murmur of voices barely masking the cries of the wounded.


    ¡°Welcome to our battlefield.¡±


    On the far wall, three gaping holes yawned open, dark and jagged. General Velo gestured toward them.


    The general dismissed the three soldiers, then turned to the children.


    ¡°I know it is cruel to take you from your homes and parents,¡± he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. ¡°But you are needed¡ªnot just to win this battle, but to prevent another disaster like Yongul.¡±


    His steps were steady as they passed groups of soldiers huddled around fires, some cooking over iron pots, others talking in hushed voices or laughing in tired camaraderie. Each fire seemed to have its own circle, four soldiers for every two children¡ªa pattern that promised Chronifer more conflict awaited him.


    ¡°The Quaborne Kingdom seeks to mine the Liquid Flames and sell them to the sigil universities,¡± the general continued. ¡°But that could be our undoing. I believe the only reason we haven¡¯t been driven from our planet is the Integration.¡± His gaze flicked toward Chronifer. ¡°We need to stop them. And for that, we need you.¡±


    All the children around Chronifer still looked scared but seeing their fellow kids fitting in seemed to give them courage. They now nodded to the general. Chronifer asked a question, through the fear clinging to his chest.


    ¡°What will we be doing?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Good. There are two roles you can take on.¡± He posted to a small boy rapping a brown thread round a string. ¡°That is a needle boy, he keeps our soldiers from getting lost within the tunnels, he is protected at all cost. He also carries the traps.¡±


    He walked on pointing to a more thin and quick looking boy, he was taller than Chronifer,


    ¡°That is a Quick boy, he is a scout, he checks for enemies, send messages for the teams within the tunnels and and goes through pinholes for ambushes.¡± the general looked at Chronifer over his shoulders, his mouth went dry.


    ¡°Squared Commandant!¡± The general¡¯s voice cut through the loose gathering of soldiers, snapping them to attention.


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± A balding man with scraps of hair left on his head shot to his feet, saluting stiffly.


    ¡°Introduce yourself to the commandant, recruit,¡± the general instructed.


    Chronifer stepped forward, seeing no reason to hide his name. ¡°I¡¯m Chronifer,¡± he said. ¡°New Quick Boy of your squad.¡±


    The general nodded and left with the other children, leaving Chronifer behind.


    He had barely begun to take in his surroundings when a hush fell over the gathered soldiers. Then¡ªjingling.


    A sound that didn¡¯t belong. A sound that carried dread.


    ¡°Give him a dagger!¡± the commandant barked, already moving. He snatched up a pickaxe and a wicked-looking dagger.


    The others sprang into action¡ªtwo more pickaxes, a dagger, a small bag. Hands reached, grabbed, secured.


    ¡°Come on, Quick Boy!¡± someone shouted, tossing Chronifer a dagger. He caught it just as a smaller boy¡ªthe Needle Boy¡ªtied a spool of thread to a pole and darted forward.


    Chronifer fell into line, third behind the commandant and the man who had called to him. They plunged into one of the tunnels, the camp¡¯s firelight vanishing behind them, swallowed by damp, suffocating black.


    The walls closed in. The air grew thick. The further they went, the tighter the space became. Soon, they weren¡¯t just running¡ªthey were wedging themselves forward. Then, without warning, the man ahead of him veered right and vanished into the rock.


    Chronifer stumbled, reaching out¡ªnothing. His fingers skimmed rough stone, then an opening. A hole. A burrow carved into the wall.


    ¡°Go,¡± someone hissed. ¡°Follow Holger.¡±


    He hesitated. It was barely a passage¡ªjust a gash in the rock, tight enough that an adult would have to force their way through.


    ¡°Move, Quick Boy!¡±


    A shove sent him lurching forward. His hands caught rough stone, his knees scraped jagged rock as he crawled. The air was thick, pressing in from all sides. It felt like the tunnel itself was swallowing him whole.


    Ahead, labored breaths. The faint scrape of bodies shifting against stone. He pushed forward blindly¡ªuntil he hit something solid. Holger.


    The space behind him filled. Another body. Then another. A single human chain, compressed into a grave of stone and flesh.


    His own breath came back at him, hot and useless. His lungs ached. His ribs felt like they were caving in.


    Then¡ªlight.


    A pale, sickly yellow glow flickered to life ahead, casting wild shadows over the hunched, twisted forms of the men crammed together like insects in a dying burrow.


    Holger¡¯s voice, low and steady: ¡°We only get light every ten minutes. For one minute.¡±


    Chronifer swallowed, throat dry. The glow barely reached beyond Holger¡¯s face, leaving everything behind Chronifer a solid wall of black. He could hear the commandant behind Holger, and another soldier beyond himself, but the darkness made them feel too far.


    Then¡ªthe light died. And the dark devoured them whole.


    ¡°Move,¡± the commandant whispered.


    They crawled forward. Slowly. Silently.


    Chronifer¡¯s heartbeat pounded in his skull, his breath uneven. The tunnel walls pressed closer. His arms ached from keeping himself moving. Every shift of his body brought fresh scrapes from unseen rock.


    His throat clenched. He felt sick. He felt trapped.


    Something brushed his leg. Just another soldier, he told himself. Just someone moving. But his mind whispered other things. Hands in the dark. Something waiting. Something¡ª


    The air shifted.


    The bodies ahead stopped.


    A sharp click¡ªthe light flickered on.


    Then¡ªa scream.


    ¡°Ambush!¡±