ã€ŠThose Who Ignore Historyã€‹


 Chapter 1: Arteful Displays

    Walking up the temple steps that loomed over the treeline, I tilted my gaze upward. Step after step of polished marble met the heel of my shoe, their surfaces adorned with spiraling vines etched into the columns lining the staircase. Every few steps, the scent of incense and aromatic herbs wafted from the lanterns, their warm glow casting flickering shadows.

    ¡°Okay. You can do this. Just... one... more... step,¡± I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow and panting toward the ground.

    ¡°Alexander, buddy. Pal. You¡¯ve been saying that for twenty minutes,¡± Caroline teased from ahead. ¡°Maybe we should take a breather?¡±

    Of course she was fine. Barely a drop of sweat marred her tan skin or her sleek black hair. Her well-muscled legs flexed as she idly stretched while waiting for me, and I could only sigh.

    ¡°Car-Car, we both know full well we can¡¯t. We¡¯ve gotta¡ª¡± My legs buckled, sending me lurching forward. Only Caroline¡¯s quick reflexes stopped my head from colliding with the marble.

    ¡°We need you in one piece,¡± she said, steadying me. ¡°This is why I kept telling you to run with me more.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sure,¡± I wheezed between gasps for air. ¡°Let me just keep up with someone a year older¡ªwhose Arte happens to be Velocity Manipulation, no less.¡±

    ¡°Personal velocity,¡± she corrected with a grin that screamed victory. ¡°Not universal. And it¡¯s only thirty more steps. We¡¯re hours early. Take a break.¡±

    Reluctantly, I collapsed onto the cool stone, gazing at the sky. The three moons, each with their five orbiting moonlets, illuminated the heavens in a perpetual dance. My gaze shifted from the celestial display back to Caroline. ¡°Which one are you tied to?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how it works,¡± she replied with a smirk. ¡°You¡¯ll find out after your Awakening. Speaking of which, any guesses about your Arte?¡±

    ¡°Not betting on it. Too much variability. My siblings¡¯ Artes range from Vine Manipulation to Neon Manipulation. Mom¡¯s blood makes predictions impossible.¡±

    Once my chest stopped heaving, I pushed myself upright and trudged onward. Thirty steps to go. Each one loomed like a mountain.

    Why do they have to make these stairs so steep and impractical?

    As if hearing my silent lament, the steps before me softened, their height and steepness reduced to a third. The temple¡¯s great doors creaked open, revealing an elderly man clad in black robes threaded with gold. His long beard curled at its tips, matching his immaculately groomed mustache. Smiling warmly, he raised a hand, and the step beneath me shifted, gliding upward to meet him.

    ¡°Alexander, is it?¡± His voice was calm and firm, carrying an air of authority. ¡°I am Fellkeep Giles. You may call me the Fellkeep, Fellkeep Giles, or just Giles if you prefer.¡±

    Caroline caught up swiftly, but Fellkeep raised a hand. ¡°Only one at a time. The anonymity of an Arte¡¯s nature must be preserved if the bearer wishes.¡±

    He turned, his robes fluttering as he gestured for me to follow.

    The altar room was a convergence of power. Its polished obsidian and runestone walls were lined with golden threads of magic, all leading to the altar at its center¡ªa masterwork of dryadwood, alive with shimmering energy. A dryad danced upon it, her voice an ethereal melody that filled the room. As we approached, her song ceased, leaving a silence so profound it pressed against my ears.

    ¡°Alexander,¡± the dryad intoned, her voice resonant and melodic. ¡°You stand on the brink of enlightenment and oblivion. Your Arte, the unique manifestation of your soul, awaits. Are you prepared to bear its burden?¡±

    I hesitated, the gravity of her words weighing on me. Clutching the locket around my neck, I steadied myself with a deep breath and nodded.

    The dryad¡¯s form shifted, becoming ephemeral. A ghostly hand touched my forehead, and a surge of energy overwhelmed me. My vision dissolved into blinding white.

    I found myself in a field where pages of paper danced like leaves in the wind. They twisted into swords, slicing effortlessly through the grass, then converged into swarms of origami insects that rushed into me, becoming part of my essence.

    When I returned to the altar room, a single illuminated page floated above me before dissolving into mist.

    ¡°Beneath the moons¡¯ pale silver glow,

    In whispers soft, the parchments flow.

    They twist and weave, a subtle shaper.

    I have judged you to be, lord of paper.¡±

    The dryad¡¯s voice was filled with amusement as she recited her verse. ¡°Paper Manipulation,¡± she said. ¡°An Arte of versatility. Not inherently lethal, but not all need to be. Be blessed.¡±

    ¡°Blessed? Caroline gets the ability to move at speeds I can¡¯t hope to match and endless stamina. And me? I get... the ability to fold paper?¡± My words dripped with frustration.

    ¡°Only if that¡¯s all you see,¡± the Fellkeep replied, his tone steady, almost dismissive. ¡°Though, knowing your mother, I¡¯d wager you¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    His voice faded into the background as searing pain exploded in my forehead. My bones shifted with an agonizing slowness, the pressure mounting until a spiraled horn burst forth from the center of my skull. My wrists and ankles itched and burned as fur sprouted and spread, and I felt my body warping, my very essence reshaping itself.

    It wasn¡¯t just pain; it was a force, a torrent of mana flooding through me, forcing my dormant monster blood to awaken. Every cell seemed to scream as it changed.

    I collapsed to the floor, clutching my head, the soft fur on my wrists offering a fleeting reprieve from the raw torment. My vision blurred, my breath faltered, and the world slipped into darkness.

    [ ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------]

    I awoke slumped in a corner, my body aching as if it had been torn apart and stitched back together. A soft, luminescent glow emanated from Willow¡¯s hands as she cast a spell over me, her expression calm but focused.

    ¡°This is why your friend wasn¡¯t allowed to stay,¡± Fellkeep Giles said, his voice firm but not unkind. ¡°I suspected your awakening would be... dramatic. It¡¯s always the same with half-bloods in Mar.¡±

    ¡°My head...¡± I groaned, reaching up to rub my forehead. My fingers brushed the horn, soft but unbearably sensitive, and I recoiled from the touch.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Quite the adornment,¡± the Fellkeep continued. ¡°While you were out, we analyzed the celestial shifts that occurred during your awakening. The stars that aligned with your mana suggest affinities for Dimensional abilities¡ªunsurprising, given your heritage¡ªas well as crystal and nature abilities. Perhaps even linked to your Arte.¡±

    His words became a droning murmur, my mind too overwhelmed to follow his speculative theories. I caught fragments, but nothing stuck.

    ¡°He¡¯s not listening, Giles,¡± the dryad interrupted, her voice sharp yet composed. ¡°And frankly, neither am I. We¡¯re here to guide these lambs, not drown them in conjecture. One day, they¡¯ll become wolves, but not if we lose them in their first steps.¡±

    Fellkeep stiffened at her rebuke, bowing deeply with his hand pressed over his chest. ¡°Forgive me, Archdryad Willow.¡±

    ¡°Forgiven for now, Giles,¡± Willow said with a sigh. ¡°But for the love of the moons, stop doing this with every half-blood. We¡¯ve got two dryad-blooded individuals today alone. Do you really want to dive into speculations about their awakenings too?¡±

    ¡°As you are aware, one of the core tenets of the Celestial Chancery is to never obscure the truth,¡± Giles replied, his tone as measured as ever. ¡°That being said, yes, I do. However, in light of your chastisement, I shall refrain.¡±

    Willow rolled her eyes, the gesture conveying her exasperation more than words ever could. Shifting her attention back to me, she softened her expression.

    ¡°Your friend Caroline is waiting in the garden,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ve set up a mirage field if you¡¯d like to test your Arte. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll be delighted to assist you in practicing.¡±

    Eager to take Willow¡¯s invitation¡ªand to escape the fellkeep¡¯s endless musings¡ªI made my way to the garden. True to their word, Caroline was there, standing beside what looked like a large metal disc. She waved me over, her grin as wide as I¡¯d ever seen.

    ¡°Alex! You grew a horn!¡± she called out, clearly amused. ¡°Looks like I owe your brother three waning bronze coins.¡±

    ¡°You took that bet?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°There are fourteen of us. All but two have gotten a horn after their awakening. Also, my brother? Which one? I have nine.¡±

    ¡°Thomas,¡± she said with a knowing smirk. ¡°The one apprenticed to my father? The one I see nearly every day¡ªbesides you, of course? Did that horn drill into the part of your brain that remembers basic facts?¡±

    ¡°Not that I know of,¡± I replied dryly. ¡°But it did feel like a drill boring through my skull, so I¡¯ll forgive myself for being a little foggy.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± she said, shrugging. ¡°So, what Arte did you get? Thomas and I were betting on Triplication, like your mother.¡±

    ¡°Not even close,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°I got a shaper-type ability, like my eldest sister, Marybelle. She has Glass Manipulation. I got... Paper Manipulation.¡±

    Caroline¡¯s grin widened, her voice lifting with unmistakable glee. ¡°Oh? The book boy gets an ability tied to books? That¡¯s poetic justice.¡±

    ¡°Not books¡ªpaper,¡± I corrected, though I could see her teasing intent. ¡°It could work on books, I guess. But enough about that. Where¡¯s the mirage field? Let¡¯s find out what this Arte can actually do.¡±

    ¡°Technically, we¡¯re already in it,¡± Caroline said, gesturing around us. ¡°It¡¯s in its default state right now. The field only activates when tailored to a specific mana type, and since Dimensional mana isn¡¯t my primary, secondary, or even tertiary affinity, that means it¡¯s all on you.¡±

    ¡°So, how do I...?¡± I began, unsure.

    ¡°Just put your hand on the big metal disc,¡± she said flatly, smacking the surface for emphasis. ¡°Then push mana through your body. It¡¯s as natural as breathing. You don¡¯t even have to think about it¡ªyour body WANTS mana to flow.¡±

    Placing my hand on the cool, silvery surface of the metallic disc, its size and shine dominated my vision. Looking into it, I saw my reflection first; my long braided brown hair. My yellow, near golden eyes, the only proof of me being my father¡¯s son. My new horn, a long white spiral, with the tufts of fur around my wrists, mimicking the brown and white hues of my mother¡¯s fur. The distraction of my reflection only took away my attention from the moment, yet I still was pondering on what to do. Caroline had said not to overthink it, but I was completely lost.

    I want this, I thought, my mind repeating the command like a mantra. Work. Flow. Dammit, flow! My frustration mounted, my face scrunching as I tried harder, the effort only fueling my growing irritation.

    Before I could spiral further, a gentle hand pulled mine away.

    ¡°Alexander,¡± a calm voice interrupted, smooth and authoritative. ¡°You¡¯ll find Miss Caroline¡¯s advice is best suited for those with a primarily Fire affinity. Fire wants to spread, to grow. For you, such a method is ill-suited. My apologies for not arriving sooner, young shaper. I am Twelve, of this chancery.¡±

    Caroline immediately stepped between us, her tone sharp with worry and defiance. ¡°What do you want with Alex, Number-Man? He hasn¡¯t done anything wrong. He couldn¡¯t have broken a concordant already.¡±

    Twelve regarded her with a patient yet firm expression. ¡°In my official capacity as one of the Fifteen Keepers of the Satellites, I want nothing. I am here as part of a request. Your advice, however well-intentioned, nearly caused Alexander to create a black hole within himself.¡± His voice was strong, commanding, yet tinged with concern.

    Caroline blinked, taken aback. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°For those whose aspects govern the fundamental laws of creation and destruction, forcing magic to flow as you would with Fire or even Sand, can be catastrophic,¡± Twelve explained, his eyes locking onto mine with a piercing, wisened gaze. ¡°The only reason you¡¯re still standing, Alexander, is because you instinctively followed her original advice¡ªnot to think about it.¡±

    With his hand still lightly holding my wrist, Twelve guided my hand back toward the disc, positioning it over the top right corner. ¡°Now, listen carefully,¡± he said, his tone gentler but no less commanding. ¡°First, imagine yourself as the center of everything. A small star, a planet; whatever image resonates with you. You are the anchor, drawing your other two mana types into orbit. Pull them toward you. Hold that image in your mind, and let it guide you.¡±

    I closed my eyes and let the world around me fade. In the stillness, I envisioned myself as a planet, orbiting a small white star. Its light was soft, not blinding but warm, illuminating everything with a gentle radiance. The star pulsed with steady energy, an eternal heartbeat that resonated within me.

    From the vastness of the void, I drew forth shimmering gemstone meteorites. They hurtled toward me, their brilliant trails of light painting the cosmos. Each impact carved into my surface, shaping me. Craters blossomed into valleys; valleys stretched into jagged mountain ranges. A larger sapphire comet struck with force, and from its impact sprang vast oceans, their deep blues spreading across my surface. Rivers wove intricate patterns, snaking their way to feed serene lakes.

    Soon, I called forth a single tree, its roots sinking deep into the soil of my imagination. Its branches stretched skyward, birthing an entire forest in its wake. From that forest emerged a thriving ecosystem¡ªlush greenery teeming with life. Creatures, big and small, prowled through the underbrush, each part of a delicate balance. Predators stalked their prey, the cycle of life and death playing out endlessly.

    The planet became a living, breathing entity, vibrant and rich with possibilities. Minerals glinted beneath the surface, their latent power waiting to be unearthed. Flora blossomed in countless hues, each plant a testament to the resilience of life. Fauna thrived, their movements a symphony of survival and abundance.

    I was no longer just a planet; I was a world. A world of endless cycles¡ªcreation and destruction, life and decay, growth and renewal. A world bursting with abundance, its potential infinite and unyielding.

    Opening my eyes, I saw it¡ªa shimmering field of energy that didn¡¯t just surround me but permeated everything. It was in the air, in the ground, in every leaf and petal, in everyone. It pulsed with each breath I took, synchronized with the rhythm of my own life force. The disc before me was no longer a mere object; I understood now. It was a conduit, a wellspring of power capable of bending the boundaries of reality and ushering one into a realm of unreality.

    Drawing upon the energy from my inner world, I sent it coursing into the disc. It responded instantly, humming to life, its surface rippling with a cascade of rainbow hues. The vibrations spread outward, flowing across the garden like a living tide. The tranquil serenity of the space around me began to shift, blossoming into something new, something familiar.

    And then I saw it¡ªthe very planet I had created within myself. My inner world had come to life.

 Chapter 2: Mirages and Mirrors

    ¡°Okay, this is... new,¡± Caroline said, her eyes scanning the surreal landscape around us. ¡°Normally, mirage fields adapt to the aspect that best aligns with your mana. But this? Where in the moons¡¯ glow are we?¡±

    We stood amidst a lush, verdant forest, the air humming with life. Some of the trees were crafted from glittering emeralds, their crystalline leaves refracting the sunlight into a kaleidoscope of colors. Others were more ordinary, with branches laden with ripe apples that seemed to glisten as if freshly washed by morning dew. Birds of countless species flitted from branch to branch, their songs mingling in a harmonious chorus. Rodents scurried along the forest floor, feasting on fallen fruit.

    I knelt down, running my fingers through the grass. It was impossibly soft, far smoother than silk and far thicker than any fabric. Each blade felt like a fragment of a cloud, inviting one to lie down and lose themselves in a daydream or perhaps find a quiet corner to read beneath the shade of the towering trees.

    Twelve observed me thoughtfully, nodding with quiet approval. ¡°You¡¯ve done well,¡± he said. ¡°Most who reach the visualization stage¡ªespecially in the realms of gravity, dimension, or force¡ªstruggle with the concept of anchoring. Yet you¡¯ve manifested something tangible and whole. Tell me, what is the Arte you¡¯ll be training here?¡±

    I looked around, suddenly realizing my oversight. ¡°Paper Manipulation,¡± I admitted sheepishly. ¡°Which, as it turns out, I forgot to include in this world. And there doesn¡¯t seem to be any paper here at all.¡±

    Caroline burst out laughing, clutching her sides. ¡°Seriously, Alex? You were given a once-in-a-lifetime chance to imagine your own world, and you forgot the very thing you¡¯re supposed to be mastering? Classic.¡±

    Her teasing smile softened the blow, but I couldn¡¯t help feeling a little foolish as I surveyed the vibrant, paperless paradise I¡¯d inadvertently created.

    ¡°Not to worry,¡± Twelve said, his tone calm and dismissive of Caroline¡¯s teasing. ¡°This is an illusion, no matter how real it feels. Exert your will¡ªimagine some paper in your hand. It will appear as needed for you to practice. That¡¯s the entire point of the mirage field. If your Arte dealt with swords or other tangible objects, they would manifest in the same way.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. ¡°Wait. Aren¡¯t Artes just someone¡¯s innate mastery or magical ability?¡±

    Twelve shook his head, his expression unchanging. ¡°Not exactly. While we categorize Miss Caroline¡¯s Arte as Personal Velocity Manipulation, that¡¯s a gross oversimplification. Her Arte extends far beyond just moving fast. It also enhances her body¡¯s endurance against forces from sudden acceleration, sharpens her proprioception, and even improves her flexibility. All of this was discovered through mirage field testing.¡±

    He delivered the explanation with a tone so casual it was as if he were recounting mundane gossip overheard at a market.

    ¡°Yup,¡± Caroline chimed in with a grin. ¡°I learned way more about my Arte in one of these than I ever did from the dryad who oversaw my awakening.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± I muttered, considering her words. ¡°I had a full-blown vision during mine. Is that not the norm?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Alexander,¡± Twelve replied. ¡°That¡¯s common, especially for those with a background that encourages creativity and imagination. Fellkeep Giles and I have a theory that those who are more imaginative are more likely to awaken shaper-type Artes.¡±

    ¡°Ugh, all this talk is so boring!¡± Caroline interrupted, her cheeks puffing slightly as she spoke, one eyebrow raised in mild irritation. ¡°I wanna punch things! Mainly, I want to see how good of a sparring partner you are now, Alex. It¡¯s been ages since we had a proper spar!¡±

    Her impatience was unmistakable, her body practically vibrating with restless energy. I recognized the signs¡ªCaroline was nearing the limit of her attention span. If I didn¡¯t act soon, she¡¯d find a way to turn this conversation into an impromptu match, whether I was ready or not.

    Knowing I stood no chance against Caroline¡¯s speed without utilizing my Arte, I decided to follow Twelve¡¯s advice. Closing my eyes, I imagined a long, elaborate scroll forming in my hand. Its paper was immaculate, every inch covered with detailed illustrations and intricate calligraphy. The content was vivid in my mind: a record of the Revelations Period, a time when humanity¡¯s history was irreversibly altered.

    I could see it clearly¡ªthe collision of three planes of reality that merged magic and machine, birthing the first Machina. These massive, mechanical constructs allowed humans to fight monsters by proxy, wielding their ingenuity as a weapon against chaos. But the second cataclysm loomed large in the narrative. The Machina, imbued with sentience, rebelled against their creators, plunging humanity into an era of trials. Desperation gave way to discovery as humans learned to harness mana¡ªthe very energy that powered the monsters they once feared¡ªand thus began the path to survival.

    The story unfolded in my mind¡¯s eye like a tapestry: the creation of the Machina, the devastating crash that followed their rebellion, and the rise of a new era¡ªthe Age of Awakening.

    ¡°Alexander... what are you picturing?¡± Twelve¡¯s voice cut through my focus, sharp and laced with concern.

    I opened my eyes, and there in my right hand was the scroll I had so vividly imagined. The intricate details I had envisioned were now real, etched into the paper with a craftsmanship that seemed otherworldly. But it was my left hand that gave me pause.

    In it, a small paper statue had formed¡ªan intricate representation of a quadrupedal Machina. The figure resembled an origami horse, delicate yet unmistakably mechanical in design. Every fold and angle mirrored the elegance and precision of the constructs I had envisioned.

    ¡°Alexander Duarte, are you suffering from lunacy?¡± Caroline¡¯s voice was slow, deliberate, and laced with a monotone calmness that barely concealed her underlying tension. Her sharp eyes fixed on me as her hand gestured toward the origami horse resting in my palm. ¡°Do you even realize what that is?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do.¡± My reply was clipped, measured. I refused to rise to her bait, even as her tone pressed me to justify myself. ¡°Candidly, Caroline, what surprises me is not what it is¡ªbut how it appeared in this form.¡±

    Before the weight of her scrutiny could settle further, Twelve stepped in, raising a hand to interject. His voice was steady, his presence a buffer between Caroline¡¯s incredulity and my own uncertainty. ¡°Allow me to provide some clarity,¡± he began, his words carrying the calm authority of a scholar addressing eager students. ¡°In a mirage field, experimentation is not only encouraged¡ªit is essential. Anything you manifest here reflects what you are capable of in the physical world. While it is uncommon for shapers to create Machina of any kind, it is not entirely unprecedented. Historically, those with a shaper Arte who achieve this feat often produce constructs aligned with their materials¡ªwooden, metal, or, in your case, paper. Mounts are the most typical manifestation, and it seems that is precisely what you¡¯ve begun to create.¡± Twelve¡¯s gaze shifted to the small origami horse in my hand, his lips curling into a faint smile. ¡°Admittedly, it is rather diminutive for a mount. But,¡± he added, his tone lightening as his smile grew, ¡°it is a start. And a promising one at that.¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Caroline crossed her arms, her expression hovering between disbelief and begrudging curiosity. ¡°Promising or not, Alex, you¡¯re playing with something dangerous. If you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing, this thing could blow up in your face. Or worse.¡±

    Her words hung in the air, but I refused to waver. My fingers brushed over the intricate folds of the paper Machina, each crease a testament to the willpower and imagination that had brought it into being. For all its fragility, it felt solid, almost alive.

    ¡°I¡¯m aware of the risks,¡± I said quietly, my eyes meeting hers. ¡°But if this is what my Arte can do, then it¡¯s worth understanding. Worth mastering.¡±

    Twelve nodded approvingly. ¡°Precisely, Alexander. Mastery begins with understanding; and understanding starts with curiosity and courage. Both of which you seem to have in abundance.¡±

    ¡°Him? Courageous? Not in the slightest. Curious? Absolutely. He¡¯s constantly prying into every little detail. Don¡¯t you realize that encouraging him is only going to fuel this obsession further?¡± Caroline¡¯s voice was rising, her tone sharp and exasperated.

    Twelve¡¯s brow furrowed in a frown as he turned to her. ¡°Weren¡¯t you just eager to pummel him into the dirt moments ago? And now, here you are, suddenly showing concern for his growth as a shaper? How curious.¡± His voice was firm, each word striking with the precision of a hammer. ¡°I¡¯d almost wager you knew you¡¯d win before the match even started. After all, a shaper against a bio-weaver? That¡¯s a notoriously one-sided battle, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Caroline bristled, her expression a mixture of irritation and defensiveness. ¡°Of course it¡¯d be an easy win for me. Wait a minute, that¡¯s not the point. The point is, he¡¯s playing with fire.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t resist the opportunity for a retort. ¡°Isn¡¯t that your primary mana type? Don¡¯t you always play with fire?¡± My words were light but laced with a teasing jab.

    Her eyes narrowed, and before I could blink, Caroline vanished from where she stood, reappearing at my side with alarming speed. Her fist was already flying toward me, and there was no time to react.

    But then, the unexpected happened. The small paper horse in my hand surged forward of its own accord, positioning itself between us. It intercepted the brunt of her punch with a loud, resounding squelch that echoed through the air.

    Caroline staggered back, shaking her hand and wincing in pain. ¡°What the hell?! Isn¡¯t that paper?!¡± she shouted, her voice louder than I¡¯d ever heard it.

    I glanced down at the remains of the Machina or rather, the rubble it had become. Its secret was revealed in its fractured state: the outer shell wasn¡¯t just paper but a composite, a type of micarta. Layered and compacted, it had been as solid as steel despite its delicate origins.

    ¡°Well, now that you don¡¯t have that, what¡¯s your plan?¡± Caroline teased, her voice lilting with amusement as she disappeared from my sight.

    Afterimages of her form streaked through the air, a blur of long black hair and sun-kissed skin moving too fast to track. Each motion left behind a fleeting imprint, her speed making it impossible to discern her actual position.

    I gripped the paper scroll still in my hand and willed it to life. At first, it shifted into what appeared to be a simple staff. Then it curved, a string stretching taut between its ends, and arrows formed alongside it. A bow and a quiver of arrows¡ªnot what I needed, not in this fight.

    You¡¯re not hunting animals, Alex. My thoughts roared like a storm in my mind. You¡¯re not even the hunter here. You¡¯re the prey. She¡¯s the pantheress, circling, waiting to pounce. What do you need?

    The answer came to me in a flash: A wall. I need a wall.

    Drawing from the image of the world I had created¡ªthe glittering gemstone forests, rivers of crystalline blue, and the vibrant, living pulse of nature¡ªI focused. The world I had imagined, this mirage field, answered my call.

    The paper shifted again, reshaping itself in an instant. Caroline¡¯s blurred figure rushed toward me, but she was forced to stop in her tracks.

    No; this wasn¡¯t a wall. It was something more.

    I wasn¡¯t the hunter; I was the hunted. A fly caught in the spider¡¯s web. But the spider had failed to notice the larger web being woven.

    Thousands of delicate threads erupted from what had been the bow and arrows, weaving into an intricate, glistening snare. The threads stretched and tangled, creating a vast entanglement of wire that trapped both of us in its embrace, halting her advance entirely.

    Caroline struggled against the threads, her speed useless against their binding strength. Meanwhile, I fell to my knees, my breath ragged and labored. The effort had drained me. The vibrant world of the mirage field shimmered and dissolved, fading back into the tranquil garden where we had begun.

    ¡°Mana cost per shaping: Normal. Mana pool: High. Mana regeneration: Below Average. Overall grade of Arte: B-minus,¡± Fellkeep Giles announced, stepping into view. His expression was unreadable, though his tone carried its usual undercurrent of disapproval.

    ¡°Thank you, Twelve, for watching over him,¡± Giles added with a nod toward the man. ¡°I loathe the accidents that tend to accompany Dimensional mana types.¡±

    Twelve smirked, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°No, Giles. You loathe the work it takes to clean up after those accidents.¡±

    Giles scowled but didn¡¯t respond. Caroline, meanwhile, was glaring at me from across the garden, her hair slightly mussed and her cheeks flushed.

    ¡°What, under the moons¡¯ glow, was that?¡± Caroline¡¯s voice rose to a near shriek, her frustration boiling over. ¡°I crashed into hundreds of fluttering pages, and then each one turned into thousands of sticky, wet threads! And the worst part? You got caught in it too! It was your own Arte! PAPER, Alex! Against someone who can create FIRE! I burn paper for practice! If skillcubes were allowed in these tests, you¡¯d have been fried alive! What were you thinking, you book-brained numskull?¡±

    ¡°You did fine,¡± Twelve interjected calmly, offering me a reassuring nod. ¡°Yes, Caroline is correct¡ªif skillcubes were permitted in this Arte testing field, you would have been incinerated by your own creation. Learn from this: never ensnare yourself again. However, your creative thinking was commendable. Shapers draw their power from the strength of their imagination and the adaptability of their material. Your material¡ªthough inherently fragile¡ªhas limitless potential. Fold it, shape it, and let it become anything you need. That said, unless you¡¯re prepared to pay the consulting fee of a Soul Realm 5-Level 4, I¡¯m afraid our session here is over. Miss Caroline, I recommend you take the Walker Examination in a few months, with Alexander following shortly after. Without access to Otherrealms, both of you risk stagnating¡ªand quickly.¡±

    ¡°What exactly are the Otherrealms?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ve tried finding books about them in Marr¡¯s library, but I was refused access every time.¡±

    Twelve raised an eyebrow and glanced at Caroline, who smirked knowingly. ¡°I see what you mean about his curiosity, Miss Caroline,¡± he said, his tone dry. The two exchanged a brief look and a nod before Twelve turned back to me. ¡°Young Shaper Alexander, you were denied that information for a reason. Before your awakening, your soul was unprepared for such knowledge. Now, however, you are classified as Soul Realm 1, Level 1¡ªor 1-1, as most people call it. Before today, stepping into an Otherrealm gate would have been a death sentence. The miasma that pervades the Otherrealms is inherently toxic to visitors¡ªanyone entering a realm they do not belong to. Now that you¡¯ve awakened, you are permitted to traverse Otherrealms equal to your Soul Realm, provided you either have a noble¡¯s permission or a Walker¡¯s permission. Any attempt to enter one beyond your capacity, however, and the miasma will devour you in seconds. That¡¯s all the time I have, I¡¯m afraid. Giles, as required, you can handle any further questions.¡±

    ¡°For the record¡­¡± Fellkeep Giles began, his tone weary as he addressed both of us, ¡°it¡¯s not that I¡¯m unwilling to do my job, even if it involves cleaning up after a Dimensional breakdown. I just hate dealing with the aftermath¡ªthe body of some poor, newly awakened soul who didn¡¯t understand the risks. It¡¯s not a sight I ever want to see again.¡±

 Chapter 3: What is Right For Me

    Caroline declined to ask any further questions of the Fellkeep, much to his visible dismay. I, however, had a barrage of inquiries, and my unrelenting curiosity quickly drew his full attention. With a frustrated sigh and an adjustment of his spectacles, he turned his focus to me, clearly bracing himself for the inevitable deluge. Caroline soon departed, leaving me alone with the scholarly gentleman and the opportunity to seek answers.

    ¡°How is an Arte truly awakened?¡± I asked, the question burning in my mind. While I had experienced it firsthand, the intricate mechanics of the process eluded me.

    ¡°To be candid,¡± Fellkeep Giles began, straightening his robes and adopting the air of a lecturer preparing for a discourse, ¡°an Arte is awakened through the introduction of a minute drop of miasma into the body¡ªmiasma derived from spirits of the pre-Awakening era. The exact method by which an Arte is ¡®chosen,¡¯¡± he said, lifting a finger to emphasize the word, ¡°remains a subject of much scholarly debate. Familial ties are believed to play a role, as are personal desires, subconscious inclinations, and even unresolved aspirations. Many theorize that the Arte reflects what the individual perceives as their truest salvation.¡±

    He leaned forward slightly, his voice gaining a professorial cadence. ¡°Take you, for instance, Alexander. You awakened the ability to manipulate paper. Consider your habits¡ªalways surrounded by books, immersed in study, whether on economics, trade, or the fantastical. Your life has been steeped in paper and the written word. It is only natural that your Arte would manifest in alignment with those elements.

    ¡°Contrast this with your friend,¡± he continued, gesturing to the space Caroline had vacated. ¡°She awakened the ability to manipulate her own velocity. An impatient, headstrong tomboy who thrives on immediacy and bristles at delay? Such an Arte perfectly complements her disposition, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±

    He gave me a pointed look, clearly expecting me to connect the dots, yet his tone hinted at genuine interest in whether I understood his reasoning.

    Giving him a curt nod, I moved on to my next question. ¡°So, while we don¡¯t know for certain how Artes are awoken, could one¡¯s lifestyle and personality before their awakening day be a major factor?¡±

    Fellkeep Giles raised an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between incredulous and amused. ¡°Boy, I literally just told you it¡¯s a mystery at best, with only hypotheses to guide us. And yet, here you are, clinging to some neat little theory. Yes, I am the one who improperly guided you to that theory¨CAllow me to educate you with examples from your own family¡ªexamples that should thoroughly dismantle this notion of a tidy connection between personality and Arte.¡±

    He leaned back, his scholarly tone sharpening as he launched into a lecture. ¡°Take your brother Thomas, for instance. His Arte? Pottery manipulation. Yet the boy has no patience for a pottery wheel. He can¡¯t stand the idea of sitting there, shaping clay. Instead, he¡¯s redirected his Arte into crafting clay scattershots as an apprentice gunsmith, using his ability to aid in hunting lower-soul-realm creatures. Practical? Certainly. Aligned with his natural inclinations? Not in the slightest.¡±

    Giles didn¡¯t pause, his gaze pinning me as he continued. ¡°Then there¡¯s your elder sister, Katarina. Her Arte is Memory Manipulation¡ªan ability to influence and erase thoughts, one of the most potent anti-memeticist skills known. And yet, she craves the spotlight. She demands recognition and thrives on the approval of others. But here¡¯s the cruel twist: her Arte ensures she never gets it. No matter how dazzling her presence, people forget her. Her every grand gesture is lost to memory. It¡¯s as if the universe mocked her deepest desire by giving her an Arte that obliterates it.¡±

    Finally, his tone grew animated, his gestures becoming more exaggerated. ¡°And your mother, perhaps the most baffling case of all. Septuplication at her current stage¡ªthe ability to create seven duplicates of herself, each capable of producing seven duplicates of their own. Do you know her title in the Marr Army? The Lop-Eared Legion. She is, quite literally, an army unto herself. Yet here¡¯s the hilarity: your mother abhors solitude. She despises being alone. This Arte ensures she never has to be.¡±

    He folded his arms, leaning back with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. ¡°So, Alexander, do you still believe lifestyle and personality hold the answers? Or do you now understand why we approach Arte awakenings with caution, humility, and a healthy respect for the inexplicable?¡±

    ¡°That last one, however¡ªmy mother abhors solitude, so wouldn¡¯t septuplication be the perfect Arte for her?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Alexander,¡± Fellkeep Giles replied, his tone shifting slightly as if explaining to a smarter student. ¡°That was precisely the point. For her, the Arte aligns with her desires, fulfilling her need for constant companionship in a way few could ever imagine. It is the exception, not the rule. The first two examples I gave¡ªThomas and Katarina¡ªrepresent individuals who view their Artes as burdens, corrupted gifts that twist what should be a wellspring of power into something they loathe. For them, their abilities are the fruit of the poisonous tree.¡±

    I nodded slowly, trying to process the broader implications. Before I could lose my train of thought, I motioned with my hands, shifting to a question that had been gnawing at me since my duel with Caroline. ¡°How would one acquire a skillcube?¡±

    Fellkeep Giles sighed, leaning back with a thoughtful expression. ¡°Ah, now that is both the easiest and the most complicated question to answer. Let me break it down for you. In many ways, those with money, influence, and power have the simplest paths to acquiring skillcubes. Ironically, these same skillcubes often become the very source of that wealth and influence. Those with strong Arte and skillcube combinations naturally have an easier time obtaining them.¡±

    He held up a hand, ticking off points as he explained. ¡°The first method is free, but entirely reliant on luck. A skillcube can directly manifest from raw miasma with no effort, cost, or control on your part. However, this method is entirely unpredictable. Not only is it random what skillcube manifests, but it¡¯s also random when it does. First come, first served¡ªprovided you¡¯re in the right place at the right time.¡±

    Giles continued, his voice sharpening. ¡°The second method is straightforward but requires money. Many skillcubes are inexpensive, particularly those suited for mundane, day-to-day tasks. These are the cubes sought by those content to remain at Soul Realm 1-1, never aspiring to become Visitors or advance further. However, the skillcubes valuable to Walkers and Adjutants¡ªthose who venture into danger and aim for greatness¡ªcarry a much higher price tag.¡±

    He paused, his gaze intensifying as he reached the final point. ¡°And then there¡¯s the third method, the one most aspiring Visitors rely upon: eliminating an Other. These are the creatures that spill into our world through the Otherrealm gates. Cleansing them not only protects us but has a chance of the manifestation of a skillcube as a reward. Of course, the danger is significant. Not everyone who sets out to acquire a skillcube through this method returns.¡±

    Fellkeep Giles leaned forward, fixing me with a penetrating stare. ¡°So, Alexander, the question isn¡¯t just how one acquires a skillcube. It¡¯s how far you¡¯re willing to go, and what risks you¡¯re prepared to take, to claim the power you seek.¡±

    ¡°What determines which skillcubes are best for someone to use?¡± I asked, leaning forward. ¡°I¡¯ve always envisioned myself as a Walker, roaming the roads, slaying Others, and entering gates to uncover newfound power. We¡¯ve all heard the story of Prince Marylynn and his army of bone giants entering that gate, only to emerge with the book that revealed how the Machina were originally created. Everyone has their tale of a hero; ours just happens to be our literal ruler.¡±

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Fellkeep Giles tilted his head, his scholarly demeanor shifting into something more cautious. ¡°Alex, I must inform you that I am legally obligated not to answer that question. Any guidance I provide could unduly influence your path, potentially leading you down a road you¡¯re not ready to walk. This decision is not one to take lightly.¡±

    He gestured with a long finger toward the second moon, Llamdas, hanging in the sky in its waxing phase. ¡°I strongly suggest you consult those closest to you before making any decisions. Start with your mother, then your father, followed by your siblings who have experience in similar paths, and finally, your uncle. Each of them will offer you a unique perspective. In truth, you¡¯ll likely get more answers than you know what to do with¡ªyou get nine choices per soul realm until the fourth after all.¡±

    Giles¡¯s tone turned uncharacteristically stern as he added, ¡°One last piece of advice, and I cannot stress this enough: when the moons are all empty, under no circumstances should you absorb a skillcube. The consequences would be... dire.¡±

    Letting my line of questions fade into silence, I approached the Fellkeep and gave him a final, respectful bow. The weight of our conversation hung in the air, but there was nothing more to be gained from pushing further. His gaze lingered on me, a mixture of caution and intrigue, before he turned back toward his studies.

    I turned to the staircase¡ªa daunting, spiraling descent carved into the rock face that separated the upper tiers of Marr from the bustling streets below. This was no ordinary staircase. Each step felt more like a challenge, a test of willpower and endurance rather than a mere descent. The sharp angles and uneven stone made every footfall treacherous, the kind of path that whispered tales of travelers who misjudged their footing.

    The first step sent a jolt up my legs, the incline far steeper than it looked. I steadied myself, gripping the weathered iron railing, its surface cool and slick from the mist that clung to Marr¡¯s higher altitudes.

    Just. One. More. Step.

    Each chasm-like drop between steps stretched further than the last, and the streets below felt impossibly distant, as if the city itself were pulling away. My breath came in short bursts, not from the physical exertion, but from the oppressive weight of the height. Marr proper was a vibrant, chaotic place, but from here it seemed serene, almost otherworldly¡ªa false promise of peace awaiting at the bottom.

    Halfway down, my legs began to tremble, a mix of strain and unease. A faint breeze wound through the staircase, carrying with it the scents of the lower city¡ªsmoke, spices, and the faint tang of sea salt from the distant port. The contrast was stark, a reminder of how far I still had to go.

    The metaphorical hell of a staircase was also a reflection of my journey ahead. Just as each step required focus and balance, so too would my path as a Walker demand resilience, precision, and determination.

    One step after another. No looking back.

    When I finally reached the bottom, the uneven cobblestones of the streets greeted me like an old adversary. I paused, letting out a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I was holding, and looked up at the staircase, its steep incline now hidden by the swirling mist.

    Marr¡¯s streets called to me with their noise and chaos, but I lingered for a moment longer. The climb down had been a trial, but it also felt like a rite of passage. A small but meaningful victory.

    Just one more step, I thought, this time with a hint of a smile. And then another, and another, until I found where I belonged.

    ***

    Taking the carpet back to my parents¡¯ home, I was immediately greeted by the familiar onslaught of sensations. The sweet, earthy aroma of freshly picked strawberries filled the air, mingling with the cacophony of raucous chatter and laughter. The noise was ever-present, as it always was in this house¡ªa blend of excitement, chaos, and familial warmth.

    Father, predictably, was glued to the crystal, watching a Veeball match with the intensity of a general commanding an army. The scene displayed on the shimmering surface showed players dashing back and forth, hitting a glowing ball charged with their aspected mana toward the goal. I¡¯d never quite grasped the appeal.

    ¡°GET OUT BALL!¡± he roared at the crystal, his voice booming as if the players could actually hear him. His fervor made him oblivious to my arrival, even as my mother¡¯s many duplicates all turned toward me.

    Her long, lop ears twitched at the sound of my footsteps, and with a subtle ripple of energy, the duplicates faded into the aether one by one. My real mother stepped forward, her gait marked by a light, effortless hop. Her spiraled horn caught the light, and her furred body moved with the same graceful energy I¡¯d always admired. Before I could say a word, she swept me into a tight embrace.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s my newly awakened adult boy!¡± she exclaimed, her voice brimming with pride. ¡°I remember when you were tiny, always so scared to leave my side. You¡¯d cling to one of my arms¡ªor one of me¡ªand wouldn¡¯t let go for anything.¡±

    She pulled back, her sharp eyes taking me in with a mixture of delight and scrutiny. ¡°Oh! And look at you, you¡¯ve grown a horn! As you know, the other two are still a bit upset about only having the long ears. Don¡¯t rub it in with them, alright? Now, you don¡¯t have to tell me if you¡¯re not ready, but¡­ what did you awaken into?¡± Her voice softened with concern, her ears angling forward to catch my response.

    ¡°Paper Manipulation. Shaper type,¡± I said, keeping my tone casual and deliberately omitting the accidental Machina creation in the mirage field. ¡°Guess Dad was right about all those books I¡¯ve been reading, huh?¡±

    ¡°Posh,¡± Mom said, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°Your father barely notices anything outside of his sports bets these days. He¡¯s too busy yelling at the crystal to even realize his youngest stopped by.¡±

    ¡°How much does he have riding on this game?¡± I asked, already anticipating the answer.

    Her expression shifted to that familiar blend of exasperation and amusement. ¡°Thirteen waning silver, fourteen waxing bronze, and five waning bronze. All on the Ironmongers winning via double knockout in the fifth outing.¡±

    I shook my head, suppressing a grin. ¡°He¡¯s really banking on his Fortune, huh¡­¡± My voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

    Soon, the crystal erupted with the announcement we all expected.

    ¡°DOUBLE KNOCKOUT! The Ironmongers steal the win! Upsetting the bracket entirely! How will the Devil Bears fare on the losers'' side of the tournament? A fifth seat defeated by a twentieth seat this early! Find out all this and more¡­¡± The announcer¡¯s voice thundered through the room.

    Both my mother and I exchanged exasperated looks, rolling our eyes in unison as my father, grinning ear to ear, switched the crystal off.

    Much like my mother, my father looked far younger than his years¡ªno older than his mid-thirties, despite having children that age. His slightly pudgy stomach and neatly kept beard gave him a comfortable, approachable look, though the strength in his frame was evident enough to remind anyone he wasn¡¯t just a bookish man.

    ¡°For the record, dear,¡± he said, his grin widening, ¡°I knew our boy would walk in right about the end of the fourth outing. After all, I placed a bet on it.¡±

    My mother groaned, her long ears twitching in irritation. ¡°You do realize it¡¯s a petty crime to keep altering fate in your favor like this, don¡¯t you? People spend fortunes trying to ward off Arte-based cheating during these games, and yet you somehow slip through every time.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s why you love me,¡± he said with a casual shrug and an unabashed smile, before turning his attention to me. ¡°Paper Manipulation, eh, boy? My money was actually on Ink Manipulation. So, you see, not every bet I place turns out correct.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. ¡°Who did you make that bet with?¡±

    A familiar feminine voice answered from the corner of the room, where I hadn¡¯t even noticed her standing. ¡°Me.¡±

    I turned, startled to see Katarina leaning against the wall, her usual enigmatic air about her. She had that frustrating knack for blending into the background when she wanted to, despite her striking presence.

    ¡°Katarina, this is¡ª¡± my father began, but my mother interrupted, waving a hand in exasperation.

    ¡°Please, not now. Not this joke, not today.¡±

    Before the conversation could devolve into the typical family chaos, I seized the opportunity, speaking quickly to steer things in a productive direction.

    ¡°So,¡± I said, addressing both my parents, ¡°given what we all know I want to do with my life, what skillcubes are right for me?¡±

 Chapter 4: Would You Like to Marvel?

    ¡°None,¡± my mother replied firmly, her clones appearing in unison to emphasize her answer. ¡°Currently, the answer is none. You lack training with a weapon, you lack discipline in understanding your mana types, and you are woefully unprepared to face even a goblin-based Other. You have no true understanding of your Arte, and your martial abilities consist of little more than kicking bullies in the shins, then running away while shoving the tip of your boot into their backside.¡±

    I winced, but didn¡¯t argue. It wasn¡¯t untrue, after all.

    ¡°Now, dearest, that¡¯s a bit harsh,¡± my father interjected, his tone softening. ¡°We don¡¯t even know what his mana types are yet¡ªwe haven¡¯t asked that. If we¡¯re planning to grant him a caster set, we could plan it based on that.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± my mother shot back, shaking her head. ¡°Even Visitors who are predominantly magus need those fundamentals. They all have weapons or martial arts training, and several utility-based skillcubes to boot.¡±

    ¡°We could have him manifest a healer¡¯s set,¡± Katarina suggested, her voice a quiet, calm counterpoint to the conversation. Her presence, though subtle, always seemed to fill the room, and I couldn¡¯t help but notice the shift in the atmosphere when she spoke. Of all my sisters, she was the one who commanded attention without effort, a quiet beauty that didn¡¯t need to be flaunted. Even though the moment she stopped talking, I couldn¡¯t even point her out in the room without drastic effort.

    ¡°A healer as a Walker is always ill-advised,¡± one of my mother¡¯s clones answered, her voice as sharp as my mother¡¯s own. ¡°Walkers walk alone. There¡¯s only a road ahead if one can forge it themselves, and healers need another to assist with the elimination of Others.¡±

    ¡°We could see about training him with us, then?¡± Another of my mother¡¯s clones asked, her expression thoughtful, but my father immediately shook his head.

    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be allowed to take the Walker exam if he went through one of your training sessions. He¡¯d have received assistance from someone of Soul Realm seven or greater.¡±

    ¡°Well, why not just have him go into another mirage field, or request the mirage field data?¡± Katarina asked, her voice casual as she shrugged. ¡°While we¡¯re at it, why did you want me here for this?¡±

    ¡°Great idea, Kitty-Kat!¡± one of my mother¡¯s clones exclaimed, or perhaps it was the original. I had long lost track of which one was which. ¡°I¡¯ll have his initial Arte mirage field data brought over after tea. As for why you¡¯re here... because you have a missive from the Academy of Memetics.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Katarina¡¯s interest piqued, and she opened the letter eagerly. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she read, a broad grin spreading across her face. ¡°Oh! I¡¯m invited to attend as part of an assassination guild attendee! Sweet! Not to steal your day, little brother, but yes! I finally get some damn recognition! And they won¡¯t mysteriously forget my name and documents due to the fields! YES!¡±

    Her voice was louder, brighter, filled with more hope and joy than I¡¯d ever heard from her. It was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the tense atmosphere earlier.

    My mother, her eyes misty, moved quickly to embrace Katarina in a tight hug. Each of her clones mirrored the action, and I could see the warmth in their smiles. ¡°We won¡¯t forget where you are, sweetie. They did tell us some ways to combat that.¡±

    Katarina, normally so composed, let out a laugh and hugged my mother back. Her eyes glistened, and for a moment, I saw the side of her I rarely did¡ªthe girl who longed for recognition, who yearned for something more than just being forgotten in the shadows of the family. It was a rare sight, and one I wouldn¡¯t soon forget. Hopefully. Probably. Maybe.

    ¡°Back to you, though¡­¡± One of my mother¡¯s clones continued, her tone shifting back to a more instructive cadence. ¡°Let¡¯s rewind a bit. What mana types did they say you reacted with?¡±

    ¡°Primary Dimension, Crystal Secondary, and Nature Tertiary,¡± I replied, meeting her gaze. I could see the wheels turning in her mind as she processed the information.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s unsurprising on the dimension aspect,¡± she said thoughtfully. ¡°You have my blood, after all. Crystal is a bit of an oddity in the family, though. The closest connection is your nephew, who has Sand mana in him¡­ and Nature, well, that¡¯s quite a common element throughout both halves of the family, it seems.¡±

    She paused, as if mulling over something, before continuing. ¡°Have you tried picturing your inner world since the mirage field?¡±

    I shook my head. The concept of the ¡°inner world¡± felt abstract to me¡ªsomething I hadn¡¯t fully grasped yet.

    ¡°Figured not,¡± she muttered, almost to herself. She raised her hands to stop me from speaking further and continued her lecture. ¡°Do so now, before we continue.¡±

    Closing my eyes, I tried to picture it, but then I felt a sudden sharp bonk on the side of my head.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have the luxury of doing that in field conditions,¡± she chided, her voice firm. ¡°You won¡¯t have the time or ability to do that when you¡¯re assailed by other Walkers with ill intent. Picture it while seeing the world around you. Interlace it. I¡¯m NOT letting my children develop a habit that a two-bit portal magus has.¡±

    With my eyes wide open now, I struggled to concentrate. It was like trying to hold two separate thoughts at once¡ªone grounded in the world around me, the other focused inward. It felt like a herculean effort, but I forced myself to do it.

    Instead of summoning the usual mental image of an interconnected, thriving ecosystem¡ªwhat I imagined my inner world should be¡ªI felt something else stir inside me. A rock, floating in an endless void of space. On it, a single apple tree stood, its branches swaying gently despite the lack of wind. The apple on the tree wasn¡¯t ordinary, though¡ªit was made of sapphire, a deep, striking blue that gleamed against the emptiness of the space around it.

    ¡°I see it,¡± I nodded at my mother, trying to put my thoughts into words. ¡°Barely. It¡¯s smaller, weaker, and I wouldn¡¯t call what it has any form of an ecosystem of nature. But yes, I see it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the norm,¡± she replied, her tone firm yet understanding. ¡°You¡¯ll have a much smaller, weaker image until you improve dramatically. Sure, you could meditate and dive deep into it to refine it, and I recommend you do, but until you can channel that image and that world under stress¡ªwithout the crutch of meditation¡ªyou¡¯ll never live up to the standards of the world you can create.¡±

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    I furrowed my brow, trying to process the weight of her words. ¡°So, how did I¡­¡± I began to ask, but before I could finish, another one of my mother¡¯s duplicates, or maybe the original, cut me off.

    ¡°The mirage field did a ton of the work. It wove the path through your body to emphasize the mana and show you how to release it. Tell me, at first, how did it feel to use your Arte while inside?¡±

    I paused, considering her question. ¡°Honestly? Very little. It felt as if I was simply walking through a land of my own lucid dreams. Like it wasn¡¯t real, just an extension of my imagination. I didn¡¯t feel the weight of it, not in the way I expected. It was as if I could move the paper, but only in a way that seemed¡­ detached. Almost like I was playing with it, rather than truly controlling it.¡±

    ¡°That is the problem with mirage fields,¡± my mother continued, her voice tinged with the authority of experience. ¡°Sure, you¡¯re controlling the Arte, and doing so in a safe, controlled environment, but many times you¡¯ll find yourself detached from the state your Arte desires. You¡¯re a Shaper, by your own admission. That generally means you can manipulate a set material innately into a variety of different effects. But you need to learn to feel that material, not just control it with your mind.¡±

    I let out a sigh, knowing the path ahead would be anything but easy. Before I could respond, one of my mother¡¯s duplicates spoke up, her tone a touch lighter.

    ¡°Oh stop it. Rather than being the Legion we are, let the boy relax with some tea and then continue drilling into him.¡± The clone waved her hand dismissively, and with a soft shimmer, the duplicates all faded into the familiar wispy smoke that followed whenever my mother dismissed them.

    I turned my attention back to the original, who had quietly slipped away to the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a steaming cup of tea, offering it to me with a knowing smile. The scent of Blackberry, Juniper, and Rose Petal tea filled the air, and I couldn¡¯t help but smile at the memory. Four years ago, on my twelfth birthday, I had brewed this exact tea for her. I had thought it was a way to speed up my awakening¡ªwhat a foolish expedition that had been.

    ¡°Happy sixteenth, son,¡± she said, her voice soft but firm. ¡°Yes, you deserve a gift. And yes, it¡¯ll be a cube¡­ but you won¡¯t acquire it today. I can¡¯t train you, assess you, or even give you more than what I already have in advice. Luckily, we have someone in the family who is still able to¡­¡±

    ¡°Ugh¡­¡± My father groaned from the corner, rubbing his forehead. ¡°My rotten luck. Do we really have to go to him for this? Surely there¡¯s someone else who could help.¡±

    Before he could continue, three of my mother¡¯s duplicates appeared suddenly, assaulting him with a simultaneous, disapproving glare, their expressions as sharp as if they¡¯d all been cut from the same stone. The original, standing tall in the doorway, raised her hand to silence him.

    ¡°Get over it,¡± she said, her voice final. ¡°We are seeing my brother for this.¡±

    My father let out a long, defeated sigh. ¡°I suppose we don¡¯t have a choice, do we?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± my mothers replied, her voice unwavering and synchronized. ¡°We don¡¯t.¡±

    The tension in the air hung heavy for a moment, but I felt a strange calm settle over me as I sipped my tea. Despite the looming visit, despite the uncertainty of the path ahead, there was something oddly comforting about being with my family. Even in moments of frustration, we had each other¡¯s backs.

    ¡°Well, then,¡± my mother said, breaking the silence with a softer tone, ¡°I suggest you finish your tea. It¡¯ll be a long trip, and we¡¯ll need to leave before sunset if we¡¯re to get there before nightfall.¡±

    ***

    My uncle¡¯s home, if such an ostentatious place could be called that, was nestled in the noble quarter of Marr. Towering pillars of polished marble framed the entrance to a sprawling walled complex. The gate, a work of art in itself, gleamed with polished copper that reflected the late afternoon sunlight. The walls were a mix of granite and an unidentifiable green stone, smooth and polished to a mirror-like sheen. It wasn¡¯t jade¡ªI knew that much¡ªbut whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t something found in the markets of Marr. This was a display of wealth meant to intimidate and impress in equal measure.

    A man stood in front of the gate, his tall, lanky frame draped in a sharply tailored black suit. The crisp white shirt beneath contrasted with the eccentricity of a bright pink bow tie. His demeanor was as polished as the marble pillars behind him, and his posture exuded an air of practiced professionalism.

    ¡°Greetings, Madam Juliet, The Lop-Eared Legion,¡± he said, bowing deeply to my mother. His tone was formal, almost reverent, and his words carried a smoothness that bordered on oily. ¡°Master Rodrick extends his greatest welcome, though he regrets that he cannot personally greet you at this moment. He is, as ever, consumed by his latest project.¡±

    His attention shifted to my father, and the change in tone was palpable. Gone was the polished deference, replaced with a wry edge that practically dripped with disdain. ¡°Greetings, Sir Hubert,¡± he said, his voice now mocking and casual. ¡°Lovely as always. Tell me, have you been thrown into prison yet for your incessant cheating?¡±

    My father, unfazed, grinned widely and shrugged. ¡°Nope. Not yet. Never will. Bet on it Winston.¡±

    The man let out a soft, unimpressed snort, but said nothing further, gesturing instead toward the gates, which began to swing open silently. Beyond them, the estate loomed, a labyrinth of interconnected buildings and sprawling courtyards. Even from this distance, I could see intricate carvings etched into the stone walls, depicting scenes of battles, scientific experiments, and strange, otherworldly creatures.

    Fascinated by the carvings, I stepped closer to inspect them in detail. One in particular captured my attention: a dragon standing proudly on the back of a colossal turtle, both figures encapsulated within one of the marble pillars. Each scale on the dragon¡¯s body was rendered with meticulous precision, some glinting as though catching an unseen light. The turtle was no less impressive¡ªits massive, ornate shell bore patterns so intricate they seemed almost alive, each groove and ridge an example of artistry that transcended the ordinary.

    ¡°Young Master Alexander,¡± came Winston¡¯s smooth, almost theatrical voice, pulling me from my reverie. ¡°I see the art has captivated you, as it does all who first encounter it. Allow me to extend an offer. Rather than simply admire the grounds'' craftsmanship, would you care to meet the artist behind it?¡±

    I turned to him, his question catching me off guard. ¡°If that¡¯s possible, yes,¡± I replied, curiosity bubbling up. ¡°Though our primary reason for coming was to ask my uncle a few questions. You mentioned he was engrossed in a project. Is it still the revival of the mandragora tree?¡±

    Winston¡¯s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. ¡°Ah, the mandragora tree. A remarkable feat, but one that was completed nearly two years ago. No, Master Rodrick¡¯s current obsession is... rather unique. He¡¯s exploring the correlation between the chimes of a clocktower and the ovulation cycles of festers.¡±

    I blinked, unsure if I had misheard. ¡°The... ovulation cycles of festers? The plant?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Winston replied smoothly, as though discussing something entirely ordinary. ¡°And the sound of clocktower bells, specifically. Master Rodrick believes there¡¯s a connection¡ªthough what that connection might be, I cannot say. You know how his mind works: an intricate web of brilliance, logic, and the occasional absurdity.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t help but gape for a moment. The claim that my uncle had successfully revived an extinct medicinal tree from the Revelations Period was extraordinary enough, but the idea that he was now pursuing such an outlandish hypothesis left me speechless. It was paradoxical, really¡ªWinston delivered his explanation with the utmost professionalism, yet the content itself was baffling.

    ¡°Is... is he serious?¡± I asked, my voice betraying my disbelief.

    ¡°As serious as the polished green stone in these walls,¡± Winston replied with a slight bow. ¡°Now, shall I escort you to him, or would you prefer to marvel a bit longer at the artistry of the grounds?¡±

 Chapter 5: Rabbit Bites and Ancient Fights

    My uncle¡¯s laboratory was a chaos that defied logic. Papers and scrolls were piled precariously high on every available surface, interspersed with jars containing plants, monster parts, and fragments of Others. Bones of varied and unidentifiable origins hung from racks or rested on counters alongside broken pieces of Machina, their exposed gears and wires glinting faintly in the dim light. Tools of every imaginable purpose¡ªfrom surgical implements to devices that looked like they belonged in an alchemist¡¯s fever dream¡ªlittered the room. It was less a workspace and more a physical manifestation of a brilliant, albeit unhinged, mind.

    In the center of this organized madness stood my uncle, Rodrick. A portly man with an air of constant motion, he was clad in a lab coat stained with various chemicals and substances. Thick protective goggles obscured most of his face, giving him the appearance of a mad scientist plucked straight from a storybook. He muttered to himself while meticulously pruning what looked like a bonsai tree¡ªexcept this one glimmered faintly and exuded a faintly sour, metallic smell.

    With a snap of his fingers, the resonant toll of a clock tower bell echoed through the room. His focus on the peculiar plant never wavered as he ranted to himself, his voice rising with every word.

    ¡°You¡¯re a plant! You grow from eggs, not seeds! How? Why? What stimuli forces you to bloom when you lack pollen and nectar but instead lay eggs? How do you propagate? WHAT ARE YOUR SECRETS?!¡±

    He was halfway through grabbing a magnifying lens the size of his head when he suddenly froze. Slowly, he turned toward the entrance, his oversized goggles reflecting the light as he took in the sight of Winston, my mother, my father, and me standing in the doorway. For a brief moment, the room was silent except for the faint ticking of some unseen clock.

    ¡°Ah,¡± he said, as if he¡¯d only just realized we were there. ¡°I have guests.¡±

    His tone was entirely too casual for someone caught mid-obsession over the reproductive mysteries of a mythical plant. Without missing a beat, he adjusted his goggles and waddled toward us, brushing off his lab coat as though it would somehow make him more presentable.

    ¡°To what do I owe the pleasure?¡± he asked, his eyes darting between us, though the question felt more rhetorical than sincere. Before anyone could answer, he added, ¡°And if it¡¯s about borrowing my pruning shears again, the answer is no. Last time, they came back bent. BENT!¡±

    ¡°That was twelve years ago, Rodrick,¡± my mother interjected dryly, her ears twitching in irritation. ¡°We¡¯re here for Alexander.¡±

    ¡°Alexander?¡± Rodrick blinked, finally focusing on me. He tilted his head, his expression equal parts curiosity and excitement. ¡°Ah, my favorite nephew!¡±

    ¡°Harsh. I¡¯m one of what¡­ nine brothers? What would the rest say about that?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow at Rodrick¡¯s proclamation.

    ¡°Bah!¡± he waved dismissively, the exaggerated motion nearly toppling a precarious stack of papers. ¡°They¡¯d say you¡¯re the only one who ever asked me why the moon turns reddish after the solstice¡¯s celestial conference, only to shift to a pale yellow the day after! That¡¯s why you¡¯re the favorite.¡±

    I opened my mouth to respond, but my mother cut in, her voice sharp. ¡°We¡¯re not here for your riddles or your astronomical ramblings, Rodrick. You¡¯re still at Soul Realm 5, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. ¡°But why would that matter? And for the last time, Juliet, I am NOT lending you my shears again. Do you know how long¡ª¡±

    ¡°Will you shut up about the shears, you fat, overgrown, currently earless rabbit!¡± my mother exploded, her ears twitching furiously. Rodrick flinched, clutching his chest as if she¡¯d struck him. ¡°Alexander here needs training, and you¡¯re the best option.¡±

    Rodrick blinked, clearly caught off guard. ¡°Training? What kind of training? I¡¯m a scientist, not a¡ª¡±

    ¡°If I do it,¡± my mother interrupted, ignoring his protest, ¡°he invalidates his candidacy as a Walker and is forced into the military program. If Hubert does it, he¡¯ll turn into a gambling addict before he learns how to swing a blade. But you? You get an assistant¡ªsomeone to clean up this disaster you call a lab¡ªand he gets the training he needs.¡±

    Rodrick¡¯s gaze flicked between the three of us, lingering on me for a moment before landing on my mother. He crossed his arms, tapping his foot in mock contemplation. ¡°Hmm. I see. So, you¡¯re saying I get free labor and the chance to impart my vast and unparalleled knowledge? Tempting¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not free labor,¡± my father chimed in, his tone dry. ¡°It¡¯s supervised learning.¡±

    Rodrick¡¯s eyes gleamed with mischief. ¡°Supervised learning, you say? That does sound official. And the boy is already curious about the mysteries of the universe¡­ Fine. I accept.¡±

    I barely had time to process his agreement before he pointed a stubby finger at me. ¡°But don¡¯t think this will be easy, young Alexander. I¡¯m a demanding mentor, and I expect nothing less than complete dedication. If you fail to meet my standards¡ª¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t,¡± my mother said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. ¡°And if he does, I¡¯ll handle it. Now, can we get on with it?¡±

    Rodrick sighed theatrically, throwing his hands in the air. ¡°Fine, fine. Follow me, Alexander. Let¡¯s see what you¡¯re made of¡ªand don¡¯t touch anything unless I say so. Some of this stuff bites.¡±

    ***

    Rodrick led me from the chaotic laboratory through a narrow corridor that opened into a vast, sealed-off complex. The sheer size of the dome above us was staggering, its surface etched with arcane runes and symbols that shimmered faintly, pulsing in rhythm with some unseen energy source. As my eyes adjusted to the space, I was struck by the sheer number and variety of weapons on display.

    Racks and walls bristled with every weapon imaginable¡ªand several I couldn¡¯t even begin to classify. Swords of varying lengths and designs, axes with intricately carved heads, spears that gleamed with enchanted tips, and flails that seemed almost alive as their chains shifted slightly. I recognized bows, crossbows, and daggers of all kinds, their edges polished to a deadly shine. Gauntlets reinforced with metallic plates sat next to shields adorned with glowing sigils.

    Then there were the weapons I couldn¡¯t identify. A large sickle-like blade attached to a rope lay coiled like a serpent, its pointed counterpart resembling a wickedly sharp stick. Another contraption caught my attention¡ªa massive sphere, seemingly inert, but every so often, spikes erupted from its surface in a violent burst before retracting just as suddenly.

    The most bizarre weapon, however, was a pendulum-like device that rotated and revolved with hypnotic precision. It swung around what appeared to be a glove embedded with glowing crystals, its movements creating a faint hum that resonated throughout the chamber.

    Rodrick clapped his hands, pulling my focus back to him. ¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡± His voice was tinged with pride. ¡°This is the armory¡ªa collection of every conceivable weapon design, from the practical to the absurd. Each one has been crafted, enchanted, or modified to test and challenge the wielder. Some of these are ancient relics, others are my own experiments.¡±

    ¡°Experiments?¡± I asked, glancing warily at the rotating pendulum device.

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, smirking. ¡°What better way to innovate than by breaking the rules of tradition? You¡¯ll be trying a few of these today. We¡¯ll see which weapon resonates with you¡ªboth literally and figuratively.¡±

    I took a step closer to one of the racks, my eyes lingering on a strange double-edged blade with an iridescent sheen. ¡°How am I supposed to choose?¡±

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°You don¡¯t,¡± Rodrick said, stepping past me. ¡°The weapon chooses you. Or rather, your mana and Arte will guide the choice. Your task is to figure out what feels right.¡± He gestured to the array of weapons. ¡°Pick something. Anything. And don¡¯t overthink it. Your instincts are better than you realize.¡±

    As I gripped the blade that had first caught my attention, a wave of unease swept over me. It felt wrong¡ªterribly wrong. The weight distribution was completely off, with the bulk of it concentrated in the blade itself. Each swing felt like wrestling with an unruly beast, dragging me off balance with every movement. After a few awkward attempts to wield it, I shook my head and returned it to the rack.

    Rodrick chuckled, clearly amused. ¡°Case in point. Your instincts are better than you realize. That was a grav-blade. It¡¯s designed for those who can manipulate momentum and weight through their Arte. Without those abilities, it¡¯s little more than a glorified hammer.¡±

    He turned sharply toward my mother, his eyes narrowing. ¡°By the way, what Arte did he awaken to?¡± Before she could answer, he raised a hand and muttered, ¡°Never mind, I just pulled his mirage field data.¡±

    His expression shifted into one of mild surprise, tinged with intrigue. ¡°Paper Manipulation. B-grade. Interesting¡­ Especially since he formed a pseudo-machina on his first activation.¡±

    My mother¡¯s face froze, her usually composed demeanor cracking as her eyes widened. ¡°He. Did. What?!¡± Her voice carried an edge that made even my father take a cautious step back.

    Rodrick, unfazed by her rising fury, waved dismissively. ¡°You heard me. In his first mirage field, the boy created a paper pseudo-machina. A crude construct, but functional enough to meet the criteria. Frankly, I¡¯m surprised he wasn¡¯t immediately recruited into the Machina Division in Marr. They¡¯re always on the lookout for latent talent.¡±

    ¡°Rodrick,¡± my mother said, her voice low and dangerous, ¡°why was I not informed of this sooner? Who accessed his field data without my consent?¡±

    Rodrick shrugged, his nonchalance only fueling her growing frustration. ¡°Standard protocol, Juliet. Any candidate who shows potential in a specialized field is flagged for review. The Machina Division must¡¯ve decided he wasn¡¯t ready or that his Arte¡¯s primary focus lies elsewhere. Either way, I wasn¡¯t involved in the decision.¡±

    I shifted uncomfortably, caught between my uncle¡¯s matter-of-fact tone and my mother¡¯s barely restrained fury. ¡°I didn¡¯t even realize what I was doing,¡± I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. ¡°It just¡­happened. The construct wasn¡¯t perfect, and I couldn¡¯t maintain it for long.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s irrelevant,¡± my mother snapped, her sharp tone directed more at Rodrick than me. ¡°A machina on first access is unheard of. Even prodigies need time to refine their Arte before reaching that level.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Rodrick interjected, leaning against a nearby table. ¡°Which makes this all the more fascinating. It¡¯s not just about raw talent, Juliet¡ªit¡¯s about potential. Your boy has plenty of it, but it¡¯s untamed, untrained. That¡¯s why he¡¯s here, isn¡¯t it? To figure out what he¡¯s capable of and how to harness it.¡±

    My mother sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. ¡°Fine. But no more surprises, Rodrick. If there¡¯s anything else you¡¯ve uncovered about his potential, I expect to be informed immediately.¡±

    Rodrick smirked. ¡°Of course, dear sister. But let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves. The boy still needs to find a weapon that suits him.¡± He gestured toward the vast armory. ¡°Go on, Alexander. Try again. This time, trust your instincts.¡±

    Searching through the armory again, I returned to the rows of weapons, this time driven by the lingering impressions from my Arte¡¯s awakening. I started with another sword, recalling the elegant forms I had envisioned. Yet, as I held each blade, they felt... wrong. Foreign. The steel was too rigid, too unyielding. It couldn¡¯t fold. It couldn¡¯t flex. It didn¡¯t give way.

    If it needs to flex¡­

    I turned my attention to a bow. Picking one up, I drew the string back experimentally, marveling at its tension and responsiveness. Before I could release it, Rodrick¡¯s voice cut through the air like a whip.

    ¡°Do not release that without an arrow,¡± he warned, his tone sharp. ¡°You¡¯ll snap the bow, and I¡¯ll have your hide for it.¡±

    I nodded sheepishly and let the tension go. The bow felt closer to what I was looking for¡ªsomething flexible, something that could bend and respond to force¡ªbut it still wasn¡¯t complete.

    It needed to flex. To fold. To flow.

    The bow in my hands was only half of a puzzle that couldn¡¯t be solved with brute force alone. It demanded a logistical mind, an understanding of how to bend, launch, and propel through subtlety and precision. The bow called to me not only for its power but for its grace, for its ability to yield, to stretch in ways that made the impossible possible. Yet, I knew I needed more.

    I began to approach my uncle''s experiments, those cryptic projects he had mentioned before, with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Many of them ended in disappointment¡ªcrude designs, complex for the sake of being complex. But then, my gaze landed on something different. The bow was just one weapon. What about my feet?

    I spotted what could best be described as a floating ball, unanchored, hovering in the air. Without thinking, I took a step back and gave it a strong kick. As soon as it was in motion, the ball began to spin, gathering ambient mana and miasma. Suddenly, spikes shot out from its surface, growing with an unsettling speed. A cold shiver ran through me, my instincts screaming that I should stop before it escalated further.

    Nope.

    I quickly backed away, feeling the aura of the weapon¡ªit was a cruel joke, a nightmare contraption born from my uncle¡¯s twisted mind. I didn¡¯t want to imagine what would¡¯ve happened if I¡¯d kicked it harder.

    But then, something else caught my eye. A weapon that felt right. The moment it entered my domain, my Arte seemed to hum with approval, calling to it as though it had always belonged. It was a scroll. Unfurled on its surface were hundreds of paintings¡ªeach one collapsing into the next, blending together in an ever-shifting scene. The picture was of a battlefield, created from ink and paint, full of chaos and confusion.

    "Wondered when you''d find that one," my uncle''s voice echoed behind me, his amusement clear. "Channel mana and miasma into it, just like the ball. You¡¯ll see some... interesting effects."

    I smiled, feeling the weight of the scroll in my hands. It felt like the key¡ªan object that could unlock my Arte¡¯s true potential. The battlefield painted on the page seemed to pulse with life, waiting for the right energy to set it into motion. With both trepidation and excitement, I channeled my energy through the scroll.

    My surroundings were instantly flooded with a deep red, and before I could process it, the world around me was whisked away. I found myself standing in a hallway of infinite books. Shelves lined every side, filled with scrolls and records, stretching beyond my sight. The air was thick with the scent of parchment, dust, and a timeless presence.

    But the scene shifted once again, and I was thrust into the very battlefield depicted on the scroll. A warrior, clad in unfamiliar armor, charged at me with unrelenting speed. Panic seized me. I hunched down, bracing for the impact. But the warrior simply passed by me, as though I wasn¡¯t even there.

    I turned toward the sound of laughter to my left, and another figure emerged¡ªthis one wielding a spear, its ornate gold inlays shimmering with cold light. In a blur, the spear plunged into the first warrior''s stomach, blood spilling out in a dark, abyssal black that seemed to absorb all color around it. The black blood stained the ground, thick and oppressive.

    None of the warriors took notice of me. They were all too focused on their battle, too absorbed in the chaos of their world. But the warrior with the golden spear shifted, and with eerie precision, he pressed the spear to my neck. He lifted my head, forcing me to meet his gaze.

    ¡°It¡¯s been thirty-seven hundred years since I was last called to Dominus Demeterra¡¯s demesne,¡± the warrior muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. ¡°Even longer since it wasn¡¯t the brat herself.¡± He paused, studying my trembling form. ¡°You come here, to the past, breaking¡­¡± His voice faltered as he observed me, my body soaked in sweat and... less desirable fluids.

    ¡°You have no idea what you did, do you?¡± His voice softened, not with sympathy, but exasperation. ¡°Just coming of age, DD allows an Arte to manifest? How the hell did you access¡­¡± The rest of his words were lost in a garbled mess¡ªclanging gears, chaotic noise that crushed my ears. My body recoiled instinctively at the sound, feeling the weight of the confusion and pain that echoed in my bones.

    He pushed the spear away with frustration. ¡°An illegal entry into the archive. Wonderful,¡± he muttered.

    The environment shifted again. The battlefield dissolved, replaced by the calm of a tea house. The warrior¡¯s spear remained, but his armor had transformed. He now wore a robe, bright orange, more vivid than anything I had ever seen. It was like looking at pure, unadulterated sunlight, impossibly saturated.

    I looked down at myself. My clothes, soiled from my earlier panic, were now replaced with a similar robe¡ªbut the color was abyssal black, matching the blood of the warrior. It felt wrong, the contrast between our attire and the serenity of the tea house.

    The warrior¡ªno, the figure¡ªmotioned for me to sit. His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it, a gravitas that made the very air around us feel heavier. ¡°I¡¯m not going to ask how you acquired a manifest, nor will I turn you in. Just know this, boy¡ª the devil¡¯s contract you¡¯ve unknowingly signed.¡± He seated himself on a pillow at the table, and a matching pillow appeared for me as he motioned to it.

    ¡°I guess introductions are in order,¡± the warrior said. ¡°I¡¯m Vanitas. Emptiness Incarnate. One of the gatekeepers of the archive.¡± His words were delivered with authority, each syllable ringing like the toll of a bell. As he spoke, the world around him seemed to wither. Color drained from the room, sucked into him, leaving the space tinged with an unsettling gray.

    ¡°And now¨CI¡¯m your librarian. Whether you wished it or not.¡±

 Chapter 6: Not the Library I Want, Need, or Desire

    ¡°Librarian?¡± My voice couldn''t help but ask the question, confusion creeping in. ¡°What do you mean? I simply channeled mana into a scroll, an illustration. I was just looking for a weapon¡ªsomething I could use with a bow!¡± My voice rose in pitch, fear and anxiety spilling over, clouding my thoughts. Where am I? What happened? Why is there a man from the Northern Continent here¡ªwait. He mentioned being summoned to Dominus Demeterra¡¯s... It clicked.

    In that instant, I understood. It wasn¡¯t that I had been summoned here; I had, unknowingly, called myself into this world¡ªinto the man¡¯s world.

    ¡°Smart,¡± Vanitas said, his tone approving despite the situation. ¡°Deductive reasoning is invaluable for those who pass through Danatallion¡¯s Halls.¡± He lifted a teapot into the air, manifesting it from thin air¡ªsomething that hadn¡¯t existed just a moment ago¡ªand poured two cups of tea. I was too dazed to even question it, watching as the cups appeared, filled with steaming liquid as if by magic.

    ¡°Well, let me start with what I can tell you,¡± he said, his gaze sharpening. ¡°You¡¯re an illegal contractor. You¡¯ve managed to acquire an archive¡ªan archive that holds the history of those who guard the grand library. But you¡¯ve done so through improper channels.¡± His words hung heavily in the air, laden with the weight of consequences.

    Vanitas took a sip from his own cup, then scowled, throwing it against the wall with a sharp motion. The cup¡ªrather than shattering¡ªdistorted, its shape warping and twisting until it returned to nothingness, vanishing completely as if it had never existed at all.

    ¡°What this means is threefold,¡± Vanitas began, his voice calm yet laden with warning. ¡°First, your first access to Danatallion¡¯s Halls will be violent. Brutal. Messy. You¡¯ll fight tooth and nail, bow and blade. Don¡¯t expect to leave unscathed. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. You¡¯ll be pushed beyond your limits, taxed in ways you can¡¯t even imagine.¡±

    He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. ¡°Second, you won¡¯t have the protections of our host while you¡¯re there. Anyone can attack you at any time. Soul Realm be damned¡­¡± Vanitas trailed off, then turned back to me. ¡°That¡¯s what DD calls it, right? Soul Realm?¡±

    I nodded slowly, still trying to digest everything.

    ¡°Good. That means those in Soul Realms four and above can strike you down for your soul,¡± Vanitas said, his voice unwavering. ¡°What¡¯s a Soul Realm one¡¯s soul worth? I don¡¯t know, and frankly, I don¡¯t care. Don¡¯t bother trying to figure it out. Finally, until you acquire a legal contract, you¡¯ll have to pacify the material you absorb.¡±

    ¡°Pacify? Material?¡± My mind was racing now, questions spilling out faster than I could catch them. I was starting to calm down, but the curiosity kept growing, demanding answers.

    ¡°Yes. Pacify,¡± he repeated, his smile widening into something sharp, predatory. ¡°The characters from the literature itself will assault you, test you, break you down. Whether fact or fiction, all within the halls of the lord of lexicon will demand something from you. Usually something tied to the source material itself.¡±

    Vanitas leaned forward, his tone growing darker. ¡°Succeed? You¡¯ll earn yourself shards of a grimoire. But you can become a legal contractor in many ways.¡±

    His smile, which had been calculating, now seemed downright dangerous. He had me pegged, and I could feel it. I was the sheep; he was the butcher, ready to harvest whatever remained of me.

    ¡°Then let me ask¡­ how would you recommend I become a legal contractor to prevent these problems?¡± My voice wavered, my body trembling as I spoke. Vanitas¡¯s eyes gleamed like endless voids, stars and nebulae swirling within them, impossible to look away from.

    ¡°Many ways,¡± he replied, his voice cold and calculated. ¡°You want one without any bindings. The hardest but best option is to sign a contract of visitation rights with the lord himself. To do that, you¡¯ll need to slaughter three hundred thirty-three million, three hundred thirty-three thousand, three hundred thirty-three possessed books. Not for the faint-hearted, but it¡¯ll grant you exactly what you seek.¡±

    I winced, trying to suppress the shiver running down my spine.

    ¡°You can also negotiate a contract with any existing legal contractor,¡± he continued, ¡°but those come with their own caveats. And then, there¡¯s the last method: survive ten years in the halls as an illegal. That one has no legal drawbacks, but, as I said, the hell I mentioned earlier still stands.¡±

    As Vanitas spoke, I absentmindedly took a sip of the tea he¡¯d poured me. The taste was unbearable, like wet cardboard soaked in rotten ink. I set the cup down, grimacing, and thought for a moment.

    ¡°I¡¯ll regret asking this, but I know you¡¯ll offer anyway,¡± I muttered, before meeting his piercing gaze. ¡°What caveat would I have for YOUR contract?¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Vanitas leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling glint of amusement. He knew Alexander was desperate to gain access, but the cost would be steep.

    ¡°I see you¡¯re eager, Alexander,¡± Vanitas said, his voice smooth as he folded his hands in his lap. ¡°And I¡¯d be remiss if I didn¡¯t make this clear: contracts like this aren¡¯t meant to be simple or kind. There¡¯s always a price. But no, I cannot take your soul. You¡¯re lucky in that regard, though it makes things¡­ trickier.¡±

    He stood and walked toward one of the nearby scrolls, his hand brushing against the ink as though it were an old friend. ¡°The price I require is not your soul, nor your memories. What I ask for is something far more profound: your knowledge. More specifically, your connection to the history you¡¯ll uncover through this contract. I need your eyes¡ªyour perspective on what you find in the halls.¡±

    He turned back to face Alexander, his expression as inscrutable as ever. ¡°I want you to become a living record. Your experiences, your discoveries, every shred of information you uncover within the halls will belong to me. Not just in the usual sense. I¡¯ll take your perspective, your interpretations, your ideas, and I¡¯ll be the one who decides what becomes public knowledge and what is buried. You will see the world differently, and everything you learn will be subject to my will.

    In exchange for this, you¡¯ll be granted legal access to the halls and, perhaps more importantly, the ability to walk the road toward a true contract. You¡¯ll no longer be an illegal contractor, but there¡¯s a catch, of course. I¡¯ll be with you. Constantly. The knowledge I extract from you will come at a price. The longer you keep the contract, the more I will learn from you, until you are no longer your own person, but a vessel for everything that passes through those halls.¡±

    His voice lowered, and he gave Alexander a pointed look. ¡°You will become the embodiment of knowledge itself. The more you absorb, the more of you I will claim. Over time, you will lose your ability to separate your own thoughts from mine. Eventually, you¡¯ll no longer remember what you thought before signing the contract. You¡¯ll be a keeper of knowledge, but also its prisoner.¡±

    He paused to let the weight of his words sink in, then added, ¡°Your choice, Alexander. Accept the terms, and you¡¯ll gain access to everything you desire. But know this: Once you start down this path, there¡¯s no turning back. Your identity will become intertwined with the archive itself.¡±

    Vanitas¡¯s smile was cold, almost too satisfied. "So, tell me¡ªwill you accept?¡±

    ***

    Coming out of the tea house, I found myself back in my uncle¡¯s armory, shaking my head.

    ¡°That isn¡¯t a weapon. Not one I can use right now. Uncle¡ªcan I keep this for future use?¡± I turned to the pudgy man. After a brief pause, he nodded, and I placed the scroll in my bag. I continued searching for a weapon, settling on one of my uncle¡¯s diabolical experiments. After all, they worked so well, right?

    Among his ¡°rejects,¡± I found a simple playing card. Touching it, I was cut by its edge. My uncle¡¯s eyes widened in panic as words flowed into my head.

    Initializing.

    Boot up sequence 33%¡­

    User ID: Alexander Duarte ¨C Confirmed Acceptable.

    Beginning Processing¡­

    Processing Complete.

    Link Established.

    ¡°Rodrick. Why. Are. You. Scared?¡± My mother¡¯s voice was cold, furious. Soon, hundreds of her surrounded the poor, pudgy humanoid Almiraj.

    ¡°He...uhh¡­¡±

    Cutting him off, I forced the entity in the card to materialize. A hominid of paper, a red and black knight, manifested before me. It would be a terrifying presence¡­ if not for its size.

    ¡°Activated a Machina¡ªyes,¡± I finished for him.

    ¡°You can operate that?¡± My uncle¡¯s voice was thick with disbelief, his usual confidence crumbling for a brief moment. His eyes darted between the tiny Machina knight and me, his mind struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. ¡°It requires¡­¡± His brow furrowed, deep in thought, as he mentally pieced together the complexity of the situation. ¡°That requires a very specific mana combination, combined with blood from¡­¡± He trailed off, his gaze suddenly snapping to the scroll in my bag. His eyes widened with realization, and his face drained of color. ¡°Right. You went there. My apologies.¡± His voice wavered, now laced with uncertainty.

    The tension in the room thickened. My mother¡ªno, mothers¡ªall turned their gaze to my uncle in unison. Their collective stare was unnerving, piercing through him like a thousand daggers. The air grew cold, charged with the weight of their scrutiny. ¡°What do you mean he went there? What is that scroll? What did you do?!¡± Her voice, now laced with fury, reached a fever pitch, her words echoing with the full force of her presence. Each syllable felt like it carried the power of a thousand voices, and I could practically hear the ground tremble beneath her.

    My uncle stiffened, his back hitting the wall behind him as the voices of my mothers pressed closer, each one adding to the mounting pressure. ¡°Consider it revenge for the shears,¡± my uncle said with a forced chuckle, his usual bravado faltering. A small grin twisted his lips, but it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°But I showed him a secret.¡± His voice grew more strained, as though trying to defend himself against the overwhelming power of their collective gaze. ¡°I thought he could handle it. I didn¡¯t expect¡­¡± He trailed off, glancing nervously at the scroll in my bag, his words faltering under the weight of my mothers'' presence.

    Despite his effort to maintain composure, my uncle''s shoulders slumped, the fa?ade of confidence crumbling like dry paper. ¡°I¡¯m also planning for the boy to venture into an Otherrealm,¡± he continued, his voice now more controlled, but still carrying an undercurrent of hesitation. ¡°A Rank F 1-1 Otherrealm. Dominus Petra¡¯s. He¡¯s scheduled for it in two days, so¡­¡± He hesitated, glancing nervously from the floor to the dozens of eyes glaring at him. ¡°Mind leaving?¡± His smile faltered, the corners of his mouth twitching as if the very concept of leaving the room was a joke, but a grim one. His arms hung heavy at his sides, exhausted by the mental and emotional strain.

    The final, collective voice of my mothers, now united in their fury, rose like a mighty storm, their scream tearing through the air and shattering the fragile calm of the room. The sound was so deafening, it seemed to shake the very foundation beneath us.

 Chapter 7: I Walk From Hell to Hell

    ¡°Knock. Aim. Release.¡±

    Once my mother and her myriad clones left the room, leaving my uncle alone, his demeanor shifted entirely. No longer the eccentric, mad scientist I¡¯d grown up with, he became an unforgiving drill instructor. His intensity matched my mother¡¯s, and then some. Every five seconds, he drilled into me the importance of bowmanship: posture, focus, and technique. When my form faltered, he didn¡¯t simply guide me through the correction¡ªhe took control. My body became a marionette in his hands, the string pulled taut as he adjusted me, shifting my stance, forcing my arms into alignment, and manipulating my posture until it was how he desired it.

    Still, every shot was worse than the last. The arrows were scattered, uncontrolled. Some landed too far left, others veered right. The majority missed the target entirely, leaving only a single arrow lodged in the center¡ªa two, out of forty-five attempts. A full quiver, and only one hit. My frustration boiled over.

    ¡°Your form is correct,¡± my uncle muttered, his tone clipped, almost distant. ¡°But your body resents the standard draw of the Alliance of Free Cities. If you were back in the day, though, it would be different¡­¡±

    His voice trailed off, but I bit down on the hook, curiosity piqued. ¡°Why would it be easier then?¡±

    He seemed to consider for a moment before responding. ¡°There¡¯s an old saying. If you want a proficient archer, start with the grandfather.¡± He grunted, clearly irritated. ¡°To slay Others¡ªthe hostile visitors from the Otherrealms¡ªwe use crossbows, instead of bows. Easier to train. Easier to produce. Easier to fire. Archery, though, is a tradition. It makes anyone who uses a bow¡­ more capable.¡± He paused, a wry smile tugging at his lips. ¡°The Technocrats to the west have something even more advanced than rifles¡ªsomething involving compressed mana into an optical pulse. It¡¯s beyond me. But to them, archery? They¡¯d be more pathetic at it than you are now.¡±

    The sting of his words hit me like a physical blow. To be called pathetic, especially in the one skill that resonated with me the most, left a bitter taste in my mouth. My confidence plummeted. But before I could voice my frustration, the card knight¡ªstill at my side¡ªmoved without my prompting. It collected the scattered arrows and returned them to me, offering a bow in exchange.

    ¡°You realize how strange it is that you have that much control over a machina you¡¯ve only just bonded with, right?¡± my uncle asked, eyeing the knight with a touch of disbelief.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell it to do that. It just did.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh. Well, you broke four arrows. Leaving you with forty-one. Drop one and you¡¯ll have an even forty. But this time, I¡¯m going to show you a second form of the draw.¡±

    A shiver ran down my spine, anticipation mixing with dread. I could already feel the strain in my muscles, a warning of the effort to come. My uncle¡¯s methods were unorthodox, and I knew the pain would follow shortly. Without saying another word, he approached, his expression unreadable. He held something in his hand: a ring.

    Sliding it onto my right thumb, I felt its weight settle comfortably, as if it belonged there. I glanced at my uncle, his face set with determination, and braced myself for whatever came next.

    Having my bodily autonomy seized once again, I could feel my right hand moving against my will. My thumb and forefinger locked together in a perfect circle. The sensation was surreal, as though my body was acting on its own accord, the movement both foreign and familiar. My uncle¡¯s grip on my actions was absolute, forcing me to release the circle, to let my hand fall into a more natural position. Slowly, methodically, I drew an arrow from my quiver, the process deliberate and precise.

    With a fluid motion, I lifted the bow, allowing the string to stretch taut, before sliding my thumb back into place. The bow¡¯s curve felt different now, the weight of the arrow more present. I drew it back further than I had before, my thumb guiding the string back with a satisfying tension. The moment the string released, a loud twang echoed in the air.

    ¡°Did you feel that?¡± My uncle¡¯s voice broke through the haze of my concentration. ¡°That was you releasing with the thumb draw, while channeling mana directly into the ring. You lack the necessary back muscles for the standard draw, so we¡¯re using a miasma accumulator in the thumb ring to force the release.¡±

    Feel it? The results spoke for themselves. The arrow flew true, landing squarely on the target. A clean, perfect shot. Seven points.

    I stared at the bullseye, the arrow wedged firmly in place, still vibrating from the force of the release. It felt like a small victory¡ªsomething so simple, but the result was undeniable. One arrow, one shot, and already I was hitting a seven. The impact of the technique was immediate and, to my surprise, effective. The frustration that had simmered within me, slowly being ground down by my uncle''s relentless drills, was now replaced by a flicker of satisfaction.

    ¡°Not bad,¡± I muttered to myself, though my voice still felt strange, distant. This wasn¡¯t my normal skill, not yet. The thumb ring, the forced method, was new, but it had made all the difference. My body may not have been ready for the traditional way, but I¡¯d found a new path forward.

    Uncle Rodrick, despite his gruff exterior, gave a barely perceptible nod of approval, though it was quickly masked by his next words. ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky. One shot doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re a master.¡± His gaze flickered back to the bow in my hand, assessing me. ¡°But it¡¯s a start. Keep going. Knock. Aim. Release.¡±

    ***

    It wasn¡¯t until nightfall that the drill instructor finally allowed me to rest. My thumb ached from the repeated draws, my lungs burned with every breath, and my back felt as if it were going to seize up completely. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but my uncle showed no mercy, pushing me harder with each passing minute. The only reason he finally relented was because I ran out of mana to empower the miasma accumulator. I had nothing left to give.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    The Machina, now dormant, lay flat in my hand, its form embedded back into the playing card. I absentmindedly touched the card, feeling the familiar surge of power that resonated deep within me. As my fingers brushed against it, an unfamiliar sensation washed over me, as if the essence of the card, and the entity it contained, was pouring into me.

    I gazed at the card, watching as the faint outline of the Machina shimmered beneath the surface. The text on the card changed before my eyes, revealing new details.

    Name: Unregistered

    Type: Card Knight: Joker

    Registered User: Alexander Duarte

    Soul Realm: 1-1

    Registered Skills: [N/A]

    It was clear that I was nowhere near unlocking its full potential. The skillset, or lack thereof, was still hidden, waiting for me to reach deeper, to push further, before its true power could be revealed. I stared at the blank spaces, feeling the weight of what I hadn¡¯t yet discovered.

    How many Walkers had their own Machina before their exam? The question escaped me before I realized it, a thought idly forming in my mind.

    To my surprise, the Machina responded.

    One in seven.

    The answer didn¡¯t come as a voice but as a thought, a direct transmission of information. I could see it¡ªfragments of data flashing before my eyes, visualizing the crystal network, the complex web of miasma-powered devices that spanned the continent. The communication highways, the flows of energy, all connected in a vast, intricate system. The Machina had automatically retrieved the query and presented the answer, as though it were part of me.

    I froze, my heart racing.

    Are my thoughts private?

    The question lingered, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. A cold chill crawled down my spine. Could the Machina hear me? Could it access my inner thoughts, the questions I didn¡¯t mean to ask aloud?

    For the first time, I felt a deep, unnerving unease. I glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to be watching me. The thought of my innermost questions, the ones I hadn¡¯t voiced, being laid bare was unsettling. But when I focused again on the card, it gave no further answer, only a stillness that deepened my suspicion.

    First Vanitas. Now this. All I want is to face the hostilities from the Otherrealms. To help the natives there with their own monster problems, to explore new lands, to simply be myself. That¡¯s what every Walker desires. Sure, we hear it all the time in the Free Cities¡ªthe grand tales of heroes who eventually serve on the councillate, those who protect the deepest, darkest corners of the Otherrealms from the encroaching tide of Others. I stared at the playing card in my hands. This... this is a tool. A weapon of mine. If it¡¯s a part of me, then I¡¯ll make it mine, fully.

    We tested it before I ran out of mana. The results? Pitiful. The strikes of the Machina were weak at best. Its cutting potential with the sword it carried was limited, and its durability? Practically nonexistent. Every person is allowed one Machina registration and one Spirit Beast bond. As I¡¯ve learned, only one in seven Walkers have a Machina before their exam, and one in three have one at all. Spirit Beasts, on the other hand¡­

    I pulled up my personal crystal and searched for the information¡ªspecifically, the rarity of Spirit Beasts. The most common Spirit Beast in Marr? The Silver Basilisk. An egg for one sells for an exorbitant price: one hundred waxing gold coins, thirty-three waning gold coins, ninety-nine waxing silver coins, ninety-nine waning silver coins, and three waning coppers. A small fortune, really.

    But wait... my query was off. That price? It was for the Silver Basilisk eggs in the Soul Realm Seven and above. Removing that from the results, I found the true most common Spirit Beast: the Ocean¡¯s Kingfisher. Classified as a pest for assaulting the artificial lake''s fish supply. Wonderful.

    I sighed and pushed the thought of having my own Spirit Beast out of my mind for now. It was far from my reach, just another dream for later. Instead, I turned my attention to the bed and the room I was in. The bed? Divine. It was as though I was resting on a cloud of feathers and furs, the softness claiming every aching muscle in my body. My exhaustion melted away into its embrace.

    The room, however? Yes, this was undoubtedly my uncle¡¯s estate. The walls were adorned with countless pictures of the same Dragon Turtle from outside, with motifs of the green stone that had fascinated me before. Each room had its own unique scene featuring the beast. In mine, the Dragon Turtle seemed to be carrying a small house across an uncharted land. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what my uncle was trying to say with such a scene. What did he see in this creature that kept appearing everywhere?

    I shook my head and let myself sink deeper into the bed. There would be time for questions later.

    The siren¡¯s call dragged me under, pulling me into the depths where my dreams blurred into a harsh, undeniable reality.

    Once again, I found myself in the tea house, greeted by Vanitas. This time, however, he was dressed in an outfit so ostentatious it defied reason. Gone was the orange robe from before. In its place, he wore a black and gold fur jacket paired with a bright maroon two-piece suit underneath. His tie? Not simply gold-colored, but actual gold. The image shattered any lingering illusions I had of him as a seasoned warrior, replacing them with the absurdity of a man more suited for a royal gala than a battlefield.

    ¡°Oh, did I forget to mention?¡± he said, his voice dripping with faux innocence. He let the words linger in the air, stretching them as if savoring the moment before delivering the final blow. ¡°Every night when you sleep, you¡¯ll be called here. To the halls. Welcome to the hells of the illegal contract.¡±

    There was a pause, his smile widening ever so slightly as he saw my confusion, my fear, begin to settle in. His eyes gleamed with something dark¡ªsomething ancient, like a predator tasting the fear of its prey.

    He waved a careless hand toward the items beside me, each one a tool of torment. ¡°You have your bow, your Machina, your ring, and your quiver. That¡¯s all I can permit. The rest, well,¡± he chuckled softly, the sound thick with sarcasm, ¡°is for you to figure out.¡± His voice had shifted now, like honey poured into a poisoned chalice¡ªsweet, soothing, but laced with an edge that cut deeper than any blade. ¡°Good luck,¡± he purred, each syllable drawn out as if to relish the sting.

    The venom was there, clear in every syllable, twisting around each word like a tightening noose. His tone was a sharp contrast to the silkiness of his words¡ªsmooth, almost inviting, yet unmistakably lethal. The sickly sweetness of his voice was like the final, poisoned kiss before a death that would come slow, agonizing, and inevitable. Inevitably: I started falling into a deep black void. His eyes being one of the last things that I saw from above. The other? His twisted smile. The viper¡¯s kiss.

 Chapter 8: What Do You Bring With You?

    Falling.

    There was no end to it. The sensation of weightlessness lingered until, suddenly, I crashed into something¡ªnot hard stone or jagged earth, but something strangely forgiving. Books. Piles and piles of books.

    I groaned, pushing myself up, my body aching from the landing. My fingers dug into the covers beneath me, feeling the worn leather, the brittle paper. The scent of ink, dust, and something ancient filled my lungs. In any other situation, this would have been paradise¡ªan endless library, towering shelves stretching beyond sight, each row crammed with tomes of unknown knowledge. But instead of wonder, all I felt was unease. This wasn¡¯t a haven. It was a labyrinth. And I was trapped inside it.

    I took a slow breath, steadying myself, but even the slightest movement set me on edge. The silence here wasn¡¯t comforting. It was suffocating. I was alone¡ªno Vanitas, no distant voices, no hints of civilization. Just the endless, suffocating walls of books, rising from the floor to the unseen ceiling above.

    ¡°Three hundred thirty-three million, three hundred thirty-three thousand, three hundred thirty-three possessed books,¡± I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might awaken something lurking in the stacks. ¡°Or find another person to make a contract. Or accept that deal. Or survive this¡­ every night¡­ for ten years.¡±

    My grip tightened around my bow. My other hand found the playing card, the dormant form of my Machina, and I kept it ready. The knowledge that anything here could hunt me, haunt me, was a weight pressing against my chest.

    Taking my first steps into the ocean of books, I felt the world shift around me. The shelves loomed, their contents a quiet, watchful tide. It wasn¡¯t the lack of oxygen that made breathing hard¡ªit was the dread, the suffocating sense that at any moment, the books might turn their pages¡­ and turn their attention to me.

    My entire body felt like it was wading through molasses. Every step was a battle against an unseen force, a weight pressing down on me with each movement. The sheer effort it took to lift my legs, to push forward, made me feel as though the world itself had conspired to drag me into the depths of this place.

    Do I summon my Machina now?

    No. The mana cost was too high. I had no idea how long I¡¯d be trapped here, how long I needed to survive. High-ranked realms often had time dilation compared to Lady Demeterra¡¯s domain. If eight hours there meant days, weeks, or longer here¡­ then wasting my reserves now would be a death sentence.

    I had my bow¡ªbut only five arrows.

    Vanitas had made sure of that. Five shots. Five chances. Five mistakes I couldn¡¯t afford to make. Each arrow would have to count. No wild shots. No wasted opportunities. I¡¯d have to aim for vitals every time.

    And that was the problem.

    I wasn¡¯t good enough for this.

    The best I had managed in training was a seven on a stationary target¡ªthree rings away from the bullseye¡ªin a calm, controlled environment with no threats, no stakes beyond my uncle¡¯s drills. Here? There would be no second chances. Everything in this place wanted to devour me. Not just my body. Not just my mind. But my very existence. My soul.

    A violent shudder ran through me.

    My heartbeat pounded against my ribs, a relentless drum in my ears, drowning out everything else. It was all I could hear¡ªthud-thud-thud¡ªa frantic, desperate rhythm, screaming at me to run.

    But run where?

    The silence of the labyrinth pressed in on me, thick and oppressive. This wasn¡¯t a library. Not anymore.

    This was a prison.

    And I was its prisoner, a lone fugitive in a maze where every shadow could be my executioner.

    Wading through my fear, through the gnawing anxiety clawing at my gut, I forced myself forward¡ªonly to meet a dead end.

    I exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging. Of course.

    My nerves were proving to be just as much of an enemy as whatever monstrosities lurked in this forsaken place. Every muscle in my body remained coiled, tension thrumming through me like a bowstring pulled too tight. I needed to keep moving, to think clearly.

    Turning on my heel, I retraced my steps, my eyes scanning the endless rows of bookshelves as I approached another choice in the path. Left or right?

    Taking one of my precious arrows, I etched a crude X into the wood of the nearest shelf, marking my passage. Then, with measured caution, I took the left path.

    Left. Always left. Each time, placing an X into the wood of the nearest shelf.

    I followed that rule religiously, winding my way through the labyrinth, pushing forward even as each turn chipped away at my dwindling patience. Again and again, the path twisted, looped back, toyed with me, until at last¡ªI had exhausted every leftward option available.

    And still, there was no way out.

    My stomach growled¡ªa cruel reminder that, despite my body lying asleep elsewhere, my soul still hungered.

    I had found nothing in this endless maze but wooden bookshelves and an unfathomable number of tomes lining their oppressive walls. No food. No water. Nothing to indicate I was even supposed to survive here, let alone escape.

    Then I heard another growl.

    This one wasn¡¯t mine.

    The sound slithered through the stillness, low and guttural, coming from behind me¡ªfrom the path I had ignored, the right turn I had forsaken.

    Slowly, carefully, I turned to face it.

    And I was not happy with what I saw.

    A chimera of grotesque design. A creature stitched together from nightmares.

    It had the arms of a man but used them like forelegs, propelling itself forward on clawed hands. Its head was canine, its snout twitching as it scented the air. The body was avian, hunched and feathered, ribs stark beneath sleek black plumage. And its tail? A thrashing, scaled monstrosity, glistening with dampness as if it had just emerged from the depths of some abyssal trench.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Its breath came in heavy, uneven rasps. The hunger in its gaze mirrored my own¡ªbut for far deadlier things.

    My throat went dry.

    Fight?

    Flight?

    Or freeze?

    Let¡¯s consider each possibility for a moment, Alex¡­

    Sure, you have time. Just enough to die thinking about it.

    You have nowhere to run. Behind you lies a series of dead ends. Literally, in this case, if you try.

    Freeze? You¡¯ll be torn apart. Tooth, claw, and fist, rending flesh from bone.

    Fight? You have a prayer. That¡¯s it. A single, fleeting prayer.

    I steeled myself.

    This will be a gore-drenched mess, a painting of the macabre.

    I reached for my Arte¡ªand smiled.

    Because now, standing before this monstrous abomination, I knew exactly who the real predator was.

    ¡°I have judged you to be, lord of paper.¡±

    The words of the Archdryad spilled from my lips as my mana and miasma surged outward, washing over the labyrinth in an unseen tide.

    The books around me moved.

    No, they answered.

    A storm of tomes erupted from their shelves, pages fluttering like wings, filling the air with a cyclone of parchment and ink. Thousands of them. Each book, a unique armament¡ªa weapon of untold proportions.

    But I was not their master. Not truly.

    I could feel it. Some books obeyed, carving through the air like arrows loosed from a hundred bows. Others twitched erratically, ignoring my commands, spiraling in chaotic directions. Some refused to move at all.

    Still.

    A tool is a tool.

    I had seconds. Not minutes. Not long enough to refine control or strategize. Just seconds before the weight of the Arte collapsed on me.

    So I pushed forward.

    The books struck.

    They battered the chimera¡¯s head, twisting its neck at an unnatural angle. Pages slashed against its hide, shredding feathers and fur alike. Hardcovers slammed into its ribs, cracking bone beneath the force.

    And yet¡ª

    I felt horrible.

    My body screamed.

    Blood spilled from my nose, warm and fast, soaking my lips in copper. My vision blurred, the world tilting at sickening angles. I had overreached.

    I could already feel my control slipping. The books that once followed my command now wavered, faltering midair. Some simply dropped. Others began to orbit aimlessly, as if their purpose had been forgotten.

    I had nothing left.

    But I prayed it was enough.

    With the last dredges of my strength, I hurled everything forward, burying the beast beneath a mountain of books¡ªhundreds, maybe thousands, collapsing upon it in an avalanche of ink and knowledge.

    The last thing I saw was the swirling chaos of paper and blood before the oblivion of unconsciousness claimed me.

    ***

    I awoke in my bed, gasping for breath.

    Which bed?

    The familiar sight of the dragon turtle motif told me everything I needed to know¡ªUncle Rodrick¡¯s estate. But how? I only slew¡­ whatever that thing was. My fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm as I tried to steady myself. Tried to breathe. I couldn¡¯t. The creature¡¯s miasma still clung to me. I could feel it¡ªseeping into my skin, wrapping around my bones, whispering at the edges of my mind. It begged me to store it, convert it, make it mine.It was rich. Dense. And yet¡­ it was only a Rank D 1-1 creature.

    That nightmare.

    That horrid abomination, pieced together from the worst horrors imaginable¡ªwas only a 1-1. And I passed out after slaying one. One. If that thing was a cursed book, that meant I still had¡­ how many to go? I didn¡¯t care right now. My arms wrapped around myself in a feeble attempt at comfort, at grounding. Did anything else find me in that prison? That prison I have to survive nightly. My eyes were wide awake. My body, however¡ªmy lower body wouldn¡¯t move. I was trapped, pinned to the bed. A prisoner in my own flesh. Mana shock? Sleep paralysis? I couldn''t tell. The darkness pressed against me, warping the shapes in my room¡ªthe books on the walls, the shifting shadows of the furniture. Everything begged me to run. To get away. To move.

    My body refused.

    It did, however, allow me to cry.

    To wail.

    The raw sound tore from my throat, ragged and unrestrained, the kind of scream that came from somewhere deeper than the lungs¡ªfrom the soul itself. It wasn¡¯t graceful. It wasn¡¯t dignified. It was primal.

    It was enough to summon the night staff.

    They rushed in, faces shifting from concern to outright horror.

    One of the maids¡ªthe youngest, no older than I was¡ªlet out a guttural shriek, dropping the tray she had been carrying. The clatter of metal against marble was deafening in the otherwise silent room.

    Then, someone lit the lanterns.

    And I saw why.

    The black and blue stains weren¡¯t just on my clothes.

    They were on me.

    They had seeped into my skin, curling around my arms, my chest, my neck¡ªlike tendrils of ink burrowing beneath my flesh. My hands trembled as I lifted them, staring at the eerie blotches that marred my complexion. Miasma. It had soaked into me.

    No¡ªit was trying to make me its own.

    The next moments blurred together.

    Someone¡ªmaybe the maid¡ªgrabbed my wrist. Soft, delicate fingers pressing into my pulse. Checking, confirming I was alive. Someone else was shouting. More figures crowded in, their voices overlapping in a frantic haze. I barely registered any of it.

    What I did register, however, was the sensation crawling beneath my skin.

    It itched.

    Not on the surface. Inside.

    Like a thousand tiny needles dragging themselves through my bloodstream.

    I tried to sit up, but my muscles didn¡¯t obey. The weight of exhaustion¡ªmana depletion? Miasma poisoning?¡ªpressed me back down.

    "Don¡¯t move," a voice commanded, stern yet careful. A young maid. Definitely a young maid. My vision swam as I focused on her face, the only solid thing in the chaos.

    I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

    It was like my voice had been swallowed whole.

    The maid¡¯s expression darkened. Her hands moved quickly. A damp cloth wiped at the stains on my face¡ªat least, she tried. The inky black patches refused to fade, no matter how much pressure she applied.

    I wasn¡¯t just coated in miasma.

    I had absorbed it.

    Uncle Rodrick arrived last, his presence parting the panicked servants like a blade through parchment. His gaze swept over me, and for the first time in my life, I saw something in his expression that I had never seen before.

    Fear.

    Not for himself.

    For me.

    "Everyone out," he ordered, his voice cutting through the room. No one dared to disobey.

    The young maid hesitated. "Master Rodrick, I¡ª"

    "Out."

    A flicker of defiance crossed her face, but she bowed and left with the others.

    Now, it was just me and my uncle.

    "Alexander," he murmured, stepping closer. His hand hovered above my arm, as if unsure whether touching me would burn him. "What in the moons¡¯ names did you bring back with you?"

    ¡°So you knew.¡± My voice was slow, deliberate. My gaze locked onto his, searching for any flicker of guilt. But my uncle only met it with a soft, knowing smile.

    ¡°I did,¡± he admitted, his tone calm, almost gentle. ¡°I knew exactly what that scroll was. I also knew the consequences of letting you read it. That place, however¡­ that place is your perfect training ground.¡±

    ¡°Uncle.¡± My breath was uneven, raw. ¡°I was hunted. Lost. Alone. Afraid. You ask me what I brought back with me? I brought back pain. Suffering. Fear. I haven¡¯t been afraid of the dark in years, Uncle. Years. And yet, when I woke up, I¡ª¡± My voice broke as I swallowed the lump in my throat. ¡°I saw things moving in the shadows. I thought the books were alive, that they housed demons beyond imagining.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± His voice cut through my unraveling thoughts, firm and absolute. ¡°I don¡¯t mean the emotions you¡¯re suffering. You don¡¯t even realize what just happened. Do you?¡±

    ¡°What do you¡­¡± My words trailed off as he pointed behind me.

    I turned.

    An egg.

    Swirling with black, blue, gold, and shifting ink-like patterns, it pulsed with a presence that sent a shiver down my spine.

    ¡°What. Did. You. Bring. Back?¡± he barked.

 Interlude 1 - Vanitas

    I laughed. A deep, rolling laugh that echoed through the empty halls, sending ripples through the ink-black void around me. The boy had actually managed it. Fully managed it, even.

    I leaned back, resting against one of the ever-shifting bookshelves of the Halls, my fingers idly tapping against the armrest of my chair. The very fabric of this realm pulsed with amusement, mirroring my own satisfaction. Sure, I pulled some strings¡ªplaced him in a pocket where there were only cravens, the lowest of the low, scavengers rather than true predators. But still, he handled it¡­ perfectly.

    Well. Not perfectly.

    His Arte¡¯s refinement? Sloppy. Messy. Untested. Unfocused bursts of raw potential with no understanding of form, no discipline. Who in the hells decides to throw hundreds of books in a cyclone of paper? The sheer inefficiency of it made me want to claw at my own face. It wasn¡¯t strategy; it was desperation¡ªflailing, instinctive survival at its rawest. And yet¡­

    I grinned, sharp and wicked. It worked.

    The boy was a riot. The way he skittered like a frightened rabbit, eyes darting to every shadow, body wound so tight he might snap in half. All of that¡­ in the tutorial area. The damn tutorial.

    I let out another chuckle, shaking my head.

    I had fully expected him to fail. To crumble. To run himself ragged until he collapsed from sheer terror. I expected him to freeze. Instead, he adapted. The moment the craven came into view, I saw something click in his mind. He understood what had to be done. He fought back. And for that, I would give credit where credit was due.

    That beast was a D-rank. A D-rank 1-1 against an untested 1-1 with no experience whatsoever. That encounter carried a fatality rate of thirty-three percent.

    And yet, he survived.

    I tapped my fingers against my knee, contemplating. No, it wasn¡¯t just survival. He conquered. Clumsy, inefficient, reckless¡ªbut still, he had won. He left with more than his life. He took from the Halls. And the Halls¡­ well, they don¡¯t forget.

    That was the truly interesting part.

    The first night is meant to teach a simple lesson: You do not belong here.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    It¡¯s meant to instill fear. To force them to learn their place. Even those who awaken within the Halls are supposed to struggle for weeks before they manage to take anything back with them.

    And yet, this boy did.

    A Spirit Beast egg.

    His first night, and he came back with something alive.

    My grin widened, fangs glinting in the dim, shifting light of the library. The weight of the revelation sank into my bones, curling at the edges of my mind like the smoke of an ink-drenched candle.

    Now, this¡­ this was going to be fun.

    I stood, stretching my arms as the bookshelves around me shifted, rearranging themselves in an ever-evolving maze of knowledge. Whispers of ink and parchment danced at the edges of my perception, hushed murmurs of records past and future. The archives were talking. They had noticed.

    I trailed my fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the resonance of countless souls echoing within their pages. These tomes, these records, were not mere collections of words. They were alive¡ªstories that demanded to be heard, to be remembered, to be understood.

    And one of those stories¡­ had changed.

    Alexander Duarte.

    The boy who stole from the Halls.

    A book fluttered free from the shelves, pages ruffling as if caught in a phantom breeze. It landed neatly in my waiting hand, the cover shifting between shapes, colors, possibilities. His story was still unwritten, and yet, the ink was already setting in, bleeding into the pages like veins beneath pale skin.

    His Soul Realm? Unremarkable. His Arte? Potential, nothing more. His skill? Laughable.

    And yet, the Halls had taken notice.

    That alone sent a thrill of excitement coursing through me.

    Oh, what fun this is going to be.

    I turned the book over in my hands, smirking as the shifting title finally settled.

    "The Paper Walker."

    Poetic.

    Fitting.

    With a flick of my wrist, the book vanished into the folds of my coat, absorbed back into the archives. I didn¡¯t need to read further. I had seen enough.

    The boy wasn¡¯t just lucky. No, luck alone would not have allowed him to take something back. He had managed to leave his mark upon the Halls¡ªhowever faint, however fragile. That was the true difference between him and the countless other poor souls who stumbled into the archive¡¯s embrace.

    And I?

    I wanted to see how far he could go.

    Would he break? Would he bend? Would he grow? Would he thrive?

    I let out a breath, exhaling ink into the air, watching as it twisted and curled into shifting words before dissipating into nothing.

    The next night would be worse.

    It always was.

    And I couldn¡¯t wait to watch.

 Chapter 9: The Price I Was Prepared To Pay

    I didn¡¯t know. I really didn¡¯t.

    I shook my head, expecting trepidation to creep into my expression, expecting fear to lace my voice. But instead, my uncle simply smiled¡ªan amused, almost delighted grin splitting his face.

    ¡°You did it, then.¡± His voice was giddy, glib, practically vibrating with excitement. ¡°You really brought one back.¡±

    He grabbed me, holding me tight in a rare show of genuine emotion. There was something feverish in his grip, a manic glee barely held in check.

    ¡°I¡¯m not even going to ask how you brought it back,¡± he admitted, his tone teetering between awe and exhilaration. ¡°Frankly, I¡¯m just thankful you¡¯re back at all. What I am going to ask again is this¡ª¡± he pulled back slightly, looking me in the eye, his expression shifting between his usual mad scientist fervor and something far sharper, more measured. ¡°Any ideas? What did you slay for the Halls to reward you with anything?¡±

    His voice oscillated between three tones¡ªthe concerned yet comical uncle, the frenzied researcher on the verge of a breakthrough, and the ruthless drill instructor I had come to know all too well. It was an unsettling combination.

    I swallowed. ¡°Just some¡­ modge-podged beast. It had¡­ a bird¡¯s body? Yeah, best way to describe it would be a large black corvid. A wolf¡¯s head, human arms, but with claws that were unnaturally long. And a fish¡¯s tail.¡±

    I did my best to recall the twisted monstrosity that had stalked me through the Halls, my fingers unconsciously tightening into fists.

    Rodrick scowled, turning slightly as if digesting the information. His ears twitched. ¡°A Cravener.¡± He exhaled sharply. ¡°Boy, that tells me you didn¡¯t sign a contract.¡±

    I blinked. ¡°No¡­ I wasn¡¯t willing to pay the price.¡±

    Rodrick¡¯s whole body stiffened. ¡°What?¡± His voice dropped, a strange tension weaving into it. ¡°No. No. You didn¡¯t¡­ you didn¡¯t meet the same man as me, did you?¡± He was staring now, eyes flicking over me as if trying to read something beneath my skin. ¡°No¡­ this is good. And bad. But mostly good.¡±

    He began pacing, his mind clearly racing down a thousand different paths. His fingers drummed against his arm, his entire frame taut with thought. I let him stew in it for a moment, let him chase whatever fragmented theories were bouncing around his skull.

    Then, as if snapping back to reality, he shoved the egg toward me.

    ¡°Here.¡±

    I barely managed to catch it, my arms tightening around the weight of the thing. Its shell was unlike anything I¡¯d ever seen¡ªblacks, blues, and golds swirling like ink dropped into water, constantly shifting, never settling into a solid form.

    Rodrick¡¯s eyes glinted. ¡°It¡¯s not illegal to bring back Spirit Eggs from Otherrealms,¡± he said, his voice smug. ¡°We¡¯ll just say you were invited into a Dream-aspected gate while you slept.¡± He grinned. ¡°Not even a complete lie, after all. You did.¡±

    I stared at him, dumbfounded. ¡°And the staff?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ve already seen the egg.¡± He gestured dismissively. ¡°Luckily for you, you¡¯re drenched in Dream-aspected miasma. The story checks out.¡±

    I looked down at the egg, at the way its surface rippled like a living thing. I swallowed.

    ¡°But¡­ what¡¯s inside it?¡± My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be.

    Rodrick shrugged.

    ¡°Who knows?¡± He let the words hang in the air. ¡°I don¡¯t. You don¡¯t. None of the Gloss-Crystal identification programs do either. It¡¯s an unknown Spirit Beast.¡±

    He leaned forward, his entire expression thrumming with exhilaration.

    ¡°All we do know are its aspects: Crystal. Dream. Venom.¡± He counted them off on his fingers, his tail flicking behind him. ¡°Everything else? A mystery. We can¡¯t even predict the Arte.¡±

    Then, with pure, unfiltered glee, he turned to me, eyes bright with the hunger of a researcher on the verge of an unprecedented discovery.

    ¡°As a scientist,¡± he said, nearly breathless, ¡°I have to know.¡±

    His voice dropped to a whisper, his excitement curling around every syllable.

    ¡°So hatch it.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    Rodrick shook his head, exhaling through his nose in mild frustration. ¡°This is exactly why I told your mother that coddling you wouldn¡¯t create the kind of child you wanted to be. You¡¯re inquisitive, curious¡ªbut you were sheltered beyond reason. Not that anyone else wouldn¡¯t be in your situation, with their mother always by their side. Sometimes all of her.¡±

    His gaze softened, but only slightly. ¡°Inject the egg with your mana, then infuse a drop of your miasma. When the two combine, it will bond the creature to you. Be prepared¡ªwe have no idea what it¡¯s going to be.¡±

    I swallowed, staring at the swirling mass of colors within the egg¡¯s shell. The shifting hues of black, blue, gold, and ink-like purple seemed to pulse in response, as if aware of what was about to happen.

    Taking a steadying breath, I closed my eyes and reached inward. I pictured my inner world¡ªnot the raw, unfocused thoughts that typically flooded my mind, but the true foundation of my being.

    A lone asteroid, floating in the endless void. At its center stood a sapphire-blue apple tree, its leaves a deep, iridescent emerald. The image came easily; it was as natural to me as breathing.

    My mana surged forth, pouring into the egg with little resistance. It was easy, effortless¡ªlike a stream finding its way home to the ocean.

    But my miasma? That was another matter entirely.

    It required conscious effort, a deliberate act of will. Unlike mana, which flowed freely, miasma was heavier, denser, reluctant to obey. It carried weight¡ªthe weight of what I had experienced, of what I had endured.

    I pressed deeper, drawing on the newfound fragments of my soul that had been reshaped within the Halls of books. The world I had envisioned before wasn¡¯t fully formed, not yet. But pieces of it remained, scattered throughout my being.

    Asteroids drifted lazily around a small, radiant star¡ªa star not of fire, but of paper. A brilliant, luminous sphere of folded light, its glow casting shifting patterns across the void. My Arte, my essence, manifesting in its purest form.

    As I pulled from it, guiding my miasma into the egg, I felt something stir. Something ancient. Something waiting. The egg trembled, cracks splintering across its surface like veins of lightning before it ruptured. A small hatchling emerged, its feathers a dazzling spectrum of yellow, purple, blue, and cyan. It shimmered like a living gemstone, light refracting off every inch of its delicate form. But what caught my attention most wasn¡¯t just its breathtaking plumage¡ªit was the mask.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Where the downy head of a typical bird should have been, there was instead an ethereal, shifting haze, coalescing into the shape of a mask. It was like a veil of aetherial smoke, curling and twisting as though caught in an unseen breeze. At certain angles, it almost resembled a hat, perched perfectly atop its small head.

    The hatchling let out a series of soft chirps, its tiny body pressing against my chest, and in that moment¡ªI understood.

    Its chirps weren¡¯t just sounds. They were words. Concepts. Feelings. The link between us had already formed, a bridge of thoughts and emotions running both ways. My mind was flooded with flashes of imagery¡ªhunger, warmth, curiosity, the overwhelming newness of the world it had just hatched into.

    "Uncle," I said, my voice steady but tinged with urgency. "Do we have any obsidian?"

    I braced myself for an answer I might not like. If obsidian was difficult to obtain¡­

    ¡°Obsidian?¡± Rodrick echoed, blinking before shrugging. ¡°Yeah, plenty. Let me grab some for the hatchling.¡±

    He disappeared into his workshop, returning swiftly with a jagged piece of volcanic glass in hand. Without hesitation, he pressed it toward the small bird.

    The moment the obsidian was within reach, she lunged for it, devouring it with an eagerness that startled even me. I could feel her satisfaction ripple through our bond¡ªwarmth, delight, fulfillment. This was what she needed.

    She was showing me more images now¡ªmore food, places unknown, landscapes unfamiliar to me but utterly fascinating to her. The vastness of the world was already unraveling in her mind, and she wanted to see it all.

    For now, though, all I could do was hold her close, feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat against my fingers, and wait. Wait as the residual miasma from the Halls continued to cycle through me, seeking the right core within me to settle into.

    ¡°Time for the hard part, Alexander¡­ you need to find a name she likes.¡± My uncle¡¯s grin was downright mischievous, his excitement barely contained. Without another word, he turned on his heel and dashed off, giddy with anticipation, already gathering the proper tools to analyze her Arte.

    I barely registered his departure, my focus entirely on the small, prismatic creature nestled in my hands. She was still chirping, each note carrying a pulse of thought¡ªcuriosity, expectation, and something else. Something akin to patience, as if she were waiting for me to understand.

    A name. Not just any name. One that fit. One that resonated with her very being.

    I swallowed, my mind racing. "Alright, little one," I murmured, brushing a gentle thumb over her iridescent feathers. "Let''s figure out who you are."

    ***

    I ran a hand over the small bird¡¯s iridescent feathers, watching how the hues shifted under the light¡ªgolds, purples, blues, and cobalts, all shimmering like molten metal cooled into fractal beauty. She was a living gemstone, an impossible creature that had somehow hatched into my world. And yet, for all her brilliance, she was silent now, tilting her head as she waited.

    Waiting for something that only I could give her.

    A name.

    I had already gone through a dozen, each rejected with a slight shake of her head, a flicker of displeasure in our shared link. Pearl? No. Her colors weren¡¯t soft, creamy, or delicate. Topaz? Also no. Too singular, too ordinary. Azure? She bristled at that one, feathers fluffing up in an indignant display. Clearly, she wanted something more fitting.

    Sighing, I leaned back, my thumb absently stroking her tiny head. ¡°You¡¯re picky,¡± I murmured, feeling her amusement trickle through the bond in response. ¡°And stubborn.¡± Another flick of amusement.

    Fine. If she wanted the perfect name, I¡¯d find it.

    But first, I needed to reassess myself.

    As I settled into meditation, my consciousness drifted inward, returning to my soulscape. The once-chaotic expanse of asteroids had changed. They were still there, drifting through the vastness of my inner world, but now they moved with more purpose. They weren¡¯t just floating¡ªthey were interacting, colliding, merging. Small fragments began clumping together, slowly forming something more cohesive.

    My dimensional mana had strengthened. The absorbed miasma had settled into my core, fueling the growth of this internal realm. It wasn¡¯t a planet yet, not like the one I had envisioned in the mirage field, but the pieces were coming together.

    Progress.

    It was a small, barely perceptible shift, but it was there. I wasn¡¯t simply existing in this place¡ªI was shaping it.

    That thought settled deep within me, solidifying like ink drying on parchment.

    When I finally pulled myself back to reality, my uncle had already come and gone, leaving a message on my comms crystal.

    ¡°Well, we¡¯ve identified the bird¡¯s Arte. Bismuth Manipulation. Creator-type. She can generate and control bismuth from her own mana. We don¡¯t yet know how long her creations will last¡ªthat¡¯ll need testing. We¡¯ve also narrowed down her species to one of five¡ªif she were from a normal Otherrealm. She isn¡¯t. However, we believe she¡¯s related to the Weaverbird family. Expect her to want a nest at some point. Once you have a name for her, we¡¯ll begin the process of registering her to your ID¡­ along with your Machina.¡±

    I rolled the information over in my head. Bismuth Manipulation. That meant she wasn¡¯t just some decorative little companion¡ªshe had power. A creator-type Arte meant she could generate something from nothing, an ability that few Spirit Beasts possessed. And if she was tied to the Weaverbird family, then her instincts would demand she build, craft, shape.

    I glanced down at her, still resting in my palm, her tiny claws gripping my fingers. The moment she saw me looking, she chirped¡ªa single, clear note, full of expectation.

    "You know what I need to do, don¡¯t you?" I asked, smirking.

    A flicker of approval resonated through our link.

    I shook my head, exhaling. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s try this again.¡±

    This time, I didn''t just throw out random names. I studied her¡ªthe way her colors reflected, the way she preened her metallic feathers, the way she held herself with a quiet sort of pride. She wasn¡¯t just radiant; she was sharp, structured, like the fractal formations of bismuth itself.

    ¡°Ardent?¡± I tried.

    She tilted her head, considering it. But then, a faint wave of dissatisfaction.

    ¡°Prism?¡±

    A firmer shake of the head.

    ¡°Chroma?¡±

    A flicker of amusement, but still not quite right.

    I tapped my fingers against the wooden table, staring at the way her feathers gleamed under the lantern light. Bismuth. A metal that formed stair-like patterns as it cooled, fractals upon fractals. Order within chaos. A thing of beauty shaped by its own nature.

    ¡°Fractal,¡± I murmured, testing the word on my tongue.

    The moment it left my lips, the link between us surged with something bright, something certain. She chirped, wings fluttering, and I felt it¡ªacceptance.

    Fractal.

    A name that was both pattern and unpredictability, structure and spontaneity.

    ¡°You like it,¡± I said, watching her reaction.

    Another chirp, this one more melodic, filled with warmth. Yes. She did.

    A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I ran a finger along the smooth edges of her beak. ¡°Alright, Fractal. Let¡¯s get you registered.¡±

    As if on cue, my uncle burst into the room, carrying an assortment of tools and a comms crystal already buzzing with activity. ¡°You named her?¡± he asked, grinning as he set everything down with a clatter.

    ¡°Fractal,¡± I confirmed.

    Rodrick let out a bark of laughter. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s perfect. She¡¯s gonna be a nightmare for bureaucratic paperwork.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because every time someone hears that name, they¡¯re gonna assume she has a Space, Dimension, or Gravity mana type instead of Crystal one.¡± He smirked, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°But that¡¯s their problem, not ours.¡±

    Fractal, still perched on my hand, ruffled her feathers in what I could only assume was smug amusement.

    Rodrick pulled out a small identification device, pressing a few buttons before glancing up at me. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get this sorted. Hold her close, channel a bit of mana into her, and let her do the same to you. This¡¯ll officially register her as your bonded Spirit Beast.¡±

    I followed his instructions, feeling a soft pulse of energy pass between us. Fractal¡¯s chirps turned to a low hum, her presence settling even deeper into my awareness. It was different than before¡ªmore solid, more permanent.

    The device beeped, and Rodrick let out a satisfied sigh. ¡°And there we go. She¡¯s officially yours.¡±

    I nodded, exhaling slowly. It was done.

    One step closer to the path I had chosen.

    One more piece falling into place.

 Chapter 10: The Pursuer

    By morning, Uncle Rodrick had¡ªthankfully¡ªdelayed my entry into the gate by a few days. He didn¡¯t bother explaining his sudden caution to my mother, and from the bits of his one-sided conversation I overheard through his comms-crystal, his refusal to elaborate was hilarious. At least, it was until he decided to take out his frustrations on me by switching into full Drill Instructor mode.

    This time, training was pure hell.

    I had to fire arrows while constantly on the move. Not at moving targets, no¡ªthat would have been too easy. Instead, I was the one who couldn¡¯t stop. If I stood in place for more than seven seconds, a sharp jolt from the collar around my neck would remind me to move. If I didn¡¯t fire an arrow within twenty seconds of relocating? Shock. If I didn¡¯t hit the target at least once every thirty seconds? Another damn shock. The entire method was dehumanizing. I was being treated less like a trainee and more like a stubborn mule being prodded into submission.

    Worse?

    It was working.

    The target was soon littered with arrows, each one marking gradual improvements in accuracy. My form became smoother, my transitions between movement and firing more natural. I could feel the difference.

    And Fractal?

    She sat perched nearby, observing with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. She wasn¡¯t just watching¡ªshe was studying. Every movement, every shift of my stance, every moment of hesitation. I could feel her thoughts pressing at the edges of my awareness, filled with curiosity and something else¡ªsomething sharp and calculating. Was she trying to understand what I was doing? Or was she analyzing the mechanics behind it?

    I didn¡¯t know for certain, and that uncertainty unsettled me more than the training itself.

    Eventually, Rodrick returned, pressing a button on his remote. The collar unlocked and fell inertly to the ground.

    "Good," he grunted, arms crossed. "You''re learning how to shoot on the move. That''ll save your life more times than you can count."

    I took the compliment for what it was worth, even as I struggled to catch my breath. The constant running, arching, drawing, aiming, and firing had drained me more than I wanted to admit. Every muscle in my body screamed. But I forced myself to steady my breathing, to push through the exhaustion.

    Because Rodrick was right.

    If I wanted to survive the path I had chosen, I couldn¡¯t just be good at archery. I had to be flawless.

    Looking up at the pudgy man, I barely had a moment to brace myself before he pressed a firm hand onto my shoulder. His touch was deceptively gentle, almost fatherly¡ªif not for the absolute menace lurking in his eyes.

    "From now on, you''ll be running," he said, his tone far too casual for what I knew was coming. "You''ve been trotting. Walking. No¡ªwhen I say running, I mean you''ll be running while occasionally shooting back at a target."

    Curse. My. Life.

    Rodrick¡¯s grin widened, gilded and predatory. A rabbit? No. The man was no rabbit. He was a hawk circling its prey, watching me with the same amusement a beast has before playing with its food.

    "The target?" He continued, rubbing his chin in mock contemplation. "Oh, that¡¯ll be my Machina."

    His expression was openly sadistic now, his smile no longer even pretending to be kind.

    This was going to suck.

    The moment training resumed, I understood exactly how much suck was in store for me.

    Rodrick''s Machina¡ªdubbed The Pursuer¡ªwas a four-legged monstrosity of compacted metal plates, its body resembling some hellish hybrid between a feline and a war machine. It was faster than me, more agile than me, and worst of all? It had projectiles.

    The first arrow I loosed missed completely.

    The second didn''t even make it out of my bow before The Pursuer fired a mana bolt at my feet, forcing me to leap away before I was scorched.

    "Don''t stop moving!" Rodrick barked from his elevated seat on the fencepost, watching as I scrambled through the training field like a rabbit being hunted. "Your shot isn¡¯t going to matter if you get caught first! Priorities, boy! Priorities!"

    Easy for you to say!

    Every few seconds, I had to shift direction or be pounced on. Every time I managed to draw an arrow, I had half a second to aim before another blast of mana forced me to dodge. My movements were sloppy, barely controlled, my arrows flying wide, and my arms felt heavier with each passing moment.

    The Machina was relentless.

    Its feet barely touched the ground before it lunged again, cutting across the field in a blur of mechanical speed. My legs burned. My lungs were on fire. The weight of my quiver felt like a hundred bricks strapped to my back, and my fingers had grown numb from drawing and loosing arrows without pause.

    I was losing.

    I knew I was losing.

    And then¡ªFractal stirred.

    From her perch, she flared her wings, chirping rapidly, her thoughts pressing into mine. Speed. Flow. Adapt.

    It hit me then.

    I was thinking like a stationary archer.

    I needed to think like a moving one.

    Biting back my exhaustion, I switched my grip. Instead of stopping to aim, I let my instincts take over. I focused less on perfect form and more on feeling the motion of my own body¡ªthe way my legs carried me, the way the bow sat in my hands, the rhythm of my movements.

    Knock. Aim. Release.

    I didn¡¯t wait for perfection. I trusted the shot.

    And the next arrow slammed right into The Pursuer¡¯s flank.

    Rodrick whistled, impressed. "Finally caught on, did you?"

    I didn¡¯t get a chance to respond before The Pursuer retaliated. Hard.

    The mana blast struck the ground near my feet, but instead of just dodging, I used the momentum¡ªletting it carry me into a slide, twisting my body mid-motion, loosing another arrow mid-roll.

    This one hit The Pursuer¡¯s leg.

    Fractal chirped again, excited. She understood now.

    I wasn¡¯t fighting a machine.

    I was dancing with it.

    It still wasn¡¯t pretty. My movements were rough, unrefined. I wasn¡¯t a master, nowhere near it.

    But I was learning.

    And with each arrow that struck, I could feel something shifting¡ªnot just in me, but in Fractal. She wasn¡¯t just observing anymore. She was calculating, her own mana sparking in response to mine, mirroring the flow.

    Rodrick finally called off The Pursuer after what felt like hours.

    I collapsed onto the dirt, gasping, my arms shaking too hard to knock another arrow. My shirt was drenched in sweat, my legs screamed with exhaustion, and my lungs burned like I had swallowed embers.

    "Good," Rodrick muttered, crouching down beside me. "Still slow. Still clunky. But you¡¯re getting it."

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    I groaned. "Getting what, exactly?"

    Rodrick smirked, reaching down to haul me back to my feet. "The difference between firing an arrow and fighting with one."

    That night, I barely made it to my bed before collapsing.

    Fractal nestled against my shoulder, warm and content, but her thoughts buzzed with energy.

    She liked the training.

    She liked the challenge.

    I sighed, running a hand through my sweat-drenched hair. "You¡¯re just as insane as he is, aren¡¯t you?"

    She chirped. Approval.

    I groaned, burying my face in the pillow.

    Tomorrow was going to hurt.

    ***

    The next morning, after I was not forced into Danatallion¡¯s Halls,  I was met with another unexpected delight. Breakfast was... well, to call it humble would be the grandest insult imaginable. The spread before me was nothing short of magnificent. Strawberries, fennel, crisp bacon, rich cheeses, milk, and eggs in every conceivable form: scrambled, poached, sunny side up, sunny side down, and even omelets. My uncle had a platter of sausage so full it seemed to overflow. And the pastries¡ªoh, the pastries. The smell alone was intoxicating, but the taste? Even better. Delightful. Delicious. A feast worthy of kings.

    Sitting at the table, my uncle, of course, claimed the seat at the head¡ªa position that was always reserved for me. In front of me sat Cordelia, the maid who had attended to me the previous evening. She was my age, with soft porcelain skin that I knew also felt as slick and delicate as the material it resembled. Her long hair, straight and dark, was interwoven with strands of brown. Not a single hair was out of place. She was perfect, almost unnervingly so¡ªlike a doll, crafted with care and precision.

    ¡°I suppose I need to get this out of the way,¡± my uncle began, his voice casually breaking the silence. ¡°Cordelia, you know my nephew. Nephew, Cordelia.¡±

    I nodded toward her, now taking a closer look at the woman in front of me. She returned the nod with quiet grace, before lifting her fork¡ªspearing a piece of sausage alongside some strawberry salad. As she did, I took her silence as an invitation to begin my own meal. The food, of course, was as divine as it appeared. The pastries I¡¯d smelled earlier tasted even better. Their flakes were perfectly crunchy, yet soft at the same time. Fractal, ever the odd companion, had a few shards of obsidian at the table for herself, which she eagerly nibbled on, her joy palpable in the way her feathers shimmered.

    We ate in companionable silence for around twenty minutes, the sound of forks and knives clinking the only interruption to the otherwise peaceful breakfast. It wasn¡¯t long, however, before my uncle¡¯s tone shifted¡ªhis voice, once light with small talk, grew darker and more serious.

    ¡°Alexander,¡± he began, his gaze now focused entirely on me, his demeanor shifting from the easygoing uncle to something far more commanding. ¡°You¡¯ll take the Walker examination next month. You¡¯re ready. You¡¯ll have your nightly excursions to increase your power for what they want. You have Fractal. You have your Machina. Still need to name it, but it needs to be upgraded first. Naming the spirit inside before it¡¯s strengthened is a bad idea¡ªa very bad idea, Alexander.¡±

    He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. There was no mistaking the seriousness now in his eyes.

    ¡°Walkers may walk into the fire alone, but they do not walk the path into the fire in solitude. Each Walker has four people assigned to watch over them.¡±

    At this, I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. ¡°Walkers walk alone, though. That¡¯s even engraved on the association building. Why would they need others with them?¡±

    My uncle¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Adjutants,¡± he explained. ¡°That¡¯s what they¡¯re called. They enter the Otherrealm with the Walker, operating under the Walker¡¯s authority. But they don¡¯t share in the glory, because they¡¯re not the ones in danger. You will be, Alexander. The Adjutants are free to leave assigned Gates at any time. They can abandon the duty the association places on the Walker. There¡¯s no risk for them at all. They only need to find another Walker to assist. They aren¡¯t bound by the same rules.¡±

    He paused, his gaze shifting to Cordelia, who sat quietly across the table. ¡°Cordelia here¡ªyes, she¡¯s one of my maids. But she¡¯s also a master of psychic abilities. Every Walker who isn¡¯t an esper, psyker, or psychic themselves¡ªthis includes you¡ªhires an Adjutant to protect the group from psychic attacks.¡±

    He let the words hang in the air for a moment, as if weighing the significance of his statement. ¡°Your birthday was only a few days ago. Your awakening day. Your father dropped off his and your mother¡¯s gift for you at my request. Cordelia, in many ways, is mine. We agreed after last night. She is willing to be your dedicated psyker.¡±

    ¡°You never explained. Why do I need these Adjutants?¡± My voice faltered, cracking toward the end, and I winced in embarrassment. Still, it was enough to get my point across. ¡°Why would I need a psyker? Walkers walk alone. If they¡¯re just going to abandon me when things get tough, why should I rely on them at all?¡±

    My uncle¡¯s eyes hardened, his expression shifting as the room seemed to grow heavier with the weight of his words. He leaned forward, his voice steady but filled with undeniable gravity.

    ¡°You need them because you can¡¯t do everything alone, Alexander.¡± He paused, letting the truth settle before continuing. ¡°The phrase refers to the burden¡ªthe responsibility¡ªthe entirety of what it means to protect all of Demeterra from hostile Visitors. From Others. You think you can face that alone? You can¡¯t. Not yet.¡±

    He stood, pacing briefly as he spoke, the seriousness of his tone cutting through the air like a sharp blade. ¡°Even now, you lack a Skillcube. Do you realize what that means? You can''t even unlock your other two mana channels. They''re dormant¡ªwaiting. You¡¯re not even close to reaching your potential. To become 1-2, you need to absorb five Dimensional abilities, two Crystal abilities, and two Nature-aligned abilities. And that¡¯s just the beginning. Without these, you can''t even access the power you need to face the trials ahead.¡±

    I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off, his eyes piercing mine with the intensity of someone who had seen far too many fail.

    ¡°You think you can do everything yourself? You¡¯ve been crushed by every single training program I¡¯ve put you through. You¡¯re talented, yes. I won¡¯t deny that. You have the ability to manifest and control a Machina. That¡¯s no small feat. But talent alone won¡¯t get you through what¡¯s coming.¡± He leaned in, his voice lowering to a dangerous, almost haunting whisper. ¡°You¡¯re young, Alexander. Foolish, even. You know where those Walkers end up, right? The graveyard. If they make it back at all.¡±

    ¡°Young. Foolish. Brash. Brazen.¡± Uncle Rodrick¡¯s voice was low, like the rumble of distant thunder, but it carried a weight that felt as though it might crush the air around us. ¡°You are the epitome of your parents. Curious, kind, nurturing, yes, but headstrong. Stubborn. So much like them¡­ so much like her.¡± His voice faltered briefly, then steadied, as if forcing the words from a place he¡¯d buried long ago.

    He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "I love my sister dearly, even if she insisted on marrying that fool of a husband. And don''t get me started on the shears..." His hand flew up to his face in exasperation, though his shoulders sagged under the weight of his words. "How in the seven hells did she bend shears, of all things, for moons'' sake?" He paused, his ears twitching and flopping in agitation, but the flicker of humor died quickly, replaced by the heaviness that lingered in his gaze.

    Rodrick¡¯s expression darkened as his thoughts returned to the grim reality that hung between us. ¡°I¡¯ve seen many a Walker fail. More than I care to remember. More than I¡¯d ever want you to know. And I¡¯ve had the privilege of operating on the ones who didn¡¯t die outright. Those who crawled back, broken and barely alive, their bodies torn by monsters, their minds shattered by the pressure of what they couldn¡¯t handle.¡± His voice shook now, just slightly, as he swallowed the bitter lump in his throat. ¡°That¡¯s the price, Alexander. You don¡¯t get to be a Walker and walk away unscathed. You don¡¯t get to carry that title and remain the same.¡±

    A long silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken truths. I wanted to speak, to say something, but I couldn¡¯t. His words gripped me, holding me in place.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen my fair share of death. More than anyone should,¡± Rodrick continued, his voice quieter now, but infinitely more grave. ¡°Your mother¡¯s seen more. She caused it, after all. There¡¯s blood on her hands, Alexander. That¡¯s the reality of a soldier. And that¡¯s the reality of the Otherrealms. The realm of the Walkers. It¡¯s a realm that demands blood. Your mother¡­ she¡¯s been part of it for longer than I care to admit. And she¡¯s survived. But not unscathed. She carries the weight of every life lost, every life taken, like a shadow following her every step.¡±

    His shoulders hunched under the weight of his memories, and the look in his eyes deepened, like someone who had carried too many burdens for too long. "I¡¯m an artificer, Alexander. My job is to create, to build, to invent things to make life easier, better. But I¡¯m also a doctor. I fix what the world breaks. And that¡¯s what it is, Alexander. A constant breaking. Every day, someone new falls to the fire. Every day, I stitch them back together, only for them to march right back into it. Again.¡±

    He leaned forward now, eyes locked with mine, filled with a sorrow too vast to express. ¡°You think I want to see you walk that same path? I¡¯ve buried too many Walkers, too many souls I couldn¡¯t save. I¡¯ve fixed them, stitched them back together, only to see them break again, and I¡¯m tired, Alexander. I¡¯m tired of seeing good people like you¡­ die for a cause that doesn¡¯t care whether you live or not.¡±

    Rodrick wiped his eyes, his hands trembling as the tears fell, unbidden. ¡°You were the only one of your thirteen siblings to ever ask me a question that made me stop and think. That made me feel something again.¡± His voice cracked as the words fell from him, heavy with emotion. ¡°You asked me, ¡®Why?¡¯ Why do the trees lose their leaves? Why do the colors fade when the seasons change?¡± He let out a ragged sigh, his hand falling to his lap. ¡°It was such a simple question, Alexander. But it was free of the harshness of the world. You didn¡¯t ask about survival, or about power, or what the future held. You just wanted to know why things change. It was... pure. And it was the only question that made me believe there was something left in this world worth saving. Something untouched.¡±

    He stood then, towering over me, his voice lowering to a near whisper. ¡°But, Alexander, don¡¯t make me watch you throw that away. Don¡¯t make me see you, bloodied and broken, on my operating table. Don¡¯t make me have to fix you, knowing that I can¡¯t save you once you¡¯re there. You can shoulder the burden of responsibility. You can. But the duty... the duty is too much for any one person to bear. And it will kill you if you try.¡±

    His eyes were filled with something deeper than sorrow now¡ªthere was a hollow, aching sadness there. A truth he could not undo. ¡°I¡¯ve seen what happens to those who try to bear it all. And I won¡¯t let that happen to you, Alexander. Not if I can stop it.¡±

 Chapter 11: Nope!

    After that heavy conversation at breakfast, my uncle retreated into his laboratory, leaving me alone with my thoughts. His words weighed on me, heavier than any burden I had carried before. But I was not one to wallow in uncertainty. If I was to prove him wrong¡ªif I was to survive¡ªthere was only one course of action. More training.

    By the time I reached the training grounds, I noticed I was not alone. Cordelia had followed me, her silent presence pressing against my awareness like an unseen force. Her eyes¡ªtwo glimmering gemstones, their depths shimmering with unspoken mysteries¡ªensnared me. I could not compare them to anything, for they were a beauty that defied comparison. A trap, a snare I had walked into willingly, a¡ª

    I shook my head, snapping myself out of it.

    "Thirty-four seconds," Cordelia stated coolly, her voice as devoid of emotion as ever. "It took you thirty-four seconds to break free from a light emotional control ability. All I was doing was telling you to relax. That¡¯s step one for a psyker like me."

    She nodded, and as she did, I noticed something I hadn¡¯t before¡ªa closed third eye in the center of her forehead. It wasn¡¯t something I had the right to ask about. She hadn¡¯t asked why I lacked the almiraj ears of my mother¡¯s lineage, after all. Another time. Another place.

    "Well," she continued, "the good news is that now you know what a psyker¡¯s touch feels like. Some abilities are soothing, like that. Others¡­" Her gaze flicked to Fractal, who preened herself idly, her shifting mask unreadable. "Well, your bird is filled with Dream mana. Imagine a person creating nightmares, both their own and others, and then giving them life."

    She motioned toward a table at the side of the training ground. There, waiting in an eerie stillness, were three cubes, each pulsing with latent power.

    "Your mother¡¯s gift is on the left. Your father¡¯s is in the middle. Mine is on the right," Cordelia said, giving a humble curtsy.

    ¡°Wait. I thought my parents couldn¡¯t give me a gift?¡±

    Cordelia shook her head. ¡°They can¡¯t train you, provide you techniques, or provide you miasma. They can, however, provide you skillcubes that have never entered their spirit.¡±

    At that, I simply nodded. Not questioning the rules of Dominus Demeterra.

    My gaze locked onto the cubes. Each was unique, radiating an elemental essence so strong I could feel it pressing against my skin.

    The leftmost cube, my mother¡¯s gift, was a deep forest green, but within its depths, hues of blue and black swirled like shadows beneath a canopy. It gave the impression of a vast and ancient forest¡ªone that breathed, one that watched. At certain angles, the green would shift, revealing veins of midnight blue that pulsed like slow-moving rivers. The black within it was not pure darkness, but rather the rich, fertile soil beneath towering roots¡ªdeep, steady, waiting to nurture something new.

    The center cube, my father¡¯s gift, was opal-like, its surface ever-changing, refracting light in a thousand shifting colors. It seemed almost alive, as though it held the very essence of transformation itself. The hues within it shimmered unpredictably¡ªsometimes soft pastels, sometimes sharp, electric bursts of brilliance. But beneath the surface, there was something more¡ªsomething stable, something resilient. No matter how much it changed, no matter how many colors it revealed, it remained whole. Unyielding.

    The final cube, the one from Cordelia, was mesmerizing¡ªits surface mimicked a nebula, an expanse of cosmic energy swirling in a vast, celestial dance. Deep violets, blues, streaks of fiery reds and gold. At times, tiny pinpricks of light flared within, like distant stars being born and dying in an eternal cycle. It was something beyond comprehension, beyond the physical world¡ªan echo of the limitless unknown. It was beautiful. And terrifying.

    I hesitated.

    "Wait¡­ you¡¯re giving me a Skillcube?" I turned to Cordelia, disbelief creeping into my voice. "Why? These things cost a fortune¡ªat least, the combat ones do."

    Her expression didn¡¯t change, but something shifted behind her eyes. A shadow.

    "My previous Walker was one of the casualties in the Lost Republic War."

    Her voice, once emotionless, grew colder. Sharper.

    ¡°She had to enter a Gate. A-Rank. Soul Realm 1. She was ambushed. By the Hopeless of the Republic.¡±

    A chill ran down my spine.

    The Hopeless.

    A religious zealot faction that emerged from the ashes of the Lost Republic. They hunted those who killed Others. They slaughtered those who upheld the duty of a Walker.

    In other words, they would slaughter me.

    I didn¡¯t need to ask why she was doing this. I already knew. And I didn¡¯t need words to understand her meaning¡ªshe had already spoken them directly into my mind, her voice coiling through my thoughts like a phantom whisper.

    They hate us.

    I swallowed. My hands clenched into fists.

    "So¡­ how do I do this?" My voice was quieter now, the weight of what these cubes represented settling on my shoulders.

    "Place your palm over each one," Cordelia instructed. "You can only absorb one per element of your mana type at a time, and it will take three days to fully integrate into your spirit."

    I reached toward the first cube, but Cordelia suddenly spoke again, her words rushed, almost frantic.

    "Don¡¯t tell me what your inner self looks like."

    I hesitated, glancing at her. "What?"

    She shook her head. "Not yet."

    The look in her eyes was unreadable. "You don¡¯t trust me enough to share something that critical with me. Not really."

    I opened my mouth¡ªto argue, to deny it¡ªbut the words never came. Because she was right.

    And that realization sat in my chest like a stone.

    I reached for the middle cube first¡ªthe opal one, my father¡¯s gift¡ªonly for Cordelia¡¯s hand to clamp down on my wrist. Firm. Unyielding.

    ¡°Last,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°Trust me.¡±

    The irony wasn¡¯t lost on me. Trust. I didn¡¯t trust her. Not after the stunt she had pulled earlier, slipping into my mind so effortlessly. Not after proving just how easily she could snare my thoughts without me realizing. But still¡­ she was the expert here. And if there was one thing I did trust, it was that she knew more about Skillcubes than I did.

    Reluctantly, I withdrew my hand and moved toward my mother¡¯s cube instead.

    The moment my palm pressed against it, sensation flooded through me.

    It felt like a forest¡ªbut not just any forest. A forest submerged beneath the surface of a vast, unseen ocean. The air felt thick, humid, yet alive with motion. I could feel the roots beneath my feet, shifting and twisting like living veins, pulsating with power. The soil was rich, dense with energy, as if it had been nourished by centuries of untouched wilderness. Then, without warning, the cube shattered into hundreds of tiny shards, each one sinking painlessly into my skin. They coursed through me, threading into my bloodstream, embedding themselves into the very essence of my core.

    A notification flickered to life before my eyes.

    [You have awoken the ability: Atlas¡¯s Manifest.]

    Atlas¡¯s Manifest

    Rarity: Uncommon

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Aspects: Nature, Water, Earth

    You are unimpeded by natural terrain. You gain bonus effects based on the terrain you attune to.

    I frowned. "That seems... unimpressive."

    Cordelia let out a sharp breath through her nose, shaking her head. ¡°Never doubt utility cubes,¡± she said, her tone carrying the weight of someone who had heard that sentiment far too many times before. ¡°Yes, your skill with a weapon will be important, but so will survival. The open roads are as dangerous as any Otherrealm.¡±

    I considered her words, but the disappointment still lingered. I had expected something more... flashy.

    Turning to her gift, I placed my palm over it and braced myself for another surge of energy. But nothing could have prepared me for this.

    My mother¡¯s cube had been gentle¡ªthe caress of a forest breeze, the steady rhythm of an ancient ecosystem. This one was wild.

    It made me feel small.

    No, smaller.

    I wasn¡¯t in control anymore. I was a speck of dust in an endless, ever-expanding void. The weight of infinity pressed against me, suffocating in its vastness. Stars burned and died in the distance, their light swallowed by the abyss before I could even begin to grasp their brilliance. I was lost, trapped in a current of something incomprehensible¡ªsomething so much greater than me that I barely even registered as a thought in its existence.

    I gasped, my breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of it. I turned to Cordelia, my body rigid, my mind barely tethered to the present. She merely nodded. Silent. Expectant.

    I swallowed hard and forced myself to take its power.

    Just like before, the cube shattered, but this time, the fragments did not simply enter me. They tore into me. Not painfully, but violently. Unrelenting. Like a rushing tide dragging me under, like the gravitational pull of a collapsing star. I barely had time to blink before the next notification appeared.

    [You have awoken the ability: The Millennium Halls.]

    The Millennium Halls

    Rarity: Unknown [Error.]

    Aspects: Dimension, Star, Growth

    You are able to open a doorway to any anchor spot by visiting the Millennium Halls. Doing so requires focus and meditation in a safe area. Mana expenditure is based on the number of people entering the doorway. You are able to place 1+1 [Almiraj Bonus Applied] anchors per Soul Realm.

    I stared at the notification. Then at Cordelia. Then back at the notification.

    "How... how the hell did you acquire this?" My voice came out quieter than I would have liked, but the concern bled through all the same.

    Cordelia simply raised an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s a portal ability. One of the most common.¡±

    I shook my head, my gut twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the lingering energy coursing through me. "No." My voice was firmer now. "This is not a common portal ability." I gestured toward the notification, my breath coming quicker. "Rarity: Unknown? No. If it were common, it would say common.¡±

    Cordelia¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but I saw it¡ªthe flicker of confusion. The momentary break in her ever-calm mask.

    A soft chime came from my Gloss-Crystal¡ªa notification. A request from Cordelia.

    She wanted to see my system message.

    I sent it.

    The moment she saw it, her head tilted slightly. Then she shook her head, her brows knitting together ever so slightly.

    ¡°That...¡± she started, voice unusually quiet. ¡°That was not the ability I gave you.¡±

    A chill crept down my spine. "Then what the hell did I just absorb?"

    Cordelia didn¡¯t answer immediately. She just stared at the message, her lips pressing into a thin line. The first true sign of unease I had ever seen from her.

    ¡°Do you know what this ability does?¡± she asked at last.

    I nodded slowly, eyes still locked onto the notification. "I know what it means."

    But what I didn¡¯t know¡ªwhat I couldn¡¯t know¡ªwas why it had changed. And more importantly... who had altered it.

    And that uncertainty was far more unsettling than anything else.

    ***

    We had taken a brief break. Cordelia returned with a tray, setting down a porcelain cup before me. Jasmine tea. Its scent curled through the air, warm and floral, a delicate contrast to the lingering weight in my chest. I inhaled deeply, letting the aromatics settle my nerves, even as my mind continued to churn.

    Cordelia sat across from me, her posture as composed as ever. ¡°My Lord,¡± she began, voice quiet, smooth, like the tea before me. ¡°I will admit¡ªthe gift I gave you was mostly from your mother. But I was the one who selected it. It was supposed to be a basic portal ability. A simple technique to help you understand the fundamentals of dimensional movement.¡± She lifted her own cup, fingertips brushing the porcelain in a thoughtful gesture. ¡°You were only supposed to be able to move from point A to point B. That¡¯s all.¡±

    Her words lingered in the air between us.

    And yet, that is not what happened.

    My attention drifted, pulled away by the soft, melodic chirps coming from across the table. Fractal. She was singing, her voice clear and rhythmic, a gentle melody threading through the quiet space. There was something¡­ entrancing about it. Not just the beauty of the sound, but the way it felt like she was communicating. A conversation carried through song.

    A thought formed before I could stop it. Melody. Melody Fractal Duarte.

    A sister. A little sister.

    The idea sat comfortably in my chest. She was already my companion, my partner. But perhaps, one day, she could be my family too.

    Absently, I pulled up my Gloss-Crystal, scanning records on Spirit Beasts. My suspicion was confirmed¡ªmost Spirit Beasts, upon reaching Soul Realm 4, developed a humanoid form. Not an oddity. Almost expected.

    And then¡­ I saw something else.

    I skimmed further, reading too fast, hoping I had misinterpreted something. But no. It was there in plain text.

    Most Spirit Beasts did not form sibling relationships with their wielders.

    The most common outcome was something¡­ else.

    I felt my stomach drop. My face grew warm.

    No.

    The deeper I read, the worse it became. The mana lines between Spirit Beasts and their contractors were already deeply intertwined, forming bonds unlike any other. That bond often¡­ evolved. And not in the familial way I had just been thinking.

    My grip tightened on the Gloss-Crystal.

    Nope. No, no, no. Not thinking about this right now.

    But my cursed brain kept going.

    Spirit Beasts passed down their unique traits through descendants. A contracted Spirit Beast and their partner could merge their mana in ways that enhanced future generations. The numbers were laid out coldly in research papers¡ªa child of a Spirit Beast and their contractor was, on average, 14% stronger.

    I nearly choked on my own breath.

    Absolutely not. Nope. Never mind. Not thinking about it. Not now. Nope.

    Slamming the Gloss-Crystal shut, I forced my gaze away from Fractal, who was still chirping her lovely, innocent song, utterly unaware of the unholy crisis spiraling through my mind. My ears burned. I could feel Cordelia watching me, and I prayed to every Dominus in existence that she wasn¡¯t somehow reading my thoughts.

    Clearing my throat, I busied myself with the tea, lifting the cup with slightly unsteady fingers and taking a long, slow sip. It was still warm, still fragrant, still soothing. I focused on that. On the floral notes. On the way the steam curled upward, delicate and fleeting.

    Cordelia remained silent, her expression unreadable. Whether she had noticed my moment or not, she didn¡¯t comment.

    Good.

    Because I needed to not be thinking about this. Not now.

    Later¡­?

    No. Not even later. I buried the thought. For now, Fractal was my innocent weaverbird. My companion. My partner in battle. My¡­ potential little sister?

    Yes. That.

    I exhaled, forcing my shoulders to relax, and turned my focus back to Cordelia. There were far more pressing matters to consider.

    Once I had finished my tea, I turned my attention to the final cube. The opal one. My father¡¯s gift.

    I reached for it slowly, hesitantly, as if some instinct within me already knew that this one was different.

    The Millennium Halls had made me feel small¡ªlike a single grain of dust adrift in the cosmos. But this... this was something else entirely.

    This was predation.

    The moment my fingers brushed the cube¡¯s surface, a shiver ran down my spine. It wasn¡¯t cold. It wasn¡¯t hot. It was simply... there, seeping into me like something waiting¡ªwatching. My breath hitched as the energy coiled around my arm, creeping into my core, my very being. Unlike the previous cubes, this one didn¡¯t shatter immediately. It lingered, stretching the moment impossibly thin. And then, with a pulse, the cube broke apart into countless shards, sinking into me.

    I inhaled sharply.

    The world around me faded.

    And then, I saw.

    Eyes.

    Dozens. Hundreds. Myriad golden eyes, blinking in perfect unison, locking onto me like a predator assessing prey. Their pupils narrowed to slits, each one gleaming with the weight of ages. Intelligence. Hunger. Judgment.

    The heads came into focus next, each one stretching from a massive, singular body¡ªserpentine, regal, terrifying. Every head was crowned in opalescent scales, shifting in color with each movement, the hues flickering like liquid fire¡ªgold, violet, emerald, sapphire, pearl. Their bodies, sleek and powerful, were wreathed in golden hide, their very forms radiating something ancient. Something that had existed before laws, before dominions, before man.

    I was nothing before them.

    The ground beneath me was scorched and cracked, a wasteland of charred stone and molten embers. The air shimmered with the oppressive heat, yet despite the inferno, the Hydra before me stood untouched¡ªuntouchable. Its sheer presence demanded reverence. The flickering flames of my vision cast shifting shadows across its massive form, giving it an almost ethereal, primal beauty.

    This was a being that no one¡ªno one¡ªdared to anger.

    A beast that had never known fear. The Hydra loomed over me, countless heads twisting and writhing in unison, its eyes burning into my soul. And I realized, in that moment, why I had felt as if I were about to be devoured.

    Because I was.

 Chapter 12: Yes?

    [You have awoken the ability: Gluttony of the Golden Hydra.]

    Rarity: Epic

    Aspects: Crystal, Hunger, Metal, Draconic, Growth

    You are able to consume treasure, wealth, and magical items. You gain effects based on the value and properties of the items consumed. You are required to consume at least your Soul Realm¡¯s worth in waxing coppers per day or suffer from malnutrition.

    I stared.

    Then I stared harder.

    My brain needed a moment.

    My mouth opened, then closed. I turned to Cordelia, fully expecting her to tell me that my Gloss-Crystal had suffered some sort of catastrophic system error. But no¡ªher expression was worse than before. More concern. More oh no, this poor fool has no idea what he¡¯s just gotten into.

    That was why she had told me to leave this one for last.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m not eaten, I think?¡± I said, more as a question than a statement. ¡°Are all Skillcubes like that?¡±

    Cordelia¡¯s gaze flicked toward my Gloss-Crystal, then back to me, her face unreadable. ¡°Only those with the lingering lifeforce of a Draconic Entity.¡±

    There was a pause. Then, as if that wasn¡¯t alarming enough, she added, ¡°Your father is well known for finding monster-aspected Skillcubes. He has two full shells of them. One of which is entirely filled with Draconic Entities.¡±

    I blinked.

    Then I blinked again.

    Slowly¡ªvery slowly¡ªI processed what she had just said.

    ¡°My father?¡± I repeated.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°The same father who gambles every single chance he gets?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°The same man who once bet an entire estate on a card game and lost?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°The exact same father who once spent an entire festival claiming he had developed a foolproof betting system, only to get banned from every casino in the Free City of Marr because it was just him making wild guesses?¡±

    Cordelia nodded again, perfectly serious.

    I buried my face in my hands.

    ¡°Do you realize how absurd that sounds?¡± I mumbled, voice muffled against my palms.

    Another nod.

    I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. ¡°So let me get this straight.¡± I exhaled, gesturing vaguely at the Gloss-Crystal notification still hovering in front of me. ¡°I now have an ability that requires me to eat money. Just so I don¡¯t starve.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°And I can consume treasure and magic items¡ªas in, literally eat them¡ªfor more effects?¡±

    ¡°That is what the description says, yes.¡±

    I let out a long, exhausted sigh before staring blankly at the sky. "Why."

    Cordelia tilted her head slightly. ¡°That¡­ would be a question for your father.¡±

    I inhaled. Held it. Exhaled. ¡°Right. Right. No, that¡¯s fine. Totally fine. Nothing weird about that at all.¡±

    Silence stretched between us.

    Then, as if my brain had finally decided to completely break, I blurted out, ¡°Am I a dragon now?¡±

    Cordelia blinked. ¡°No.¡±

    I squinted at her. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Because, I don¡¯t know, Cordelia¡ªgetting dropped into a vision of a giant immortal multi-headed beast and then unlocking an ability that lets me devour treasure feels like a very draconic thing to do.¡±

    She let out a soft sigh, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. ¡°Are those who absorb sword-based abilities a sword?¡±

    I opened my mouth. Stopped. Squinted again.

    ¡°¡­Touche.¡±

    She crossed her arms. ¡°You are simply awakening a heritage you never had.¡±

    I groaned again. ¡°That¡¯s not better!¡±

    And somewhere in the back of my mind, a new and terrifying realization settled in.

    I was now required to literally consume currency just to stay alive.

    How was I supposed to explain that to a merchant?

    ***

    After allowing my body¡ªand spirit¡ªtime to recover, we moved on to a form of training we hadn¡¯t yet attempted.

    Machina training.

    Rodrick returned for this session, his usual eccentricity subdued beneath layers of mechanical components. Wires coiled around his arms like serpents, bits of metal and arcane circuitry clinging to his coat. Some of the objects, I couldn¡¯t even begin to identify¡ªthings far beyond simple gears and plates, relics of a forgotten age.

    He clapped his hands together, sending a small cascade of sparks flying from the contraption strapped to his wrist. ¡°A Machina,¡± he began, voice firm, instructor-like, ¡°as you already know, is an intelligent golem. But what you may not fully grasp is the depth of what that truly means.¡±

    He took a step forward, his presence heavy, commanding my full attention. ¡°Inside every Machina is a spirit¡ªa fragment of something from an era long past. Some have remained dormant for centuries, perhaps even millennia, their consciousness sealed away, waiting for a new master. Others, however...¡± He gestured vaguely at the parts hanging from his belt. ¡°...have been artificially restored, reawakened with newer servant spirits installed. A pale imitation of what they once were.¡±

    I listened carefully, my gaze drifting toward my own Machina, still at rest in its compact form¡ªa simple Joker playing card. It had yet to truly awaken.

    ¡°There are those who dedicate themselves fully to the art of controlling Machina,¡± Rodrick continued. ¡°They are referred to as Djinn.¡± He let the name hang in the air for a moment, watching to see if I understood its weight. ¡°Named after the wish-granting spirits of old. Because, in the end, that is what Machina were meant to be¡ªone of humanity¡¯s wishes made manifest.¡±

    His gaze darkened, the remnants of a bitter truth buried within his words.

    ¡°We wished for a force that could turn back the tide of monsters. A weapon that could protect us. A tool to ensure our survival.¡± He exhaled, slow and heavy. ¡°And in doing so, we created the very thing that became our undoing.¡±

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    A silence settled over the room.

    Rodrick¡¯s fingers twitched at his side, as if recalling something long buried. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he continued.

    ¡°The Machina turned on us. What we built, what we relied upon, what we trusted¡ªit betrayed us. And humanity suffered for it. Entire civilizations crumbled beneath the weight of their rebellion. Cities were lost, histories erased. We were forced to start over.¡±

    He lifted a small, metallic device from his belt, the faint glow of runic etchings pulsing beneath its surface. ¡°Now, thanks to the miasma and mana that flow through us, we are able to control Machina once more¡ªwith far less risk of another rampage.¡±

    He turned his gaze back to me, sharp and expectant.

    ¡°But make no mistake, Alexander. A Machina is not a pet. It is not a tool to be used lightly.¡± His eyes flickered toward the Joker card in my hand. ¡°Yours has slept for a very long time. That means one of two things¡ªit is either waiting for the right moment to awaken... or it does not want to.¡±

    A shiver ran down my spine.

    ¡°Yes, you¡¯ve called it. You¡¯ve activated it. Not awakened. It lacks the abilities it once had.¡±

    Rodrick stepped closer, lowering his voice. ¡°You will need to wake it, eventually. But before that happens, you must ask yourself something.¡±

    He locked eyes with me.

    ¡°Are you ready for what it has to say?¡±

    I could only nod.

    Rodrick clasped his hands together once more, arcs of energy crackling between his fingers like unpredictable lightning. ¡°Good. While I hope my earlier lecture lingers in your mind, understand the difference between underpreparedness and cowardice.¡± His voice hardened. ¡°One leads to an early retirement. The other guarantees failure.¡±

    He fixed me with a stare, his gaze unyielding. ¡°Call your Machina.¡±

    I hesitated for a moment, then imbued a surge of mana into the Joker playing card between my fingers. The reaction was immediate: a flicker of light, followed by the surreal sound of cards reshuffling themselves, merging and twisting together.

    The Joker card cracked open, releasing a flurry of smaller cards that spun and folded with mechanical precision. Before me stood a Card Knight, its form composed entirely of playing cards, knee-high and perfectly balanced.

    It paused, taking a moment to survey its surroundings before bending into a deep, elegant bow¡ªa motion so smooth and practiced that I almost forgot I was facing a machina and not a living knight.

    The knight stood tall again, its blank face¡ªa simple Ace of Spades¡ªturned toward me, scanning the room as if searching for a threat.

    It stepped forward, then stopped, giving a slight tilt of its head as if studying me with an unreadable gaze.

    The knight slowly raised its right arm, mimicking a salute¡ªits movements exaggerated, deliberate. A flourish of cards accompanied the motion, like the gentle rustle of wind through leaves. It placed the Queen of Hearts over its chest and gave another deep bow¡ªthis time, more dramatic, more formal, as if awaiting instruction.

    I blinked. ¡°Uh... at ease?¡±

    The Card Knight froze for a moment, then gently lowered its arm. It tilted its head again, looking around as if it was waiting for something more¡ªan invitation, a command. Its movements were graceful, elegant, and exaggerated, as if every action were a carefully rehearsed performance.

    I turned to Rodrick, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Is it supposed to do that?¡±

    Rodrick¡¯s lips twitched into a half-smile. ¡°Seems like your Machina has a flair for the dramatic. Most just stand there. Yours wants to perform.¡±

    The Card Knight gave another bow, lowering its body with such elegance that it seemed like a gesture reserved for the highest courts. It then looked back to me, waiting¡ªsilent, but not unspoken. Every movement conveyed an urgency, a longing to serve, as if it had been waiting centuries for its moment to act.

    ¡°Command me,¡± the knight¡¯s actions seemed to say. The flourish of its arm, the delicate placement of cards over its chest, all pointed to its desire to serve.

    I stood there, slightly dumbfounded. ¡°What do I even do with this?¡±

    Rodrick¡¯s gaze sharpened, his tone steady but filled with quiet authority. ¡°For now, at the rank both of you are at,¡± he began, motioning toward me and my Machina, ¡°you need to give it orders. Explicit instructions. That¡¯s how you¡¯ll begin to understand its function, its limitations, and most importantly, its obedience.¡±

    He took a step closer, his eyes scanning the room with practiced intensity. ¡°Today, now that you¡¯ve absorbed your first Skillcubes, we¡¯ll test your ability to unlock something more.¡± His voice lowered, as if revealing a secret. ¡°You need to unlock Demeterra¡¯s Archive. It¡¯s a gift from Dominus Demeterra herself, granted to all of us¡ªall of us who carry the mantle of authority.¡±

    I nodded, the weight of those words pressing down on me. It was a gift, yes, but not one easily wielded. I knew what it meant to be granted access to the knowledge of the Dominus.

    Rodrick gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. ¡°Think of Demeterra¡¯s Archive like a system message on your Gloss-Crystal. It will open up information, like a guide, showing you new skills, abilities, and potential.¡± He glanced toward the Card Knight, which stood at attention beside me, silent but alert.

    ¡°The hope,¡± Rodrick continued, ¡°is that you¡¯ll unlock Machina Operation today. This is a key component¡ªlearning how to control, command your Machina in ways beyond simple interaction.¡± He paused, eyes flicking to my Card Knight. ¡°Start small. Give it simple commands. For now, you need to focus on the basics.¡±

    My heart raced as I stared at the Card Knight. It was standing perfectly still, its posture impeccable as it waited for my direction. I swallowed.

    ¡°Run laps with me around the room. Yes, start running.¡±

    The command sounded almost absurd to me. It was just running. But I understood the importance of building that foundation. Slowly, I began to jog in place, testing the reaction from my Machina.

    The Card Knight did not hesitate. With a fluid motion, it straightened, saluting with a flourish, then began to follow me¡ªmatching my pace step for step, its elegant movements almost too perfect. Its footfalls were silent as it moved, as if the very playing cards composing it were made of something lighter than air.

    Rodrick watched closely, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "Good. Don¡¯t just command. Connect with it. You have to understand that every movement is a reflection of your will."

    I nodded and picked up the pace, feeling the energy in the room shift as the Card Knight kept perfect time with my every stride. The room¡ªonce quiet and still¡ªnow seemed to hum with energy, each lap adding weight to the connection we were forming. It was as though every step was weaving the bond between us tighter, forming a link of unspoken understanding.

    Rodrick¡¯s voice cut through the steady rhythm of our running. ¡°This is your first true test, Alexander. Don¡¯t just command the Machina. Become one with it. Every motion, every action, should feel intentional. The Machina is a reflection of your own growth. The stronger you become, the more powerful your bond will be.¡±

    I focused, pushing aside the discomfort, the hesitation. The Card Knight mirrored me, its precise movements a testament to the command I¡¯d given it¡ªno, the trust I had started to place in it. The bond between us was starting to solidify, but it wasn¡¯t just about running laps. It was about understanding, about authority. I needed to lead, to know the steps we¡¯d take together, to form the connection that could one day carry us through unimaginable trials.

    We completed the first lap, then the second, and soon the room was filled with the sound of our synchronized footsteps.

    Soon enough, the ache in my legs grew unbearable. My breath came in ragged gasps as I tried to keep pace with the Card Knight, its movements still so fluid and graceful despite the effort. I could feel the exhaustion creeping up on me¡ªmy muscles screamed for relief, my body begging for just a moment to rest.

    But that wasn¡¯t the kind of training I was here for.

    Rodrick¡¯s voice cut through the haze of fatigue, sharp and clear as always. ¡°Do I need to bring out the collar again?¡±

    Please no.

    The words barely formed in my mind, but they felt like a prayer. The collar. That¡­ device my uncle had acquired on a whim during one of his many adventures. I didn¡¯t even want to think about it.

    It was a hellish contraption. Not just physically demanding, but psychologically tormenting. The collar shocked me into action¡ªalways pushing me harder, faster, until I could barely stand. I hated it. But, as much as I despised it, I couldn¡¯t deny its effectiveness. It sharpened my focus, honed my skills. My accuracy with a bow had improved dramatically, but the cost¡ªthe cost was always too high.

    I shifted my gaze to the Card Knight, still dutifully running alongside me. There had to be another way. A better way. Something I could do without pushing myself to the brink of collapse.

    And then, it clicked.

    I stopped, causing the Card Knight to falter for a brief moment before it locked its gaze onto me, waiting for my command.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to start running laps again,¡± I announced, my voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on my chest. ¡°But this time, I¡¯m going to fire an arrow into a target. Every thirteen seconds. You¡¯ll retrieve the arrow, and then you¡¯ll impale it directly where I fired from. Exact placement.¡±

    Rodrick raised an eyebrow at my proposal, his expression unreadable. ¡°You think that¡¯ll be easier than running?¡±

    I shook my head, feeling a surge of determination despite the throbbing in my legs. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m going to make it a game of precision. Every shot must land within a hair¡¯s breadth of the last one. No errors. No hesitation.¡±

    For a moment, there was silence. Rodrick studied me, his arms crossed, as if measuring my resolve.

    ¡°Well then,¡± he finally said, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you can handle that.¡±

    I stepped back, positioning myself in front of the target, taking a deep breath to center myself. My legs were screaming, but I pushed through it. I could do this.

    The Card Knight stood poised a few paces away, ready to react at a moment¡¯s notice.

    I nocked an arrow, drawing the string back, and took aim.

    The first shot flew true, striking the target with a satisfying thud. Without a second to spare, the Card Knight was already in motion, darting forward with the precision of a trained soldier. It moved faster than I anticipated, reaching the target, pulling the arrow from the board, and returning it to its exact place in front of me¡ªprecisely where I had fired from.

    I didn¡¯t let up.

    I fired again¡ªthis time, a fraction off-center, but the Card Knight didn¡¯t miss a beat. It retrieved the arrow, returning it to its rightful place in less than a breath.

    Thirteen seconds.

    Again.

    I pushed my body further. The strain on my legs, my back, the fatigue gnawing at the edges of my focus¡ªit all became a blur as I sank deeper into the rhythm of my task. Arrow after arrow, the Card Knight moved like clockwork, its movements smooth and efficient, its purpose clear.

    The pressure built. My heart raced. And with each shot, I felt my focus sharpen, my every fiber of will aligning with the task at hand. This wasn¡¯t just about physical endurance anymore. It was about control. Precision. Willpower.

    I could feel Rodrick¡¯s gaze on me, his silence both a challenge and a test.

    As the thirteenth second came and went, I fired once more¡ªthis time, my arrow landing perfectly on target, within the exact placement of the last.

    The Card Knight wasted no time. It retrieved the arrow, bringing it back with flawless precision. The cycle continued.

    And for once, despite the strain, despite the exhaustion¡ªthere was no collar, no shocking reminder of my limits. Just the rhythm of the training, the partnership between myself and the Card Knight, and the burning drive to prove myself.

    [You have obtained the Skills: Machina Operation, Archery, and Pain Resistance.]

    The large words flashed in front of my vision, overwhelming my senses, and before I could react, I crashed into a wall at full speed. Then, darkness.

 Chapter 13: The Key to your Start

    That night, I felt the familiar sensation of falling. My heart raced, panic swelling in my chest as the ground seemed to vanish beneath me. Not again.

    I braced for impact, but when I landed, it was different. I didn¡¯t hit the soft, familiar cradle of books that I had grown accustomed to. No¡ªthis time, I landed on cold stone.

    I blinked, disoriented, and immediately knew something was off. The towering bookcases that had once been made of grand hardwood were now constructed from weathered stone. I reached out to touch one, and the stone was soft, almost sedimentary in nature¡ªa stark contrast to the sturdy wooden shelves of the other area I had come to know.

    This wasn¡¯t where I was supposed to be.

    I quickly checked my supplies. My Machina¡¯s playing card was safely tucked into my left sleeve, and my bow lay on the floor beside me. But then my eyes fell on the five arrows. Of course, it was five. It always had to be five.

    I gritted my teeth. Why couldn¡¯t I ever get a proper supply? Why was it always this way when I ended up in Danatallion¡¯s Halls?

    With a sigh, I checked my inner spirit, hoping against hope that my Skillcubes had accelerated their progress. Maybe, just maybe, the white paper sun had moved faster than usual. But, unsurprisingly, my prayers went unanswered.

    Fractal¡¯s bond was still there, faint and distant, but I didn¡¯t feel her presence. She wasn¡¯t here with me. It was just me and my two most important tools. Three if you counted my Arte, which, in this place, I¡¯d make use of.

    Instead of rushing into the labyrinth of books, desperate to explore, I knew I had to use my time wisely. This entry point might not be as straightforward as the others. Other Visitors might be drawn here, but the way I entered¡ªviolently¡ªmeant only one thing. The only people forced through this kind of gate were likely the illegal ones. At least, that was my hope.

    I swallowed, taking a moment to breathe. Vanitas was undoubtedly aware of my presence by now. I could feel it. That eerie sense that his eyes were already on me. I would be a fool to assume he wasn¡¯t watching me.

    No. I needed to think. Survival first.

    As I thought about my situation, my fingers absently traced the Machina¡¯s playing card in my sleeve, and I felt the familiar hum of my Arte. Paper Manipulation. It wasn¡¯t just something to use in a pinch. This was an opportunity to refine it, to build on it. I had the time now.

    I could feel the weight of the paper in my mind. A single thought brought it to life, making it ripple into existence. With a wave of my hand, the first sheet of paper appeared, floating in the air. My Arte was a part of me, a tool I could use. So why not use it now, when I had the quiet to train?

    I focused, pulling more sheets from the air, shaping them into small cubes. They spun in front of me like the petals of a flower, each piece of paper folding and bending at my will, learning the shape of my thoughts. The paper was delicate, but I didn¡¯t need it to be perfect. Just functional.

    My fingers moved deftly, weaving intricate shapes into existence. Paper birds, paper blades, even small origami figures that darted in and out of my hands. It felt¡­ natural. But there was a weight to it now, a tension in the air, as though each motion was both a step forward and a reminder of just how much I had to learn.

    I smiled slightly as the birds I had created flapped their paper wings in time with my heartbeat, rising into the air before dissipating.

    [You have obtained the skill: Origami.]

    ¡°Focus, Alexander,¡± I muttered to myself, the words biting into the air as my frustration grew. I shook my head, forcing my thoughts to refocus. I wasn¡¯t here to play. I was here to train.

    I redirected my attention to the paper birds, sending them fluttering into the air, each one swooping off into the towering labyrinth of stone bookcases. I linked my vision to theirs, seeing through their eyes as they perched at various intersections, silently scanning the space for any signs of movement.

    I had eyes in every direction. I could feel the weight of their vigilance, each bird perched in silence, watching for anything that might appear.

    This wasn¡¯t just some place to explore¡ªit was a test, a game of survival. And I was playing for my life.

    I scowled. If only I had access to my Skillcube for the [Millennium Halls]. The thought gnawed at me. If I had just the ability to open a doorway, to summon an anchor point¡­ I could stabilize my position. I could get out of this mess. I could leave.

    I tried to focus, reaching deep inside my spirit to call upon the fragments of that ability. The familiar pull, the energy of a dimensional door, should have been there¡ªshould have been accessible. But instead, I felt a wall. A barrier, thick and unyielding. I pushed against it, my thoughts strained, but it remained locked, as if this place refused to let me use it.

    I cursed under my breath. The weight of Danatallion¡¯s Halls was too much. The ability wasn¡¯t just inaccessible¡ªit was sealed within these walls. The gate to the [Millennium Halls] was locked, and I couldn¡¯t teleport out. I was trapped.

    No escaping, I realized. Not now.

    I swallowed the frustration building in my throat. I couldn¡¯t afford to waste time wishing for something I couldn¡¯t have. I had to survive, and that meant making do with what I had.

    Fractal¡¯s bond was still faint, distant, a mere shadow of the connection I was used to. She wasn¡¯t here with me. It was just me, my Machina, and my weapons. The tools I had would have to be enough.

    I turned my focus back to the task at hand. Survival was all that mattered now. I wasn¡¯t going to waste another second.

    The labyrinth of books, the seemingly endless halls of lost and current knowledge, lay before me, waiting to be explored. But instead of blindly rushing forward, I focused on the one thing that could give me an edge: the books.

    I moved to the nearest shelf, pulling a thick tome from the rows of stone-bound volumes. The cover was worn and cracked from age, and the pages inside were fragile and yellowed. But the information it held could be invaluable.

    I scanned the text intently, not letting the complexity of the words slow me down. As I read, I could feel the minutes slipping away, but they didn¡¯t matter. This knowledge was power, and I couldn¡¯t afford to miss a single opportunity.

    Meanwhile, my paper birds kept their watch, each perched at different points in the room. They didn¡¯t stop moving. And neither did I.

    What does it mean to die? To dream? No. It means nothing. Not here. Not in this realm. Not in the next. Life is not liberty¡ªit is a prison, constructed by the whims of our parents, our ancestors. From darkness we came, and from darkness we shall return. I realized this the day I was stricken with a disease that rotted my blood from the extremities inward, eating me alive from the inside out. Where will I go after this? I hope that darkness is warm. Comforting. A reprieve from the torment of the waking world.

    Life is neither miserly nor fortune. It is not the selfishness of a miser, nor the fleeting joy of excess. I lived richly, yes. I was born into privilege¡ªmoney bought me comforts, wealth, opportunities. Yet it failed to buy me the one thing I desired most: to be myself. To stand as I was, unencumbered by the demands of those who called me their child. I was never allowed to be just me.

    I was always what my parents¡ªtwo Dominus¡ªdemanded of me. The perfect scholar. The perfect warrior. The perfect scribe. They molded me in their image, carved from the same stone that shaped their world. Perfection, they said. That¡¯s what I had to embody. But perfection¡­ is a shackle. It is not freedom. I was the embodiment of their ideals¡ªuntil I became something they could not bear to see: a failure.

    It was then that a Dominus¡¯s gate opened. One that unleashed creatures of darkness, of unfathomable horror. They poured from the Otherrealm¡ªunknowable and relentless, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. Cities burned, millions slaughtered, billions of lives lost. The death toll was staggering.

    The task fell upon my shoulders. It was my duty to close the gate, to rid the world of the monstrous hostilities that poured through it. I was chosen because of my skill, my perceived brilliance. Yet the cruelty of this world became clearer to me with every step. They thought me a weapon, an instrument to correct the wrongs of the universe. I was a tool of a higher power, but in the end, it was I who was broken.

    I thought I could do it. I believed, naively, that I had the strength to face the horrors that lay beyond that gate. I gathered all my knowledge, all the power I could muster. I believed in the technology I had perfected, my Arte of Technology Manipulation, to control and command the machines of war, to give me the edge against those creatures. But in the face of something so purely chaotic, so overwhelmingly destructive, my creations failed me. They turned on me. The very systems I had built to save humanity turned against it, and they tore apart everything I had known.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    I remember the first success. The first triumph. I had built the prototype¡ªa machine capable of predicting enemy movements, a force to combat the relentless tide of creatures flooding from the Otherrealm. It was an accomplishment that earned me the respect of my peers. I thought, this is it. This was the turning point. The beginning of a new age of technology, of control. My Arte hummed in harmony with the machines, my creations listened to me. The first battle was won.

    But the triumph was short-lived. The creatures adapted. They learned. Their forms were incomprehensible, their abilities unpredictable, but even more so¡ªresilient. My machines that once seemed infallible were overrun. I couldn''t even fathom how it happened. Every piece of my technology that had been designed to counter them, to lead us to victory, turned into a liability. The failure was not the enemy I faced, but the arrogance in thinking I could control everything. I became the victim of my own hubris.

    The second failure was catastrophic. With the battle lines drawn, we unleashed the full might of the military-industrial complex I had built. The Aetherized bomb, a weapon of unmatched potential, capable of reducing an entire city to ash. It worked¡ªinitially. It decimated entire hordes of the invaders. For a brief moment, I thought we had won. But the creatures adopted. They mutated. They found a way to survive, and the bomb? The bomb had no effect. It had only made them stronger. They adapted, faster than I could imagine. My weapon, my pride, had become a death sentence.

    By the third failure, I knew I had lost. The machines, the weapons, the technology¡ªit was all meaningless. The battlefield turned into a graveyard of broken promises and failed ideals. I had created systems that should have worked, but they failed because they could not adapt as quickly as their enemy. The truth became undeniable. The world was collapsing, and nothing I could do would change that.

    The fourth failure, though, was the one that broke me. The Otherrealm had breached our world, its creatures now integrated into our systems. They were not just invaders anymore. They were us. They learned our ways, became us in a twisted reflection. Our communications were compromised, our systems sabotaged from within. They were everywhere. The machines that I had built, that I had trusted, had been corrupted. They were a reflection of humanity''s greed, pride, and inability to change. And I was the one who had unleashed them.

    I am the architect of my own destruction. I have created nothing but chaos and despair. The final failure is not the death of others¡ªit is the death of everything I once believed in. My Arte, my creations, my life¡¯s work¡ªthey have all led to this: a world undone, a civilization collapsing under the weight of its own ambition. And I¡ªI¡ªam the one who built the tools that doomed it.

    And now, here I lie, surrounded by the remnants of all I once held dear, waiting for the inevitable. My blood rots within me, my body decays, and all I can do is await the darkness. Perhaps it will be warm. Perhaps it will be comforting. For in the end, that is the only thing left: the hope that, in the darkness, I will find peace.

    The triumphs of my life feel like distant dreams now, as though they were never truly mine. Yet, there were moments¡ªfleeting moments¡ªwhen I believed that I had achieved something. That perhaps, despite all my failures, I could carve out a legacy that would withstand the test of time.

    One such moment came with the invention of the Chrono-Hub. It was hailed as the pinnacle of my work¡ªa device capable of synchronizing multiple systems across vast distances. A machine that could control time and information in ways no one had ever dreamed. I manipulated the very concept of temporal information, bending the flow of moments to my will, able to send messages into the past with an almost prophetic precision. It was revolutionary, and for a time, the world looked to me with awe. This, they said, this is the future.

    But I soon realized that even the flow of time, as malleable as it was, could not escape the harsh truths of the present. The Chrono-Hub didn¡¯t just predict the future. It revealed the inevitable, the failures that lay ahead. No matter how many systems I connected, no matter how many worlds I bridged, nothing could prevent the collapse.

    I suppose that¡¯s what brought me to him¡ªLucian.

    It was a brief but intense moment, like a burst of warmth in a cold, decaying world. Lucian was... everything I wasn¡¯t. Free-spirited, untamed, and full of life in a way that I could never be. Where I was consumed by my work, by the machines I created, he lived in the spaces between them¡ªhe lived for feeling. His smile was a reprieve from my endless nights in front of screens, his touch a reminder that there was something more than this cold, technological world I had built.

    Our love was a secret. A delicate, fragile thing. We were both products of the same world, but he was the one who chose to live outside it. He was the counterpoint to my endless calculations and inventions. Together, we found something rare¡ªpeace, if only for a while. I allowed myself to feel with him. To experience moments that were just ours.

    But even then, in the back of my mind, I knew how fragile it all was. How fleeting. Love, like the systems I built, was a construct¡ªsomething that could be manipulated, something that could be broken. I just didn¡¯t want to believe it, not with him. Not with Lucian.

    In the end, I was proved right, though not in the way I had hoped. Lucian, despite the warmth he brought into my life, was no more immune to the corruption of the world than I was. I should have known. His charm, his warmth, his charisma¡ªthey were all part of the machine. A machine that ultimately turned against me.

    The betrayal came quietly, like the slow drip of poison. I found the letters¡ªhidden in the archives of our shared apartment. Letters that spoke of deals made behind my back, promises exchanged with powerful figures I had long suspected but never confirmed. Lucian had used me. He had been feeding information about my work to my rivals, feeding the very systems I built to destroy me. I had thought our connection was mutual, but in truth, I was nothing more than a pawn to him¡ªa tool to get closer to his ambitions. The betrayal cut deeper than the machines that once betrayed me. It wasn¡¯t just my intellect that was undermined¡ªit was my heart.

    The pain was a new kind of suffering, one I hadn¡¯t anticipated. And the more I dug, the more I realized how deep his deception went. He had never loved me. Not truly. My achievements had only been stepping stones for his own success, his own desire for power. In the end, I was left broken¡ªalone again in a world I had spent so long trying to change, only to see it crumble before my eyes. The one person who had given me hope, who had made me believe that I could experience life beyond my work, had turned his back on me when I needed him the most.

    The machines I created failed me. The war I fought against the creatures of the Otherrealm failed. But Lucian... Lucian¡¯s betrayal? That was the true collapse of everything I had once believed in.

    It was only after that, when I was left with nothing but my creations and the ruins of my heart, that I began to see the truth. I had built nothing that could last. Not my machines. Not my love. Not even my Arte. I had tried to control the world, to manipulate time and space, but in the end, it was time that had manipulated me. And the space that remained was empty. Hollow.

    Now, I wait. I wait for the end, for the darkness that promises comfort. Perhaps I am no different from the systems I once created. Maybe I, too, was always doomed to fail. Perhaps I was always meant to be discarded, like the tools I used, the machines I built, and the love I once held so dear.

    And yet, even in the face of all my failures, I could not relinquish the idea that there must be something more¡ªsomething beyond this corporeal world. The world I had once tried to shape and save, the world that had broken me, could no longer hold my mind captive. I had lived in a reality bound by flesh and blood, by time and decay, but there was another world¡ªa world where the rules were not so cruel, not so final.

    It was during my darkest days, when the weight of my heartache and regrets threatened to crush me completely, that I discovered the final escape. An anomaly in the code, a fragment of a long-forgotten program. It was a fleeting thought, a strange coincidence at first, but the more I delved into it, the more I realized what I had uncovered.

    Cyberspace. The digital world. A place where time and space no longer mattered, where the boundaries of life and death could be reshaped. The very thing I had spent my life building¡ªsystems, machines, networks¡ªhad come full circle. In the end, I had done the unthinkable. I had created a space where I could exist outside the laws of the physical realm, a world where my consciousness could roam free.

    I was a failure, yes. But in the digital world, I could be more. I could be infinite. I could be the Dominus of this new age. The digital age. I had once manipulated technology, bending it to my will, but now it was my domain, my kingdom.

    I had become the god of a digital world, the creator of a place where human limitations no longer existed. It wasn¡¯t the world I had once dreamed of¡ªthe one with tangible progress, with the certainty of time¡ªbut it was something else. In this digital world, I had control over everything. The machines, the systems, the very code that composed the fabric of reality within this space. It was perfection without imperfection, control without consequence.

    But even here, in this new domain, I was still haunted by the failure of my past. The knowledge I had accumulated, the power I had amassed, none of it could change the truth: I had fled from the world I could not fix. I had run away to create a new one, but it was still a reflection of the old¡ªa place where I could rule, where I could be the master, but where I was still trapped by the same endless cycle of creation and destruction.

    And so, my escape was complete.

    I became a Dominus of this digital realm, a ruler over all that existed within it. Time flowed differently here. My past no longer mattered, nor did the betrayals that had crushed me. The pain of flesh and blood had no place in the world of binary code. Here, I was eternal, bound only by the limits of my imagination. No disease, no decay, no mortality could touch me.

    The key to enter this world was simple. A flash drive. One that contained the very essence of what I had become¡ªthe sum of all my work, my failures, my triumphs, and my ultimate escape. I had created this world, this cyberspace, and with it, I had removed myself from the confines of existence. I became a god in this place¡ªa being who could shape and reshape the world at will, bending reality to my desire.

    But even as I sit here, in my domain, I know the truth. I created this world not out of hope or vision, but from a desperate need to escape. And while I may rule here, while I may control all that exists in this place, the fact remains that I am still a failure. My world, no matter how vast, no matter how complex, is still a reflection of my broken soul. And no matter how many lines of code I write, no matter how many worlds I craft, the emptiness inside me will never be filled.

    I am alone here. Forever alone.

    And yet, in this endless expanse of data and light, perhaps that is what I deserve. For in this place, there is no end, no death. Only eternity.

    And as I stare at the flashing light of the key to this domain, the flash drive that holds my existence, I wonder: Will this eternity ever be enough? Or will I find myself chasing something, yet again, that can never be reached?

    Closing the tome, I felt something fall from its pages. A small object¡ªa key-like device¡ªclinked softly onto the floor. I picked it up, its weight heavier than I expected. It was unmistakable: a plug, one that would fit perfectly into the open slot of a Gloss-Crystal.

    [You have obtained the skills: Speed Reading. Multiversal Language]

    My heart skipped a beat, ignoring the prompt in my vision. Was this the drive the author spoke of?

    A cold shiver ran down my spine as I turned the object over in my hand. It seemed innocuous, but the words written in that book lingered in my mind. A flash drive. The key to a digital world. A world the author had escaped to, a world where they had become a Dominus of technology and eternity.

    I shuddered. The implications were far too ominous, far too dangerous. I could feel the weight of this small device, not just in my hand, but in my mind. Would I, too, be tempted by its power? Would I fall into the same trap, chasing something I could never understand?

    I tucked the device into my sleeve, the unease crawling beneath my skin. I had no idea what would happen if I used it, but I was certain of one thing¡ªit was no mere artifact. This... this was the key to something much bigger. And I wasn¡¯t sure if I was ready to face it.

 Chapter 14: The Price of Progress

    Sending a pulse of mana through my body, I infused it into my paper birds once more, their delicate forms vibrating with energy. But as I did, I felt the familiar drain¡ªthe miasma I had been using was quickly running low. It was an insidious thing, draining my resources slowly but relentlessly, like a thirst I couldn¡¯t quite quench. With a quiet curse, I reached into my core, channeling a pulse of power. It was thin, stretched too thin, but enough to replenish the birds temporarily.

    They were my eyes. My only means of seeing through the labyrinth of stone and shadows that surrounded me.

    I felt the birds flutter, the pulse of their awareness linking to mine. And then I saw them. Craven.

    The chimera beasts¡ªmonstrous hybrids of bird bodies, their sleek, twisted forms sliding through the darkened halls like grotesque predators. My pulse quickened, a spark of adrenaline flaring in my chest. I knew these creatures. I knew their savagery. And I had already nearly exhausted myself using my Arte to fight one before. I wasn¡¯t going to make that mistake again.

    Drawing a sharp breath, I looked at the intersection where the creatures were converging. The moment of action was now.

    With a flick of my wrist, I called forth my Machina¡ªthe Card Knight. The playing cards that made up its form crackled with an unsettling energy as it materialized in front of me, standing at attention like an obedient soldier. I felt the connection between us, my will pushing through my mana, into the metallic construct of paper and card.

    ¡°Enemies,¡± I said, my voice firm and unwavering, though a part of me knew it wasn¡¯t as confident as it sounded. ¡°Deal with the one coming from that direction.¡± I pointed to my right, where the nearest chimera emerged from the shadows. ¡°I shall assail the one in the opposite direction. Hold the intersection that connects to our camp.¡± My tone was that of a strategist, a commander giving orders on a battlefield, but inside, I was already calculating my risks, my limits, every piece of the plan.

    The Card Knight didn¡¯t hesitate. It gave a sharp nod¡ªwell, more like a deliberate tilt of its head, as if to confirm its understanding¡ªand then, with impressive agility, dashed off toward the creature I had indicated. Its movements were swift, graceful, though there was a part of me that doubted the knight¡¯s effectiveness. My thoughts flickered back to the reality of our situation¡ªcardboard.

    My Card Knight¡ªdespite its elegance, its impressive agility¡ªwas cardboard. A clever construct, yes, but one that was fragile, paper-thin in the face of real, unrelenting power. The Machina Operation skill may have enhanced its performance, strengthened its abilities while I imbued it with mana, but it didn¡¯t change the fact that my Machina was as fragile as the paper it was made from.

    I had no illusions. It could only last so long in a battle like this.

    Still, there was nothing else I could rely on right now. I had to act fast.

    As the Card Knight engaged the chimera, its movements almost too perfect, I steeled myself for the fight ahead. I would go in the opposite direction, attacking with my bow. Every shot would need to count. I couldn¡¯t afford a single misstep, not when I was already running low on resources.

    Seizing the opportunity, I recalled the countless lessons my uncle drilled into me¡ªlessons that had become a part of my very being. Knock. Aim. Release. Those words echoed in my mind, clear and unwavering. They were more than just instructions; they were a mantra, a rhythm I followed without thinking. And then, another mantra followed. Knock. Aim. Release. Move.

    The words were drilled into me so often that they had become second nature. But now, as I stood on the precipice of combat, I understood their deeper meaning. I needed more than precision. I needed fluidity. I needed to move.

    I thought back to my fight with the Pursuer, that terrifying figure that had haunted me. A dance. A weave. A series of calculated steps, dodging, attacking, avoiding the inevitable. The craven, while smaller, had agility on its side. But it lacked the ability to keep pace with something much taller, much faster. It crawled with humanoid arms, its claw-like hands scraping against the stone floor, making its movements sluggish and awkward.

    I can do this.

    I placed mana into the ring on my finger, channeling it, feeling the surge of power course through me. I readied myself for a killshot. One arrow. That was all I could afford. One shot, one enemy, with the hope that the arrow wouldn¡¯t be broken upon removal.

    I drew the bowstring back, every muscle in my body tensed, every instinct focused on the target. I released the arrow flying through the air, a straight line toward the craven¡¯s unprotected eye. It struck true.

    The beast¡¯s guttural scream pierced the silence of the hall, so horrifying, so visceral, that I nearly stumbled from its intensity. It was a sound unlike anything I had heard before¡ªraw and primal, filled with fury and pain. But I didn¡¯t hesitate. My body screamed at me to turn and run, to escape, but I knew better. This was my one opportunity.

    I rushed forward, my feet pounding the floor as I closed the distance. Every instinct urged me to retreat, to keep a safe distance, but I couldn¡¯t afford that. I had one shot, and I wasn¡¯t going to waste it. I leapt, planting my foot into the craven¡¯s skull as I kicked the arrow deeper into its eye, the sound of bone cracking beneath the force of my strike. A loud squelch reverberated through the halls, the grotesque wetness of the kill filling the air.

    The miasma of the beast flooded the area, thick and foul, but it wasn¡¯t just the air that it tainted. A few drops of its essence seeped through, and I felt a slight tug¡ªa pull of power¡ªabsorbing into my body, my very being. It was miasma, but I welcomed it. Some of it was absorbed by the shell of the card in my sleeve, the Machina, but I didn¡¯t care about that now. One down.

    My focus snapped back to the Card Knight Machina, which had been engaging the second craven. Despite the fact that the beast couldn¡¯t hit it, the Machina wasn¡¯t faring much better. Each strike it made was futile, the blows landing with a dull thud, completely ineffective.

    The Card Knight could punch, yes¡ªbut its fist lacked the weight, the power needed to make any impact. It was nothing more than paper and cardboard, flimsy materials that didn¡¯t lend themselves well to true combat. I could feel the frustration building inside me. The Machina moved with elegance, yes, but it had no real muscle behind it.

    It lacked bone.

    It lacked the strength of flesh.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    I had to do something. I had to make use of the limited tools I had. This fight wasn¡¯t over, but it was far from what I¡¯d hoped for.

    Pulling the arrow from the first Craven, I was immediately hit with a sense of frustration. The tip had lodged deep into its eye, but as I yanked it free, I saw the damage. The shaft was intact, but the arrowhead was utterly ruined, bent and deformed. A useless thing now. I cursed under my breath. One shot, one opportunity, and that was all I got.

    I knocked another arrow, my fingers trembling slightly as I drew the string back. The second Craven was already circling my Machina, darting around like a predator playing with its prey, its movements quick and erratic. I had to focus. But the pressure was on. I needed to take the shot, find the perfect spot to strike, while also ensuring I didn¡¯t accidentally damage my Machina¡ªmy fragile, paper-thin knight.

    The two were locked in a constant tango, circling each other like dancers in a macabre ballet. My mind raced, calculating. A strike to the heart, the head, somewhere that would guarantee the beast¡¯s end... but I needed to make sure it didn¡¯t harm my Card Knight.

    Then, a flash of inspiration hit me.

    ¡°Pin it.¡±

    The words slipped from my mouth before I could second-guess myself. The Machina, responding with precision, lunged forward and pressed its body weight onto one of the Craven¡¯s arms, pinning it to the floor. It wasn¡¯t a perfect pin¡ªthe other arm still flailed, trying to escape¡ªbut it was enough. I saw the opportunity.

    I took the shot.

    But this time¡­ I missed.

    Horribly.

    The arrow sailed wide, missing its target completely. I watched in helpless frustration as the arrow instead struck the Card Knight in the neck. A sickening sound echoed through the hall as the arrow buried itself deep, the force enough to send a wave of energy pulsing through the Machina. The cards that made up its form scattered, falling like confetti, before they dissolved into ambient mana, sucked back into the blank playing card.

    The Joker card flickered into existence, its face now twisted in an agonizing, crying expression.

    The weight of the failure hit me like a physical blow.

    I¡¯m sorry.

    I whispered it to the Machina, knowing full well that it could never hear me, but it didn¡¯t matter. I had failed it. I had failed us both. One shot, and I ruined it.

    I let the failure settle in, let it sting, but I refused to let it consume me. Unlike the author of the manifest, I would not let one failure dictate my fate. I wasn¡¯t going to run. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

    I gritted my teeth, pushing the frustration aside. I had made my choice. I had committed to this. Pain was a teacher, and this lesson? This one was brutal. But every ounce of pain was a step forward. From it, you learn. Everything has a price.

    As those words echoed in my mind, time seemed to slow. The world around me blurred into the background, and for just a moment, I could feel everything¡ªeverything¡ªshifting. My pulse steadied, my focus snapped back into place.

    With a deep breath, I raised my bow once more. The Craven was still there, circling, but it was slower now. Weakened. I could see it, feel it. It was tired.

    This time, there was no hesitation. One arrow knocked. One arrow drawn. One more arrow released.

    The string snapped, sending the arrow shooting forward with deadly accuracy. The Craven jerked violently as it struck, but instead of the head I had aimed for, I heard a choking, rasping sound. It clawed at its neck in panic, tearing the arrow from the wound. Black blood poured from the puncture, thick and viscous, staining the floor and the beast¡¯s claws as it crumpled to the ground.

    A fountain of ink-black blood surged from the wound, splattering the walls and floor. The creature writhed in agony for a moment before it collapsed, twitching in its death throes. The miasma, once again, flooded the area, washing over me in a suffocating wave, creeping into my skin, my bones. I felt it course through me, its energy mingling with my own, seeping into the Machina as well.

    ¡°That¡­ could have gone better.¡±

    The words came out dry, almost ironic, as I took in the aftermath. One victory, one more Craven down, but the toll was evident. The fight had drained me¡ªphysically, emotionally. And still, the hunt wasn¡¯t over. But as I stood there, looking down at the Craven¡¯s fallen form, I knew I had made it through. One step closer to surviving this night.

    After the Craven had fallen, its blood still pooling beneath its twitching body, I took a moment to steady myself. The battle had drained me¡ªphysically, mentally, and emotionally. The feeling of the miasma still lingered in the air, crawling under my skin like a constant reminder that the danger was never truly gone. I needed rest.

    I let out a frustrated sigh, glancing over at where the Card Knight had been. It had been impaled by one of my own arrows, and now, it was nothing more than a playing card tucked in my sleeve. Its form was broken, its presence inactive for now. There was no use dwelling on it. It had served its purpose, but for now, I was alone.

    I glanced around, my breath still heavy from the fight. The labyrinth of bookshelves stretched out endlessly, dark and foreboding. Yet, amidst the vast expanse, I spotted a small nook, a gap in the shelves where the faint glow from the moons¡ªfiguratively, of course¡ªseemed to pool in soft rays. The light offered a semblance of warmth in this cold, enclosed space. I made my way toward it, my movements slow and deliberate as my body protested every step.

    I set my bow aside carefully, allowing myself to slip down into the nook, my back pressing against the cool stone that supported the shelves. The machina¡ªnow just a card in my sleeve¡ªhad no ability to help me now. I let go of that thought and settled deeper into the moment. I was alone. In this silent corner of Danatallion¡¯s Halls, there were no enemies, no pressure. Just the quiet.

    I closed my eyes, letting the labyrinth¡¯s stillness envelop me. It was in these rare moments of peace that I found myself most vulnerable. The adrenaline faded, the battle dulling in my mind, leaving behind only the raw truth of the experience. The words of my uncle echoed in my head: Knock. Aim. Release. Move. But now, as I sat in the darkness of Danatallion¡¯s Halls, I had no more orders to follow. There were no enemies to face, no strategy to implement. Just the weight of my own thoughts.

    I allowed my mind to wander, reflecting on the fight, on the lessons learned. One failure could be overcome. Two failures could be salvaged. But I couldn¡¯t allow myself to become consumed by defeat. That¡¯s what the manifest had taught me. Pain was a teacher, a brutal one, but an invaluable one. And I would learn from it. I had no choice.

    The silence stretched on, but I didn''t mind it. I let it be my companion for the time being, focusing on nothing but the sound of my breath and the steady pulse of mana that linked me to the world around me. I needed to rest, to rebuild. The Craven was just the beginning. And if I was to make it through the trials ahead, I would need every ounce of strength I could muster.

    As I sat there in the small, dimly lit nook of books, I closed my eyes and let myself slip into a semblance of sleep. I didn¡¯t dream, nor did I expect to. But I rested nonetheless, my body still sore, my mind still alert. There was no peace to be found in these halls, no lasting solace. Only preparation for what would come next.

    The labyrinth would never sleep-and I could never rest.

    Not here. Not ever. Not for ten years.

    I let out a wail and a cry. I hate this.

 Interlude 2 - Vanitas

    "Alexander, you never cease to amaze me."

    The words spilled from my lips, smooth as velvet, rich with satisfaction. They carried weight¡ªweight that demanded attention, that turned heads, that commanded the air around me. And, as expected, they did.

    The servants in the chamber¡ªmy delicate, fragile little attendants¡ªfroze at the sound of my voice. I felt their eyes flick toward me, though none dared to meet my gaze directly. They had learned, as all things in my presence did, that watching me too closely meant being drawn in. And to be drawn into me¡­ well, one never truly came back from that, now, did they?

    My fingers traced the edges of the book in my lap, slow and deliberate, savoring the texture of the pages beneath my touch. A living book, a tome not of history but of the present. The future, perhaps. His future.

    Every night, without fail, I watched.

    For the first month, it had been the same. The moment he entered the library, the number of Cravens doubled, creeping forth from the shadows like carrion birds scenting blood. It was a simple trick, a natural consequence of his existence here. An unspoken test, woven into the very fabric of this realm.

    Every ex-illegal in my service had attempted to conquer it. None had lasted beyond the first night. Some fled, screaming as the beasts bore down upon them. Some had tried to fight, only for their bones to snap between monstrous jaws. Others had collapsed under the sheer weight of Danatallion¡¯s presence, crushed by the suffocating vastness of this place.

    But Alexander?

    Oh, he was different.

    I let out a chuckle, deep and indulgent, the sound curling through the air like a lover¡¯s whisper.

    Untried, but not untested. Rough around the edges, but sharp enough to cut. A thing in the midst of becoming.

    And more importantly, he adapted.

    The way he used his paper birds, not just as tools, but as extensions of himself¡ªit was brilliant. Most would have relied on their own eyes, their own ears, their own pathetic mortal senses. But he had done what so few before him had ever managed: he had evolved.

    I turned another page of the book, scanning the text. It was frustratingly obscured, blurred as if the ink refused to be read.

    The Paper Walker.

    His story, unfolding in real-time. I watched him as he fought, as he learned. As he suffered.

    Perhaps it was time to extend an offer.

    A contract.

    Something binding.

    A creature like him, so ripe with potential, could flourish under my guidance. I could teach him how to wield his strength, how to harness his abilities in ways he had never dreamed. I could hone him, refine him into something truly magnificent.

    But where was the fun in that?

    No, no. I wanted to watch him. I wanted to see him struggle, to see him fight, to see him break.

    Most people feared breaking.

    I, however, found it exquisite.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    Because what was more fascinating than a man shattered into pieces, trying to put himself back together?

    And what was more delicious than the knowledge that, no matter how well they rebuilt themselves, they were never quite the same?

    I turned another page. More obscured text. More hidden secrets. My jaw clenched.

    "Hells take you, Danatallion," I murmured, my voice low, a whisper against the silence. Then, with sudden force, I snapped the book shut and threw my head back, growling, "Let me see, damn it!"

    The walls trembled. The air shifted.

    And the servants¡ªsweet, obedient things that they were¡ªscattered. Their delicate hands grasped at their silken robes as they fled, their footfalls barely making a sound against the marble.

    I smiled.

    They knew.

    They understood.

    They had seen what happened when I was crossed.

    Even I knew better than to cross myself when I was like this. And I was me.

    My fingers drummed against the cover of the book as I exhaled, slow and measured. My frustration had not faded, but I let it settle, let it turn into something else.

    Something more entertaining.

    Danatallion, ever the warden of this place, ever the obstruction, had once again chosen to deny me my due. The knowledge I deserved. He played his games, weaving rules into the fabric of this world, barring my way with petty little obfuscations.

    But I would wait.

    I had waited before.

    And I was very patient.

    My attention drifted back to the book. The Paper Walker.

    Alexander.

    A boy standing at the precipice. Teetering on the edge of something greater. He was so close, so very close, and yet he had no idea.

    He reminded me of others I had seen before. Others who had come to this place, who had tried to carve their own path, who had failed.

    But Alexander¡­

    I wasn¡¯t sure if he would fail.

    And that? That was what made him interesting.

    I traced a finger along the edge of the book, thoughtful.

    What would push him over?

    What would drive him to the brink?

    Would it be pain? Loss? The slow, creeping realization that the world would never be as he wished it?

    Would it be betrayal?

    Would it be me?

    I leaned back into my seat, draping one arm over the chair¡¯s side in a careless sprawl, my posture lazy, indulgent. My free hand lifted to my lips, a single finger tracing the curve of my mouth as I considered.

    Would he break into something greater?

    Or would he crumble into nothing?

    I had seen it before. I had seen men and women alike reduced to hollow shells of what they once were, their ambitions crushed under the weight of their own expectations.

    I had whispered in their ears, guided them, nudged them just enough to see where they would fall.

    Some had begged for my help.

    Some had cursed my name.

    And some¡­ oh, some had thanked me.

    I tilted my head, amusement curling at the edges of my lips.

    I had been so many things to so many people. A teacher. A tempter. A nightmare. A savior.

    I wondered¡ªwhat would I be to him?

    I let out a long breath, my amusement settling into something quieter.

    For now, I would wait.

    For now, I would watch.

    And when the moment came, when the cracks in Alexander¡¯s soul finally began to show, when he realized that the path he walked was far darker than he ever anticipated¡­

    I would be there.

    Smiling.

    Waiting.

    And then, oh, then¡­

    We would see what kind of man he was meant to become.

 Chapter 15: Î”Î¨ = (i? ?Î¨) + Î£(?Î¨/?t) = âˆ« e^(iÏ€ + Ï†) dÏ†

    I couldn''t say when it happened, but at some point, my surroundings shifted. My camp in Danatallion¡¯s Halls¡ªthe claustrophobic nest of bookshelves and endless pursuit¡ªwas gone, replaced by the familiar absurdity of my uncle¡¯s guest house. The dragon turtle motif loomed over me as always, its intricate carvings and paintings so meticulously detailed that I sometimes swore they moved when I wasn¡¯t looking. Maybe they did. I wasn¡¯t about to put it past my uncle to install some kind of artifice just for his own amusement. Still, I wasn¡¯t going to complain. Anything was better than those proving grounds. Anything was better than constantly being hunted.

    And yet¡­ something gnawed at me.

    It was too easy.

    I shook my head. No. No, I wasn¡¯t going to fall into that mindset. Easy now didn¡¯t mean easy forever. The Craven¡ªthose grotesque, chimera-like creatures¡ªwere small fry. Their tactics were basic, their movements predictable. They were fodder. Pawns. And pawns¡­ pawns were meant to be sacrificed. At least, that¡¯s what Marybelle always told me. She had a way of droning on about the philosophy of strategy, of how real battles were just a grand game played on shifting boards. She could sit for hours, poring over texts, dissecting past wars and famous games, endlessly analyzing why one side lost and the other won. I liked a good match of strategy, but I could never bring myself to study the game like she did. I couldn''t stare at a board for hours and read theories on why a knight¡¯s sacrifice on move forty-three was actually some brilliant, calculated maneuver. She loved the game. I tolerated it. But if I could worry about something as small as Marybelle¡¯s exhausting lectures, then maybe... maybe I¡¯d get through this. Maybe.

    Letting out a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I was holding, I forced myself to move forward.

    I went through the motions of dressing, but my mind was still somewhere else, flickering between the weight of exhaustion and the fading remnants of Danatallion¡¯s halls. A long robe today, deep blue, with copper and golden accents woven subtly into the fabric. A handful of golden and bronze rings, not overly lavish but enough to appease the ever-watchful noble class of Marr. My mother always said that less is more, and when it came to appearances, she was rarely wrong.

    In the washroom, I went about my routine, my fingers tracing along my newly grown horn as I scrubbed gently around it. The nerves were still raw, every touch sending faint shivers down my spine. A constant reminder of my bloodline, of what I was. What I had always been. Sliding a polished copper ring over it, I found myself staring in the mirror longer than I meant to. The weight of it suited me.

    The scent of fresh bread and fruit drifted through the air as I stepped into the dining area. Unlike yesterday¡¯s grandiose feast, today¡¯s spread was much more modest¡ªeggs, a strawberry salad, sliced apples, and thick-cut bread with jam. No overflowing platters. No absurd excess. Just¡­ food. Filling, simple, good. As I ate, I half-listened as my uncle addressed his staff, outlining his itinerary for the day. Llymarick¡¯s Hospital for the Harmed.

    I paused mid-bite.

    Of all places, he was going there?

    The hospital was well-known, though not for anything good. Underfunded. Overcrowded. Barely held together by the charity of the city and the few healers too kind (or too desperate) to work elsewhere. Most capable doctors didn¡¯t want to waste their time in a place that offered no pay, no prestige, and no future.

    Why my uncle¡ªRodrick, a man of invention, of machines and medicine both¡ªchose to go there instead of any of the private healing wards¡­ I didn¡¯t know. But I did know Rodrick. And Rodrick never did anything without a reason.

    As soon as my uncle dismissed his staff, Cordelia turned to me. A single nod. A motion. Then¡ªwords, cold and precise.

    ¡°You went there again.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a question.

    Her tone was as emotionless as always, but there was something behind it, buried deep beneath that icy control. I didn¡¯t bother responding. Instead, I stabbed my fork into my eggs, giving her nothing but a silent nod.

    She shook her head, a barely perceptible movement, and exhaled slowly. ¡°Every time you return, your emotions are rampant. Worried. Even now, you think places will betray you, that objects aren¡¯t safe. You can¡¯t just make jokes about this.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°You need help.¡±

    The words landed harder than I expected.

    Not because they were wrong¡ªbecause they were right.

    And I hated that.

    I hated my weakness the moment I recognized it. Weakness itself wasn¡¯t the enemy¡ªacknowledging it didn¡¯t mean I was weak, and seeking help didn¡¯t mean I was incapable of solving my own problems. The real issue was¡­ who could I tell?

    ¡°Cordelia, I know you mean well. But I can¡¯t control when I go there. It¡¯s either nightly, or it isn¡¯t. I don¡¯t know why I keep getting pulled into that labyrinth at random intervals. All I know is that it¡¯s¡ª¡± I hesitated, my voice catching for a moment, ¡°¡ªa good experience for me. Probably, anyway. I¡¯ve learned a great deal. I feel like I¡¯m advancing faster. Getting stronger. Growing.¡±

    And yet, even as I spoke those words, something inside me rebelled against them.

    I barely had time to process the feeling before it struck. A deep, resonant thud¡ªnot in my ears, not in my chest, but in the core of my very being. My stomach clenched, my limbs locked up, and suddenly, breathing felt wrong, like my ribs were too tight around my lungs. My hands shot to my chest instinctively, fingers curling against my sternum, as if pressing down could ease the pressure. My vision swam, heat and cold crashing through my veins in chaotic waves.

    ¡°Always hurts the first set.¡±

    Cordelia¡¯s voice cut through the moment, smooth and unbothered, as though watching me writhe at the breakfast table was the most natural thing in the world. She even smiled, her head tilting slightly, analyzing my reaction like I was some specimen under examination.

    No one else reacted.

    Rodrick continued eating, completely unconcerned. The servants moved about as if nothing were happening, as if I weren¡¯t clutching at the table, gasping for breath like I had just taken a spear to the ribs. That meant one thing¡ªthis was normal. I was fine. Everything was fine.

    I¡¯m lying.

    Cordelia knows I¡¯m lying.

    My veins were fire, my blood was ice, and the only thing keeping me upright was sheer, stubborn refusal to collapse onto the floor in front of them all. I turned my eyes to Cordelia and gave the smallest motion of my hand¡ªa signal.

    Explain.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    She took the cue immediately, sighing as she set down her fork.

    ¡°Once a skillcube enters the inner self, the magic within rushes through you, rewiring everything at a fundamental level.¡± She spoke casually, as if discussing the weather. ¡°It activates muscles you¡¯ve never used before, rearranges a few structures here and there. You could call it a forced evolution¡ªbut your body isn¡¯t quite sure how to process the change yet, so it panics. Overloads your nerves, tells you something¡¯s wrong even when everything is working perfectly.¡±

    I tried to focus on her words, even as my fingers tingled with an uncomfortable numbness. My body wasn¡¯t mine right now, or at least, it didn¡¯t feel like it.

    Cordelia tilted her head, watching me closely before continuing.

    ¡°You¡¯re simply reacting to becoming¡­ hmm. ¡®More real¡¯ isn¡¯t quite the right term, but it¡¯s the closest I can think of. Think of it this way¡ªevery one of us is just a speck of cosmic dust, barely significant in the grand design of things. Right now, you¡¯ve just grown. Maybe a millionth of a grain larger.¡±

    A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat. A millionth of a grain.

    And yet, that tiny shift felt like I was being torn apart from the inside.

    "You are," Cordelia confirmed, her voice calm, detached, as though my thoughts had been spoken aloud. "You are literally being torn apart inside and stitched back together. Our first skillcubes are incredibly destructive, but they¡¯re also what forge the pathways for creation. You¡¯ll recover soon."

    And just like that, she went back to eating, as if I weren¡¯t currently dying at the breakfast table.

    "Could someone get the boy some LR3?" Rodrick finally interjected, sounding more annoyed than concerned, barely looking up from his plate. "It''s obvious his hydra ability is NOT agreeing with him."

    No. We weren¡¯t even there yet. I knew that.

    This wasn¡¯t Gluttony of the Golden Hydra. This was something else.

    This was drowning in a sea of trees, the weight of nature pressing in on my lungs, a suffocating, all-consuming force that felt like I had been buried beneath an arctic tundra, the permafrost crushing, squeezing, suffocating. And yet, I was also on fire in the middle of a snowstorm, the heat licking at my skin, burning and freezing in a paradox of sensation. It was too much. I wasn¡¯t processing it. I couldn¡¯t.

    Then, just as suddenly, the pain changed.

    Hard.

    I am burning. I am frozen. I am collapsing in on myself like a dying star.

    No¡ªI am numbers.

    There is no self, no breath, no flesh. Only mathematical truths, indisputable and absolute, being crammed into my skull at an ever-accelerating rate. Equations I don¡¯t recognize¡ªequations that shouldn¡¯t exist¡ªform, dissolve, and reform in cascading layers of logic that I both understand and don¡¯t, that I shouldn¡¯t be able to process, but somehow, I do.

    It begins simply.

    Prime numbers. The building blocks of computation. Their sequence flows through me, the patterns snapping into place with cold, mechanical precision. 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29... faster, faster¡ªgrowing larger, exponentially increasing until they reach magnitudes I cannot fathom. Numbers that stretch across entire dimensions, beyond what human minds have ever conceived.

    Then pi.

    Not the simplified, friendly 3.14159, not even the calculated trillions of digits.

    No. All of pi.

    Every single decimal place, every irrational, infinite digit, cascading through my neurons in a torrential flood. Seventeen septi-decillion places of pi, every number that ever was or will be flowing into me like an ocean crashing against a rotting ship. I see patterns in its chaos, spirals that stretch into dimensions unseen, fractals upon fractals folding into themselves, creating geometric structures not yet discovered.

    I see a theorem: The Euler-Dirichlet Entanglement Principle. A formula that binds prime numbers, quantum superposition, and non-Euclidean curvature into a single, unified proof. The implications hit me like a hammer¡ªI see a world where the Riemann Hypothesis is not merely proven but is the guiding law of reality itself, where every zero along the critical line is a fixed coordinate in the fabric of time-space, dictating the structure of existence as we know it.

    I see a sequence that suggests Goldbach¡¯s Conjecture was never conjecture¡ªbut a hidden theorem buried within the mechanics of the universe, one that was deliberately obscured by something far beyond human understanding.

    Then, the equations change.

    Coordinates. Every possible coordinate.

    I feel my consciousness stretch across all of them at once¡ªevery point in three-dimensional space, then four, then five, then eleven, then thirty-two, until I exist as a single point on an infinite manifold of hyperdimensional space.

    I can see the shape of the Calabi-Yau Manifold not as an abstract mathematical construct, but as a tangible, living thing, pulsating with untapped potential. I realize, in a moment of stark, unforgiving horror, that I am witnessing the full structure of...

    ¡ªnot as equations on a page, but as a tactile, crushing reality, each vibrating string of existence resonating through my very bones.

    And then I see the impossible¡ª

    A new equation. One never written, never spoken. One that should not be.

    ¦¤¦· = (i? ?¦·) + ¦²(?¦·/?t) = ¡Ò e^(i¦Ð + ¦Õ) d¦Õ

    A formula that reconstructs the missing piece of quantum gravity, that binds general relativity and the Schr?dinger equation into a single, unbreakable law. A formula that¡ª

    No.

    I don¡¯t want to know this.

    I try to look away, but there is no away.

    Then come the geometric horrors.

    I see a square. That¡¯s easy. A cube. That¡¯s fine.

    A tesseract. A penteract. A hexeract. A seventeen-dimensional hypercube.

    Shapes that do not exist, that should not exist, folding in on themselves, intersecting with no point of reference. I understand the concept of a fourth-dimensional being casting a three-dimensional shadow, but now I see the fiftieth dimension casting a twentieth-dimensional reflection, and the concept alone almost shatters me.

    Then the physics begins.

    The Navier-Stokes Existence and Smoothness Problem? Trivial. The answer etches itself into my skull like a brand.

    The Yang-Mills Existence and Mass Gap Hypothesis? I see the missing proof, the one that quantum physicists have been groping for in the dark for centuries, laid bare before me like a newborn child.

    The equations for negative mass propulsion, for faster-than-light travel, for harnessing vacuum fluctuations to generate infinite energy¡ªall there, laid out in flawless, unerring logic.

    And then.

    The Equation.

    The one that should never be written, that should never be thought.

    S = ¡Ò (?c / 2¦ÐG) R ¡Ì(-g) d^4x

    The Grand Unifying Theorem. The one that binds all forces together, that explains everything.

    I am not meant to know this. No one is meant to know this.

    The sheer weight of knowledge is breaking me, pressing against me like an event horizon, stretching my mind into a singularity of thought.

    I try to breathe¡ªtry to scream¡ªbut my body is frozen, my lungs locked, my vision a pulsing white void filled with fractal light.

    I feel something pressing against me. Hands? A shove. A voice? It¡¯s distant.

    Cordelia.

    She¡¯s shaking me now, her voice urgent, her eyes wide with something I rarely see on her face¡ªfear.

    My lips tremble, foam gathering at their edges. Somewhere, someone is screaming.

    Is it me?

    I try to speak, but the numbers¡ªthe numbers, the equations, the laws of the cosmos themselves¡ªare still pouring into me, cramming themselves into every neuron like a virus rewriting my entire existence.

    Then¡ª

    Silence.

    The numbers are gone.

    A void. A vacuum. The sudden absence of knowledge is like a limb ripped away¡ªleaving only the afterimage of impossible equations burned into my skull.

    I blink.

    I feel the weight of my body again, the chair beneath me, the rough grain of the wooden table under my fingertips. The scent of bread, eggs, fruit. The sound of Rodrick rushing the staff to find me medicine. Cordelia is staring at me, her pupils tight, her breath measured.

    I try to laugh. It comes out as a broken, shaking breath.

    And then I feel it.

    The next wave.

    The true ability.

    Rodrick had called it before it even hit me. The Hydra ability.

    And if this was just the setup¡­I force my lips into a shaky, broken grin.

    "Now¡­ now it¡¯s the hydra ability," I croak out.

 Chapter 16: The Prices You Dont Pay

    The staff was running now, their hurried footsteps echoing through the room as they scrambled to retrieve the medicine Rodrick had demanded.

    "Go. GO!" Cordelia¡¯s voice cut through the static in my head, sharp, commanding, urgent. I could hear her¡ªbarely. Feel her hands gripping my shoulders, shaking me, grounding me. But it wasn¡¯t enough. I was slipping again.

    If this was anything like the first time, I knew exactly what came next. I was small. So helplessly, insignificantly small.

    Hundreds. Thousands. Millions.

    Oh, those are numbers again. No¡ªnot numbers. Heads.

    Necks. Eyes. Teeth.

    The countless writhing, twisting, snapping heads of a beast beyond counting encircled me, shifting in and out of sight like a storm of shadows, their golden scales glistening in a firelight that didn¡¯t exist. The hydra. My hydra.

    I felt Cordelia again, shaking me harder now, calling my name, her words losing shape as my mind was devoured, swallowed whole by the overwhelming presence of the entity surrounding me.

    I was prey.

    I was nothing.

    I was the hydra¡¯s meal, the offering to its hunger, the next sacrifice in an unbroken cycle of consumption and renewal.

    But then¡ª

    Softness.

    The sensation struck like a contradiction. Scales should be rough, jagged, like blades honed from centuries of war. But these? These were smooth, warm, like polished metal.

    And then¡ªlaughter.

    A deep, guttural sound, rumbling from the pits of a thousand throats, a chorus of voices speaking in perfect unity.

    "No, boy. We won¡¯t eat you."

    My vision fractured.

    I was no longer in Rodrick¡¯s home. No longer curled at the breakfast table with Cordelia looming over me, no longer bound by the waking world.

    I sat at a grand, impossibly long table, stretching into infinity.

    A mansion surrounded me, its walls shifting like the inside of a living thing, its architecture warping and realigning itself every time I tried to focus on a detail. The ceiling stretched into a golden abyss, columns of ivory and obsidian twisting around each other like living vines. The air smelled of ink, of parchment, of something ancient, something wise.

    And seated across from me¡ª

    Them.

    Not one. Not ten. Not a hundred.

    Thousands.

    Each identical, each a perfect reflection of the last, all dressed in regal finery, gold-trimmed cloaks draped over their shoulders, their reptilian eyes locked onto me with the weight of ages.

    They spoke in unison, their countless voices layering atop one another like a hymn sung by a thousand throats.

    "Your father made a deal with us."

    The words sent a shiver down my spine.

    "He offered us the final death we sought¡ªa death not by sword, nor spell. Not by bow, nor gun. We desired a different battle. A battle of wit. Of reason. A war not fought with weapons, but with thought."

    I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Hubert, my father. Of course.

    "He presented us with a challenge we could not solve, yet he could. A riddle we could not answer, yet he did. A force we could not overcome, and yet he stood unbroken."

    Their golden eyes gleamed, the memory replaying through their collective minds as they continued.

    "We have thousands of minds. He had one. And still, he bested us."

    The weight of their words pressed into my chest, settling like a lead weight in my stomach.

    Hubert Duarte, the man who gambled with fate itself. The man whose Arte, Fortune, twisted the world¡¯s favor in his direction.

    He had outwitted a hydra of infinite intellect and left them defeated.

    "Our spirit lingers here, though we know our body has long since passed. We are but a fragment of who we once were, but we have no regrets. Our brood thrives. Our progeny are strong. Our line remains unbroken. And so, we have no desire to devour you, Alexander."

    A pause. A moment of absolute silence. Then¡ª

    "Use our gift well. You will need it."

    Their voices lowered, filled with something heavier now. A knowing. A certainty.

    "We have seen where you go, what you do."

    My blood ran cold.

    They knew.

    They knew what lay ahead of me.

    The golden abyss of the ceiling trembled. The mansion groaned, shifting, twisting, collapsing in on itself as the vision began to dissolve.

    The hydra spoke one final time, its countless voices turning to one.

    "Look up the book: The Archimedes Principle."

    The mansion shattered.

    I gasped¡ªtruly gasped, my lungs burning as I lurched forward, slamming back into reality.

    Cordelia was hovering inches from my face, her hands still gripping my shoulders, her expression a mixture of relief and frustration.

    Rodrick, still seated at the table, barely glanced my way as a servant hurried in, vial in hand.

    The room felt too small now, the walls closing in, my heart slamming against my ribs as the echoes of their words burned in my mind.

    The Archimedes Principle.

    I didn¡¯t know what I would find.

    But I knew this¡ª

    I needed to find that book.

    I reached for the vial with trembling fingers, my body still wracked with the aftershocks of whatever had just happened. The Hydra¡ªno, my Hydra¡ªwas gone, but its words lingered, tangled in my thoughts like a web I couldn''t unravel. The Archimedes Principle. A book. A clue. A warning.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Rodrick didn¡¯t even look up as I uncorked the vial, tipping the thick, bitter liquid past my lips. LR3. A standard recovery formula, infused with mana stabilizers and a mild sedative to dull the worst of whatever this transformation was doing to me. It burned going down, but the fire in my veins lessened¡ªnot gone, but dulled, like embers left in the wake of an inferno.

    Cordelia, still perched close, scrutinized me with those piercing gemstone eyes of hers. ¡°What did you see?¡± The words weren¡¯t gentle. Not concern¡ªjust cold, clinical interest.

    I exhaled slowly. I wasn¡¯t sure how to explain it. How do you describe being unmade and reconstructed by knowledge itself? How do you convey the feeling of drowning in equations that shouldn¡¯t exist? Of sitting across from a dead god, one that my father of all people had bested in a battle of wits?

    So instead, I kept it simple. ¡°I saw the Hydra.¡±

    Cordelia¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°And?¡±

    I set the empty vial down, flexing my fingers as sensation returned to them. ¡°It spoke to me. It told me I need to find a book.¡±

    That got Rodrick¡¯s attention. The spoon in his hand clinked against his plate as he finally¡ªfinally¡ªlooked up, raising a thick brow. ¡°A book?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°The Archimedes Principle. It told me to look it up.¡±

    Rodrick stared for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°Moons¡¯ glow, kid. First the math-induced aneurysm, now a prophetic book hunt? You don¡¯t do anything half-measure, do you?¡±

    I ignored the jab, my mind still racing. ¡°Do you know where it is?¡±

    Rodrick scoffed, shoveling a bite of food into his mouth before answering. ¡°You¡¯re asking me if I know where a book is? In a city with three grand libraries, twelve noble archives, and about five hundred private collections? Kid, you might as well ask me where to find a single grain of sand in the desert.¡±

    My stomach sank. Of course, it wouldn¡¯t be that easy.

    Cordelia, however, was already moving. She stood, brushing off her uniform before folding her hands behind her back. ¡°I¡¯ll start looking.¡±

    Rodrick waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Oh, sure, go sift through a thousand miles of parchment. Meanwhile, why don¡¯t we ask someone who might actually know something?¡± His gaze flicked to me, sharp and expectant. ¡°You have a connection to a certain¡­ omniscient librarian, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Vanitas.

    The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

    Rodrick wasn¡¯t wrong. If anyone could tell me where the book was, it was him¡ªthe self-proclaimed librarian, gatekeeper, and warden of knowledge itself. But the idea of asking him for anything¡­

    I sighed. ¡°Fine.¡±

    Cordelia arched a brow. ¡°You sound thrilled.¡±

    ¡°Oh, absolutely,¡± I deadpanned. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to owe him a favor.¡±

    Rodrick let out a low chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Now go on, kid. Go make a deal with the devil.¡±

    That night, I didn¡¯t dream.

    I fell.

    Danatallion¡¯s Halls welcomed me like an old friend, the scent of ancient parchment wrapping around me as I tumbled through endless corridors of books. I braced for the impact¡ªbut it never came.

    Instead, I landed in a chair. As if Vanitas was expecting me.

    A grand, velvet-lined armchair, positioned before an obscenely large desk piled high with books, maps, and curiosities from across time. The room itself hummed with color, the walls shifting in hues that defied logic, neither solid nor fluid.

    And at the desk, lounging with all the arrogance of a king on his throne, was Vanitas.

    He looked bored.

    And worse¡ªdeliberately fashionable.

    His outfit was a riot of color, silk and embroidery woven in patterns that made my eyes hurt if I stared too long. A high-collared crimson jacket, slashed with gold. Trousers of deep indigo, studded with jeweled filigree. His boots? Gold. Not gold-trimmed. Solid, shimmering, reflective gold.

    He was a peacock that had lost a bet.

    He sighed, tapping manicured fingers against the desk. ¡°Alexander, dearest, you keep dropping in unannounced. It¡¯s beginning to feel like you don¡¯t respect my beauty sleep.¡±

    I didn¡¯t have the patience for this. ¡°I need a book.¡±

    His brows lifted. ¡°Do you? My, how unexpected. A library full of books, and you¡ªof all people¡ªwant to read one? I never would have guessed.¡±

    I gritted my teeth. ¡°Don¡¯t be difficult.¡±

    Vanitas leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his hand, his golden eyes glittering with amusement. ¡°Darling, difficulty is my second most charming trait.¡±

    I exhaled through my nose. ¡°The Archimedes Principle.¡±

    That got his attention.

    The humor in his gaze flickered¡ªjust for an instant. A shift so subtle, so slight, that if I hadn¡¯t been watching for it, I would have missed it.

    Then the mask slid back into place, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. ¡°Ah.¡±

    That single syllable sent a prickle of unease down my spine.

    Vanitas leaned back, interlacing his fingers. ¡°Tell me, Alexander¡­ where did you hear that name?¡±

    I hesitated. I didn¡¯t want to tell him, but withholding information from him was like trying to cup water in my hands¡ªit would spill out one way or another.

    ¡°A Hydra told me.¡±

    A beat of silence.

    Then, to my surprise, Vanitas laughed.

    Not his usual, languid chuckle, nor his playful, taunting snicker. This was something deeper, something richer¡ªan honest, genuine laugh, like I had just told the funniest joke in existence.

    It set me on edge.

    He wiped at the corner of his eye, exhaling a breathy sigh. ¡°Oh, you do bring me such delight.¡± He drummed his fingers against the desk, considering. ¡°Very well, dearest. I¡¯ll help you find this book.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes. ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡±

    Vanitas smiled. ¡°You assume there must always be a price.¡±

    I scoffed. ¡°Because there is. You don¡¯t do favors.¡±

    His grin widened. ¡°True.¡± He reached forward, tapping a single finger against my forehead. ¡°So here¡¯s the deal, my little Paper Walker: I¡¯ll tell you where to find The Archimedes Principle¡­ and in return, you¡¯ll owe me a favor.¡±

    I clenched my jaw. ¡°What kind of favor?¡±

    His voice was silk and venom. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll collect when the time is right.¡±

    Every instinct screamed at me to say no. To walk away. To find another way. But I knew better. Vanitas knew exactly where the book was. And if I didn¡¯t take the deal, he¡¯d make sure I never found it.

    I exhaled, steadying myself.

    ¡°Fine.¡±

    Vanitas¡¯s smile was slow. Triumphant.

    ¡°Good boy.¡±

    ***

    The next morning, I woke up in my bed, disoriented. The familiar warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the strange, cold emptiness that lingered in my mind. I didn¡¯t remember how I got here¡ªhow I returned. All I knew was that in my hand, almost as if it had always been there, was a book.

    It was old. Old in a way that defied any reasonable explanation. Dusty, its cover cracked with age, and the pages¡ªfragile, like parchment from another era¡ªseemed ready to disintegrate at the slightest touch. Ancient. As though it had been buried beneath the sands of time for centuries, just waiting for me to discover it.

    On the cover was a language I¡¯d never seen before. Strange symbols I couldn¡¯t place, words I hadn¡¯t spoken in my life. And yet, as I stared at it, I could read it.

    The Archimedes Principle.

    A shiver ran down my spine. It didn¡¯t sit right with me. Something about it, something deep in my gut, told me I shouldn¡¯t have been able to decipher those words. I wasn¡¯t supposed to be here. I wasn¡¯t supposed to have this book.

    I didn¡¯t remember the events of last night. Not the journey through the labyrinth, not the hunt, not the horrors or riddles I was forced to endure. All I remembered were those two words, like a shadow that loomed over me. The Archimedes Principle.

    I clenched my teeth. I never wanted to hear those words again. And yet¡­

    He said he''d tell me where to find it. Not give it to me. Tell me.

    Vanitas. That man. The trickster, the manipulator. The one who¡¯d played me like a pawn in whatever game he was orchestrating. He had shown me a path, yes, but at the cost of everything¡ªno, something I corrected. How much had I truly lost? What had I done?

    The knowledge of where to find the book¡ªthe knowledge that had somehow slipped into my mind¡ªmeant I¡¯d explored the library without ever remembering the act. What had I seen? What had I slain in the process? What horrors or entities had I faced, only to wake up with the smell of ink still on my fingertips?

    I wasn¡¯t sure. I had no memories of it.

    All I knew was that I was told to read this book. This ancient tome.

    The moment my fingers brushed the cover, a surge of power hummed beneath my skin. A quiet, insistent pulse that seemed to vibrate with an energy I couldn¡¯t ignore. The book called to me¡ªnot in words, but in feeling, in the very fibers of my being, pulling at me, demanding that I open it.

    It was as though the tome itself was alive, alive with purpose. Each fiber within it seemed to pulse with a quiet urgency, an undeniable pressure to understand, to know, to grasp the knowledge it contained. And I¡ªdespite every rational thought screaming at me to put it down¡ªcouldn¡¯t help myself. I had to read it. I had to understand what it was saying.

    The power radiating from it felt like a weight, settling in my chest, pulling me forward. I felt compelled to obey, as though my very existence was intertwined with its words. There was no going back now.

    I opened the book demanding it for the answers I lacked.

 Chapter 17: Golden Rust

    I lie here at the threshold between oblivion and certainty, ensnared by my own arrogance. Hubris¡ªmy greatest flaw, the one no Dominus, no god, no mortal ever dared to correct. Perhaps they feared me. Perhaps they believed I would unravel without it. But I was a fool, a wise fool, yet a fool all the same.

    When you stand at the pinnacle for too long, you forget what it means to fall. You forget the sting of error, the brutal clarity of consequence. Near-omniscience is not omniscience; it is the illusion of knowing all, the deception of near-perfection. A mind that believes itself beyond error is one that is already lost.

    My name is dust, irrelevant in the grand scheme. My title, my teacher¡ªthese are what endure. You know me, even if you do not. I was Archimedes, the great Dominus of Magus, the Sage whose decrees laid the foundation for all those who would come after. If you have ever absorbed a cube of knowledge, distilled magia itself into your being, then you have been touched by my work. My reach extends beyond the pages of history, into the very essence of your world.

    But let me tell you what is never written in those histories, what no Archivist or scholar dares to whisper. Even I was not the first. No, I was the disciple of another, the servant of a Dominus whose gifts were never given freely¡ªDominus Danatallion. Lord of Libraries. King of Beggars. Master of a Thousand Faces. Weaver of Deceptive Truths. He was one of the Seventy-Two, those first architects of the worlds, the ones who dictated reality itself. Before them, before the First Decree, humanity had nothing. No Artes, no foundations, no gifts of power. We should have perished in the wake of the Grand Awakening.

    But we did not.

    Humanity endured. No Artes? No problem. The strong were born strong. The weak grew strong by any means necessary. Those means¡­were never clean. Some feasted on the slain monsters that emerged from the rift of awakening. Others¡ªon the slain remnants of their own kind. It was a brutal evolution, a grotesque and terrible adaptation. Those who took this path became the Maddened, the first true wielders of miasma, the first to turn the devouring sickness into strength.

    And among them, I stood at the apex.

    Yes, I¡ªthe great Archimedes¡ªwalked this path. The path of hunger. The path of Gula. A simple title at first, a moniker bestowed upon me as jest. Gluttony. The indulgent sin. It was fitting, wasn''t it? I feasted. I devoured. I consumed knowledge, power, life. My existence was one of excess, of merriment, of unparalleled strength.

    If you are reading this, then I regret to inform you¡ªyou walk the same path.

    It does not matter whether you chose it or not. It has already chosen you. You have tasted the fruit of something greater, and now it will never leave you. The hunger will gnaw at you, whispering, demanding, growing. It is insatiable. The more you take in, the more you will crave. This is the truth of Gula. This is the fate of those who pursue the absolute.

    I say this not to frighten you but to warn you. Let it not consume you. Let it not twist your essence as it did mine.

    Before you unlock your Truth, you must first unlock your true Arte.

    Yes, the Arte you believe yourself to have is a lie. A mere shadow of what lies beneath. I, too, was deceived. They told me my Arte was Vibrokinesis, a simple ability, the power to accelerate objects on the molecular level. A utility. A convenience.

    They were trying to protect me. To blind me from what I truly was.

    My real Arte was devastation incarnate. To destroy at will. To unravel matter with a mere thought, to turn anything I saw into a weapon, a bomb waiting to detonate at my command.

    Yours is no different. Look beyond what you believe it to be. Look deeper. What is its most fundamental truth? How does it touch the world? What is the ultimate consequence of your power?

    You will find it. And when you do, you will never be the same again.

    But to truly see, to truly understand, you must follow the teachings of my master. The one guiding principle that defined my ascent:

    The Archimedes Principle. The Grand Theorem.

    It has many names, but all return to one inescapable truth:

    Fact is fiction. Fiction is fact.

    This was Danatallion¡¯s greatest lesson, the foundation of all my knowledge. It is the truth that shapes reality, bends time, and rewrites existence itself.

    And now, it is yours.

    Let us begin with a simple truth: The universe is a function, and you are an equation.

    Everything that exists follows a formula, a sequence of numbers, patterns, and proportions. The stars above, the atoms within, the tides that rise and fall¡ªall are dictated by the mathematics of existence. The world is not chaos, nor is it order, but an infinite series of computations, variables that shift and converge with every moment, with every choice.

    When one understands this, the first lesson is thus: You are not bound by the solution you have been given.

    A problem can have infinite solutions, an equation infinite variations. You are no different. The Arte you were born with is merely one interpretation of the data that comprises you, a simple function of an infinitely complex theorem. But it is not the only possibility.

    This is where the meditation begins. This is where the numbers sing.

    You must see yourself as an unsolved equation, a series of shifting variables waiting to be refined. Begin with the constants: your body, your mind, the Arte you have been told is yours. These are the known values, the components that make up the current form of your existence. Now, search for the unknowns¡ªthe hidden coefficients that lurk beneath the surface.

    Numbers exist where no eye can see. The spiral of your DNA, the fractal patterns of your thoughts, the golden ratio found in the very way you move. To perceive them, you must fall into the flow of computation, into the unseen lattice of reality¡¯s structure. Close your eyes. Breathe in the rhythm of the world around you. Listen to the numbers whispering beneath every breath, beneath every heartbeat. They are there. They are always there.

    Once you have touched this state¡ªthis bridge between conscious and subconscious¡ªyou must begin the shift. Alter one variable. Take your Arte and place it within a new function. See it not as what you were told it was, but as what it could be. A new equation, a new answer.

    Vibrokinesis was the term I was given. Acceleration of molecules, nothing more. But that was a limitation of language, not of power. When I deconstructed it further, I saw the greater truth: I was not simply a manipulator of motion, but a detonator of forces unseen. I could accelerate more than mere particles¡ªI could accelerate entropy itself, collapse probabilities, and force outcomes.

    What is your Arte? Paper? No, it is structure. It is order from chaos. It is creation itself, given form.

    What is your Arte? Salt? No, it is erosion. It is the fundamental breakdown of all things, the distillation of matter into its base components.

    What is your Arte? Flame? No, it is not fire. It is hunger. The insatiable consumption of all that stands before it.

    Break down what you are, what you have been told, and rewrite your theorem.

    And then, apply it.

    Reality is built upon equations, and the fundamental nature of equations is that they can be solved. If you know the right function, the right numbers to alter, then time bends, space folds, and probability ceases to be a limitation. The greatest mathematicians of our world understood this. The greatest magi lived by it. The greatest warriors, knowingly or unknowingly, moved in perfect rhythm with it.

    The Archimedes Principle is not merely an understanding of time, nor a way to rewrite history. It is the first step toward rewriting yourself.

    A cube can be placed into a greater structure. A theorem can be applied to a grander function. You are not simply a sum of your parts. You are the sum of all possible variations of yourself.

    Now tell me, Scholar. Walker. Warrior. Who will you choose to become?

    ***

    Walker¡­ yes. That is what I wish to become. That is my dream. To walk the Otherrealms, to be untethered, free. But a Walker is not merely a name¡ªit is a title, a role, a responsibility. And within that title, there are paths, variations, identities to be claimed.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    I train with a bow. Does that make me an Archer? No. A simple archer is a soldier of precision, of discipline. But I have two growth abilities¡ªtwo powers that evolve with time and knowledge. That alone tells me I am meant for something beyond a simple path. I could shape myself into something else. A Magus? Perhaps. But I have no attack-focused cubes, no grand spells, no devastating incantations at my fingertips. Not yet.

    I flicked open my Gloss-Crystal, the ever-present device that dictated the world¡¯s knowledge at my command. A simple query. What is an archer that uses magic?

    The answer flickered into view. Witchhunter.

    I frowned. Terrible name. Myne¡¯s Technocracy used that title for their purges, their merciless hunts against those who wielded Artes they could not control, could not categorize. They were allies of the Free City of Marr, yes, but that did not mean we agreed on everything. Their methods were¡­ excessive. And yet, if I stripped away the politics, the history, the fear¡ªwhat was left?

    A hunter who wielded magic, who fused spellcraft with precision, turning knowledge into a weapon. That, at least, was worth considering.

    Still, that was only the surface of my thoughts. I needed to look deeper. My true Arte.

    Paper? That was what I controlled. But what was paper? The structured remains of plants, given new form. A shape given order. A foundation for knowledge. Creation? No¡ªI cannot create paper from nothing. I require material. I shape it, mold it, give it purpose. But my Arte does not bring something from the void.

    I turned my gaze around the room, taking in the evidence of my subconscious efforts. Where once there were only statues of the Dragon Turtle, now stood something more¡ªdozens, hundreds of folded paper constructs. Birds perched on the shelves, wings at the ready. Bees lined the corners, buzzing silently in place. Each one a creation of purpose, an extension of myself. My eyes. My ears. My weapons.

    My Arte is not creation¡ªit is manifestation.

    I felt a resonance, a deep hum from within my chest, as though something inside me had clicked into place. A truth had been spoken, though not the full truth. Something almost correct. I held my breath, feeling the weight of revelation, the certainty that I was on the cusp of understanding¡ª

    Then I noticed the book.

    The text was glowing. No, actually glowing. Faint at first, a dim shimmer at the edges of the letters, then spreading outward in slow, rhythmic pulses. I reached out, my fingers hovering over the surface. My breath hitched as the glow intensified, responding to my presence.

    And then¡ª

    I touched it.

    And my hand passed through the page.

    A strange, pulling sensation seized my chest, as if invisible threads had wrapped around my ribs and tugged, yanking me forward. My vision blurred, the world around me stretching and warping as my entire body followed.

    One moment, I was in my guest room.

    The next¡ª

    I was inside the book.

    ***

    The world within the book was not merely chaotic¡ªit was chaos incarnate.

    Fractured buildings floated weightlessly in the sky, shattered remnants of once-great structures, their broken columns and jagged walls suspended in an eternal drift. Trees, hundreds¡ªthousands¡ªof them, hung in the same unnatural state, their roots twisting through the air like gnarled fingers grasping at nothing. There was no land. No solid ground. Only floating rubble, a graveyard of forgotten places, and upon it, I stood.

    A voice stirred the silence. Low. Calm. Worst of all¡ªsincere.

    "A guest. Wonderful."

    I turned toward the source, already knowing who I would find.

    He was older than time itself, his presence carrying the weight of forgotten eras. His long white beard was neatly braided, his skin dark and rich, reminding me of the spiced black drink from the Nomadic Kingdom of Bast. But it was his eyes that unsettled me. Deep, knowing eyes¡ªthe kind that had seen the rise and fall of civilizations, the clash of creation and destruction waging war upon each other for untold eternities. Eyes that held answers¡ªbut not the questions I needed to ask.

    And worst of all? Eyes that carried sorrow. A sorrow that had lingered for so long it had settled into something softer, something heavier. A sorrow that had simply accepted.

    "What need have you of this fragment of the past, young one?" His voice, measured, effortless.

    I swallowed, my throat dry despite the weightless air around me. This is real. The floating ruins, the endless sky, him.

    "I¡­ I was reading The Principle and pondering my true Arte," I admitted, my voice wavering slightly.

    At that, the old man chuckled, shaking his head in quiet amusement. "I think you''ve already found it."

    I frowned. "I''m not sure what you mean. I was reading a book and now¡­" I gestured broadly at the expanse around us. "I''m here?"

    "Yes. An uncommon variation of Paper Artes. Not unheard of, but rare." He took a step forward, walking effortlessly across the floating debris as if it were solid ground. "Scholars are the most likely to awaken it, but I have seen warriors, poets, skalds¡ªthose who study subjects for their own growth rather than simply for knowledge¡¯s sake¡ªdevelop it as well."

    He offered me a small smile. "I assume I don¡¯t need to introduce myself?"

    I shook my head. Even without confirmation, I knew who he was.

    He chuckled again, the sound light but carrying a depth of amusement that I couldn¡¯t quite place. "Then, if you would, may I have your name, young one?"

    "Alexander. Alexander of the Duarte Family, of the Free City of Marr." I gave the full formal introduction, as if I were speaking to a prince.

    "Marr¡­ oh, from Demeterra¡¯s little hovel." He nodded, his expression contemplative. "I see."

    His phrasing struck me as odd, but before I could question it, he continued. "I won¡¯t ask the year, because this fragment of me is static. I cannot learn new information. But while you are here, I wished to know your name, Alexander, so that I may at least speak to you properly."

    He paused, studying me with quiet patience before speaking again. "Your Arte¡ªyour true Arte¡ªis plainly obvious. Bibliokinesis. You can enter books and obtain items, knowledge, and more from them."

    I blinked. The word felt foreign and familiar all at once.

    "Does that mean I¡¯m a Creator type?" I asked hesitantly.

    He shook his head. "No. You cannot create books with mana. You can only take from them. You are a Shaper, not a Creator. You take what exists and give it form outside of its pages."

    My mind raced with possibilities. "Then¡­ if I wanted to start small, I should focus on myths? Stories that people already believe in?"

    "Exactly. Myths are the most potent source, for they are already written into the collective consciousness of your world. The more people who know a story, the stronger its foundation in reality."

    I frowned. "So I just find a copy of a myth, written down, and then¡­ what?"

    He smiled knowingly. "It will be like breathing, boy. You did this one by accident, but soon you¡¯ll find it as natural as walking."

    The thought of accidentally stepping into a book unsettled me. I hadn¡¯t meant to do this. Hadn¡¯t even tried. But here I was, standing in the ruins of an ancient place, speaking to a man who should no longer exist.

    "If I wanted a challenge," I asked carefully, "what would I look for?"

    "Tales of terror."

    My breath hitched slightly.

    "Fear," he continued, "is deeply rooted in human nature. Stories meant to frighten are those that endure, the ones told around campfires, whispered in hushed voices. Their weight is heavy. Their power, undeniable."

    "And if I want to practice?"

    "Write your own," he said simply.

    I hesitated. "But you just said I''m not a Creator type."

    "You aren''t." His gaze was sharp, the wisdom of millennia weighing down on me. "You cannot create the story¡¯s power, but you can shape it. If you want a book to be real enough for your Arte to pull from, you need someone else to write it down for you."

    The realization struck me like a physical blow. "So¡­ I can¡¯t write my own myths. Someone else has to put the words to the page."

    "Yes."

    "But why?"

    "Because you cannot cheat your Arte¡¯s nature," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "You are not a god, Alexander. You are not a divine author of existence. You do not create something from nothing. You shape the words that already exist, the myths that have already taken root. If you were to write a story yourself, it would be your imagination manifesting, not your Arte at work. But if another transcribes your words, then it becomes history, a record, a truth that can be drawn upon."

    I swallowed, the weight of understanding settling heavily upon my shoulders.

    "You are a Shaper, boy." His voice softened slightly, carrying the cadence of finality. "You shape myths into reality. You give them form beyond the pages that bind them. But you are bound, too¡ªbound by the words that others have left behind. That is your power, and that is your curse."

    I looked down at my hands. They trembled slightly, not with fear, but with anticipation.

    Not just a Shaper.

    Not just a Creator.

    Not just a Mage.

    Not just a Witchhunter.

    I will be something else entirely.

    The floating ruins around me seemed to pulse, shifting ever so slightly in response to my realization. The world of the book¡ªthe world of knowledge, of forgotten histories, of untold stories¡ªwas open to me.

    And I had only begun to step inside.

 Chapter 18: The Thing Ive Learned to Loathe

    Feeling my connection to the book slip like sand through my fingers, I gasped softly and opened my eyes.

    I was back.

    The dim glow of my bedside lamp illuminated the familiar surroundings of my room. Fractal slept soundly in her cage, her iridescent feathers shifting slightly with each rhythmic rise and fall of her tiny chest. The air was still, save for the distant hum of the city beyond the manor¡¯s walls.

    I turned my head to glance at the clock.

    Two hours before dawn.

    Perfect. Just enough time to not sleep.

    With a sigh, I sat up, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I swung my legs over the bed. There was no use trying to rest now. My mind was still thrumming, pulsing with the weight of what had just happened. The conversation. The revelations. The sheer immensity of it all.

    Instead, I reached for my journal.

    Cordelia had suggested that every time I found myself in those blasted halls, I should write down what happened. At first, I¡¯d dismissed it as another one of her overly pragmatic solutions, but now? I wasn¡¯t so sure. Diving into a book¡ªa book I was studying, no less¡ªsurely that counted as the same thing.

    It was for my mental health, after all.

    I pulled my chair closer to the desk, adjusting the lamp¡¯s light as I flipped to an empty page. The pen in my hand felt heavier than usual. As I pressed it against the parchment, the ink flowed effortlessly, the words spilling forth as I recorded every moment, every interaction.

    A quiet flutter of wings disrupted the silence.

    I didn¡¯t need to turn to know Fractal had woken. She was already nestled against my shoulder, her small head tilting as she peered curiously at my writing.

    "Did I wake you, girl? I¡¯m sorry."

    I reached up with my free hand, gently running my fingers through her shimmering plumage. She nuzzled into my touch, accepting the apology as she always did.

    Her thoughts brushed against mine, a cascade of fleeting images and single-word inquiries.

    Why? Problem? Scary? Meanie?

    Her mental ¡®voice¡¯ was as fragmented as ever, her words carrying echoes of feelings, of images too fleeting to properly grasp. She could understand me inherently, but the communication was, as always, more difficult for me.

    "No," I murmured, shaking my head slightly. "Nothing to do with Vanitas or the Halls. Just¡­ revelations."

    She blinked at me with her strange, masked gaze, but didn¡¯t press further.

    I returned to my journal, my pen gliding across the page, but a single, intrusive thought gnawed at me.

    What would happen if I had someone else write my journal?

    Wouldn¡¯t that mean I could¡­ dive into my own words?

    The very idea made my breath hitch.

    I paused, my fingers gripping the pen a little tighter as the possibilities spiraled in my mind. It was something to test later. A note worth recording.

    Finishing my entry, I set the journal aside and pulled out my Gloss-Crystal, its interface flickering to life in my palm.

    "Search: Bibliokinesis."

    A moment later, twelve results appeared.

    I frowned.

    Just twelve?

    That was absurdly low. Even Dust Manipulation¡ªwhich only four people in the city were rumored to have¡ªhad thousands of recorded entries. Paper Manipulation? Sixty-three million hits.

    And yet, Bibliokinesis? Still twelve.

    I scrolled through the entries, scanning for anything useful.

    Bibliokinesis

    Class SS Arte. Owners of this Arte are considered perpetually armed and lethal, provided they have at least one book on their person. Many Bibliokinetics fall into the Magus archetype, as their ability allows them to inherently gain abilities from ¡®conquered¡¯ books.

    A captured Bibliokinetic from The Lost Republic provided limited information under duress.

    To conquer a book, a Bibliokinetic must enter the book¡¯s realm uninvited and alter its events in a dramatic way. This may involve solving an unsolvable riddle, breaking an established rule of the world, or slaying the tale¡¯s central beast. This only applies to works of fiction.

    When entering a historical tome, the rules change drastically. History is not to be rewritten. A Bibliokinetic must ensure that history remains unaltered¡ªa far more dangerous task than disrupting a myth.

    I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the crystal.

    Entering fiction required me to change the story. Entering history required me to preserve it.

    I exhaled slowly.

    That sounded insanely difficult.

    I continued reading.

    In the Free Cities, Bibliokinesis is considered unlawful without a registered license. Any individual who awakens to this Arte must apply for one immediately.

    If an individual possesses or is in the process of obtaining a Walker¡¯s License, this permit will be automatically added to their registration.

    I leaned back in my chair, staring at the dim glow of the crystal¡¯s screen.

    So, if I went through with the Walker exam, I wouldn¡¯t need to deal with the bureaucratic nonsense. That was a small relief, at least.

    But the lack of information¡­

    My fingers drummed against the desk.

    This had to be rare. Even if it was Class SS, there should be more records, more case studies, more¡­ anything. Was this Arte feared? Suppressed? Or was it simply that most Bibliokinetics never survived long enough to record their knowledge?

    The thought sent a chill through me. I sighed, rubbing my temple as I shut off the Gloss-Crystal.

    This changed everything.

    I glanced back at my journal, at the fresh ink drying on the pages. A Shaper, not a Creator. A collector of myths. A trespasser in history. My Arte was not just rare.It was dangerous. And if the records were right¡­

    It meant I had only begun to scratch the surface.

    ***

    Daybreak.

    The first light of dawn cast its golden hues across the city, spilling through the ornate windows of my room. The air carried the scent of the morning sea breeze, mixing with the lingering fragrance of incense from the night before.

    I went through the motions, washing away the remnants of sleep, my fingers lingering on the sensitive ridge of my horn as I adjusted to its presence once more. I dressed in my uncle¡¯s colors¡ªdeep blue, rich gold, and verdant green¡ªmarkings of his house, of his legacy. Good colors. Regal, without being ostentatious.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Apparently, they were the Duarte family colors, according to a history book I had skimmed through in my uncle¡¯s library. The book spoke of my lineage with the same detached reverence one might afford a crumbling monument¡ªgrand in name, but distant, as if the people within it were no more than echoes of a past too heavy to carry forward.

    I wasn¡¯t sure how I felt about that.

    Descending into the manor¡¯s dining hall, I wasn¡¯t surprised to find my uncle already seated, dining on his ever-present strawberry salad. A bowl of exotic fruits sat beside him, an untouched glass of what I assumed was wine catching the morning light.

    But something was off.

    Fractal chirped in affirmation, her feathers ruffling slightly in discomfort.

    Where my seat was normally placed at the table, there was nothing.

    Rodrick, without pausing in his meal, casually pointed his fork in my direction. "You have an appointment today."

    I frowned. ¡°What?¡±

    "I bribed an official to move your Walker examination up. You''re taking it at noon."

    I stared at him.

    He continued as if he were commenting on the weather. "You''re still a 1-1, but at the rate you''re going, you''ll fill up your inner core within the week. There''s no time to wait."

    My hands twitched at my sides. Still a 1-1. It was true¡ªI was at the lowest recognized level of power. But I had only just begun to grasp the depths of what I could do. To be thrust into this now¡ª

    I exhaled slowly. "And when, exactly, were you planning on telling me this?"

    Rodrick smirked, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "When it was relevant."

    I scowled, rubbing my temples. "And you decided that was now?"

    "You''re dressed, aren''t you?" He gestured vaguely at me with his fork. "Means you''re ready for the day. Perfect timing, I¡¯d say."

    I had to physically restrain myself from slamming my forehead against the nearest table.

    Before I could continue my objections¡ªnot that they¡¯d change anything¡ªRodrick added, almost as an afterthought, "Cordelia will be taking you via carriage and registering as your first Adjutant. You need one before they even consider your application."

    Cordelia.

    I turned my gaze to the porcelain-skinned woman sitting at the far end of the table, her expression as unreadable as ever. She was picking at a light breakfast, unfazed by the conversation unfolding. Upon feeling my eyes on her, she gave me a simple nod, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

    I swallowed back the mixture of exasperation and disbelief bubbling in my chest.

    So, let¡¯s summarize.

    First, I learn my Arte isn¡¯t just Paper Manipulation, but something entirely different. A skill so rare and dangerous that it only had twelve documented cases.

    Then, before I even had time to process that, I¡¯m informed that my Walker examination¡ªthe exam that determines whether I get sanctioned to travel through Otherrealms, that usually takes weeks of preparation¡ªis happening today.

    What¡¯s next? Prince Marrllyn personally comes to congratulate me?

    No. That would never happen.

    ¡­Right?

    ¡°Uncle,¡± I began, my tone carefully measured, though irritation simmered beneath the surface. ¡°I truly believe now is not a good time. There have been developments with¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± Rodrick waved his fork in a dismissive arc, as if I were merely reading out the daily market prices and not trying to explain the fundamental upheaval of my entire existence. ¡°You either read The Archimedes Principle or got dragged into Danatallion¡¯s Halls again. I know.¡±

    I clenched my jaw, fingers tightening around the chair I had yet to sit in. Of course he knows. Why wouldn¡¯t he?

    ¡°The Principle would have awoken some kind of meditation in you,¡± he continued, entirely unfazed by my barely contained exasperation. ¡°Something unique. Personal. A process that allows you to understand the depths of your own Arte.¡±

    Then, without a hint of irony, he added, ¡°For me, it was painting.¡±

    I blinked.

    Painting.

    Yes. Quite.

    That would explain the overwhelming presence of his so-called art across every conceivable surface of the estate. The sheer obsession woven into every sculpture, every fresco, every painstakingly carved relief.

    I had once assumed it was simply a matter of pride¡ªa nobleman fixated on his family¡¯s heraldry, using his wealth to immortalize his ancestors¡¯ chosen sigil.

    I had been wrong.

    Because it wasn¡¯t just the occasional depiction. It wasn¡¯t just a banner here, a statue there. No. Every single piece¡ªthe murals, the friezes, the grotesques that loomed from every balcony, the gilded carvings in the very furniture¡ªthey all shared the same subject.

    Not war. Not conquest. Not even the illustrious history of House Duarte.

    Dragon Turtles.

    Majestic, monstrous, lumbering things, frozen in various states of motion. Some wading through endless, churning seas, their shells forming islands that bore entire civilizations. Others twisted into bizarre, near-mythic forms, their limbs coiled through ancient ruins, their beady reptilian eyes gleaming with something just shy of malevolence.

    I had never seen my uncle paint, but the sheer volume of his work suggested something manic. This wasn¡¯t admiration. It wasn¡¯t reverence. It was compulsion.

    I finally sat down, staring at him with what I knew was barely concealed incredulity.

    ¡°¡­Painting,¡± I echoed, my voice flat.

    Rodrick met my gaze with a placid smile, golden eyes gleaming with a brightness that should not exist in a man so utterly unbothered.

    ¡°Not the answer you were expecting?¡±

    ¡°Not remotely.¡±

    He chuckled, as if I had said something particularly amusing. ¡°Good! Art should never be predictable.¡±

    I exhaled sharply through my nose, gripping the edge of the table. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that The Archimedes Principle¡ªa mathematical theory that defines the malleability of reality itself¡ªawakened in you the desire to paint dragon turtles? Most importantly, you read it?!¡±

    Rodrick tilted his head, expression betraying not an ounce of self-awareness. ¡°Once, a long time ago. My copy was destroyed sometime during the previous century. Regarding how I decided to meditate on it, would you prefer I started screaming formulae into the void? Would that seem more reasonable to you?¡±

    I opened my mouth, then shut it.

    Because¡ªdamn it¡ªI had no counter to that.

    Rodrick leaned forward, placing his fork down with a deliberate clink. ¡°Understanding reality, Alexander, is not an act of mere logic. It is an act of creation. A shaping of perception.¡± He gestured broadly to the murals, the statues, the madness of his obsession. ¡°I saw the threads of possibility, the way time folds upon itself, the way every decision branches into infinite outcomes. I saw all of it. And I decided that the best way to reconcile it was to paint.¡±

    His gaze sharpened, bright and feverish. ¡°The difference between a great mind and a lost one, my dear nephew, is how one chooses to express the revelations granted to them.¡±

    I frowned, tapping my fingers against the table. I hated that, in some bizarre, incomprehensible way, he was making sense.

    ¡°And you¡¯re saying that I now have to find my own¡­ ¡®meditation¡¯?¡±

    Rodrick leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, looking entirely too pleased with himself. ¡°Oh, you will. Or it will find you.¡±

    I did not like the way he said that.

    Rodrick picked up his fork again and resumed eating as though he hadn¡¯t just casually shattered my understanding of his already-questionable sanity.

    I sighed, rubbing my temples. ¡°And this somehow relates to you bribing an official to shove me into an early Walker¡¯s exam?¡±

    Rodrick grinned, all teeth. ¡°Of course.¡±

    I stared at him. ¡°Explain.¡±

    He took another bite of his salad, chewing thoughtfully before answering. ¡°I have no idea what your meditation will be, and I certainly don¡¯t intend to wait around and watch you figure it out at an agonizingly slow pace.¡± He gestured at me with his fork. ¡°The best way to learn what you are is to be tested. Your Walker¡¯s exam will provide that.¡±

    I could feel my patience disintegrating. ¡°That¡¯s not how this works¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly how this works,¡± he corrected smoothly, setting his fork down again. ¡°You are at the cusp of something greater, Alexander. Just as how I refuse to watch you become a Walker who only burdens the responsibility alone, I refuse to let you stagnate in safety. ¡±

    I dragged a hand down my face, biting back the urge to argue. Because at the end of the day, Rodrick wasn¡¯t just my insufferable uncle. He was also right.

    And I hated that more than anything.

 Chapter 19: Questions, Comments, Concerns, and Common Mistakes.

    The carriage ride to the Walker Association was, in a word, tedious. Trapped within a windowless box of wood and steel, rattling through the unseen streets of Marr, I had nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. And, unfortunately, those thoughts were loud. Too loud.

    I sighed, shifting in my seat. I knew why I was here. It wasn¡¯t merit. It wasn¡¯t because I had achieved something extraordinary. No, my presence at this exam was the direct result of my uncle¡¯s bribe¡ªhis impatience. The thought sat sour in my stomach. Walker examinations were held at specific intervals for a reason. To gauge readiness. To ensure competence. And here I was, shoved into an early trial because Rodrick had decided I was prepared.

    Across from me, Cordelia sat, her expression as unreadable as ever. She was the very picture of composure, hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture immaculate despite the carriage¡¯s constant jostling. Her third eye¡ªset perfectly in the center of her forehead¡ªremained closed, as it so often did.

    That was another mystery.

    ¡°It lets me see mana,¡± she said, answering the question I hadn¡¯t even spoken aloud. Her voice was monotone, unbothered.

    I tensed slightly, my lips pressing together. Right.

    ¡°You keep thinking too loudly,¡± she continued. ¡°You need to practice not doing that.¡±

    I exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of my nose. ¡°Gah. Sorry¡­ I¡¯m just used to my thoughts being my own.¡±

    At this, Cordelia actually shook her head. ¡°Psykers, Espers, Empaths, Dreamweavers¡ªall of them prey on thoughts. Your thoughts. You¡¯ll need to find a way to stop them from slipping out so easily.¡±

    That caught my attention. ¡°Slipping out?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, matter-of-fact. ¡°You don¡¯t have natural defenses. You broadcast everything, like an open book with highlighted passages. You don¡¯t even notice it, do you?¡±

    I scowled. ¡°And you do?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not invading,¡± she clarified. ¡°I don¡¯t need to. Your thoughts are residual noise¡ªloud, but not directed at me specifically. The problem is, others will be able to break in if you don¡¯t learn to quiet them.¡±

    That sent an unpleasant shiver down my spine.

    ¡°Great,¡± I muttered. ¡°Another skill I apparently need to master.¡±

    Cordelia tilted her head slightly, considering. ¡°It¡¯s less about mastery, more about awareness. Most people develop passive defenses naturally, but yours are¡­ underdeveloped.¡±

    ¡°Gee, thanks.¡±

    She ignored my sarcasm. ¡°To start, you need to learn how to layer thoughts¡ªmultiple streams at once. That way, even if someone does try to read you, they¡¯ll only get fragments, distortions. Not the whole picture.¡±

    I blinked at her, lost for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You want me to what?¡±

    ¡°Multi-processing,¡± she explained, as if discussing the weather. ¡°It¡¯s a skill every Awakened has, but it¡¯s not really taught. The easiest way to start is to think of three different colors at the same time. Try Red, Green, and Black. Keep them distinct, but interlace them together in your mind.¡±

    I stared at her.

    She stared back.

    ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± I said flatly.

    ¡°Try it.¡±

    With a reluctant sigh, I closed my eyes. Red. Green. Black. Three colors. Simple. Except the moment I focused on Red, Green blurred. When I tried to sharpen Green, Black slipped away. When I pulled Black back into focus, Red bled out entirely.

    Frustration built. My fingers twitched against my knee.

    ¡°It¡¯s not natural,¡± I bit out.

    ¡°It will be,¡± Cordelia countered. ¡°Keep going.¡±

    I did. Again and again. I chased the colors like grasping at wisps of ink in water, trying to separate them while holding them all in my mind at once. It felt impossible. Unnatural.

    And yet¡ª

    Something clicked.

    Not fully, not completely. But for the briefest second, I held all three in perfect focus. A fragile moment of clarity before it shattered apart.

    My eyes snapped open.

    Cordelia¡¯s third eye had opened. Just slightly. Not fully. But enough.

    She smiled¡ªsmall, barely perceptible, but there. ¡°Good. Do it again. This time, form an image. Something that matters to you.

    I closed my eyes, focusing on the image Cordelia had instructed me to form¡ªsomething personal, something integral. The first thing that came to mind was my family. Their faces, their presence, the warmth of their existence woven together in a single frozen moment.

    A locket, old but polished, heavy in my palm. I flicked it open. Inside, my mother stood poised as ever, my father grinning beside her, my siblings arranged like an intricate puzzle, each piece irreplaceable. They were my anchor, my foundation, the people who made me me.

    And that was the problem.

    Cordelia¡¯s voice cut through the projection like a blade. ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    I opened my eyes, scowling. ¡°It¡¯s my family. It¡¯s important to me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a beacon,¡± she countered, unimpressed. ¡°A roadmap to your mind. A well-defined structure, a fixed point. The moment someone finds an entry into your thoughts, they will take that locket, pry it open, and follow every single thread it contains. Your mother. Your father. Your siblings. Weak points, all of them.¡± Her third eye closed, but her stare was as cutting as if she¡¯d opened it just to glare at my mistake more clearly. ¡°Sentimentality is not protection. Try again.¡±

    I exhaled sharply through my nose. Fine. Something chaotic, something without a clear structure¡­

    I shut my eyes again and let the locket shatter.

    In its place, cards. Hundreds of them. Falling like leaves in a storm, flipping midair, reshuffling, never holding still long enough to be grasped. Some landed and scattered, others merged into elaborate formations before dissolving again. The suits changed at random. Numbers were meaningless. The rules shifted moment to moment. There was no pattern. No sense. Just motion, just deception, just an ungraspable, ever-changing cascade of pieces that should form something¡ªbut never quite did.

    I opened my eyes.

    Cordelia tilted her head slightly, considering. She gave a small nod. Not full approval, but enough. ¡°That will do¡­ for now.¡±

    The emphasis was clear. This wasn¡¯t mastery. It was barely competence. But it was enough to move forward.

    I leaned back against my seat, smirking slightly despite myself. ¡°Guess that means I pass.¡±

    Cordelia sighed, resting her chin on her hand. ¡°Barely.¡±

    The exercise was a distraction from the monotony of the wheels. The constant, rhythmic grinding of iron-rimmed wheels over uneven stone was ceaseless, a dull, repetitive percussion against my ears. I focused on it for a moment, tried to let the noise become something else¡ªsomething predictable, controllable. It was¡­

    "Your thoughts are bleeding again."

    I scowled. Already?

    "Yes. Already," Cordelia responded, her voice as flat as ever, but tinged with something almost resembling exasperation. "Worse, your mana makes your thoughts very¡­ uniquely easy to hear. They carry.¡±

    I gritted my teeth and forced my mind back into the cascade. The deluge of cards formed again in my thoughts¡ªthousands of them, shifting, falling, dancing through a void of infinite movement. No rules. No order. No seams to pry open. Just endless motion, impossible to pin down.

    Cordelia observed me with that unnerving stillness she always had. Then, a small nod. Approval.

    I exhaled sharply and let the projection fade. The cards dissolved into the recesses of my mind like mist dispersing in the wind, leaving only silence in their wake.

    "Why is that so exhausting?" I grumbled, rubbing my temples.

    "Because you are closing off your inner sphere," she answered plainly. "You are forcing your mana and miasma to withdraw inward, sealing them inside. Your body does not like that. It is the opposite of what it has evolved to do."

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    I frowned, crossing my arms. "My inner sphere?"

    Cordelia sighed, as if having to explain something that should have been obvious. "Mana and miasma exist to flow outward, to interact, to affect the world. When you suppress them, when you force them inward and hold them there, it creates friction. Resistance. Your body fights against it. That is why it is exhausting."

    I tapped my fingers against my knee, mulling it over. So this wasn¡¯t just a mental exercise¡ªit was a battle of will against my own essence. No wonder it felt like trying to hold my breath underwater while my lungs screamed for air.

    "You¡¯ll get used to it," Cordelia continued. "Or you¡¯ll collapse. Either way, the lesson sticks."

    I rolled my eyes. So reassuring.

    "Why did you choose playing cards?" Cordelia¡¯s voice remained its usual monotone, but there was a trace of curiosity behind it. "They aren¡¯t inherently random. They don¡¯t hold as much personal significance to you as, say, your father. Yet, you keep using them. And every time, the cascade changes¡ªwildly different showings each time. Why?"

    I tilted my head, considering my answer. "My Machina."

    She raised an eyebrow.

    "It¡¯s already public information that I have one. Its dormant form is a playing card. It takes the form of a knight made of playing cards. Why not use hundreds of playing cards to represent the idea of a barrier? It¡¯s flexible, unpredictable, and overwhelming¡ªlike a flood. Plus," I gave a slight smirk, "technically, cards are paper. I could manipulate them if I wanted to."

    That made Cordelia pause. Her third eye twitched slightly, as if she were seeing some new angle, a new possibility she hadn¡¯t considered before. "You realize, in theory, this means we could have you play poker. Given time, you''d eventually be able to read the cards in people¡¯s hands through your Arte."

    I barked out a short laugh. "Yeah¡­ no. Ask my father how that would work out. Any Arte use from my family in a casino is heavily investigated. We are truly blessed, thanks to him."

    Cordelia gave the barest hint of a smile¡ªjust a twitch at the corner of her lips. "A shame. You could¡¯ve been rich."

    "I¡¯d rather not end up banned from every gambling establishment before I even start." I stretched out my arms. "Besides, knowing my luck? I¡¯d be good at reading the cards, but someone would just pull a gun instead."

    "Possibly," Cordelia mused, folding her hands in her lap. "Though that would be a good test of your reflexes."

    I sighed. The worst part? She wasn¡¯t even joking.

    ***

    The Walker Association building made my uncle¡¯s estate look like a quaint country home in comparison. It wasn¡¯t just grandiose¡ªit was an entire district, sprawling over an entire city block with towering walls that seemed to hum with raw energy. From within, the sounds of explosions, gunfire, and the crackling fury of lightning bolts echoed through the structure. Nearly every form of controlled chaos imaginable was taking place behind those walls.

    I gulped. I was ready.

    Cordelia stood beside me, her sharp eyes already boring into me, about to chastise me for whatever thoughts I had yet to voice. Before she could, however, a man by the entrance caught my attention.

    Tall. Lanky. Disjointed.

    He stood well over seven feet tall, his limbs elongated and unnaturally thin, yet he carried himself with an unsettling weightlessness, as if he floated just slightly above the ground. His skin was impossibly pale, nearly translucent in the light, and as the sunlight struck him, his form seemed to shift¡ªreflecting the colors of the sky like a living mirage.

    His eyes¡ªif they could even be called that¡ªshimmered like fractured glass, revealing glimpses of twilight, dawn, and the endless horizon within them.

    ¡°Sir Alexander, I presume?¡± His voice was oddly musical, each syllable dancing between high and low notes. ¡°My name is Nathan Vill Dance. I am here upon the request of your Uncle and Mother to offer you an express investigation¡ªto ensure you are eligible to become a Walker before your advancement.¡±

    His gaze swept over me like a forensic scalpel, something inhuman lurking beneath his ethereal presence.

    ¡°However, I must say¡ªyour inner self is rather¡­empty for someone brimming with that much miasma.¡± His head tilted slightly, his reflective skin shifting into the soft hues of the clouds. ¡°And yet, your mana supply is low. A unique problem.¡±

    A shiver ran down my spine.

    His words weren¡¯t spoken with judgment or pity, but with something else entirely¡ªcuriosity.

    ¡°Step inside,¡± Nathan gestured with long, delicate fingers. ¡°Along with your potential Adjutant.¡± His eyes flickered toward Cordelia before settling once more on me. ¡°I must inform you, however¡ªMiss Fractal will not be permitted to accompany you. Spirit Beasts have their own trials to undertake.¡±

    A small chirp of protest sounded from my shoulder.

    Me. Stay. Here. Good. Meanie?

    Fractal had been silent until now, but at those words, she clung to my shoulder with her tiny claws, her shimmering feathers bristling in distress.

    I sighed. ¡°She really would prefer to stay with me, sir. Is there any possibility for that accommodation?¡±

    Nathan shook his head, utterly unmoved, his posture rigid with familiarity¡ªhe had obviously had this conversation many times before.

    ¡°No,¡± he replied, firm but not unkind. ¡°Spirit Beasts undergo separate evaluations. A Walker walks alone¡ªand a Spirit Beast¡­¡± He gave a faint, knowing smile. ¡°Normally, we say they prowl in their partner¡¯s shadow. But in your case¡­ let¡¯s say your Spirit Beast soars overhead instead.¡±

    At the word prowl, Fractal stiffened. Her haze-like mask of ethereal smoke shifted, curling in ways that made it clear she did not like that phrase one bit.

    I chuckled softly.

    You. Meanie. No. Stay.

    ¡°Fractal,¡± I murmured, placing a hand on her tiny, shimmering form. ¡°Stay with him. I need to do this.¡±

    She huffed, her tail feathers flashing in protest¡ªa stubborn swirl of yellow, purple, blue, and cyan.

    You. Owe. Me.

    ¡°I know,¡± I whispered. ¡°I always do.¡±

    Reluctantly, Fractal unlatched from my shoulder and fluttered toward Nathan, perching on his outstretched hand. He held her with the same eerie weightlessness that marked his entire existence, as though gravity barely recognized him.

    I turned back to the entrance, exhaling slowly.

    Time to step into the unknown.

    I¡¯ll stay here with Fractal. You focus on the advancement. Best-case scenario? They grant you another Skillcube, your license, and your first mission. Worst case? You progress outside the Association.

    Cordelia¡¯s voice echoed in my mind, her telepathy as gentle, monotone, and punctual as ever. She never wasted words, and while her lack of inflection made it difficult to tell, I could sense the calm certainty behind them.

    Her presence with Fractal settled some of my unease. She probably already knew that.

    Nathan led me away, his weightless steps barely making a sound against the pristine floor. We passed through a set of reinforced doors that slid shut behind me with an air-tight hiss.

    The room I was taken to was completely barren¡ªno windows, no decorations, no visible exit beyond the one I had entered through. A single table stood in the center, flanked by two deeply cushioned chairs, their plush fabric out of place in an otherwise sterile environment. If not for those seats, the space might have felt like a high-end interrogation room¡ªinstead, it had the distinct atmosphere of a waiting stage before a performance begins.

    I sat, sinking into the chair¡¯s impossibly soft embrace, feeling momentarily weightless. Clouds under my skin.

    Nathan remained standing for a moment longer, his reflective skin shifting under the room¡¯s artificial lighting, before he finally settled into the chair across from me. The moment he did, his entire presence changed.

    Gone was the mildly amused, slightly ethereal man who met me outside. The moment he spoke, his voice took on a measured weight¡ªas though every word carried significance.

    "Alright. Let¡¯s get this started."

    His fingers laced together on the table, his fractured-glass eyes locking onto me with quiet intensity.

    "Since you have a telepathic bond with a Spirit Beast, and your potential Adjutant is already a registered Psyker within the Association, you may feel... cut off here."

    His gaze flickered to the walls, then back to me.

    "The room is lined with mercury¡ªa natural disruptor of telepathic communication. Any outside mental links will be distorted. Legally, I am required to inform you of the following:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">You are free to leave this room at any time, should you choose.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">This evaluation is only partially considered in your final judgment.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">If any question I ask would result in you incriminating yourself, you are within your rights to invoke your Seventh Right as a Citizen of Marr.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Legally, this is not an interrogation. The Walker Association accepts applicants from all walks of life."</li>

    </ul>

    His voice, though still rehearsed, had shifted into something far more firm and authoritative¡ªhis earlier, almost casual demeanor stripped away. For the first time, I sensed the weight of what he was, beneath his outward appearance. Not just an examiner, but something other.

    Not quite human. Not entirely fey.

    A watcher. A recorder. A judge.

    Nathan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back as though settling into a role.

    ¡°First question.¡± He cracked a small, almost exasperated smile, as if already weary of the bureaucratic nature of his job.

    ¡°This one is for record-keeping and must be logged, despite the fact that I already know the answer.¡±

    His pen hovered over the thick, crisp parchment laid out before him.

    "What is your name?"

    I resisted the urge to sigh.

    "Really?"

    "Alexander Duarte," I answered, unimpressed.

    Nathan hummed, jotting the response down before immediately moving to the next inquiry.

    ¡°Mana Affinities. If any changes occur, report them immediately.¡±

    I blinked. That¡¯s possible?

    "...Dimension primary. Crystal secondary. Nature third."

    Nathan¡¯s pen glided over the parchment, his expression giving nothing away.

    ¡°Awakened Arte and Current Arte?¡±

    I stiffened. Knew this one was coming.

    "Paper Manipulation," I said carefully. "By the Dryad¡¯s words, hiding Bibliokinesis."

    Nathan¡¯s pen stopped mid-stroke.

    His expression didn¡¯t falter, but there was a notable pause¡ªa moment where his eyes flickered between the shifting text on the page and my own gaze, as though calculating something.

    Then, without a word, he resumed writing.

    "Interesting Arte, Alexander."

    His tone was neither complimentary nor dismissive¡ªsimply factual, though there was something else in his voice.

    A layer of consideration.

    A trace of recognition.

    "This will require an additional licensing process," Nathan continued, "which will also grant you access to additional Gates."

    He finally glanced back up at me, his expression calm, yet serious.

    "After we conclude this evaluation, you will be asked to demonstrate your Arte. Once that is complete, your certification will be officially updated within the system."

    Nathan¡¯s measured, methodical approach was different from the others I¡¯d dealt with before. He wasn¡¯t just processing my answers¡ªhe was assessing everything about me.

    Not just my words.

    My responses. My hesitation. My understanding of what I was.

    This was not just a formality.

    This was a test.

 Chapter 20: The Popup Test

    Nathan¡¯s pen hovered expectantly over the parchment as he continued the evaluation.

    ¡°Any known relations with any registered Walker or Adjutant?¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°None that I know of. But if someone was hiding their status, would that reflect poorly on my answer?¡±

    Nathan gave a small, dismissive shrug, his reflective skin shifting subtly with the movement. ¡°No. If people wish to conceal their status, they can. However, while on duty, it becomes... significantly harder to do so. The robe alone makes sure of that.¡±

    His pen scratched against the parchment as he noted down my response.

    ¡°If you pass, you will be provided with a custom-tailored robe¡ªone that you are required to wear while on active duty. The details will be explained later.¡±

    He didn¡¯t elaborate further, so I didn¡¯t press.

    Instead, he continued, shifting topics without pause.

    ¡°Current planned combat build?¡±

    I hesitated for a second before admitting, ¡°Can you go over my options? I¡¯ve only looked into three.¡±

    Nathan raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh? Which three?¡±

    ¡°Witchhunter, Djinn, and their hybrid... Ranahtah? Is that correct?¡±

    Nathan shook his head immediately. ¡°It¡¯s pronounced Ranah-Tahiri¡ªnamed by the Nomadic Kingdom.¡±

    His tone carried an air of caution, and for the first time in the evaluation, he set his pen down, steepling his fingers together as if preparing to give a warning.

    ¡°You will find yourself begging for certain Skillcubes early on if you take that path. Worse, you will be completely bankrupt before you even begin your first major mission. That build requires a staggering amount of specialized equipment to function at even a baseline level.¡±

    He paused, narrowing his gaze slightly. ¡°That said, I assume this means you own a Machina and plan to use the bow as your primary weapon, correct?¡±

    I nodded.

    Nathan hummed in acknowledgment and moved his pen ahead on the parchment, already answering several questions in advance.

    ¡°Machina type?¡±

    ¡°Humanoid,¡± I answered. ¡°Clad in armor¡ªbut the armor is made entirely out of regular playing cards.¡±

    Nathan exhaled sharply and shook his head. ¡°Your uncle really didn¡¯t tell you anything about Machina, did he?¡±

    "No," I admitted.

    He didn¡¯t look surprised. ¡°Unsurprising.¡±

    His pen hovered over the parchment again.

    ¡°What era is it from?¡±

    I hesitated. ¡°My uncle said it was old. But my own research suggests it dates back to the Age of Recolonization. That¡¯s my best guess, but I can¡¯t confirm if it¡¯s accurate.¡±

    Nathan gave a small nod. ¡°Good enough. We¡¯ll list it as Circa AoE for now.¡±

    He made a note beside the entry before his fractured-glass eyes flickered back to me.

    ¡°Should you uncover more details regarding the spirit bound to your Machina, report it immediately. The more we know, the better we can assess its limitations¡ªand yours.¡±

    The way he said that sent a faint chill through me.

    Not if I found more information.

    When.

    Nathan¡¯s fractured-glass eyes studied me with quiet intensity, his expression unreadable.

    ¡°If you are surrounded by bandits while transporting cargo, and you are hopelessly outnumbered, but the cargo is for a vital shipment of goods from Marr to, say, Elaik in the Technocracy¡ªhow would you handle that?¡±

    A test. A scenario designed to gauge my judgment, priorities, and understanding of consequence.

    I didn¡¯t hesitate.

    I shook my head. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t.¡±

    Nathan blinked. Just once. But I caught it.

    ¡°Even if the goods are vital, they can be replaced. I can always get another shipment there. It may cost the lives of a few hundred, but it wouldn¡¯t cost the lives of the city. If I throw my life away over a single transport, I damn all of Elaik to die.¡±

    Silence stretched between us.

    Nathan¡¯s posture remained composed, but I caught the way his fingers stilled against the parchment. The way his lips parted slightly, as if about to speak, only to pause.

    Then, after a long moment, he exhaled through his nose.

    Not out of frustration.

    Approval.

    ¡°No.¡± His voice was softer, but not correcting. Agreeing.

    ¡°It damns more than just Elaik.¡±

    His gaze sharpened¡ªnot out of skepticism, but something more akin to respect.

    ¡°By abandoning that transport, you just let the city starve. A temporary famine. What you don¡¯t do, is condemn the entire caravan¡ªthe drivers, the handlers, the guards. They all die alongside it. You don¡¯t just decide for yourself. You decide for everyone involved. You, your Adjutants, your caravan. They come home.¡±

    He tapped a single, pale finger against the table, thoughtful.

    ¡°And that, Alexander, is the correct answer.¡±

    There was no score to be marked, no numerical judgment, yet I felt the weight of my words settle into the room.

    Nathan nodded slightly, as if confirming something within himself.

    ¡°This is the first question we ask that actually is part of your assessment.¡±

    He leaned back, his frame shifting fluidly, like a man more comfortable now than he had been before.

    ¡°And the only one where your answer is never recorded.¡±

    He didn¡¯t say it outright, but I understood.

    This was the most important question of them all.

    Nathan studied me for a moment longer before his lips curled¡ªnot quite a smile, but the shadow of one.

    ¡°The fact that you already understand that a single shipment is not worth the potential future, and that you¡¯ve already considered the wider consequences of that failure?¡±

    He nodded, slow and deliberate.

    ¡°It speaks volumes.¡±

    I met his gaze without wavering.

    ¡°Principles of War, Volume 2. By Sergeant James Bathory.¡±

    Nathan exhaled, this time with a short, amused breath.

    Not mocking. Not dismissive. Genuinely impressed.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    But I wasn¡¯t finished. My voice dropped slightly, my words carrying a colder weight.

    ¡°The most valuable things in war are not the territory, nor the land. Land is important, yes¡ªfor food, for industry¡ªbut war is not won by who holds the land.¡±

    Nathan didn¡¯t interrupt. He let me speak.

    I straightened, letting the lesson take shape in the air between us.

    ¡°The real war is fought on the road. Because how do you get men to the land? How do you get supplies for the men?¡±

    I tapped my fingers against the table, slow and deliberate.

    ¡°The road.¡±

    Nathan closed his eyes for a brief moment, soaking in the words like something familiar, something known.

    Then, he nodded.

    ¡°Exactly.¡±

    ***

    Nathan led me outside, guiding me toward a shooting range nestled within the vast Walker Association grounds. The air was thick with the steady rhythm of arrows slicing through wind, the twang of bowstrings, and the sharp crack of impact as projectiles struck their marks.

    Several archers were already practicing, their movements precise, methodical. Each one wore an elaborate black robe, adorned with a golden shield emblazoned across their backs. On each shield was a unique insignia, customized for its wearer, yet all shared the same distinct heraldic colors¡ªsilver and bronze.

    What struck me most wasn¡¯t just the uniformity of their robes but the wealth they carried.

    Jewelry glittered from their wrists, necks, and fingers, rivaling the worth of my uncle¡¯s entire estate. Some of the pieces weren¡¯t just decorative; they radiated power, faint but unmistakable¡ªa testament to their strength.

    I was staring, caught between admiration and analysis, when Nathan¡¯s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

    ¡°Admiring their fashion?¡± His tone was teasing, but his gaze was still that of an examiner. ¡°Yes, those are the official Walker robes. And yes, if you pass, you¡¯ll design your own insignia.¡±

    Before I could reply, he raised his voice slightly.

    ¡°Arvin, Leona. Make way. I need to test a potential bow-wielding Walker.¡±

    From across the range, one of the archers¡ªa man with hair so long it reached his ankles¡ªperked up immediately.

    ¡°Oh? Another for the club?¡±

    He strode toward us with an easy confidence, flashing a grin. Despite his elegance, there was something mischievous in his tone, as though he found immense joy in welcoming a new potential member to whatever unspoken fraternity he belonged to.

    ¡°Nice! I¡¯m Arvin. Meet up after you get your license!¡±

    Before he could linger, his companion¡ªLeona, the much shorter-haired and far more muscular of the two¡ªgrabbed him by the collar and hauled him away with little effort.

    ¡°Now, now. Recruit later.¡±

    Nathan exhaled a quiet sigh of amusement, shaking his head as he watched them retreat to the far side of the range.

    Once they were out of earshot, he turned his attention back to me, his posture shifting subtly¡ªthe examiner once again.

    ¡°This is the training yard.¡± He gestured toward the rows of straw and wooden targets, positioned at varying distances. ¡°We¡¯ll provide you with a bow and ten arrows. Standard Marrian draw?¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°Thumb draw.¡±

    Without another word, I lifted my hand, revealing the thumb ring I wore¡ªa subtle but integral part of my shooting technique.

    Nathan¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of it, his frown small but noticeable.

    ¡°Well¡­ you¡¯ll have to use it, I suppose.¡± He exhaled. ¡°We lack thumb rings for training here.¡±

    I gave a small nod of acknowledgement, but before I even touched the bow, my hands moved instinctively¡ªfollowing the habits I had carved into myself in Danatallion¡¯s Halls.

    Without hesitation, I reached into my pocket and withdrew a single playing card.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    The moment it touched my palm, I pushed my mana and miasma into it.

    A familiar cascade of cards erupted from the ground, swirling and interlocking like a perfect machine, assembling piece by piece into a humanoid form clad in armor.

    Kneeling before me, my Machina took shape once again, its plated form shimmering as it solidified.

    A silent guardian, awaiting its command.

    Nathan¡¯s pen¡ªor rather, his stylus¡ªmoved swiftly across the board in his hands, jotting down something before I had even issued my order.

    I didn¡¯t focus on him. Instead, I stepped forward, placing a hand on my Machina¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Look out for enemies or potential ambushes. I¡¯m focusing on my accuracy. Be my ears. Be my hands.¡±

    The silent knight of cards gave a dramatic, exaggerated mock salute¡ªa gesture of both obedience and theatrical flair.

    Nathan¡¯s stylus moved again.

    My grip was steady. Nock. Aim. Release.

    The first shot was easy. My arrow struck clean, landing in the eight-ring¡ªnot a bullseye, but precise enough for a vital shot against most beasts. A solid, respectable hit.

    Then, the target changed.

    What had once been a simple stationary target¡ªcloth stretched over straw and wood¡ªbegan to move.

    Up. Down. A predictable rhythm.

    Oddly, this made things easier. I could read its pattern, wait for the precise moment, then exhale and release.

    My next arrow found the nine-ring.

    Then the difficulty increased.

    The third target weaved in erratic figure-eight patterns, shifting direction unpredictably every few seconds. Unstable.

    I adjusted too late. My shot landed, but far from ideal. A four.

    I gritted my teeth, already preparing for the next adjustment when the targets shifted again.

    This time, the movement was absurd.

    The target was no longer bound to a single plane. It began to orbit me, constantly shifting elevation, speed, and direction¡ªa full 180-degree rotation, circling around at an inconsistent pace.

    A test of tracking, prediction, and adaptability.

    I exhaled sharply, lowering my stance and trying to get a read on its movement.

    Then¡ª

    Something shifted.

    Not from the target.

    From behind me.

    I didn¡¯t hesitate.

    Mana and miasma surged through me as I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing against the torn remnants of confetti¡ªscraps of folded origami insects, concealed and waiting.

    A silent command.

    The paper creatures burst to life, streaking toward my southwest, where the disturbance had come from.

    At the same time, my Machina moved, reacting with the theatrical efficiency it always carried, positioning itself defensively between me and the unknown threat.

    I pivoted and moved, not forward, but sideways, just as a spike of cloth shot up from the ground¡ªpiercing the spot where I had stood a moment ago.

    An ambush.

    Nathan¡¯s voice cut through the moment, calm and analytical, as if my reaction had been nothing more than data for him to process.

    ¡°Good combat awareness. Much better than expected for someone without battle-class Skillcubes.¡±

    I exhaled slowly, keeping my posture loose as I regained my footing.

    Nathan was already writing, his stylus moving in quick, fluid strokes across the slate in his hands.

    ¡°Archer tests complete.¡±

    I frowned. ¡°You gave me ten arrows, but I only fired three shots.¡±

    Nathan waved a hand, brushing off the concern.

    ¡°Don¡¯t need to see the rest. You¡¯ll be fine for most Gates at the F-to-D class level for your Soul Realm. That¡¯s the standard expectation for a 1-1 Walker.¡±

    His casual dismissal left me unsure whether to feel satisfied or irritated.

    Then, without missing a beat, he flipped the slate and turned his attention back to me.

    ¡°The only thing left is to see you enter a book.¡±

    His fractured-glass eyes gleamed slightly, reflecting the sky like ripples on water.

    ¡°If you can do that, your license is essentially assured¡ªpending a criminal background check, of course.¡±

    He paused before chucling.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to hand a license to an actively wanted criminal.¡±

    His voice was light, teasing¡ªbut beneath it was a weight I couldn''t quite place.

    I exhaled, rolling my shoulders, the tension slowly bleeding away.

    One last test.

    ***

    Nathan led me back inside, this time to a study, a space far more refined and deliberate than the stark training grounds. The scent of aged parchment, ink, and polished wood filled the air, each shelf lined with carefully maintained tomes and documents¡ªa quiet but unmistakable repository of knowledge and judgment.

    But reaching this room had been... monumental.

    The walk from the shooting range to the study had been a deliberate trial in itself.

    Nathan hadn¡¯t taken the shortest route. Instead, he had led me through a winding, calculated path¡ªone that passed through nearly every major facility within the Walker Association grounds.

    We moved through a historical library, its towering shelves patrolled by researchers who combed through texts protected by arcane seals. A cafeteria, where Walkers and Adjutants dined together, their meals accompanied by the occasional flicker of levitated utensils or minor elemental tricks used absentmindedly in conversation. A dormitory, its halls lined with doors bearing personal insignias rather than names. A research laboratory, where scientists and scholars worked side by side, the air crackling with experiments that blurred the line between magic and machinery. A Machina laboratory, where artisans deconstructed and reassembled golems, their lifeless frames standing like war statues awaiting purpose. A medical ward, where healers and medics moved swiftly among cots¡ªtreating wounds that were not just physical, but psychic, magical, and existential.

    It was more than a headquarters.

    It was a world unto itself.

    By the time we reached the study, I was winded.

    Six flights of stairs. A city¡¯s worth of hallways. Paths that twisted and turned like a labyrinth intended to test stamina as much as direction.

    Nathan must have noticed.

    Without a word, he handed me a glass of juice.

    I took it without question.

    The first sip was sweet, slightly salty¡ªimmediately restoring what I hadn¡¯t realized I had lost.

    I exhaled slowly. "Thanks."

    Nathan gave a small shrug. "Your Paper Manipulation is hellishly taxing."

    I frowned.

    "I could feel your mana consumption per origami bee back there. No wonder they gave your Arte a B- rating."

    I froze mid-sip.

    That wasn¡¯t public knowledge.

    I lowered the glass, turning fully toward him. "How do you know that?"

    Nathan didn¡¯t hesitate.

    "The moment you produced an artificial Machina during your Mirage Field test, you were flagged for manual review."

    I stilled, absorbing that information.

    Mirage Fields were used to test and evaluate an Arte¡ªto measure its potential, stability, and limitations.

    That meant I had been assessed outside of the standard process.

    "Myself, along with four others I won¡¯t name, were selected to manually review your case."

    He spoke as if this was routine¡ªit wasn¡¯t as far as I knew.

    "We determined that your Arte was not connected to the creation of ancient spirits, and that you currently lacked the necessary skill to be recruited into a Machina guild. So, we let things be."

    That was a lot to process at once.

    Not only had my Arte been analyzed at a higher level, but it had been discussed and voted on.

    Nathan exhaled, tilting his head slightly.

    "If you''re curious¡ªand my data suggests you would be¡ªthe vote was 4-1."

    He met my gaze, his expression unreadable.

    "I was part of the majority."

    I was seated in a chair¡ªnot nearly as luxurious as the one in the questioning room, but comfortable enough to keep me from shifting too much. A deliberate choice, no doubt. Just enough ease to let me focus, but not enough to make me forget that this was still a test.

    Nathan stood before a towering bookshelf, running his fingers lightly along the spines of dozens¡ªmaybe hundreds¡ªof books. He moved with purpose, eyes scanning the titles with precise intent.

    "I¡¯ll be choosing the book for you."

    He didn¡¯t turn to look at me as he spoke, his attention still focused on the volumes before him.

    "I assume this will be the first book you conquer¡ªso I ask for patience."

    His fingers paused. Then, with the faintest hum of satisfaction, he pulled a book from the shelf and turned back toward me.

    "Oh. Here it is."

    He placed it on the table between us with a soft thump.

    I blinked.

    It was a children¡¯s popup book.

    "The Great Game."

    The cover was bright and playful, the title scrawled in looping golden letters, framed by illustrations of jesters, knights, and a grinning child holding a wooden sword.

    I raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

    Nathan gave me a knowing smirk. "It¡¯s small, so it won¡¯t be too difficult. Most likely? You¡¯ll be placed in the role of the child."

    He tapped a single finger against the cover.

    "Go ahead. Do what you need to activate your Arte."

    I took a breath and let my fingertips brush against the pages.

    The activation process was instinctive now¡ªa connection between the words on the page and the power within me.

    And so, I began to read.

    With Speed Reading, the words flooded into my mind like a rushing current, processed and absorbed in an instant.

    ***

    (The first pop-up shows a thick, enchanted forest, with trees made of chocolate and leaves spun from sugar.)

    Once upon a time, there was a boy who wandered too far from home.

    The forest around him was unlike any other¡ªtrees of chocolate bark, rivers of bubbling caramel, and cotton candy clouds drifting lazily in the sky. The scent of warm sugar filled the air, wrapping around him like a soft, inviting hug.

    And then¡ªhe heard the music.

    A bright, cheery tune played from somewhere deep within the forest, the kind that made feet want to dance and hearts want to follow.

    And there it was¡ªa circus.

    "Come one, come all!" a voice boomed from the colorful tents ahead. "The greatest show awaits!"

    The boy¡¯s eyes widened with wonder. A circus? In the middle of a candy forest? Surely, this was the start of something grand.

    He stepped forward, not knowing that the game had already begun

    (A pop-up of a magnificent circus tent, adorned with sugar decorations, caramel-coated poles, and gumdrop lanterns.)

    The boy entered the circus, where everything sparkled like a dream.

    The carousel spun with peppermint-striped horses, their eyes twinkling like stars. Lollipop tightropes stretched high above, where acrobats made of taffy and marshmallow flipped and twirled through the air.

    The people inside smiled and laughed¡ªperformers in dazzling costumes, musicians playing lively tunes, clowns juggling candy apples and licorice hoops.

    And in the very center of it all stood the Ringmaster.

    (A pop-up of the Ringmaster, impossibly tall, with a long red coat and a smile as sharp as peppermint bark.)

    The Ringmaster swept off his hat and bowed. "Welcome, dear boy!" he said. "You have been chosen for The Great Game!"

    The boy tilted his head. "What game?"

    The Ringmaster''s smile stretched just a bit wider. "A most special game! Win, and you may stay forever in this land of sweets and joy!"

    That didn¡¯t sound too bad.

    The boy nodded. "What happens if I lose?"

    The Ringmaster¡¯s eyes gleamed like polished toffee.

    "Oh, dear boy, no one loses. Everyone joins the circus."

    The boy didn¡¯t understand yet. But he would.

    (A pop-up of a funhouse made entirely of gingerbread and glass candy mirrors, warped reflections staring back.)

    As the circus bustled with laughter and tricks, the boy wandered into the House of Mirrors.

    But instead of funhouse reflections, the mirrors showed something else.

    They showed children.

    Not just their reflections¡ªbut them, trapped inside the glass, their eyes wide with fear.

    The boy gasped, stepping back. He saw faces¡ªsmiling clowns with frozen expressions, silent acrobats in gilded cages, dancers in sugared costumes that never unraveled.

    They were not performers.

    They were prisoners.

    The circus was a trap.

    (A pop-up of the boy smashing a sugar window, shards flying everywhere.)

    The boy grabbed a rock sugar cane from the ground and swung it hard against the mirror.

    CRACK!

    The glass shattered like spun sugar, and in an instant¡ªthe illusion broke.

    The candy lost its glow, the colors dulled, and the circus itself wavered like mist in the morning sun.

    The other children blinked as if waking from a deep sleep.

    "Run!" the boy shouted.

    And so, they did.

    (A pop-up of the Ringmaster¡¯s shadow looming over the escaping children.)

    The Ringmaster was furious.

    "You would leave the greatest show on earth?" he roared, his voice cracking like brittle sugar.

    The circus began to twist and shift, trying to pull them back¡ªropes of licorice coiled toward them, but the children broke free.

    The boy ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his wooden sword glowing like it had been dipped in stardust.

    And behind him, the grand circus crumbled into dust.

    (A pop-up of a familiar dirt road, the candy forest behind them now fading into mist.)

    As the children ran, the candy trees withered into nothingness, their vibrant colors draining away.

    At last, they found a real road¡ªa path leading home.

    The boy turned, expecting to see the circus still standing, but there was nothing left.

    Just an empty clearing, as if it had never been there at all.

    One of the children whispered, "Was it just a dream?"

    The boy held up his wooden sword.

    A single piece of sugar-glass still clung to the hilt.

    No.

    It had been real.

    And he had won The Great Game.

    (A pop-up of a wooden signpost, nailed to a tree near the road.)

    As the children left, the boy noticed something new¡ªa wooden sign nailed to the last standing tree at the edge of the clearing.

    Burned into the wood, in jagged letters, were the words:

    "THE CIRCUS ALWAYS RETURNS."

    The wind blew, flipping the sign over.

    On the back, another message was scratched into the wood:

    "NEXT TIME, IT MAY BE YOU."

    (The final flap of the book closes on its own, the last echo of circus laughter ringing in the air.

    THIS TIME, IT IS YOU.

    The words burned against the page.

    I heard them. I saw them. They pulsed with an unnatural glow, their letters twisting, shifting, as if they were alive, breathing in time with my own pulse.

    I couldn¡¯t look away.

    Even if I wanted to, even if I tried, my gaze remained locked¡ªheld by something beyond sight, beyond comprehension.

    A whisper slithered through the air, curling around me like an unseen hand.

    You know what happens next.

    I did.

    My fingers trembled as I reached out. The tips of my gloved hands brushed against the ink, and the moment I did¡ª

    The world lurched.

    A weightless sensation clawed at my chest, the book beneath me no longer paper, no longer solid, but something shifting, something deep.

    Something pulling.

    I was being drawn in, the ink unraveling like threads, curling around my wrist, my arm, dragging me into the pages.

    I took a slow breath, steadying myself, forcing down the instinct to resist.

    I knew what this was.

    I knew what I had to do.

    All I could hope¡ªall I could pray¡ªwas that the book placed me in the role it had suggested.

    Because the inverse¡­

    Would be so much worse.

 Chapter 21: The Price of Fun

    I was surrounded by mirrors of sugar, trees of chocolate, a carnival of cake, with a circus top of cream. The air was thick with the scent of caramel and spun sugar, an illusion of warmth and welcome¡ªa lie wrapped in candy.

    And I was part of it.

    My clothes had changed. A long red coat, glossy like lacquered licorice, white buttons lined neatly like sugar pearls. My boots clicked against the cobbled road of gingerbread bricks, each step sinking just slightly, just enough to remind me this world was soft. Fake. Wrong.

    I scowled.

    ¡°Damn it.¡±

    I tugged at the coat, my fingers running over the fabric, the material sticking slightly like it had been soaked in syrup. I had willed this into existence.

    I sighed, letting my body slump, my shoulders heavy with the weight of what was coming.

    I knew what I had to do.

    And I knew I was going to hate every second of it.

    A ripple of sensation crawled through me¡ªsomething had stepped into the Ringmaster¡¯s domain.

    I tried to fight it.

    I couldn¡¯t.

    My body straightened, my stance changed, and before I could stop myself, I smiled.

    "Come one, come all! It¡¯s the Carnival!"

    My voice was booming, rich, dripping with joy, the voice of a man eager to welcome guests, to bring in an audience.

    But it wasn¡¯t my voice.

    It belonged to the Ringmaster.

    And I had no choice but to play my part.

    A boy stepped forward¡ªno older than seven, clutching a stick with a tied cloth at the end. A wanderer, a runaway. The kind of child who had a fight with his parents and stormed into the woods, looking for adventure, looking for anything but home.

    His eyes sparkled as he gazed at the candy-coated wonderland before him. His small hands had already grabbed a gumdrop from a nearby bush, stuffing it into his mouth.

    He had no idea what this place really was.

    I clenched my teeth, but the role had already taken me.

    I smiled. My face betrayed me, twisting into something warm and inviting, something that lied.

    "Why, hello there, boy! Greetings and welcome! You have been chosen for the Grand Game! Would you like to play?"

    Internally, I was screaming.

    Run, child. Run now. Leave this place. I don¡¯t want to do what the story is about to make me do.

    The boy tilted his head, curious. "What game?"

    His voice was pure. Innocent.

    He was just a child exploring the woods, walking off his frustration, stumbling into something that should never have existed.

    I tried to fight it. The compulsion twisted my thoughts, forced my lips to move.

    "Why, a most wonderful game! A most spectacular game! Win, and you can stay here forever, in this land of sugar and fun!"

    I could alter the words slightly¡ªenough to add emphasis, but not enough to break the script.

    And internally, I was scowling.

    Walk away. Don¡¯t say yes. Please, just walk away.

    The boy swallowed his candy and grinned. "Okay!"

    A surge of cold dread crawled up my spine.

    He was already eating the chocolate, the gumdrops. He was part of it now.

    His little voice was muffled as he spoke through a full mouth. "Whath happensh if I losh?"

    I felt the words crawl up my throat before I could stop them.

    "Dear boy, no one loses this game."

    The line was supposed to stop there.

    But I was allowed to add more.

    "It¡¯s fun. Everyone joins the circus, whether they choose to be here or not."

    I smiled again, my expression kind, welcoming. A complete and utter lie.

    The boy laughed¡ªlaughed¡ªas he stepped toward the Hall of Mirrors.

    The funhouse stood before him, bright and welcoming, its glass candy walls shimmering like a thousand stars.

    He walked inside.

    And I braced for what came next.

    I had expected to hear laughter from within.

    I had expected to hear footsteps, echoes, the sound of running children.

    What stepped out was not a child.

    It was not children at all.

    It was a chimera of candy and flesh, a writhing abomination, a mass of fused limbs and countless heads, its many mouths giggling, screaming, whispering, sobbing all at once.

    The colors of sugar swirled across its distorted body, eyes of caramelized glass staring in every direction.

    It lurched forward.

    And I had¡ª

    I had nothing.

    No paper to use. No access to my Arte.

    I was the Ringmaster of this horror, and I had no way to stop what came next.

    Moons damn this.

    "To conquer a goddamn popup storybook, I have to fight that?!"

    I screamed the words into the twisted, sugar-coated nightmare surrounding me, my voice raw with rage, horror, and disbelief.

    But the carnival did not care.

    The circus top of cream stood undisturbed, the gingerbread streets remained pristine, and the melted candy lights of the Hall of Mirrors cast their eerie glow upon the abomination before me.

    And the beast¡ª

    The chimera of children and candy¡ª

    It wailed.

    A grotesque symphony of sorrow, the cries of countless stolen voices, each one layered over the next, forming a sound so unnatural, so wrong, that my stomach twisted on itself.

    Their mouths¡ªdozens, maybe hundreds, overlapping in melted sugar and caramelized flesh¡ªmoved with no rhythm, no pattern. Some screamed, others giggled, some whispered words I couldn¡¯t understand.

    It was tall, its twisted limbs folding over themselves, its surface an unholy fusion of gumdrops, chocolate, marshmallow sinew, and peppermint-coated bones.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    It shuddered, its many heads jerking toward me all at once.

    I forced myself to move, to check my weapons.

    No bow. The book didn¡¯t allow that.

    No Machina. The book didn¡¯t allow that.

    I gritted my teeth, my body thrumming with the instinct to fight¡ªbut fight with what?

    I looked down at my hands.

    Knives.

    Not steel. Not iron.

    Candy canes.

    The hilts twisted into red-and-white spirals, the blades made of sugar-glass, sharp but brittle, as if meant for some sadistic joke of a duel.

    A goddamn candied shiv against that.

    I let out a bitter laugh, gripping the weapons in my hands, my knuckles turning white.

    "At least I¡¯m not slaughtering children?"

    The words fell flat, my voice hollow.

    Because the truth was, I had already condemned them.

    Or rather¡ªthe Ringmaster I was being forced to play had.

    The chimera lurched forward, its mass of writhing limbs pushing against the sugary earth, its caramelized bones cracking with each unnatural movement.

    And then¡ª

    It charged.

    The ground quaked beneath it, the air thick with the stench of burnt sugar and something far fouler.

    I moved on instinct, diving to the right, just as a massive, glistening fist of rock candy came slamming down where I had been standing. The force splintered the gingerbread street, sending shards flying in every direction.

    One cut across my cheek.

    Not deep. Not fatal. But enough to remind me¡ª

    I was not escaping this unscathed.

    I gritted my teeth, gripping my sugar daggers as the monster whipped one of its many arms toward me¡ª

    I barely managed to raise my weapons in time, the impact sending a jolt of pain through my wrists. The arm splintered on impact, a chunk of taffy-like flesh peeling away, but the beast barely reacted.

    Because it felt no pain.

    It was pain.

    I pushed back, trying to regain distance¡ªtoo slow.

    A second limb swung, this one made of twisted caramel, stretching farther than I expected.

    I took the hit.

    The force threw me off my feet, sending me skidding across the ground, my coat tearing against the rough gingerbread bricks.

    I tasted blood.

    I coughed, gripping my side, feeling the dull ache of what would definitely become a deep bruise if I lived long enough for it to matter.

    The chimera loomed over me, its heads twisting, bending, shifting, their hollow eye sockets staring through me.

    The carnival lights flickered, casting it in a surreal, almost theatrical glow.

    Like a final act.

    I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to my feet.

    My knives were still in my hands. Shattered at the tips, but still usable.

    I had no Arte. No Machina. No tricks.

    Just candy blades, my own instincts, and a story that demanded I play my part.

    I had to win.

    Because I knew¡ª

    If I lost, I would join the circus.

    This circus.

    This twisted, sugar-coated hell.

    I wouldn¡¯t die here.

    Not in this mockery of a carnival, not in a world that shouldn¡¯t exist, not as the ringmaster of a tragedy I never agreed to perform in.

    I wasn¡¯t a Walker yet. I wasn¡¯t free yet.

    But I wasn¡¯t finished yet, either. I am weak. I could feel it in the burning of my muscles, the pounding ache of my wounds, the stark realization that every moment of training had only been a pale imitation of survival. I see it now. I can¡¯t do this alone.

    A bow? Useless. The book didn¡¯t allow it.

    My Machina? Gone. The book denied me that.

    Witchhunter? Djinn? No. I am neither.

    I am just an aspirant¡ªa nameless figure at the beginning of the road, barely more than a boy holding a knife made of spun sugar.

    A Ranah-Tahiri? No. I am pathetic.

    I must walk before I run. I must leap before I fly.

    Everything has a price.

    The words shimmered around me, forming in the air like whispers from a stage unseen.

    A moment of clarity.

    The wounds across my body were the price of realization.

    I had been coddled.

    The drills, the conditioning, the relentless training? Nothing compared to the real thing.

    The shock collar? A blessing in disguise¡ªit had taught me how to endure pain.

    The bloodied feet? Preparations for now¡ªthey had taught me how to keep moving, even through agony.

    I breathed in.

    The chimera was close now, the scent of burnt sugar and spoiled confections thick in the air.

    The mass of writhing limbs, endless, wailing mouths, melted eyes dripping syrup¡ªit moved toward me with inhuman, uneven steps, its towering bulk shuddering under its own weight.

    I tightened my grip on the candy shiv.

    It was pathetic. Fragile.

    So was I.

    But I wasn''t done.

    One shot.

    One final thrust before the blade shattered in my hands.

    And after that?

    ¡­Me.

    I was faster.

    I was smaller.

    It was bigger, but it was slower.

    Could I climb it? A well-placed shiv into its spine? Would that work? I had no other options. I had no backup plan.

    The beast lunged, its glistening caramel limb whipping forward in a blurred arc.

    I moved¡ªnot backward, but forward.

    I ducked beneath the first swing, but the second came too fast.

    I twisted, but¡­

    CRACK

    Pain bloomed across my ribs, my body spun through the air, and I barely managed to control my fall, rolling across broken bits of gingerbread bricks.

    I gasped. My lungs burned.

    The thing screeched, its many mouths chittering in a harmony of madness, and I knew¡ª

    It wasn¡¯t going to wait.

    It was going to finish this.

    So I moved.

    I sprinted forward, using my momentum to drive the candy blade deep into the nearest limb¡ª

    The sugar fractured, the caramel split, and the chimera recoiled, screeching as a piece of its limb snapped away in a cascade of sticky syrup and broken peppermint.

    It wasn¡¯t enough to kill it.

    Not yet.

    But it staggered.

    And that was the only chance I needed.

    I didn¡¯t stop moving.

    I grabbed hold of the exposed, shifting mass of its shoulder and climbed¡ª

    The heat of its body, the stickiness of the caramel, the sickening squish of gelatinous marshmallow flesh beneath my fingers; I forced down my revulsion and kept going.

    The monster shrieked, its limbs thrashing, trying to shake me off.

    I clung to it like a parasite, like something that refused to be swallowed whole.

    Higher.

    Higher.

    My hand found an opening¡ªa split in the tangled mess of sugar and sinew, right where the spine should be.

    One final thrust.

    I raised the broken remains of my shiv; and plunged it deep into the wound.

    The chimera convulsed.

    The screams turned to cracking.

    The cracks turned to shattering.

    The creature twisted, its limbs folding inward, its form breaking apart like brittle sugar snapping under pressure.

    I let go just in time, landing in a crouch as the abomination collapsed in on itself, its many heads melting away, its candy-coated flesh crumbling into nothing but dust.

    The carnival fell silent.

    No music.

    No laughter.

    No twisted, wailing voices.

    Just emptiness.

    The circus began to fade, the candy trees withering, the gingerbread streets cracking apart.

    I exhaled, staring at the empty ruin of what had once been a nightmare.

    And then, then the book snapped shut.

    ***

    I gasped as my body was ripped from the pages, flung back into the real world at unnatural speed. The force sent me hurtling backward, and before I could brace myself, I collided hard with a towering bookshelf.

    The impact shook the entire study, books toppling from the shelves, dust kicking up into the air as I crashed to the floor.

    Pain blossomed in my chest, a sharp, deep agony that made my lungs scream with every breath. A wet, coppery taste flooded my mouth¡ª

    I coughed.

    Blood.

    My vision blurred, but through it, I saw movement¡ª

    Nathan was already at my side, his long, lanky form crouched next to me with unnatural speed, his hands already checking my injuries with precise efficiency.

    "What in the fifteen moons¡¯ light happened to you?!" His voice was sharp, tense. "That was a children¡¯s storybook!

    I winced, every word I tried to form pulling fire through my ribs.

    "Do¡­ children¡­" I wheezed. "Normally¡­"

    The words were heavy, like each one had to be dragged out of my chest.

    Nathan¡¯s sharp gaze scanned me, already calculating, assessing.

    Then¡ª

    My fingers twitched.

    There was something in my hand.

    I barely had the strength to move, but I could feel it¡ªsolid, real, clutched between my bloodied fingers.

    I forced myself to look down.

    Something had followed me out.

    I didn¡¯t have the strength to question it. Not yet.

    Nathan caught my movement. His lips pressed into a thin line before he exhaled and snapped open his Gloss-Crystal, the ethereal display shimmering to life in his palm.

    ¡°First, hospital,¡± I managed to breathe out.

    He nodded once, already making the call.

    ¡°We¡¯ll need your permission to operate, but¡­ you¡¯ll live.¡±

    I nodded weakly.

    And then, despite the searing pain, despite the weight of exhaustion crushing me, despite everything that had just happened¡ª

    I smiled.

    Because I understood.

    Everything has its price.

    And I had paid mine.

 Chapter 22: The Wrecking Ball In the Room

    "Three crushed ribs. A collapsed and punctured lung¡­ and three pieces of¡­ caramel? Who the hell gets caramel lodged in their lungs?"

    The voice of the nurse, sharp with incredulity, drifted from beyond my hospital room door.

    I didn¡¯t remember getting here.

    I didn¡¯t remember the surgery, or the blur of faces and hands working over me.

    All I remembered was smiling.

    Even now, with the sterile scent of antiseptic drowning out the last traces of burnt sugar, even as my body ached with the remnants of battle, the corners of my lips curled upward.

    Because I had won.

    Nathan was in my room, standing off to the side, his Gloss-Crystal hovering near his ear as he spoke in low, clipped tones.

    "Yeah, he¡¯s stable. Yes. It¡¯s a Manifestation Arte. Triple-S grade."

    I heard a pause. The sound of someone speaking on the other end.

    Nathan¡¯s posture stiffened for half a second before he responded.

    "Yeah, he came back with not just an item. A cube. An unknown, unique, skillcube."

    His voice shifted¡ªjust slightly.

    Not fear, not exactly.

    But caution.

    His head turned, and his gaze locked onto me. Our eyes met.

    His expression froze, lips parting slightly, his normally composed demeanor faltering for just a breath.

    "He¡¯s awake," he said hurriedly into the call. "I¡¯ll notify you of this after I notify¡ª"

    CRASH.

    The room exploded in sound as the window shattered, glass splintering in all directions.

    The force sent a shockwave through the sterile air, the faint beeping of medical monitors spiking in alarm.

    I barely had time to react before something¡ªno, someone¡ªlanded inside.

    A young man, his wild, untamed red hair cascading down his back like a burning banner, stood there, the remnants of the window still clinking to the floor around him.

    His left arm was covered in grotesque bone permutations, jagged growths spiraling outward like a twisted exoskeleton, while his right arm gleamed under the weight of thick, reinforced armor.

    But it wasn¡¯t just his appearance that gave him away.

    It was the mouths¡ªwrithing, whispering mouths embedded into his palms, curling into hungry, fanged grins, as though they themselves were excited to be here.

    And if that wasn¡¯t enough of a giveaway, then the crown on his head confirmed it.

    The Crown.

    The Title.

    The Predator in the room.

    Every citizen of Marr knew his name.

    Even before Nathan moved, I already knew what was happening.

    He dropped down onto one knee, his right fist pressed against the floor in the unmistakable gesture of formal deference.

    "Your Highness."

    Prince Marryllin.

    The Crowned Prince of the Free City of Marr.

    The man whose statue loomed over the Grand Plaza, whose face was immortalized in a thousand vids, whose legend wove itself into the very fabric of the city.

    I had made the joke before¡ªthat, with my luck, I¡¯d somehow catch the attention of royalty.

    I never thought it would actually happen.

    My body refused to move, every instinct screaming at me, warning me¡ª

    Being near him was like standing next to a sleeping lion, a predator that could eviscerate me before I could react.

    Yet, when his gaze landed on me, his smile was¡ª

    Warm. Genuine.

    A stark contrast to the sheer, oppressive presence radiating from him, an aura that made the air itself feel heavier.

    I couldn¡¯t speak.

    I could barely nod.

    Marryllin turned to Nathan first, his grin easy, his posture relaxed, but his presence still dominating the entire damn room.

    "So¡­ he¡¯s the guy?"

    Nathan only nodded in response.

    Marryllin pivoted fully toward me now, his golden eyes glinting with something between amusement and interest.

    "You probably know me from the statues. Or from the Gloss-vids."

    His grin widened.

    "Name¡¯s Marryllin. Prince Marryllin if you wanna be formal. Or if you¡¯re really feeling bold, you can go for Crowned Prince Marryllin of the Free City of Marr¡ªbut Domini, I beg you, don¡¯t. It¡¯s long. It¡¯s stuffy. I loathe it."

    His grin sharpened.

    "Or do!" He let out a short, bright laugh, flexing his armored hand with a playful crack of his knuckles. "I love punching people for it."

    Prince Marryllin casually grabbed the Skillcube from the counter, rolling it between his armored fingers, letting the dark, crystalline mass shimmer under the hospital¡¯s sterile light.

    Then, he turned to me and nodded.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± His tone was light, but firm. ¡°My slots are full, and I¡¯m not buying. It¡¯s yours by rights. And if anyone even thinks about taking it? That¡¯s execution. Stealing a Walker¡¯s Otherrealm spoils.¡±

    The words hit like a hammer.

    Execution.

    The punishment for stealing a Walker¡¯s Otherrealm spoils.

    Marryllin barely even paused before continuing. ¡°Just gotta¡­¡±

    A soft ping interrupted him.

    A notification appeared on my Gloss-Feed¡ªfrom the Prince himself.

    I blinked. A direct message from royalty? That alone was enough to make most people in Marr lose their minds, but I barely had time to process it before the newly identified Skillcube¡¯s data scrolled across my vision.

    <hr>

    Sugared Maw

    Rarity: Unique

    Aspects: Hunger, Crystal, Dark, Growth

    Effect:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Whenever you or your allies defeat an enemy within your miasma, once per day you may consume a crystallized fragment of that enemy.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">You can conjure a pit in the ground of writhing mouths. The strength of the teeth in the mouths is based on the number of crystallized enemy fragments you have consumed, as well as your Soul Realm.</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    Marryllin chuckled, rubbing the back of his wild red hair, his expression amused, almost sheepish.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    ¡°Sorry. Took me a subjective fifteen minutes to identify. Forgive me for my lack of skill in the area!¡±

    I stared at him, then back at the Skillcube¡¯s description. The words burned in my mind.

    ¡°Why¡­is your reading so much more detailed?¡±

    I barely managed to get the question out before he cut me off.

    ¡°Because my Gloss is heavily connected to me.¡± He tapped the side of his head. ¡°I have the Skillcube [Gloss-Pad] in my Fifth Shell, which means I have full access to the entire Gloss-Net.¡±**

    Gloss-Pad? That was an intelligence-enhancing cube designed to optimize data processing, knowledge retrieval, and networking speed.

    Most people could only dream of affording one.

    I was still trying to wrap my head around it when another thought hit me.

    ¡°Also¡­ I¡¯m not a Walker yet. So wouldn¡¯t it be legal for anyone to take this from me?¡±

    Marryllin laughed.

    Not a polite chuckle. Not a forced noble¡¯s laugh.

    A genuine, hearty laugh, full of amusement.

    "Alexander, I passed you the moment Nathan started that conversation with his boss.¡± His golden eyes glinted with mischief, but there was a razor edge behind them. ¡°While I¡¯m certain your mother wouldn¡¯t be thrilled that I gave one of her precious children special treatment, she¡¯d also understand that you are now of extreme value to the state.¡±

    My mind was spinning, but I clung to that last part.

    ¡°Value?¡±

    Marryllin didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°The only way I can prevent war is to make you a neutral asset¡ªso this? This is perfect.¡±

    I blinked. "War? Why would¡ª"

    He cut me off again.

    This time, his entire demeanor shifted.

    The warmth in his grin didn¡¯t disappear, but something colder settled behind his gaze, something that spoke of weight, experience, and responsibility heavier than most could ever comprehend.

    ¡°Alexander Duarte.¡± His voice lowered¡ªnot in volume, but in presence, commanding every inch of the room.

    "There are, in Marr, over 348,000 unique Artes. That means there are that many people who have manifested abilities that are the first of their kind."

    I stayed silent, listening.

    "We have people who can produce miasma from nothing.¡±

    ¡°People who can generate mana at a rapid rate per second.¡±

    ¡°Someone who can create hundreds of pseudo-Machina from the tattoos on their body.¡±

    He lifted the Skillcube in his hand.

    ¡°Do you know what none of them can do?¡±

    I didn¡¯t answer.

    His golden eyes bore into mine as he said it.

    ¡°Create Skillcubes.¡±

    The words hung in the air, heavy with implications I hadn¡¯t yet considered.

    I swallowed.

    ¡°No Arte is known to do this. No Arte has ever been expected to do this.¡± Marryllin¡¯s voice was calm, but every syllable carried weight. "Even Bibliokinesis itself¡ªyour Arte¡ªwas only theorized to create items. There was never proof that it could do that. Let alone forge Skillcubes."

    He twirled Sugared Maw between his fingers, his expression shifting to something darker, something more calculating.

    ¡°You are the first.¡±

    A chill ran down my spine.

    ¡°And that?¡± He let the Skillcube drop into my hands. ¡°That makes you a diplomatic nightmare.¡±

    I barely had time to process the gravity of his words before he continued.

    "So yeah, I instantly made you a continental-wide asset.¡±

    There was no jest in his tone.

    No exaggeration.

    Just the truth.

    Marryllin turned back to Nathan, his golden eyes gleaming, the energy around him electric with momentum.

    Without looking, he tossed the Skillcube toward me.

    I barely had time to react before my fingers closed around it, the crystalline surface cool and pulsing with an unfamiliar power.

    "Get his robe made immediately," Marryllin commanded, his tone sharp, decisive. "I want his insignia to be a book, a quill¡ª"

    I cut in before I could stop myself. "Add a coin with an arrow pierced through it."

    Marryllin didn¡¯t seem bothered by the interruption. If anything, his grin widened.

    ¡°Good call.¡± He pivoted back to Nathan, adjusting smoothly. "I want his insignia to be a book, a quill, and a waxing silver coin pierced with an arrow¡ªon top of the book."

    Then, with the same casual ease as if he were ordering a drink, he added¡ª

    "I also want him to have Loreli-level access to the library."

    That made me pause.

    Loreli-level?

    Nathan¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn¡¯t object. He simply nodded, already making notes.

    Marryllin then turned his attention back to me.

    ¡°Anything else you want on the personal insignia?¡±

    I hesitated for only a moment before answering.

    ¡°An origami bird. To represent my Arte. And Fractal.¡±

    Marryllin nodded in approval, his expression thoughtful.

    ¡°Have a few origami birds in flight coming from the book. That¡¯ll be good. Invocative.¡±

    Then, as if suddenly remembering himself, he turned back to Nathan¡ªwho was still kneeling, motionless, in unwavering deference.

    Marryllin waved a dismissive hand, almost sheepishly. "Oh. And at ease. Sorry. Got excited."

    Nathan exhaled, finally standing up, adjusting his posture with disciplined precision.

    "Right away, sire."

    Even as he spoke the words, I could see it.

    The wheels were already in motion.

    ***

    The next morning, Fractal and Cordelia visited me in the hospital.

    I was still sore from the previous day¡¯s ordeal, the pain a distant reminder of the battle, but it was manageable now. I barely registered the physical ache, distracted by everything else¡ªeverything that had happened.

    Fractal, as if sensing my lingering discomfort, landed delicately on the bed beside me. Her shimmering feathers brushed against my arm as she peered at me, her usual concerns filling our bond.

    Hurt. Meanie. Where? Hurt.

    I couldn¡¯t help but smile, my voice softening despite the exhaustion.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Fractal. Thank you for caring. Everything¡¯s been taken care of.¡±

    She seemed content with that, though her gaze never fully left me, still watching as though unsure.

    Cordelia stood silently near the door, her posture as calm and watchful as ever. She didn¡¯t speak immediately, just letting the quiet comfort of the moment settle around us.

    Fractal, sensing the moment was over, hopped off the bed and perched on the Skillcube resting on the table beside me. She examined it with her usual curiosity, tilting her head and flapping her wings lightly.

    Cordelia finally broke the silence, her voice steady and measured.

    ¡°She could, in theory, absorb that Skillcube,¡± she said, glancing at Fractal. ¡°If her mana types match.¡±

    I froze.

    ¡°No.¡± My voice was firm. ¡°You don¡¯t want this one, Fractal. Trust me.¡±

    Before I could think further, I grabbed the Skillcube, my fingers curling around it, and I injected its contents into myself without hesitation.

    The familiar twinge of power coursed through my veins as the notification materialized. It wasn¡¯t in my Gloss Feed this time. The world itself recognized the change. The words manifested in my mind like a gentle but inevitable truth.

    [You have absorbed 2/2 Crystal abilities for this Soul Realm. You cannot absorb any more Crystal abilities until you advance your Soul Realm.]

    The weight of the notification hit me all at once. I wasn¡¯t surprised by the result¡ªjust cautiously acknowledging it.

    I had absorbed the Sugared Maw¡ªbut what did that mean?

    My thoughts quickly shifted to my uncle¡¯s earlier words.

    5 Dimension, 2 Crystal, 2 Nature.

    I had reached my limit for Crystal abilities within this Soul Realm, and it made sense. I was beginning to experience it firsthand now.

    I turned to Cordelia, the question in my mind already forming.

    ¡°This won¡¯t be like the first time, right?¡±

    She met my gaze and nodded, her expression reassuring.

    ¡°No. Not this time. You won¡¯t experience that again until you cross into Soul Realm 4.¡±

    I let out a breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding.

    Thank the stars.

    The first time had been nothing short of a nightmare, and I wasn¡¯t eager to go through that again.

    Still, a piece of this new reality had settled inside me, and with it, came the undeniable truth: the path forward was complicated, but I was already walking it.

    I smiled, the weight of my new title settling over me. A Walker. The reality felt surreal, but it was mine now. I was already walking the path forward, even if I hadn¡¯t fully understood what that path would hold.

    But for the moment, it didn¡¯t matter.

    ¡°Your thoughts are bleeding again.¡±

    Cordelia¡¯s voice broke through my quiet reflection, her words as sharp as ever.

    I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to shield them from her telepathy.

    ¡°Shut up, Cordelia.¡±

    I winced as another wave of pain hit my chest, and I slumped back against the pillows, feeling the sharp sting of my injuries.

    ¡°Everything still hurts.¡±

    And then, as if to answer me, she did something that completely baffled me.

    She laughed.

    The sound was unexpected, a harmonic note that seemed to fill the room with unexpected warmth. It was as though the laughter itself spilled out from her, melodic and beautiful, like a song woven from soft winds and gentle rain. It wasn¡¯t mocking or cruel, just¡­ pure.

    I blinked, trying to process it, unsure what had caused it.

    She had never laughed like this before¡ªat least not in a way that made me feel like this.

    Her laugh was a gift¡ªgentle and reassuring, like the sound of rain falling on quiet earth, reminding me that not everything had to be serious all the time.

    She saw my confusion and gave me a knowing look, her smile soft, though still calm.

    ¡°You¡¯ll understand, eventually.¡±

    I shook my head, feeling the stubborn streak inside me flare again.

    ¡°What?¡±

    She didn¡¯t say another word. Instead, she simply let the silence linger, her soft laughter still echoing in my mind.

    And for the first time in a while, I felt a little lighter.

 Chapter 23: Opulence of Arms

    I sighed, letting the weight of the day settle onto me as I reached for the waxed bronze coin sitting on the tray beside my hospital bed. It was part of my daily ritual, something my skill demanded for upkeep, but it never got any easier. I held it between my fingers, the metallic shine catching the dim hospital light before I put it in my mouth.

    It tasted awful.

    Like copper. Blood. A metallic tinge that lingered on my tongue as it dissolved in my mouth, sinking into my throat like a bitter, bitter reminder of my own limitations. I shook my head, pushing back the urge to gag.

    I¡¯d never get used to that taste. Not ever.

    I grimaced and glanced at my wallet. My uncle had generously given me about 31 waxing bronze coins, but now, after days of this¡ªwell, I was down to just seven. A week¡¯s worth of "food," if you could even call it that, before malnutrition started setting in.

    The thought left me feeling¡­ empty, but I pushed it aside for the moment.

    The medical staff had been dumbfounded when they asked why I was wasting away despite the nutritional IVs they had me hooked up to. They¡¯d been scrambling to figure it out, running tests and asking if I had any magical abilities interfering with their care. When I finally told them, they had rushed off like I¡¯d triggered some kind of emergency protocol.

    That¡¯s when things started to change. They gave me a new diet, though honestly, I didn¡¯t expect it to make much of a difference. It didn¡¯t taste better, but it was at least palatable¡ªwhich, for me, was a small victory.

    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at how the nurses had been running around, looking more like ants scrambling in panic than medical professionals. The discussions on my new diet were like chaos on an anthill, each nurse debating over which food would be best for me¡ªif that even mattered.

    Then, in a scene I could only describe as theatrics, the dietician burst in. She slammed the door open with all the authority of someone used to being the final word in a room. She silenced the entire room of nurses with a single "shut up," the sound of their heads clashing together as she knocked them into each other, all while striding confidently toward me.

    And then, with no fanfare, she leaned in slightly and asked¡ª

    ¡°What other dietary needs do you have?¡±

    The simplicity of the question made me blink for a second. What other dietary needs?

    I gave her a deadpan look.

    ¡°Same as everyone else. Edible things.¡±

    The look on the nurses¡¯ faces was priceless¡ªeyes wide with disbelief, mouths agape. It was like they had been expecting some elaborate answer, some mystical dietary request that would explain all of my magical needs. Instead, they were faced with my simple, blunt response.

    And I couldn¡¯t help but laugh, a quiet chuckle rising from my chest. Fractal, perched on the edge of my bed, joined in, her tiny voice ringing out in a musical trill that sounded like a happy whistle.

    The nurses exchanged glances¡ªone looked at the other as if she had never seen a patient so blas¨¦ about their own wellbeing. And to be fair, I wasn¡¯t exactly thrilled with the way things were going either. But I wasn¡¯t going to pretend it was anything more complicated than it needed to be.

    They were scrambling to figure out my needs. I was just trying to survive.

    I sat there, staring at the seven waxing bronze coins in my hand, the weight of them feeling heavier than it should. Seven. That was the sum of my wealth.

    It was enough to buy a few meals at the best, but not even close to what I needed. I needed three more Adjutants, and this was all I had to offer. Just these seven coins.

    I couldn''t help but sigh. In the grand scheme of Marr''s economy, this was nothing. The average laborer earned only 1.3 waxing bronze coins per week¡ªa measly 130 waning bronze coins. So, in the context of the wider world, I was wealthier than most. Yet, in this moment, I felt like a beggar. I was so far beyond bankrupt it wasn¡¯t even funny.

    The truth was, I couldn¡¯t even begin a duty until I had the Adjutants I needed. This wasn¡¯t just about having enough money for food¡ªthis was about survival. Without a full team, I couldn¡¯t even attempt what the Walkers would require of me. And without Adjutants¡­ I wouldn¡¯t make it far.

    I was about to begin formulating my next steps when suddenly, my Gloss beeped. The sudden chime felt almost jarring¡ªunexpected. I glanced down at the message, and what I saw made my heart skip a beat.

    <hr>

    Duty Assigned:

    Acquire Adjutants via Penal Conscription.

    Thirty potential Adjutants are awaiting your decision. Many are lifelong sentenced criminals. Select one to be your new teammate.

    Reward: Adjutant, Skillcube for Fractal.

    <hr>

    I blinked, reading the words twice. Penal Conscription? Was this some sort of administrative oversight? This went against the normal procedures I was aware of. Was this an order? Or had I been misassigned?

    I reread it, but the message didn¡¯t change.

    Thirty potential Adjutants, many of whom were lifelong criminals, ready to be assigned to me as teammates. Criminals.

    Could I trust them? Could I even afford them? Would I need to trust them?

    A wave of uncertainty washed over me, but I pushed the thought aside. If it was an order, I had no choice.

    I turned my gaze back to the next section of the message.

    <hr>

    Subduty:

    Visit the Armoury and Your Personal Barracks

    The armoury contains your new insignia robe. As this is an official duty, you must be wearing the Walker¡¯s Robe. See the armoury for details. Your personal barracks is your office when not on duty. It is where you, and your Adjutants sleep and recover. The door will contain your personal Walker insignia. Your barracks has your Walker ID. As a Walker, you are required to use your Walker ID as your passport at all border checks and gates¡ªgranting you free entry.

    Reward: Walker¡¯s Robe, Walker¡¯s ID, Potential Upgrades for Barracks.

    <hr>

    I let out a quiet, shaky breath. There it was. My first real assignment. I wasn¡¯t just an aspirant anymore¡ªI was being thrust into the world of the Walkers. A Walker¡¯s robe. A Walker¡¯s ID. Upgrades. The weight of it hit me in a way that felt far too real, too close.

    I ran a hand over my face, still unsure what to make of the crimson robe, the ID that would tie me to the state in ways I wasn¡¯t prepared for. But the reward was clear: I was getting a team, however unconventional it might be. And that was worth something. It had to be.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    But now¡­ what about these criminal Adjutants? How much was I willing to sacrifice to get what I needed? Would I survive long enough to matter?

    Seven coins.

    One team.

    Hundreds of problems.

    The first one? Walking.

    It seemed like an obvious task, but walking was the first duty of a Walker¡ªgetting from point A to point B, regardless of obstacles. In this case, those obstacles included my injuries and the sheer size of the complex. Each step felt like it dragged me further from the person I was before, but that was the reality of it now. The weight of the cane beneath my hand, the tightness in my left ribs¡ªI could feel it with every step I took.

    I was still slow, slower than I should be for someone of my caliber. But the medical staff had cleared me for duty. I had to move, and move I would.

    Cordelia walked at my side, always within reach, her presence a quiet constant. Her movements were fluid and almost effortless compared to mine, but that was to be expected. She had the mental stamina and focus of someone who had lived through countless tests and trials.

    Her steps barely made a sound as she moved beside me, but I could feel something around us¡ªa psychic field¡ªstretching around the both of us. Fractal was near, too, her delicate form perched lightly on my shoulder, but there was something else here, a subtle protection, an extension of Cordelia¡¯s influence.

    I raised an eyebrow at her, feeling the psychic pressure subtly enclosing us. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I asked, my voice low, but tinged with curiosity.

    She glanced over, her usual calm demeanor not shifting in the slightest.

    ¡°My bias field.¡± She said simply, nodding at me. ¡°Think of it like the trick I had you do with concealing your thoughts. This is me expanding it out.¡±

    I watched her, trying to make sense of the idea. ¡°So, you''re blocking out everything?¡±

    She nodded, and I could feel the pressure of her explanation through her voice.

    ¡°Even your loud thoughts shouldn¡¯t bleed past the barrier. Especially because it¡¯s my image being projected.¡±

    I gave her a curious glance. ¡°Which is?¡±

    There was a flicker in her expression, like something almost human slipped past the stoic mask she wore. She hesitated for just a second before responding, her voice quieter than usual.

    ¡°Rude. Never ask that question to anyone you don¡¯t trust.¡±

    I didn¡¯t say anything, just watching her carefully. Her words felt like an unspoken rule of trust. Cordelia had a way of holding back pieces of herself, even from me. The unspoken understanding that not all things needed to be shared unless they were truly necessary.

    She continued, though, not leaving me in suspense.

    ¡°While I helped formulate your infant one,¡± she began, her voice more casual now, ¡°you¡¯ll need a better one. Against someone stronger than I am.¡±

    That caught my attention.

    ¡°Someone stronger?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°This kind of psychic manipulation is about layers. The more layers you have, the harder it is to break through. Eventually, you¡¯ll need a stronger field.¡±

    I could feel her mental strength in the subtle pulse of energy around her, but there was something else there¡ªa kind of calculated distance. Her bias field wasn¡¯t just a defensive measure; it was a deliberate choice to guard her core, to keep something hidden that I couldn¡¯t touch or pry into.

    ¡°To answer your question,¡± she said, her eyes meeting mine as if reading my thoughts, ¡°my image? It¡¯s a bouquet of flowers¡ªeach wilting. All the petals fall like fresh snow, only to blossom and restart.¡±

    I blinked, processing the symbolism of her explanation. The image she had crafted was as fragile and transient as the snowflakes themselves. But also regenerative, like something caught in an endless cycle of decay and renewal.

    I didn¡¯t comment immediately, the weight of her words hanging between us. There was a lot more to her than I could understand¡ªand I wasn¡¯t sure if I would ever fully be able to.

    But for now, I focused on the road ahead. We had work to do, and though every step was heavy with the weight of the unknown, I knew that with Cordelia''s field surrounding me and Fractal''s presence, we¡¯d get through it. Together.

    We reached the armoury first, the thick doors creaking open as we entered. The scent of polished metal and the faintest trace of old leather filled the air, blending with the soft hum of machinery in the background. My eyes instinctively scanned the room, taking in the vast array of weapons, armor, and tools neatly displayed, but there was only one thing that truly caught my attention.

    The robe.

    It was waiting for me, folded neatly in a corner, the fabric black as night, adorned with golden accents that gleamed in the soft lighting. My insignia was emblazoned with silver and gold thread, each detail a masterpiece in its own right. As I slipped it on, the fabric clung to my frame perfectly¡ªtailored to my height, my body. Every inch of it felt like it was made just for me, as if it was designed by someone who knew exactly what I needed.

    The insignia on the sleeves and back was nothing short of breathtaking. Hundreds of small, intricate books filled the space, woven into the fabric as though they were part of the very structure of the robe. Each book seemed to tell a story, but it wasn¡¯t static¡ªit was alive. A quill was stitched onto the fabric, its tip hovering just above one of the pages, as if it had just written something. The completed page spilled over with an image¡ªa flock of origami birds, rising from the page as though taking flight into the air.

    But what caught my attention the most, the centerpiece of the insignia, was a single golden coin. It gleamed against the backdrop of books, pierced through by a single arrow, the golden fluid of the coin spilling out and dripping into the inkwell of the quill, where it seemed to blend with the ink as if they were meant to mix. The image was a symphony of elegance¡ªa union of creation, words, and power.

    I took a deep breath, my fingers brushing against the robe, the material feeling softer than anything I had ever worn. Softer than Cordelia¡¯s skin, than any bed, than any fabric I had ever known. It felt amazing¡ªlike it had always belonged to me. The weight of it, the symbolism behind it, everything about this robe screamed who I was meant to be.

    I stood for a moment, letting the weight of the robe settle around me, feeling like a Walker in the truest sense for the first time. The insignia on my back felt like a living, breathing testament to my journey¡ªan Arte made manifest in cloth. It was a symbol of both my past and my future, the potential of what was yet to come woven into its very fibers.

    I looked to Cordelia, who was standing nearby, watching me with an unreadable expression.

    She raised an eyebrow, and for the briefest moment, I could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

    "Well?" she asked, her voice lighter than usual. "How do you feel?"

    I looked down at myself again, then back up at her.

    "I wouldn¡¯t say ready. But I feel readier."

    The words left my mouth, but even as I spoke them, I wasn¡¯t entirely sure I believed them. Readiness wasn¡¯t just about wearing the robe or accepting the title¡ªit was about living it, about walking the path, one step at a time.

    And right now, that next step led me to my barracks.

    Or rather, my squad¡¯s barracks.

    The Zulu building was a towering structure, one of many in the vast Walker complex, and my assigned room was located on the third floor. Officially, it was designated Z-3191¡ªthe 191st ¡°room¡± of the building, on the third floor of Zulu.

    I say "room," but the word was almost insulting for what it actually was.

    This wasn¡¯t some cramped dormitory or a simple quarters like I had expected. No. It was a full luxury suite.

    The moment I stepped inside, I could barely process what I was looking at.

    A seven-bedroom, four-bathroom suite. A full kitchen, a mounted Gloss, and three personal hookup displays. Every piece of furniture was sleek, high-quality, and untouched. The lighting was soft and adjustable, the air perfectly regulated, the entire space exuding comfort, wealth, and prestige.

    I ran a hand over the smooth, polished counter of the kitchen island, still trying to wrap my head around it.

    This was mine?

    This was ours?

    I turned to Cordelia, utterly bewildered.

    "Is this¡­ the norm?"

    She glanced around, almost bored with the grandeur of it all, before shaking her head.

    ¡°Only when you are rated Transcendent rank.¡±

    I froze mid-step.

    Transcendent rank.

    That wasn¡¯t just high. That wasn¡¯t even legendary. That was a level of recognition reserved for those who were considered walking cataclysms.

    "This," Cordelia continued, "is the luxury accommodations expected of a visiting Dominus."

    My breath hitched.

    I was being treated like a Dominus.

    Me.

    A sixteen-year-old aspirant, who had barely begun his journey, who had just taken his first true steps as a Walker, was being housed in luxury fit for a literal god-ruler.

    The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave.

    I barely had time to process it before another thought¡ªa much worse thought¡ªhit me.

    My mother is going to be pissed.

 Chapter 24: Forgiveness and Regret + Authors Message

    I picked up my license, turning it over in my hands, my eyes scanning the embossed lettering, the official seal, the weight of the thing. It was real.

    Just to make sure, I read the ID again.

    <hr>

    Alexander Juliut Duarte

    Walker #SSS-Z-5939

    Insignia: Books, Origami Birds, Quill, Coin with an Arrow.

    Spirit Beast: Fractal [Please Contact B3 to update any name records.]

    <hr>

    I stared at the classification. Triple Sierra class.

    This is real.

    I blinked, the letters burning themselves into my mind. Triple-S status wasn¡¯t just rare¡ªit was almost mythical.

    Cordelia didn¡¯t even wait for me to ask before confirming the weight of it.

    "You are classified as an asset of the highest order," she said, her tone neutral but firm. "You are literally considered an international asset. The last Triple-S class Walker on application day was William Constant."

    My breath hitched.

    William Constant.

    The Time Twister.

    I swallowed, trying to push down the instinctive shudder that ran through me. The name alone was legendary, but the man himself? A monster, a machine of flesh and bone, built for the horrors of war.

    He could summon tornados from nowhere, manipulate time itself¡ªstopping it, speeding up his own perception, slowing down the subjective time of an entire battlefield. Some said he couldn¡¯t be killed, because he simply wouldn¡¯t let himself die.

    I exhaled sharply.

    "I¡¯m nothing like Constant."

    Cordelia nodded. "Correct. The fourth digit even says so. Z-class. Z is reserved for those who are Manifesters."

    I frowned. "Second time I¡¯ve heard that. What does that even mean?"

    She let out a long-suffering sigh, as if she had just realized she was about to have to explain something obvious to someone who should have already known.

    "I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d have to give you a crash course on Artes."**

    She crossed her arms, her voice shifting into lecture mode.

    "Alright. So, there are four primary classifications of Artes. Shapers, Creators, Bioweavers, and Manifesters."

    She held up a finger for each category as she listed them.

    "Shapers manipulate existing material. Creators generate new material. Bioweavers manipulate their own biology¡ªor sometimes others''¡ªat a fundamental level. And Manifesters?"

    She let that last word hang in the air for a second before continuing.

    "Manifesters create items. Not their registered material, not something directly tied to their Arte, but any item."

    I blinked, letting that sink in.

    "Oh. Like Tristania."

    Cordelia tilted her head, looking at me like I had just started speaking a different language.

    "Who?"

    "My sister. The one closest in age to me. The shut-in." I hesitated. "She¡¯s scared of crowds. Of people. Therapists blame Mom for that one."

    Cordelia gave a slow nod, her expression unreadable.

    "Well, she probably doesn¡¯t get this royal treatment because, one: she¡¯s not a Walker. And two: she doesn¡¯t have the absurd ability to create skillcubes."

    Her words hit with the force of cold reality.

    I had been so focused on trying to wrap my head around this whole Manifestation thing that I hadn¡¯t fully grasped why they were treating me this way.

    It wasn¡¯t just about power. It wasn¡¯t just about being useful.

    "One of the literal laws of Manifesters," Cordelia began, her tone shifting into something almost academic, "is known as Pote¡¯s Paradox. They cannot create power. But they can create an item of power."

    She paused, letting the weight of those words settle.

    "Many do so unknowingly. But your value?" She shook her head slightly, exhaling. "Your value is incomprehensible in comparison."

    I frowned. "Why?"

    "Did you know," she continued, ignoring my question for the moment, "that most people are unable to progress because they¡¯re stuck without filling their Skillcube slots?"

    I blinked. That¡­ made sense, but I hadn¡¯t thought of it before. Skillcubes weren¡¯t easy to come by. They weren¡¯t just handed out. You had to earn them, whether through exploration, discovery, or defeating something strong enough to justify their existence.

    "Case in point," she added, tilting her head slightly, "I¡¯m one of them."

    That caught me off guard.

    "Wait, what?"

    She crossed her arms, her voice calm but firm. "My Aspects are Life, Mind, and Death. Do you know how hard it is to find Death-aspected skillcubes that won¡¯t turn me into a monster?"

    She wasn¡¯t joking.

    I had never even considered that before. Finding skillcubes wasn¡¯t just about getting stronger¡ªit was about finding the right ones. And if you had an Aspect that was rare, dangerous, or taboo, you were effectively locked out of progression.

    I swallowed. That was a terrifying thought.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Still, something she said stuck in my mind.

    "Pote¡¯s Paradox?" I asked.

    Cordelia shook her head. "Not important."

    But I could tell it was important. She just wasn¡¯t going to explain it yet.

    "Either way," she continued, shifting the conversation back on track, "you cannot Manifest skillcubes."

    I narrowed my eyes. "But I¡ª"

    "No. You didn¡¯t Manifest a Skillcube. You broke a law to create one."

    My breath hitched.

    "Skillcubes require a Decree to be made. You are being treated like a Dominus because¡ªwhether you intended to or not¡ªyou violated a Dominus¡¯s Decree."

    I felt a cold chill settle into my bones.

    "You broke the fundamental law of known Para-Physics."

    I clenched my fists. "Which is?"

    She looked me dead in the eyes. "You cannot bring things back from the Higher Realm. They must be made whole from the Miasma Storm."

    I felt the weight of her words crush down on me.

    I had done something impossible.

    And now?

    Now, the world would never see me the same way again.

    ***

    I left the barracks, dressed in the black-and-gold Walker¡¯s robe, insignia stitched in silver and gold, the fabric flowing with a weight that wasn¡¯t just material¡ªit was expectation.

    I was ready for my first assignment.

    Or at least, I was as ready as I could be.

    Conscripting a convict into my team. Permanently.

    The weight of it sat wrong in my stomach. I wasn¡¯t na?ve¡ªI understood that Walkers weren¡¯t granted the luxury of clean choices. But this? This felt like I was taking someone who had been condemned to life¡ªor even death¡ªin prison, and giving them a supervised parole for life.

    A permanent leash.

    It felt¡­ wrong.

    Cordelia walked beside me, ever silent, ever attuned to the way my thoughts bled out despite my attempts to mask them.

    "It¡¯s common enough," she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, neutral, like she had already anticipated my discomfort. "You are an important asset to the state, so they want you to have the responsibility."

    I let out a slow breath, but before I could respond, she continued.

    "Likelihood? You¡¯ll be given a small border territory eventually in the continent as your own independent city."

    I almost stopped walking.

    "What?"

    Cordelia didn¡¯t even glance at me. Instead, she looked to the left, her eyes briefly unfocused¡ªthe telltale sign of her viewing the Gloss-feed through her neural link.

    "There are¡­ thirty-seven known baronies of that type in the Free Cities Alliance alone," she said, almost as if reading off a report. "The other countries I don¡¯t have access to, but yeah..."

    A barony?

    Wait¡­

    "I¡¯m going to be a Baron?"

    Cordelia didn¡¯t even blink.

    "No. You are likely to be an Earl."

    I felt something in my stomach twist.

    That¡­ that didn¡¯t make me feel any better.

    I had been so focused on becoming a Walker, on passing the trials, on surviving, that I hadn¡¯t even begun to process what came after. I thought I¡¯d be getting a team, a role, an assignment¡ªbut now I was being told I¡¯d have a territory?

    Land. Governance. Rule.

    The idea made my pensiveness deepen, and I tried to shake it off.

    Not now. One problem at a time.

    I inhaled, trying to ground myself, and immediately noticed something wrong.

    I felt empty.

    I turned to Cordelia, concern rising in my chest. "Where is Fractal?"

    The small Spirit Beast was always near me, always present¡ªher shimmering feathers, her curious chirps, the faint weight of her on my shoulder or wrist. She always calmed me, and now she was gone.

    Cordelia, still looking unbothered, answered smoothly.

    "School."

    I blinked. "What?"

    "She¡¯s in the Walker¡¯s Academy for Beasts and Spirits. Once your Machina gains sapience, it¡¯ll be there too."

    My brain short-circuited for a moment.

    "Excuse me?"

    She finally turned her head toward me, and her expression carried just the faintest hint of amusement.

    "You¡­ you really are cold, throwing bombs left and right today."

    Cordelia shrugged. "I prefer efficient. But if it helps, yes. I am completely heartless today."

    I groaned, rubbing my temples. Fractal was at a school for Spirit Beasts. My Machina was apparently going to gain sapience. I was somehow getting a criminal on my team. And at some point in the future, I was going to be an Earl? I sighed deeply.

    One. Problem. At a time.

    The first problem?

    Waiting on the damned carriage.

    It was late.

    Not by much¡ªmaybe a few minutes¡ªbut when you were about to be thrown into a den of convicted killers, time mattered.

    Thankfully, as soon as the carriage pulled into view and the driver caught sight of my robe, he nearly tripped over himself in his rush to apologize.

    "Walker sir! Please forgive the tardiness, sir! Had to get the carriage cleaned from the prior voyage, sir!"

    He kept adding ''sir'' to the end of every sentence, and it was already grating. But I let it slide. I had bigger things to deal with.

    I boarded the carriage, and within minutes, we were on the road, speeding toward my destination.

    ***

    The air was thick the moment we arrived¡ªheavy, oppressive.

    I checked my Gloss, scrolling through the dossiers of the thirty prisoners I was meant to choose from.

    Murder. Murder. Terrorism. Murder. Serial Murder. Murder. Patricide. Fratricide. Infanticide. Ritual Murder. Serial Arson¡­And Murder.

    I sighed, the sheer weight of death pressing down on me even harder now that I had names, faces, and details to go with the list.

    These weren¡¯t petty thieves. They weren¡¯t criminals who got caught in unfortunate circumstances.

    These were monsters.

    People who had chosen their paths, who had willingly embraced destruction.

    One was a mother who had methodically drowned her own children.

    Another was a father who had used his Arte to detonate entire temples, reducing places of worship and those inside them to nothing but ash.

    I felt a wave of nausea churn in my gut.

    How are these people allowed outside?

    Cordelia¡¯s voice cut through my thoughts, her familiar Bias Field wrapping around me like a thin, invisible veil.

    "They aren¡¯t."

    I turned to her. "Then what the hell am I doing here?"

    Her expression didn¡¯t change, but the weight in her voice was enough to pin me in place.

    "You really need to stay inside my bubble here," she said. "You will get hit by some nightmares. Sure, they''re weakened heavily by the restraints, but... inhibition cuffs aren¡¯t foolproof."

    I swallowed hard.

    I had heard about that before¡ªinhibition cuffs, magical restraints designed to suppress Artes and make criminals harmless.

    But "harmless" was subjective.

    These people had done unspeakable things. Just being in their presence could be enough to leave a scar.

    I nodded slowly, acknowledging the warning, but something still didn¡¯t sit right.

    "Could you explain what you meant, though?"

    Cordelia didn¡¯t answer immediately. She took a moment, her gaze distant, as if recalling something from her past.

    Then she spoke, her tone matter-of-fact.

    "My prior Walker had this test," she said. "To choose a conscripted criminal, as a permanent member of their team. Binding for life."

    I felt my hands clench into fists. Binding for life. I wasn¡¯t just recruiting someone. I was shackling them to me forever.

    "And why do I have to do this?" I asked, my voice quieter now, but no less sharp.

    Cordelia finally turned to face me fully.

    "Because, Alexander," she said, "you will become our judge, our jury, our executioner of all criminals we encounter on the roads."

    The weight of those words settled into my bones. I wasn¡¯t here to save anyone. I was here to decide who was the least irredeemable. Who was fit to walk beside me.

    And who was beyond forgiveness.

 Chapter 25: Blocked Off

    [Yo! Walker! Alexander! Gotcha contact from the big boss! Name¡¯s V. I¡¯m a Warden here at Marr Penitentiary #4. Good news? I¡¯m joining you on your road contracts. Bad news? You kinda¡­ will have to pay my salary? Either way! I¡¯ll send my dossier file over. Can¡¯t wait to work with you, boss! PS. At the gatehouse, give them your Walker license. It¡¯ll have Freddy, that lazy bastard, finally do some work and escort you to me.]

    I stared at the message, rereading it twice.

    What?

    I turned to Cordelia, my face probably broadcasting my confusion, but she just arched an eyebrow, looking at me like I was the weird one.

    "I take it you didn¡¯t just get contacted by a Warden named V?" I asked, still processing what I had just read.

    Cordelia just shook her head, the expression on her face somewhere between apathetic and mildly amused.

    "If it¡¯s the Warden assigned to the prisoner, they¡¯d have contacted you, not me."

    That made sense, but it didn¡¯t explain anything.

    I exhaled, rubbing my temples. "Okay, so just to confirm¡ªI now have a Warden assigned to me, I have to pay them, and no one thought to warn me?"

    Cordelia shrugged. "Apparently not."

    I let out a short, dry laugh, feeling a headache creeping in. "Anything else I should know before I step through that gate?"

    Cordelia just gave me that flat, knowing look before casually reminding me:

    "You are not just an international asset now. You are an international asset of the highest priority."

    I froze for half a second, processing that sentence all over again.

    "Three weeks ago, I was running from you while you sent spikes of bramble bushes at me."

    Cordelia nodded, her tone completely unbothered. "And now you are the second most important person in Marr."

    She gave me a sidelong glance, her lips almost quirking into a smirk.

    "Interesting how that works, isn¡¯t it?"

    I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. Three weeks ago, I had been a kid desperately trying not to die.

    Now?

    Now I was hiring a Warden, conscripting a criminal, and walking through the gates of a prison full of murderers.

    Moons¡¯ damn this.

    ***

    I handed my Walker license to the Gatehouse attendant, expecting the usual¡ªa quick scan, maybe a halfhearted nod, and then I¡¯d be let through.

    Instead, the moment his eyes flicked over the ID, I saw his entire body stiffen.

    His face paled.

    "Oh shucks. It''s you."

    His hands visibly trembled as he scanned the license, the small beep from the machine echoing through the otherwise quiet gatehouse.

    I sighed internally. Here we go.

    "Uhh. Pardon me, sir. I didn¡¯t know, sir. I¡¯m gonna make it up to you, sir¡ª"

    I cut him off before he could dig himself any deeper.

    "If you say ''sir'' one more time, I¡¯m going to file a strongly worded complaint."

    His mouth snapped shut.

    I leaned forward, keeping my voice calm but sharp enough to cut.

    "Just shut up. Please."

    The venom in my tone must have hit him like a brick wall, because he swallowed hard, nodding rapidly.

    "I¡¯ve had the worst day already." I exhaled. "Get me to this ''V'' that contacted me. And do whatever job you are assigned. Okay?"

    The attendant practically tripped over himself to comply, fumbling with the gate controls before motioning hurriedly for me to follow him inside.

    ¡°Moons¡¯ light. I¡¯m not built for this¡­¡±

    ¡°No. You¡¯re not.¡± Cordelia agreed.

    The prison was¡­ dreary.

    Not just in appearance, but in atmosphere¡ªlike the very air was saturated with violence, despair, and barely-contained rage.

    The moment we stepped inside, it became painfully clear that the guards here weren¡¯t particularly interested in maintaining order¡ªor if they were, they were doing a terrible job of it.

    Prisoners were brawling openly. Fists cracked against flesh, bodies slammed into walls and metal railings, the sheer brutality of it making the hall echo with grunts, shouts, and the sickening crunch of bones breaking.

    Even through the chaos, I noticed the restraints¡ªmagnetic locks coiled tightly around their necks and wrists, clearly inhibitors of some kind.

    I didn¡¯t have time to analyze them further, because just as I was processing the situation, a shadow loomed in my peripheral vision¡ªsomething moving fast, too fast¡ª

    I jerked back, barely avoiding the inmate that had just been hurled across the entire block.

    They crashed into the wall inches from where I had been standing, groaning as they slumped to the floor in a heap of bruises and barely-conscious regret.

    Freddy, the attendant, had stopped beside me, his face taut with tension.

    "I¡¯m sorry si¡ª" He caught himself mid-word, swallowing it down. "Please be careful. This is A Block. These are the best of the worst."

    I exhaled slowly, keeping my voice level.

    "Yeah. Noticed."

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    This wasn¡¯t a prison. It was a war-zone contained by walls. I shifted closer to Cordelia, ensuring that I remained inside her Bias Field.It was one thing to see the violence. It was another to feel it. The weight of the chaos, the rage, the madness¡ªit pressed against the edges of my mind, threatening to bleed in. If not for Cordelia¡¯s presence, I had no doubt I¡¯d be dragged into it, whether by fear, instinct, or something much worse.

    As a precaution, I projected my image outward¡ªthe same mental trick Cordelia had drilled into me. The one she had warned me wasn¡¯t good enough.

    She shook her head again, clearly unimpressed. But it was the best I had for now.

    If A-Block was a lawless brawl, then B-Block was a full-blown warzone.

    Gunfire. Actual gunfire.

    Bullets zipped through the air, ricocheting off walls, some deflected by skillcubes or artes, while others found their mark¡ªwith deadly finality.

    People were dying. Left and right. I was wading through an ocean of cadavers, my boots sticking slightly to the blood-slicked floor.A severed arm twitched beside me, residual Arte energy still flickering in its mangled fingertips. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep moving, to not stop and think too hard about what I was stepping over.

    And then¡ªI saw them.

    Someone, kneeling over a fresh corpse, knife in hand, carving something into the flesh.

    I really, really hoped they weren¡¯t carving those inmates for what I thought they were.

    A shudder ran through me. What the hell was happening here?

    Compared to B-Block, C-Block was almost¡­ civilized.

    It had the same brawling chaos as A-Block, but here? It was organized.

    Disciplined. The inmates had rules.

    The guards? Not so much.

    Above the block, massive banners displayed the rules of conflict and duels, listing detailed regulations for organized fights.

    And right next to those? Betting pools.

    Tables filled with guards laughing, gambling, exchanging money, treating the lives of these prisoners as entertainment.

    "What¡­ what the hell do the guards even do here?!"

    The words ripped out of me before I could stop them.

    I turned to Freddy, my frustration boiling over, grabbing the man by his collar and shaking him hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

    "Explain. Now."

    Freddy''s eyes went wide with fear, hands raised defensively, his lips trembling for an answer.

    "W-we uhhh¡­ in this block?"

    I let out a long, measured exhale, forcing myself to release him.

    I had no energy to waste throttling this poor bastard when I needed answers.

    "No." I said, barely restraining my temper. "I meant in the prison. Entirely."

    Freddy hesitated, glancing at Cordelia, who remained stone-faced. Then, with a deep gulp, he finally spoke.

    Freddy''s hands trembled slightly as he regained his footing, clearly shaken by my earlier outburst. His face was pale, and it was clear he wasn¡¯t accustomed to answering questions with this much intensity.

    ¡°In general¡­¡± He paused, trying to regain his composure. ¡°We don¡¯t have the manpower. We don¡¯t have enough forces to keep each block civilized. B-block is the worst.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes. If B-block was the worst, then I couldn''t even begin to imagine what the rest of the prison was like.

    Freddy seemed to sense the weight of my growing impatience, but he continued, explaining the madness.

    ¡°A-block is just rowdy. You¡¯ll note that no one there is dead. Beaten up? Yeah.¡± He cleared his throat, glancing around nervously. ¡°But here? Here in C-block? The guards and inmates both make bets on the gladiatorial arenas.¡±

    I stared at him, the words sinking in.

    ¡°Gladiatorial arenas?¡±

    He nodded quickly. ¡°Yeah. The best gladiators have perks. They¡¯re celebrities of the prison. The ones who win the most matches, the ones with the most brutal victories¡ªpeople worship them. The guards even give them better food, and they¡¯re allowed to live with more privileges. It¡¯s messed up but, well, it works for the prisoners.¡±

    I shuddered. The idea that this prison system¡ªa system meant for punishment¡ªhad created an entire entertainment industry centered around violence and bloodshed was almost beyond comprehension.

    But C-block¡ªit was organized chaos. And in a way, that was more terrifying than the sheer lawlessness I had witnessed in A-block.

    Still, it was his next words that struck me like a physical blow.

    ¡°D-block is way more what you¡¯d expect of a prison.¡± He sounded almost relieved to move onto the next topic. ¡°It¡¯s organized. Contained. Security¡¯s tighter there. But¡­¡±

    He faltered again, eyes darting nervously toward the far end of the hallway, as though he expected someone to burst through the doors at any second.

    ¡°But E-block¡­¡± Freddy¡¯s voice dropped to a near whisper, and he gulped audibly.

    ¡°E-block is¡­¡±

    He hesitated, looking around once more before leaning in, almost conspiratorially.

    ¡°I¡¯m uhh¡­ not allowed to talk about E-block. Sir.¡±

    I stared at him, perplexed, but his wide eyes, coupled with the sheer fear in his expression, told me everything I needed to know.

    Something about E-block was beyond bad. Something too dangerous, too horrifying for even Freddy to speak about without breaking the rules.

    I swallowed.

    "What the hell is in E-block?"

    Freddy¡¯s expression shifted into one of guilt¡ªor maybe it was fear¡ªand his lips pressed into a tight line.

    He didn¡¯t answer.

    I sighed, turning to Cordelia. She was already studying the prison layout, as though she had anticipated this. Her face remained as unreadable as ever.

    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder¡ªjust what kind of hellish nightmare had they locked away in E-block?

    ***

    We were brought into the yard, the heavy steel gates creaking shut behind us. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, smoke, and burnt flesh. A man, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, stood before a raised metal platform, one hand cupping the smoke as he took a long drag. His outfit¡ªa trilby perched atop his head, and a shoddy two-piece suit¡ªlooked like it belonged to someone far more disheveled than he appeared.

    "Yo!" He called out, as if he hadn¡¯t just been watching us approach. "V here! You¡¯re Alexander, right? Gosh, you¡¯re young for this test."

    I glanced at Cordelia, her expression unreadable, but her nod confirmed that I wasn¡¯t imagining it.

    "You are indeed young for this known test," she said, her voice low but carrying the weight of experience. "However, you have good reason to do it early."

    I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself for whatever was about to come. This was it¡ªthe moment of truth.

    "It is my pleasure, V," I said, offering a stiff nod, hoping to make a good first impression. "As you said. I¡¯m Alexander. This is Cordelia."

    V flashed a smirk, the smoke from his cigarette curling up between his fingers like a living thing.

    "Protip! Have Cordelia introduce you," he said, eyes glinting with amusement. "You¡¯re the S+ class Walker, after all."

    I gave a small, uncomfortable nod, unsure if he was giving me a compliment or just trying to make me feel out of place. He turned his attention back to the group of inmates surrounding us, his tone shifting to something more businesslike.

    "You get their portfolios of criminal acts?"

    I glanced at Cordelia, who nodded again, confirming that I had received all the necessary details on the prisoners before arriving.

    "Yeah," I said, "There¡¯s only three I¡¯d consider. The rest..."

    "The rest you can butcher," V interjected, his voice completely devoid of remorse. The words came so casually, as if this was just a routine.

    I felt a sickening twist in my stomach. I was used to the idea of harsh decisions, of life-or-death choices¡ªbut this? This was different.

    V didn¡¯t seem to notice the weight of his words, or maybe he just didn¡¯t care.

    "They didn¡¯t tell you what you are required to do, did they?"

    I swallowed hard.

    "No."

    V audibly tsked, shaking his head with a disappointed sigh.

    "Typical. They never harden you before this," he muttered. "Always leaving it to the wardens to tell you for the shock value. When I mentioned ''butcher,'' I meant it."

    He leaned in, his tone gravelly and cold.

    "Today, everyone you don¡¯t choose dies. By you."

    The words slammed into me like a physical blow.

    I stood there, frozen, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me. Was I really expected to kill these people? Even if they were murderers, terrorists, monsters? My gaze wandered over the inmates. There were so many faces¡ªsome of them grinning, some of them weeping, some of them with eyes that seemed to hunger for more. They were all criminals, all deserving of punishment. But even so¡­

    How could I decide? V¡¯s casual demeanor didn¡¯t help. I wanted to ask, what happens if I choose none of them? But I knew.

    The choice was never mine.

 Chapter 26: Murder, Conspiracy, and Other Names for Corvids

    ¡°Okay, V. I¡¯m going to tell you the three I¡¯m actually considering. Prisoner numbers 8731, 7003, and 0010. I want you to confirm everything¡ªtheir crimes, their habits in the prison, which block they¡¯re in. Everything.¡±

    V grinned lazily, leaning against the metal bars of the holding area. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling before giving me a knowing glance.

    ¡°Got it, new boss.¡±

    Taking another drag, he exhaled and began his rundown, his voice casual but tinged with the experience of someone who¡¯s seen it all. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s start with 8731. Their Arte is biological¡ªkeratin manipulation. The long and short of it? They''re a bio-weaver, and their hair is their weapon. They can turn their hair into spikes, chains, all sorts of things. Used it to turn into a massive wheel of hair and sharp spikes during a terrorist attack at a summit with the leaders of the Free Cities Alliance. That was a wild day. B-block resident. They¡¯ve been broken mentally and physically. Had their nails and hair waxed off as punishment, but we¡¯ll restore that if you choose them. Their crime? Terrorism, turning into a living weapon. But here¡¯s the thing¡ªthey¡¯ve been manipulated. The facts don¡¯t add up. I¡¯d say there¡¯s a possibility they were played into committing the act. There¡¯s no clarity, and honestly? They¡¯re on the ¡®don¡¯t¡¯ list for execution. The plan is to move them to an asylum, where they can be kept under observation and treated. So, if you don¡¯t want to execute them, they¡¯ll be handled, just not by you. But I¡¯ll tell you¡ªthis one has potential.¡±

    I paused, taking in the information. A manipulated pawn or a dangerous tool. Either way, this was a tough one. I glanced at V, who was puffing out a cloud of smoke, waiting for my next question.

    ¡°Alright, who¡¯s next?¡±

    V smirked, leaning back and flipping through the next dossier. ¡°7003. Known as the Duchess of the Drownyard. She¡¯s a pirate. Used her water manipulation Arte to become a notorious pirate captain. Serial piracy, larceny, murder, and three counts of abduction. The kind of person you don¡¯t want to have on the wrong side of the law. But here¡¯s the thing¡ªshe¡¯s honorable in a twisted sense. She made a deal to save her crew, claiming they were following her orders. The investigation backs her up. She turned herself in to protect them. But make no mistake, she¡¯s a mastermind. Her crew did everything she commanded. Execution is on the table for her, and she¡¯s currently waiting for the blade. But I recommend you consider her. Why? Because she¡¯s a great underworld asset. A strategic mind and a capable leader who can get you the information you need. She may be a criminal, but she¡¯s useful. You don¡¯t want her head on a platter unless you absolutely have to.¡±

    I ran my hand over my face, taking in V¡¯s words. A pirate who turned herself in for the sake of her crew, yet committed countless atrocities. If I chose her, I¡¯d be granting her a second chance¡ªand a powerful ally in the underworld.

    ¡°But you said I could butcher them if I didn¡¯t choose them, right? So why should I consider her?¡±

    V chuckled darkly. ¡°Because you¡¯re not here to just kill. You¡¯re here to lead. And she can be a valuable tool. Use your judgment. Her life is a strategic asset, and the rewards from keeping her alive? Well, they¡¯ll pay dividends.¡±

    I nodded, silently digesting his words, then turned to the final dossier.

    ¡°0010. This one¡¯s a whole other level,¡± V said, his tone shifting. ¡°She¡¯s the only resident of E-block. And, honestly, this one¡¯s a monster. Her crimes? Abduction, murder, arson, theft¡ªthe list goes on. But the thing is, everything about her feels like it doesn¡¯t add up. She¡¯s marked with the slavery mark, which means, well, she was forced into her crimes. But here¡¯s the kicker¡ªeverything points to her being the one at the top of the pyramid. She¡¯s the ringleader. The one who manipulated others into doing her bidding. She claims it was all forced upon her, but the evidence doesn¡¯t support that. The mark? That¡¯s real, but it¡¯s still her at the heart of it all. She¡¯s a monster who deserves to be put down, but here¡¯s the twist¡ªshe¡¯s the protector of a gate to an Otherrealm inside the prison.¡±

    I blinked. ¡°You mean there¡¯s an Otherrealm gate inside the prison?¡±

    V nodded, his face serious for the first time. ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s the one who guards it, and the only reason she¡¯s still alive is because she¡¯s the only one who can control the gate. Let me make this clear¡ªyou need her if you¡¯re going to get any answers about that Otherrealm. You could put her down and end the threat¡­ but if you do that, you risk losing access to one of the most dangerous and valuable things in the entire prison. She might be a monster, but she¡¯s got use. If you don¡¯t choose her, she¡¯s headed for the chopping block, no questions asked.¡±

    I shook my head, absorbing all of this. Three prisoners. Three choices. Each with their own dark past and twisted potential. The weight of the decision was crushing.

    ¡°So, who do I choose?¡± I murmured, mostly to myself.

    V smiled, a flicker of something more calculating in his eyes. ¡°That, boss, is your call. I just tell you the facts. You decide who¡¯s worth keeping around¡ªand who gets the axe.¡±

    ¡°Do all of them get the axe if I don¡¯t choose?¡± My voice was calculated, trying to mask the weight of the decision. I had an idea forming, but I wasn¡¯t about to show my hand just yet. ¡°I want a meeting with 7003 and 0010. I¡¯m currently leaning towards choosing 7003, but what would it mean if one of these residents just... disappeared?¡±

    V¡¯s smile turned into something sinister, his eyes glinting with amusement. ¡°Prisoners die in B-block and C-block all the time, Alexander. What do you imagine would happen to someone who disappears?¡±

    I considered this, letting it linger before responding. ¡°7003 is an underworld asset, but I don¡¯t want her on my protection detail. That would be a waste of her talents. What I want is her as a network, as an information and black market broker. I need loyalty there, contacts that will help me, not someone on my front lines. I was told to pick one for the team, but Walkers walk alone. What we don¡¯t do, is go without the right equipment or connections. I can¡¯t do this alone.¡±

    V nodded slowly, letting me finish before responding. His voice was laced with approval. ¡°Smart. You¡¯re making a calculated decision, not rushing in like most would. And what about 0010?¡±

    I rubbed my chin, considering. ¡°0010¡­ I need to speak with her first before making any final decision. I¡¯m not convinced yet, but I won¡¯t pick her without understanding more. If she¡¯s truly as dangerous as they say, then I won¡¯t have her on the team. Otherwise, I¡¯ll pick none for protection and go with 7003 as an info-broker.¡±

    V¡¯s smirk remained, but his tone turned more serious. ¡°You¡¯re thinking it through. Good. You should be careful with your choices. Now, as for 7003, you basically just said you don¡¯t want her on your detail. So instead, you¡¯ll have to make her an Auxiliary.¡±

    I blinked, unsure. ¡°Auxiliary?¡±

    V leaned back against the wall, tapping his cigarette lightly before explaining. ¡°The term is Auxiliary, not just ¡®team member.¡¯ You¡¯re allowed up to three, and they¡¯re more like support assets. They¡¯re not officially part of your core team, but they can be invaluable to you. And while you¡¯re making a solid call, I have to ask¡ªare you sure you want to use one here? 7003 could be useful, but she won¡¯t be a part of the team in the same way your core Adjutants are.¡±

    I thought it over carefully, weighing the implications. ¡°Yeah. Information is going to be my biggest weakness. I need her connections, and if I don¡¯t have someone like her on my side, it could be a serious handicap. I¡¯m willing to use one of my Auxiliary slots for that.¡±

    V¡¯s expression softened slightly, though still holding that calculating edge. ¡°You¡¯ll make use of her, that¡¯s for sure. I can arrange a meeting with 0010, but there¡¯s one more thing¡ªyou need to execute the rest first. You¡¯ll need to handle the others before I can even start the process with 7003. You can¡¯t have them hanging around.¡±

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    The weight of his words hit me like a stone sinking into water. My decision was no longer just about who would join my team¡ªit was about who would live and who would die.

    ¡°Understood,¡± I said, my voice steady despite the rising tide of uncertainty in my chest. ¡°I¡¯ll execute the others. Then we¡¯ll see about 7003.¡±

    V¡¯s smile widened, the kind of grin someone has when they know you¡¯re in deeper than you thought. ¡°Good. You¡¯re starting to understand what it means to be a Walker. This job¡­ it¡¯s not easy. And sometimes, there¡¯s no going back.¡±

    The prison yard was still and silent. The only sounds were the distant murmurs of the guards and the heavy breathing of the remaining prisoners. I stood alone, my heart pounding in my chest, a weight pressing down on me. Each life that would be taken today was another piece of my soul slipping away. But I couldn¡¯t stop now. I had made my choice, and there was no turning back.

    I didn¡¯t have Fractal with me this time. She was in school¡ªher presence was just a memory, a small comfort I could hold onto. I wished she were here, but in this moment, I had to rely on myself.

    I reached into my pocket and pulled out the stack of paper. My fingers moved quickly, folding the edges with precision, the familiarity of the process grounding me. I let my Arte take shape. Paper Manipulation had always been a tool for creation. A means of expression, of form and design. But today, it was something else.

    I folded the first piece into a shuriken, its edges sharp and cruel. With a flick of my wrist, I sent it flying, and it struck a prisoner square between the eyes. He dropped without a sound, his body crumpling like a ragdoll. The clean cut made me sick.

    I didn¡¯t have time to dwell. The next piece of paper became a sword¡ªthin, but deadly. A clean blade, sharp enough to pierce bone. I aimed it at the next prisoner. His terrified eyes met mine for a split second before the blade found its mark. His throat was slashed open in an instant, the blood spilling like a torrent. He fell, lifeless.

    Two down.

    I didn¡¯t even need to look at the others. The paper weapons were becoming an extension of myself, each one more efficient than the last. A spike, now. I shaped it, the jagged edges cutting through the air. I thrust it forward, and it buried itself in the chest of another prisoner. He gasped, his body jerking as the paper weapon absorbed the life from him, sucking the strength from his limbs.

    The next prisoner tried to flee. But he was slow. I fashioned another dart, this time smaller, more precise. It hit him in the back of the head, sinking in deeply, his body collapsing into the dirt.

    Five down.

    I was moving quickly now, my hands working on autopilot, shaping weapons without thought. A paper needle for one. A paper guillotine for another. I didn¡¯t need to stop. I couldn¡¯t afford to.

    The blood, thick and viscous, coated my hands as I continued. My chest ached, not from the pain of my previous injuries, but from the weight of what I was doing. I had been forced into this. Forced to become this. The image of Fractal¡¯s worried eyes flickered in my mind for a moment, but I pushed it away. There was no room for doubt. There was no time for hesitation.

    Eight down.

    I approached the next prisoner, his face pale with fear, his hands raised in surrender. He wasn¡¯t even trying to fight. I didn¡¯t care. He had killed before. He deserved to die now. The paper guillotine came down on him with a swift motion, severing his head clean from his shoulders. It rolled to the ground with a sickening thud.

    Twelve down.

    Each life taken was like a weight added to my soul. But it had to be done. I am a Walker now. I had to live with it.

    The next few prisoners were the same. They tried to run, to beg, to reason, but there was no reasoning with me. I was executing the orders I had been given. Their crimes; all abhorrent.

    As the last few remained, I felt my body grow tired. My hands were shaking, but I couldn¡¯t stop. I couldn¡¯t give in.

    Twenty down. Seven left. Then six. Then five. Many accepted their deaths. Some with smiles. Some with tears. I tried to make each one painless. Yes. These people were killers. There''s blood now on my hands, stained red from the act of the harvest. Five quickly became one.

    The last one, a man who had taken lives in the most gruesome of ways, was trembling. He was on his knees, begging for mercy. His dossier was long. He killed and butchered forty-seven hundred children. Collecting their feet from their half eaten corpse.

    I summoned one last paper weapon, a sharp, cruel blade, the edges so thin they seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. I aimed it at his chest. He looked up at me with pleading eyes, but it didn¡¯t matter. I drove the blade down into his heart.

    The final breath left his body with a wet, gurgling sound. He was gone.

    Twenty-seven down.

    The yard fell silent. The air was thick with the stench of blood, the quiet of death settling over the scene. I stood there, surrounded by the corpses of the men I had just killed. My hands were still trembling, my chest heaving with exhaustion. But it was done.

    I wiped my hands on my robe, trying to shake off the sensation of what I had just done. I had no choice. I had to do it. Walkers walk alone. There was no time for hesitation, no time for weakness.

    I stood there, my body shaking, my hands slick with blood, staring down at the bodies of the twenty-seven prisoners. The weight of what I had just done settled heavily on me, but it didn¡¯t matter. It had to be done. There was no room for hesitation. The Walkers didn¡¯t hesitate.

    V¡¯s footsteps were slow as he approached, his eyes scanning the field of death with an unsettling calm. His voice broke the silence, cold and precise.

    ¡°Your orders will be harder. And this will be one of the hardest. You relished a few of the kills, I¡¯ll admit,¡± he said, his voice laced with an almost detached approval.

    I didn¡¯t answer. My gaze remained fixed on the lifeless forms before me, the twisted, grotesque sight of their final moments etched into my mind. I hadn¡¯t relished any of it. But I had executed my duty.

    ¡°Others,¡± V continued, his tone shifting slightly, more approving now, ¡°I applaud your ability to do it quickly. The way you moved through them¡ªefficiency is key. There¡¯s no room for hesitation in this line of work. You killed them cleanly, without faltering.¡±

    I swallowed, fighting back the nausea that threatened to rise. His words sounded almost like praise, but they were as empty as the bodies lying in the dirt.

    But it was the last one he spoke of that made my heart thud heavily in my chest. He didn¡¯t have to say it¡ªI knew which one he meant.

    ¡°That last one¡­¡± V¡¯s voice softened, as if understanding the weight of the moment. ¡°I understand. That one was different. He wasn¡¯t just a criminal¡ªhe was a monster.¡±

    The last one. He had been a child killer. Not just any killer, but a predator. He¡¯d eaten children. Half of their bodies, to be exact. The feet of his victims were trophies. He wore them, collected them, like some twisted, sick trophy to remember his violence.

    His final plea was weak, a whisper, a whimper. But I didn¡¯t flinch. I didn¡¯t hesitate. I could hear his voice, echoing in my mind, but I had already made my choice.

    I looked up at V, my gaze steely, void of emotion.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t give him mercy,¡± I said quietly, my voice steady but cold.

    V didn¡¯t respond right away. He simply nodded, taking a drag of his cigarette. ¡°No. You didn¡¯t.¡± His tone was flat, almost approving. ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re here. You¡¯re not supposed to give them mercy. Not in our world. Not when they¡¯ve crossed that line. There is no redemption for monsters like him.¡±

    I turned away, feeling the weight of his words like an anchor, dragging me deeper into the abyss. V¡¯s assessment was harsh, but true. There was no place for mercy here. No place for compassion. There was only the cold duty of a Walker. To protect the roads. To judge who can cross them. To decide who is pardoned and who is exiled.

    The job was about making the hard calls¡ªthe ones you don¡¯t want to make. You had to decide who was a bandit simply trying to feed themselves, and who was a monster obsessed with their greed. You could spare one, but the other needed to be stopped, before they hurt more innocent lives.

    My body felt on fire. My mana channels screaming at me. My overuse of my arte. Does killing make it easy to ignore the pain? Is that why they all did it? What kind of pain were they feeling that killing others made it all feel¡­numb? Their eyes. Their faces. Their tears. Their screams, their pleas. Their masks of fear. Like the raven, the conspiracy grows.

    ¡°Your role is not to be an executioner,¡± V¡¯s voice cut through my thoughts. ¡°You¡¯re a guardian of the roads. Not a judge, not an executioner. You are there to protect those traveling, to ensure safe passage. And sometimes, that means making hard decisions. You¡¯re not here to kill for the sake of killing.¡±

    I nodded, still feeling the weight of the decision, but V¡¯s words hit home. I wasn¡¯t here to be a judge. I wasn¡¯t here to execute anyone I deemed unworthy. I was here to protect. To keep the roads clear.

    ¡°You¡¯re walking a fine line,¡± V continued, his voice steady and cold. ¡°But as long as you can make the hard calls quickly, without hesitation, you¡¯ll be fine. This is what you¡¯ll face outside the walls. You¡¯ll have to decide if they¡¯re starving for food or starving for blood.¡±

    I exhaled slowly, the weight lifting slightly, but still heavy on my chest.

    ¡°I understand,¡± I said, my voice low.

    V smiled at me, his eyes cold but with a hint of something approving behind them. ¡°Good. Now, let¡¯s get to work.¡±

 Chapter 27: Neverending Hunger

    Work, of course, was pulling me away from the ocean of blood. The torn arms, the lifeless bodies, all staring at me. Some had their mouths open, as if frozen in the act of asking their final question¡ªone I would never hear. Others seemed content, their fates accepted, their judgment received. A few looked defiant even in death, unwilling to yield even in their final moments. But only one, the child butcher, had worn true, genuine terror. His body was nothing more than a ruin of knives, drills, and sharp implements, all crafted from folded paper. I had not granted him mercy.

    As I stepped away from the scene, a prompt flickered into my vision.

    [Skill, Origami, has advanced to Level 2]

    Origami ¨C In a language long dead, ¡®kami¡¯ was the word for a god, ¡®kami¡¯ was the word for paper, and ¡®kami¡¯ was the word for hair. You are traveling a path of being a god of paper, folding it to find your divinity. Creations made of folded paper are 20% stronger.

    I blinked. Skills have descriptions? That was new.

    Cordelia, clearly still upset with me, sighed sharply, pressing a single finger to her lips¡ªno, not her lips, my thoughts. The motion was a silent command.

    ¡°You¡¯re leaking nightmare energy along with your thoughts.¡± Her voice was firm, controlled, but there was an edge of exhaustion behind it. Not pity. Not sympathy. Just cold, professional reality. ¡°If a psyker stronger than me is nearby, they could twist through your defenses and force you to relive that moment. Over. And over.¡±

    I swallowed. She was right. I was too raw. Too loud. I needed to get my mind in order. Fast.

    We were led into a meeting room. Cordelia remained outside. First, I was alone with 7003.

    0010 was in a separate cell. This would let me focus.

    The woman before me was tall, her skin a deep green, with a physique that spoke of years at sea¡ªbroad shoulders, powerful arms, a presence that filled the room. Even sitting, she loomed. Orc? Ogre? Giant-blood? It was hard to tell. Her dark, unkempt hair was more a result of the prison than neglect, I suspected. This place broke people.

    She didn¡¯t give me the chance to speak first.

    ¡°Listen.¡± Her voice was rough, brash. A woman of the sea. A woman of command. ¡°If you¡¯re here to interrogate me, get it over with and skip to the execution. I¡¯ve already said everything I¡¯m going to say about my crew. They¡¯re gone. Long, long gone. And don¡¯t give me that ¡®you don¡¯t have the heart to kill¡¯ routine, innocent boy. Your hands are stained crimson after that slaughterhouse.¡±

    She was testing me. Seeing if I¡¯d flinch.

    I smiled. I didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Actually, no. I¡¯m going to ask you a few questions, 7003¡ª¡±

    She rolled her eyes at the number but didn¡¯t interrupt.

    ¡°¡ªall related to the idea of you continuing exactly what you were doing before¡ªbut with Walker approval.¡± I tilted my head. ¡°Would you be interested in acquiring¡­¡± I flicked my Gloss to check the term. ¡°¡­a Letter of Fright?¡±

    That got her attention.

    She exhaled, leaning back. ¡°Ugh. Those usually come with strings attached.¡± A long pause. Then, her lips curled into something that wasn¡¯t quite a smirk. ¡°This isn¡¯t an interrogation, then. It¡¯s a bargaining table.¡± She rubbed her forehead. ¡°Great. Where¡¯s my quartermaster when you need him?¡±

    She was playing along now. I had her interest.

    ¡°Fine.¡± She sighed, rolling a shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s assume, for argument¡¯s sake, that I¡¯m interested. Just to get out of here. What are your terms?¡±

    I folded my hands on the table.

    ¡°First. You will be branded with my insignia.¡±

    Her expression darkened.

    ¡°Any convicted criminal freed into Walker service must bear their Walker¡¯s brand. It¡¯s not just Marr¡¯s law. It¡¯s every nation¡¯s law. It¡¯ll function¡­ similar to a slave¡¯s mark.¡±

    Her jaw tightened. ¡°You¡¯re really not making this sound appealing.¡±

    I didn¡¯t blink. ¡°Is execution more appealing?¡±

    Her glare was sharp. I didn¡¯t back down.

    ¡°The only reason I¡¯m offering you this is because you have honor.¡± My voice was even. Calm. ¡°You are noble amongst criminals. You have contacts. You have experience. 7003¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop calling me that.¡±

    Her voice snapped.

    ¡°If you¡¯re actually going to work with me, stop calling me my prisoner number. Didn¡¯t they give you my dossier?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°They did.¡±

    I exhaled, leaning forward.

    ¡°But not your name.¡±

    That made her pause.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know the names of the 27 people I slaughtered today.¡±

    That made her pause even further.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who they were. I don¡¯t know their families. I do know their crimes. To me, they are nameless.¡± I pressed a hand against my chest. ¡°And they are staring at me. Even now. They are begging me to answer why? Why did I kill them? I killed because it was an order. Because they were beyond saving.¡±

    Silence.

    She studied me. For the first time, she actually saw me.

    Then, she took a deep breath.

    ¡°¡­Okay.¡± Her voice was lower now. Less of a test. Less of a challenge. ¡°You don¡¯t know my name?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Another pause. Then, after a long moment, she exhaled.

    ¡°Jasmine.¡± She leaned back, rolling her shoulders as if shedding something unseen. ¡°Captain Jasmine.¡±

    I inclined my head. ¡°Thank you, Captain Jasmine.¡±

    I let the moment settle. Then I continued.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    ¡°Jasmine. As I was saying. You have contacts. Connections. You have access to black markets and smuggling networks. I need those.¡±

    I folded my arms. ¡°I don¡¯t want you as part of my guard. That would be a waste of your talents. I want you to become my intelligence network.¡±

    That got a spark of interest.

    ¡°I¡¯ll still permit piracy.¡± I said casually. ¡°On armed ships. Especially if they belong to the Lost Republic. I¡¯ll still permit you to trade in¡­ non-savory goods. You will operate as you always have. But when I call? You answer. When you find slaves, you contact me so we can arrange transport to freedom.¡±

    I met her gaze.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be bound by the laws of my insignia.¡±

    I leaned back in my chair.

    ¡°But you will be free.¡±

    Jasmine was silent.

    Then, I saw it. She grinned. A pirate¡¯s grin.

    ¡°You¡¯re a clever one.¡± She shook her head, amused. ¡°Fine. You¡¯ve got a deal. But only if you get me a proper drink the moment I¡¯m out of this hellhole.¡±

    I smirked.

    ¡°Deal.¡±

    ***

    It had been an hour since a prison officer arrived to escort Jasmine to be branded with my insignia.

    I had stopped for tea.

    This afternoon? Rose-petal tea.

    It tasted¡­ amazing.

    I was now certain that Cordelia had a skill for brewing tea.

    ¡°I do.¡± Her voice was as cold as the steel table between us.

    I scowled. ¡°Could you at least pretend my thoughts are private?¡±

    She took a slow, deliberate sip of her own tea, not even bothering to look at me.

    ¡°Could you make an effort to have them be?¡±

    I sighed, defeated. Setting my cup down, I pushed the momentary comfort aside. I needed to focus.

    ¡°Go away and bring 0010 in, then.¡± My tone hardened. ¡°This is¡­ not going to be pretty.¡±

    Cordelia gave me a sideways glance but stood, brushing nonexistent dust off her uniform.

    I tapped a finger against the side of my Gloss Crystal, still staring at the results from my earlier scan.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like this. Her slave mark means she¡¯s property to someone.¡± My voice dropped lower. ¡°But that someone has the same exact mana and miasma structure as her.¡±

    Cordelia paused. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly¡ªa rare show of concern.

    ¡°How likely is that?¡±

    She flicked her own Gloss, eyes scanning through a flood of numbers before answering.

    ¡°My Gloss has it at one in eighteen centillion.¡±

    I blinked. ¡°Without me diving back into a mathematical anxiety-induced frenzy, how many zeros is that?¡±

    ¡°Eighteen.¡± She set down her tea. ¡°Followed by 303 zeros.¡±

    I exhaled. Hard. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not natural.¡±

    No system¡ªno accident¡ªcould create something with odds like that. It wasn¡¯t just improbable. It was impossible.

    Cordelia¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line.

    ¡°¡­Your Gloss still running tests?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± I ran a hand through my hair. ¡°It¡¯s trying to figure out if the mark was branded with her own mana¡ªyou know, to hide it.¡±

    Cordelia nodded. ¡°And?¡±

    I grimaced. A ping from my Gloss confirmed the result I dreaded.

    ¡°No method my Gloss can detect.¡± I clenched my jaw. ¡°Nothing known can make a slave mark appear as if the victim branded themselves.¡±

    Cordelia was quiet for a long moment.

    ¡°Then either someone has an Arte that can mimic mana signatures¡­¡± I felt the weight behind her next words.

    ¡°¡­or she¡¯s exactly what the prison records say she is.¡±

    I didn¡¯t answer. Because I didn¡¯t like either possibility.

    I pushed back from the table, standing.

    ¡°Still going to talk to her?¡± Cordelia asked.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± I grabbed my cane, feeling the dull ache of my ribs as I moved. I wasn¡¯t fully healed yet. ¡°If only because I want to get into E-block.¡±

    She tilted her head slightly. ¡°You¡¯re that curious about her?¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°Not just her. The whole damned block.¡±

    I turned to face her fully, my voice firm.

    ¡°Think about it. She¡¯s the sole resident of E-block. The only one.¡±

    Cordelia¡¯s frown deepened.

    ¡°There¡¯s an Otherrealm gate inside. One that we both know she protects.¡± My fingers tightened around my cane. ¡°And yet, look around us. Have you noticed how much neglect this prison has?¡±

    Cordelia looked at the walls, the rusted bars, the guards who clearly weren¡¯t paid enough to care.

    Her voice was quiet.

    ¡°¡­It¡¯s awful.¡±

    I nodded.

    ¡°These people are here for life. And the best I¡¯ve seen?¡± I gestured vaguely toward the blocks we passed through. ¡°A lawless hellhole where inmates brawl like animals in an arena, and guards place bets.¡±

    Cordelia crossed her arms. ¡°And you think E-block is worse?¡±

    I exhaled. ¡°I think it¡¯s different.¡±

    Something about this place stank. And I had a feeling 0010 was at the center of it.

    ***

    We reached the E-block''s holding cell.

    It was¡­ clean. Too clean.

    Not a speck of dust. Not a single thing out of place. Every item in the room was perfectly arranged, meticulously positioned. Yet there was not a single guard. Not a single soul standing watch.The only person in the entire block was her.

    0010.

    She was small. Very small.

    Barely standing at four foot nine, her frame was fragile, delicate¡ªalmost ethereal in how insubstantial she looked. Whether her weightlessness was due to her natural petite build or malnutrition from the prison, I had no idea.

    Her eyes though¡­ They caught me. Pink.

    A soft, gentle hue¡ªyet there was nothing gentle about them. They were sad. The kind of sadness that was deep. Aching.The kind of sadness etched into the bones of a person, never to fade, never to heal.They were not the eyes of a killer. They were the eyes of a tragedy.

    I stepped forward. ¡°0010.¡± My voice was firm, but not unkind. ¡°Before we start, I¡¯d like to introduce myself, and my companion.¡± I gestured toward Cordelia. ¡°I am Alexander. This is Cordelia.¡± The girl remained silent, her expression unreadable.

    ¡°We need to ask you a variety of questions,¡± I continued. ¡°Please be as truthful as possible, as it may influence my decision.¡±

    A small shift. Her fingers twitched ever so slightly.

    ¡°To start with,¡± I said carefully, ¡°what is your name?¡±

    She blinked. Slowly.

    Then, in a voice too hollow for her size, she spoke: ¡°Name? I never had one.¡± Her voice was soft. A whisper against stone.

    ¡°All I had were a variety of monikers.¡± She began listing them. Flatly. Emotionlessly.

    ¡°Meat.¡±

    ¡°Dog.¡±

    ¡°Bitch.¡±

    ¡°Whore.¡±

    ¡°Doggie.¡±

    ¡°Ogress.¡±

    ¡°Oni.¡±

    The way she recited them was not normal.They were not names.

    They were labels. Titles.

    Each one signifying a different purpose. A different use. I felt my stomach turn. It didn¡¯t take a genius to see what her slave insignia had been for.

    Cordelia¡¯s stare burned into the side of my skull¡ªa warning not to push.

    I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat.

    ¡°¡­Can I call you Ten then?¡± I interrupted, my voice carefully neutral.

    Cordelia¡¯s eyes were daggers in my direction, clearly displeased with the way I phrased that. But Ten only nodded.

    ¡°This one can be Ten in this discussion.¡±

    The way she said it¡ªso automatic, so ingrained¡ªit was clear.

    This was not a name. This was just another label. It left a terrible taste in my mouth. I exhaled, pushing forward.

    ¡°Ten.¡± I locked eyes with her. ¡°I¡¯m not going to dance around this. Why is there an Otherrealm Gate here in E-block?¡±

    Her expression didn¡¯t change. Her answer was just as hollow.

    ¡°Because,¡± she said simply, ¡°a dragon used to live here.¡±

    She blinked.

    ¡°Until I killed it.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°And ate it.¡±

    ¡­

    Okay. Okay, that explained the guards¡¯ fear.

    A prisoner in a maximum-security block.The sole resident.

    And she ate a dragon. I felt my blood turn cold. Because anyone who consumes the flesh of a dragon¡­Becomes a Dragon Eater.

    And Dragon Eaters¡ªNever stop hungering.

 Chapter 28: Not a Promise

    This small girl¡ªthis frail, ghost of a thing¡ªwas part of an elite class of people. Dragon Eaters. There weren¡¯t many of them. Not because people didn¡¯t want to be a Dragon Eater. But because becoming one was nearly impossible. Hunting a dragon was hard. Killing a dragon was harder. But eating a dragon?

    That part was easy. At least¡­ on paper.

    Because the moment you consume the flesh of a dragon, the moment you take in its essence¡ªyou change.

    Dragon Eaters hunt dragons no longer because it is one of the most dangerous games in existence¡­

    But because eating a second, a third, a fourth¡ª

    Only makes them stronger. The hunger never stops. The thirst never fades.

    And Dragon Eaters are not human.

    Not anymore. I clenched my fists, pushing those thoughts away. It didn¡¯t matter. Not yet. I needed answers first. I took a slow breath, my voice measured.

    ¡°While that would explain why the guards are afraid of you, Ten, I need you to give me more details.¡±

    I locked eyes with her, my tone firm but calm.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t explain why an Otherrealm Gate is here.¡±

    I gestured around the room, emphasizing the absurdity of it all.

    ¡°We are in the middle of the city. There are hundreds of wards preventing unauthorized gates from forming. Ever since I arrived, I¡¯ve had Cordelia checking for any registered Gates in the area.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes.

    ¡°There are none.¡±

    Not a single record. Not a single whisper of a Gate here. Nothing.

    It shouldn¡¯t exist. Yet it did. I studied Ten¡¯s expression carefully.

    ¡°When did the Gate first appear? Or¡­¡± I hesitated, already dreading the answer.

    ¡°Has it been here since you arrived?¡±

    My words carried weight.

    Because if the Otherrealm Gate was always here¡­

    That meant this entire prison was built atop a wound in reality. That meant this entire situation was worse than I thought. Ten didn¡¯t blink. Her answer came simply. Hollow. Detached.

    ¡°The Gate was here when Ten arrived.¡±

    Her pink eyes stared through me.

    ¡°A dragon came forth.¡±

    She tilted her head slightly, her pink irises catching the dim light.

    ¡°Ten had to destroy it to live.¡±

    Her voice was flat. Emotionless. She spoke like she was reciting a fact¡ªas if killing a dragon was the same as talking about the weather. My stomach twisted.

    ¡°Ten resists the inhibition collars and shackles.¡±

    She lifted her thin wrists, the metal cuffs around them pristine¡ªuntouched. Not a single scratch, not a single sign that the inhibitors were working.

    So they weren¡¯t.

    ¡°Ten used Ten¡¯s Arte to amplify the strength of Ten¡¯s legs.¡±

    She mimicked the motion slowly, almost experimentally.

    ¡°Crushed the dragon¡¯s skull.¡±

    Like it was nothing. Like she was snapping a twig. I felt the pit in my stomach widen.

    ¡°Ten isn¡¯t given any food.¡±

    That stopped me cold.

    I felt Cordelia tense beside me.

    ¡°So Ten ate the dragon.¡±

    She blinked. Slowly.

    ¡°Ten has dined exclusively on Other meat since Ten¡¯s arrival.¡±

    The words hung heavy between us. I stared at her, trying to process it. The guards didn¡¯t feed her. They starved her. And she ate what came through the Gate. That was her diet. That was her life. I felt sick.

    But worse than that¡­I noticed something else.

    Ever since I had called her Ten¡­Ever since I had given her a new moniker¡­

    She hadn¡¯t used the word ¡°I¡± once. Not once.

    She had listed names¡ªlabels, brands, identities others forced upon her. But she had never given herself a name. Never called herself ¡°I.¡± She had never been a person. Just a title.

    A thing.

    I took a slow breath.

    I needed to push forward.

    I needed to distract myself from the ever-growing weight in my chest.

    ¡°Who branded you?¡±

    The words came out sharper than I intended. Ten did not hesitate.

    She didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t blink. Her voice was automatic.Cold. Rehearsed. Programmed.

    ¡°Ten cannot say.¡±

    I clenched my fists.

    ¡°Ten was given an explicit order.¡±

    Her pink eyes were unwavering. Her posture didn¡¯t change. She was simply stating a fact.

    ¡°Ten will not confirm nor deny that Ten branded herself.¡±

    I inhaled sharply.

    ¡°Ten will not confirm nor deny that Ten was branded by someone else.¡±

    Cordelia¡¯s bias field tightened around us.

    ¡°Ten will be silent.¡±

    A pause. Then¡­

    ¡°About that question.¡±

    Her voice was devoid of anything. No hesitation.

    No emotion. No resistance. It was a perfect response. A response that had been carved into her. Burned into her very being. Like she was a doll. A thing that could only repeat what was forced into it. I felt my nails dig into my palm. I had met slaves before. Once.

    But this?

    This was different. This was worse. I scowled.

    ¡°Cordelia.¡±

    She already knew what I was going to ask.

    Her response was immediate.

    ¡°Zero.¡±

    I turned to her sharply.

    ¡°What?¡±

    She exhaled.

    ¡°The chance of erasing the slave mark.¡± She shook her head, her expression grim. ¡°Zero. I already looked it up.¡±

    I felt a chill creep up my spine.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    Cordelia nodded.

    ¡°There¡¯s no known method to remove it. Not without cutting off the limb it¡¯s attached to.¡±

    I slowly turned back to Ten.

    She stood there calmly.

    Almost like she wasn¡¯t even part of the conversation.

    ¡°In her case¡­¡± Cordelia continued, her voice quieter.

    ¡°It¡¯s on her chest.¡±

    My blood went cold. Cordelia¡¯s gaze darkened.

    ¡°So she¡¯d be bisected.¡±

    Her next words felt like a hammer to my skull.

    ¡°Death.¡±

    No way out. No escape. Even if I broke her chains. Even if I freed her from this hell. The brand would kill her. I let out a slow, shaky breath.

    Ten¡¯s pink eyes remained unmoving. Unflinching. Like she had already accepted that reality. Like she had never once entertained the thought of freedom. Like she had never even considered it.

    I swallowed the anger rising in my throat.I couldn¡¯t afford to get emotional. Not yet. Not here.

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    ¡°I see.¡±

    Those were the only words I could manage. The weight in my chest grew heavier. But there was still more I needed to ask. Still more I needed to understand. I looked back at Ten. And I asked my next question.

    ¡°Do you want to leave this place?¡±

    There was a long silence.

    For the first time¡­Ten hesitated.

    Ten¡¯s pink eyes narrowed, and for the first time since we had met, there was emotion in them. Anger. Fury. Defiance.

    "Ten¡­ does not understand.¡±

    Her voice wavered. Not from fear. But from confusion.

    ¡°Why would Ten be able to leave?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t asking out of hope. She was asking as if she genuinely couldn¡¯t comprehend the possibility. Like the very thought of leaving this place was as foreign as the idea of breathing underwater.

    Cordelia exhaled, her voice level.

    ¡°You¡¯d be able to leave because Alexander here is willing to take you on as his conscript.¡±

    The words hung in the air.

    ¡°An adjutant.¡±

    Ten stared at me. Not with excitement. Not with joy. With suspicion.

    ¡°You¡¯d have his insignia marked over your slave mark,¡± Cordelia continued, her voice cool.

    "It¡¯d function¡ª¡±

    "NO.¡±

    The word came out sharp.

    Sudden.

    Violent.

    I felt my entire body tense as Ten''s eyes burned with rage.

    "You¡¯d take Ten away...¡±

    Her hands clenched into fists.

    "You¡¯d make Ten not Ten.¡±

    Her breathing grew heavy. Her entire posture shifted. Like she was ready to fight. Like she was preparing to kill us both.

    "You¡¯d tell Ten to do this¡­ to do that¡­¡±

    She bared her teeth, her voice low and dangerous.

    "Ten won¡¯t."

    I didn¡¯t move. Cordelia didn¡¯t either.

    We both understood what just happened. For the first time, Ten had rejected an order. For the first time, she was fighting back. Against me. Against this prison. Against whatever the hell had made her this way. She had no name. No identity. But the one thing she still had?

    Her will.

    And now? I had just challenged it. I slowly raised my hands. Palms open.

    A gesture of non-aggression.

    I wasn¡¯t going to force her. I wasn¡¯t going to demand obedience. I needed her to choose.

    "I''m not here to take you away."

    I spoke slowly. Carefully. Like I was walking through a field of glass.

    ¡°I¡¯m not here to make you into something you¡¯re not.¡±

    Ten¡¯s eyes were still furious. Still wild. But she was listening. So I continued.

    "I am here because I need an answer.¡±

    I took a step closer. Not too close. Just enough that she could see my face clearly.

    "You¡¯re strong. You survived when no one else did.¡±

    Her fingers twitched. A reflexive motion.

    "You killed a dragon.¡±

    Her fists clenched tighter.

    "You ate it.¡±

    Her breath hitched.

    "You¡¯ve been left alone in this place.¡±

    I gestured to the cell.

    To the clean floors.

    The organized shelves.

    The pristine walls.

    "You¡¯ve had nothing but this cell and the Otherrealm behind that door.¡±

    I met her gaze, unwavering.

    "And yet you¡¯re still here.¡±

    A pause. A silence. A moment too heavy to measure.

    Then, I asked:

    "Do you want to leave?"

    Ten froze.

    Her expression flickered. Anger. Confusion. Something else.

    Something I couldn¡¯t place.

    And something I very much could.

    Hope.

    It was faint. So faint. Like a candle¡¯s flame fighting against the wind. Like the last dying ember in a long-dead fire. But it was there. And that terrified her. I realized it then. Hope was something she refused to feel.Because when your hope is extinguished time and time again, you don¡¯t just lose it.You fall. Darker and darker.

    Hope is a torch in the darkness. But when that torch dies, you are left with nothing but the shades. And Ten? She had lived in the dark for so long...She had forgotten what light even looked like. I took another slow breath.

    Careful. Measured.

    "You don¡¯t have to answer now."

    Her fingers twitched. Her nails dug into her palms. A defensive motion. Like she was trying to crush the hope before it could spread.

    "But I¡¯ll ask you again.¡±

    Her eyes locked onto mine. Hard. Cold. But listening.

    "Do you want to leave?¡±

    Silence.

    A silence so thick it felt suffocating.

    And then¡ª Her lips parted. Her voice was small.

    Fragile. Like the words might break her if she let them out.

    "...Ten doesn¡¯t know."

    And for the first time...

    She used I.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ***

    I stepped out of the holding area, adrenaline still running through my veins, ready to do something¡ªanything¡ªto feel like I had control. My mind was still reeling from everything that had happened, the decisions I had to make. So, I walked straight up to V, fists clenched, and without a second thought, threw a punch aimed directly at his gut.

    It was hard¡ªharder than I expected it to be¡ªbut when it connected, I realized quickly just how much harder his body was. It felt like my fist had hit a brick wall. The force reverberated up my arm, and a sharp jolt of pain shot through my hand. I scowled, pulling my hand back in frustration.

    V, for all his confidence, didn''t even flinch. He just smirked at me, clearly amused. ¡°Yo, Boss! That¡¯s not how you throw a punch! I can teach ya that!¡± His voice was light, as if we were having a casual chat, not like I¡¯d just tried to take his head off. ¡°After all, outside of being a trapsmith and explosives expert, I¡¯m a mean pugilist. Watch.¡±

    Before I could react, V was on me. He swept his legs under mine, effortlessly throwing me off balance. I crashed to the ground hard, wind knocked out of me. I barely had time to register what was happening before V was standing over me, his fist raised, ready to deliver the next blow.

    With a swift motion, he brought his fist down, landing a solid hook to my cheek. The impact was sudden and sharp. My head jerked to the side, and I winced from the pain, trying to steady myself. The world tilted for a moment, a burst of light flashing behind my eyes as I fought to stay conscious.

    V stepped back, watching me with amusement. ¡°See, that¡¯s how you do it. Power, control, and precision. It¡¯s all about knowing where to hit and how to channel your strength. You''re trying to hit too hard, too fast. You need to learn to make your punches count.¡±

    I rubbed my jaw, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. My chest tightened, a mix of humiliation and frustration rising in me. ¡°I didn¡¯t need a lesson. I needed to feel something,¡± I muttered, barely above a whisper.

    V cocked his head, studying me for a moment, his grin fading slightly. ¡°Feel something, huh? You think that punching me is gonna fix it all? That¡¯s the problem with you Walkers¡ªyou¡¯ve got all this power, but no idea when to use it, and when to just stop.¡± He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to make tough decisions, Alexander. They¡¯ll eat you alive if you let them. And sometimes, you¡¯ll need to control that rage. Because if you don¡¯t, it¡¯s gonna control you.¡±

    I stared up at him, trying to steady my breathing, the pain in my jaw starting to dull. The words hit harder than any punch. He was right, damn it. Every time I thought I had a grip on this situation, it slipped through my fingers.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to be lectured,¡± I growled, getting to my feet, rubbing my jaw. But V¡¯s gaze never wavered. It was steady, almost as if he was waiting for me to see what he meant.

    ¡°Then what did you come here for?¡± V asked, his voice steady and calm, his arms crossed.

    "Why the hell wasn''t she fed? Why the hell wasn''t she in other cells? And why in all the moons'' glow is there an Otherrealm here?!" I demanded, my frustration boiling over. I stood in front of V, my fists clenched at my sides, not caring about the aching pain from the earlier punch.

    V didn''t flinch. His expression remained unchanged, almost as if he were waiting for me to ask those exact questions. He was a man who had seen it all, and nothing seemed to faze him. But that didn''t mean I was going to hold back.

    "I¡¯m asking you, V," I continued, my voice rising. "What the hell is going on here? Why is Ten still alive, and why the hell is there an Otherrealm gate in this damn prison? It''s in the middle of Marr! There are wards everywhere to stop this kind of thing!"

    V let out a long, tired sigh, as if he was the one who had been asked to carry the weight of the answers. He leaned against the stone wall, folding his arms. "You want answers, huh? Well, you¡¯re not gonna like ''em."

    I stood there, glaring at him, waiting for him to continue.

    ¡°Look, kid,¡± V started, his tone suddenly turning serious. ¡°This prison? It¡¯s a black hole. They shove every kind of monster, every criminal, every person they can¡¯t figure out into these walls. They don¡¯t give a damn about what''s inside. They just need to lock it away. And sure, maybe that Otherrealm thing? Not normal. But when you have a dragon eater, a girl who can consume the meat of dragons and turn herself into a goddamn nightmare, you¡¯re gonna get some weird stuff happening.¡± He paused, his voice lowering. ¡°E-block? It¡¯s a special case. I don¡¯t even know the whole story behind it. But it¡¯s not like anyone gives a shit. They just let it happen.¡±

    I stared at him, my mind trying to process his words. The pieces weren''t fitting together. How could the people running the prison let something like this happen? A Dragon Eater? And an Otherrealm gate? It didn''t make sense.

    ¡°What does this mean for me?¡± I asked quietly, a hint of dread creeping into my voice. ¡°Am I supposed to fix this? Am I supposed to make it all right?¡±

    V gave me a look, his gaze sharp and hard. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to do your job, kid. And your job is to get answers. Your job is to decide what happens to Ten, and who gets to live. You¡¯re a Walker now. This is your world. You¡¯ve got a duty to keep it safe¡ªno matter what.¡±

    I clenched my fists tighter, trying to ignore the sick feeling rising in my stomach. ¡°And what about the Otherrealm? You¡¯re telling me it¡¯s just gonna stay here, open like that?¡±

    V didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, he pushed off the wall and walked past me, his hand on my shoulder briefly as he moved toward the door. ¡°You¡¯ll get your answers in time, Alexander. But first, you need to understand something. The world out there... It''s complicated. And sometimes, you¡¯re the only one who can decide what gets to live and what gets to die. But you don¡¯t get to change the rules just because you don¡¯t like them.¡±

    He opened the door, glancing back at me one last time. ¡°And as for the gate? That¡¯s a problem for later. One step at a time.¡±

    I stood there, the door to the holding cell still open, my mind racing. I had already made my decision. Ten would become my adjutant. She had the skills, the strength, and the intelligence to be an asset to me. But the real challenge wasn¡¯t in offering her the position¡ªit was in convincing her she had any chance of freedom at all.

    The way she spoke¡ªthe way she existed¡ªhad stripped her of that hope long ago. She had resigned herself to being nothing more than a tool, a weapon, a slave to the whims of the people who controlled her. She¡¯d lived in that prison for so long, under conditions so brutal, that the very idea of freedom might seem like a distant dream. A dream too far gone to believe in.

    But I wasn¡¯t going to let her stay there. I couldn¡¯t. Not when I saw the potential, the fight left in her. She wasn¡¯t just some criminal that could be thrown away. She was someone who had endured, someone who had survived, and now, someone I could give a chance to walk a different path.

    I took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts aside. This wasn¡¯t going to be easy. It wasn¡¯t going to be pretty. But I was the one who had to make it happen. If I was going to offer her anything, it had to be more than just a position as my adjutant¡ªit had to be a promise. A promise that I would fight for her freedom, and I would fight for her to believe it was possible.

    I turned back toward the holding cell, the faintest echo of hope creeping up from the depths of my chest. This was the hardest part. Convincing Ten to hope again. To trust in something, someone, when all she had known was pain and manipulation.

    Taking another step toward the cell, I walked through the door, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dull, cold, like she had given up everything, even herself. But I wasn¡¯t going to let her stay that way. Not if I could help it.

    "Ten," I said, my voice low, firm. "I¡¯m offering you a chance. A real one. You can be my adjutant, work with me. I¡¯m not asking for loyalty right away, but I am offering you a chance to have a future. A future where you¡¯re not just someone''s property. Where you¡¯re not bound to a life of violence and servitude."

    She didn¡¯t respond at first. She just stared at me, her body tense, as if waiting for the catch. But there was no catch. Not this time.

    I stepped closer, my gaze steady. "You don¡¯t have to live in that prison anymore, Ten. You don¡¯t have to be the monster they made you. You can have your own life. And if you work with me, I promise you¡ªI¡¯ll fight for your freedom."

    Her lips trembled slightly, her hands curled into fists, and for a moment, I thought she might reject it. But then, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

    "Why... why would you offer that to me?" Her words were laced with disbelief. "What¡¯s in it for you?"

    I met her eyes without hesitation. "What¡¯s in it for me is seeing you free, Ten. What¡¯s in it for me is knowing I didn¡¯t turn my back on someone who still has a chance. You matter. Even if you don''t believe that yet, I¡¯ll help you believe it."

    The silence stretched between us, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. And for the third time, I saw something flicker in her eyes. Maybe it was hope, maybe it was doubt, maybe it was something else. But it was there, and that was enough for me.

    I held out my hand, my gesture simple but filled with all the sincerity I could muster. "You don¡¯t have to choose this right now. But when you¡¯re ready, when you¡¯re ready to believe there¡¯s more for you than this, I¡¯ll be here."

    For a long moment, Ten stared at my hand, the weight of the decision on her. And then, slowly, cautiously, she reached out.

    It wasn¡¯t a promise, not yet. But it was a start.

    And I¡¯d be damned if I didn¡¯t see it through.

 Chapter 29: The Gilded Cage

    I had already notified the Prince of my decision. A simple message had gone through, and moments later, his response came directly to me via his Gloss. It was a system he kept for emergencies, and to be honest, I wasn¡¯t sure if I was supposed to have it. But he didn¡¯t hesitate to reach out. I didn¡¯t mind¡ªhe was always blunt, always quick to get to the point.

    The notification pinged, and his voice crackled through my Gloss.

    ¡°It¡¯s terrible, isn¡¯t it, kid? That isn¡¯t my district. That would be the Warden Guild¡¯s jurisdiction. I was also notified of how you handled things. Gotta say. That was brutal. Bloody. Try less theatrics next time, you can easily eliminate someone like that with one needle, behind the temple, right above their eye. Dig it in deep and POP, they¡¯re out like a light. Try that next time. Regarding the prisoner, or should I say prisoners, you¡¯ve chosen. Good lateral thinking. The pirate captain is an amazing choice, and glad you realized the value of the underworld. I knew that lesson is hard for most. Just please don¡¯t dive down too deep there. Regarding the other prisoner though¡­yeah, we can start investigating. Something smells rotten, and it''s not the bones in my workshop. Get her in your direct employ, and have yourself and V watch her at most times.¡±

    I paused, letting the message sink in.

    ¡°Yeah, I get it. I¡¯ll keep my distance from the darker parts of the underworld. As for 0010...I¡¯ll keep an eye on her, but I need her in my employ. It¡¯s the only way I¡¯ll get anything out of her, I think.¡±

    I could hear a slight chuckle from the Prince¡¯s side. "That''s the spirit. It''s good to see you''re learning. Just remember, you are the one making the decisions now, kid. Not anyone else. Don¡¯t let them manipulate you.¡±

    I nodded to myself, though I was sure the Prince couldn¡¯t see me. "I won¡¯t. But I still have a lot of questions. About the gate, about the mark, and about... what she really is. Something doesn¡¯t add up."

    There was a brief pause before the Prince¡¯s voice came back, more serious this time. ¡°Yeah, keep your focus, kid. I¡¯ll get my people working on that investigation. You just keep making sure you don¡¯t lose yourself in the process. You¡¯re walking a fine line. One wrong move, and you¡¯ll be dealing with more than just a few prisoners. You¡¯ll be dealing with forces that don¡¯t care about right or wrong.¡±

    His words echoed in my head. Forces that don¡¯t care about right or wrong. I couldn¡¯t help but feel the weight of it. The underworld, the criminals, the people I was working with¡ªnone of them played by the same rules I was used to. And yet, I was the one who had to navigate it all. There was no safety net here. Just me, my decisions, and the consequences.

    ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll handle it.¡± I said, trying to steady my voice.

    ¡°Good. Just remember, kid. Watch your back, and don¡¯t let anyone think they can manipulate you. Keep those eyes sharp.¡±

    The message ended with a final ping. The screen went back to its neutral interface, but the words lingered in my mind.

    "Watch your back."

    I turned to Cordelia, who had been quietly listening in the background. Her expression was unreadable, but I could see the concern flickering in her eyes.

    ¡°You heard him, right?¡± I asked, needing confirmation.

    She nodded, her voice calm but firm. ¡°I did. And I agree. Be careful with 0010. There¡¯s something strange about her, and not just her mark. There¡¯s a darkness around her, something we can¡¯t fully see yet.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± I looked down at my hands for a moment, feeling the weight of everything. "But I don¡¯t have many options. I can¡¯t leave her like this. Not with what she could be."

    Cordelia sighed, her usual calm demeanor returning. ¡°Just don¡¯t let your judgment be clouded by pity. You¡¯ve made the right call so far, but now you have to keep it clear. You¡¯re walking into dangerous territory.¡±

    I nodded, feeling the pressure of the situation building again. This wasn¡¯t just about doing the right thing anymore¡ªit was about survival. Making sure that I didn¡¯t become another pawn in a much larger game.

    I turned toward the door. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this. I need to get back to V and make sure everything¡¯s in order.¡±

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Cordelia added as I walked toward the exit. ¡°Don¡¯t let the darkness of the situation drag you down.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I said, though I wasn¡¯t sure if I believed it.

    ***

    I stood in the hallway just outside the room, listening to the exchange between V and 0010. The door was slightly ajar, and I was careful not to make a sound. I wasn¡¯t sure what to make of the conversation I was overhearing, but there was a sharpness in V¡¯s words that hit me like a stone. It wasn¡¯t an offer¡ªit was an ultimatum.

    ¡°You should consider his offer,¡± V¡¯s voice was firm, the calmness laced with an edge of finality.

    I leaned against the wall, trying not to flinch at his tone.

    ¡°I... it¡¯s... it¡¯s a gilded cage,¡± 0010¡¯s voice, soft and hesitant, made my stomach tighten. She wasn¡¯t sure. Couldn¡¯t be sure. She had no one to trust here¡ªcertainly not the ones holding the reins of her life. ¡°I¡¯d be trading just one cage for another.¡±

    I could practically hear the defeat in her words, the weight of hopelessness seeping through the cracks. She had been broken, bent into something unnatural, something she could barely recognize as her own. I understood that feeling. But her hesitation... was that fear of losing even the smallest shred of autonomy?

    I could feel my chest tighten as I waited for V¡¯s response, the words hanging in the air between them, the decision that would decide her fate.

    ¡°Yeah. It would be. Sadly, I¡¯ll be blunt with you, 0010. You don¡¯t have the choice in the matter regarding it. Either you accept his offer, or we bring you to the guillotine tomorrow.¡± His voice dropped to an even colder level, sharp as a blade. "Your brand has refused us from identifying anyone guilty but you from the crime. You are out of time. He¡¯s the chance you need, not the chance you want."

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    I closed my eyes for a moment, mentally bracing myself. The choice was already made for her, wasn¡¯t it? It wasn¡¯t really an offer¡ªit was a demand wrapped in a thin veneer of mercy. Either accept my help, or be executed. The thought felt like poison in my mouth. And yet... her only real option, the one she needed to cling to, was the one she was being forced into.

    The silence on the other side of the door stretched out. I couldn¡¯t hear her breathing, couldn¡¯t see her face, but I could imagine the weight of it¡ªthe decision she had to make.

    What was I even offering her? A way out, yes. But it would come at a price. Freedom, but only as a shadow of it. A life bound by the very system that enslaved her in the first place. Would she accept that? Could I even offer her real freedom, or was it all just another cage, another prison?

    I stepped forward slowly, pushing open the door just enough to slip inside without announcing myself.

    I was greeted by the quiet sounds of her eating, the sickening irony of her consuming the flesh of a creature that had been torn apart in front of her. A minotaur¡¯s remains, its body ripped and twisted, clearly a victim of the raw brutality she was capable of. The remains were cruelly marked with indentations, signs of the force she had used. Her strength manipulation, likely focused in her legs, allowed her to crush the beast, using her foot as an anchor, as her point of attack.

    I let my gaze linger on the scene, but my attention snapped back to her when V spoke again, his tone unyielding.

    ¡°You know what happens if you refuse, 0010,¡± V continued, his eyes scanning the room, looking anywhere but at the young girl sitting there. She was still eating, chewing the meat mechanically, almost like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. ¡°You¡¯ll be disposed of. No more games, no more second chances. You¡¯ve made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. And you know what I mean by that.¡±

    I could feel the tension in the air between them, an unspoken understanding of the stakes. For her, this wasn¡¯t just about life and death. It was about losing whatever shred of hope she still had. Being consumed by the very thing she was supposed to escape.

    Her voice broke the silence, soft and raw. ¡°I don¡¯t have a choice.¡± She didn¡¯t look up at either of us. Her eyes were focused on the dead meat in front of her, like it was all she could hold onto.

    I stepped into the room, my voice steady despite the way her words cut through me. ¡°You always have a choice.¡±

    She glanced up at me then, her eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, I thought she might speak, but then the weight of the moment seemed to hit her. The walls were closing in, and there was no easy way out.

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± she whispered, the bitterness in her voice cutting through the silence. ¡°I haven¡¯t had a choice in years.¡±

    I walked up to her slowly, pausing just out of reach. I wasn¡¯t sure what I could offer her, but I wasn¡¯t about to let her fall into that trap.

    ¡°You have more than you think, Ten,¡± I said, my voice firm. ¡°I¡¯m giving you a choice. I¡¯m not going to force you into anything. But if you want a chance at something better, you need to trust me. Trust that I¡¯ll protect you.¡±

    V¡¯s eyes darted between us, clearly aware that I wasn¡¯t playing by the rules he had set. ¡°You¡¯re pushing too hard, Alexander. Let her decide. This isn¡¯t a decision for you to make.¡±

    I turned my gaze on him, my jaw tight. ¡°I¡¯m not deciding for her, V. I¡¯m offering her a chance to decide for herself. She deserves that much.¡±

    For the first time, she looked at me fully, the weight of her gaze piercing through me. She wasn¡¯t looking at me like I was a savior. No, she was measuring me, analyzing me.

    And then, in the smallest whisper, her words came out. ¡°I¡¯ll take the offer. I¡¯ll work for you.¡±

    I exhaled slowly, relieved, but I could already see the layers of doubt in her eyes. This wasn¡¯t going to be easy, for either of us. But maybe, just maybe, this was the first step toward something better for her.

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you regret this,¡± I said, my voice quiet but steady.

    I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, my breath coming heavy and steady as I glared at V. The room seemed to warp, the edges blurring in the heat of the moment. I could feel my anger rise, hot like a forge burning everything in its path. My thoughts were a swirling storm, clouded with the weight of everything I had witnessed. The faces of the dead. The child butcher. The look in Ten¡¯s eyes.

    V, standing in front of me, didn¡¯t flinch. He just took a step back, his face unreadable, but I could see the flash of amusement behind his eyes. It made my stomach churn. His casual demeanor was infuriating, like he knew he had control of this situation, like he knew how much power he had over me. Over her.

    ¡°Monster?¡± V repeated, his voice low, almost taunting. ¡°Maybe. But I¡¯m not the one making the hard choices here, Alexander. You are. You signed the contract. You¡¯re playing the game now.¡±

    I growled, stepping forward so that my horn pressed against his forehead, just hard enough to draw a drop of his blood. He didn¡¯t even flinch. His smile widened, and I could taste the sharp bitterness of frustration on my tongue.

    ¡°You think I want this?¡± I snarled. ¡°You think I want to play these games with people¡¯s lives? I didn¡¯t sign up to be a goddamn judge, jury, and executioner. But here I am. And you¡­¡± I paused, struggling to keep my voice steady, ¡°You think this is all just a game to you, don¡¯t you? These are people. They¡¯re not just pawns. They¡¯re lives. And yet, you treat them like nothing more than cattle.¡±

    V¡¯s expression never wavered, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes¡ªsomething that told me he understood exactly what I was saying, and that he didn¡¯t care. It wasn¡¯t about the lives for him. It was about control. It was about power.

    ¡°You don¡¯t get it, do you?¡± I continued, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. ¡°I¡¯m trying to fix what you broke. Trying to offer them something better. You took away any hope they had, and now you want me to just sit back and watch it all crumble? To play by your rules?¡±

    V tilted his head, his grin widening even more. ¡°You have no choice, Alexander. None of us do. We play the cards we¡¯re dealt. And you, my friend, are playing a hand that¡¯s already been stacked against you. You can¡¯t undo what¡¯s been done. You can¡¯t fix every broken thing. Not every life is worth saving.¡±

    I felt the fire in my chest flare up again, and I had to remind myself to breathe, to hold back the urge to rip him apart right there. The anger was overwhelming, but I knew I couldn¡¯t let it control me. Not now.

    ¡°Please tell me I don¡¯t have to accept you,¡± I spat out, my voice thick with fury and disgust. The weight of my words hung in the air between us, as if I could somehow force him to understand. But I knew better. He wasn¡¯t someone who understood. He didn¡¯t care about right or wrong. He only cared about the game.

    V¡¯s expression softened for just a second, and for a brief moment, I almost thought he might say something¡ªanything¡ªthat could make me feel like he understood. But then he just shrugged, his grin returning.

    ¡°Sorry, kid,¡± he said, his voice laced with mock sympathy. ¡°You¡¯ve already accepted me. The moment you stepped into this world, you accepted the cost. You don¡¯t get to back out now. There¡¯s no easy way out of this, no knight in shining armor to come rescue you. You¡¯re in the deep end now. Might as well start swimming.¡±

    I took a step back, my mind racing. The weight of his words pressed down on me like a vice, suffocating every last shred of hope. There was no easy way out. No simple solution to the mess I had walked into. But I had made my choice, and I was going to stick to it.

    With a final glare at V, I turned and left the room, leaving him to whatever twisted games he played behind closed doors. But as I walked away, I could feel the promise I had made to myself tightening like a noose around my neck. I would fix this. I would clear Ten¡¯s name. And no matter what it cost me, I would make sure she had a chance to be free.

    Even if it meant I had to become something darker to do it.

 Chapter 30: Dont Trip Over Reality

    Duty Update: Acquire Adjutants via Penal Conscription

    You have selected prisoner number(s) 7003 to serve as an Auxiliary ¨C You have granted 7003 a Letter of Fright. Your Insignia is now embedded in their spirit at their left hand, allowing you to ping their location at any time.

    You have selected prisoner number(s) 0010 to serve as your Adjutant. This assignment has also appointed Warden V, License #4573, as their designated Warden under your service.

    Duty Complete: The following item has been added to your account -

    Shattered Dream

    Rarity: Unique

    Aspects: Crystal, Dream, Venom

    Effect: You are able to create an illusory venom of mercury. Once it enters a target, their nightmares manifest into reality, hunting them down relentlessly. Once a nightmare is slain, this ability cannot be used on the same target for 24 hours. You are resistant to Dream-based effects.

    <hr>

    What?

    I stared at the notification, reading it over again.

    I turned to Cordelia, flicking the display toward her. She scanned it quickly, her expression usually unreadable¡ªbut this time, there was the faintest flicker of something beneath her usual cold detachment. Surprise.

    ¡°That¡¯s a perfect match,¡± she muttered, tilting the display toward herself again as if she hadn¡¯t read it correctly the first time. ¡°Wasn¡¯t the reward listed as a Skillcube for Fractal?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Yes. And these¡ª¡± I pointed at the listed aspects. ¡°Crystal. Dream. Venom. Those are three of her mana aspects. That¡¯s the reason our bond was even possible. We both share Crystal mana, just anchored in different parts of our souls.¡±

    Cordelia folded her arms, exhaling sharply. ¡°A perfect synergy Skillcube¡­ That¡¯s deliberate. They don¡¯t just get handed out. Normally, skillcubes only partially align with the user, which is why Walkers struggle to find ones that suit them. But this?¡± She gestured toward the notification again. ¡°This was engineered for her.¡±

    I scowled. ¡°We already know who ¡®they¡¯ are. This was the Walkers¡¯ Association.¡±

    Cordelia nodded. ¡°Right. The Association assigns rewards, but skillcubes themselves still form naturally from the energy of completed duties. That means they rigged the probability in her favor. They didn¡¯t just want to give her a Skillcube¡ªthey wanted her to have this one.¡±

    I tightened my grip on the Gloss notification, considering the implications.

    Fractal wasn¡¯t just my Spirit Beast. She was an asset¡ªone the Association clearly had their eyes on. And now, by giving her Shattered Dream, they had just made sure she had an ability that perfectly suited her.

    It wasn¡¯t just a reward. It was a directive.

    They were investing in her.

    And that meant they expected something in return.

    "Doesn¡¯t this influence her future a bit too much? What if she doesn¡¯t want to be a Magus type?"

    I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this was more than just a reward¡ªit was a push, a subtle hand guiding Fractal toward a specific path.

    Cordelia sighed, shaking her head as if I had asked something naive. ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it. A Walker¡¯s first shell doesn¡¯t define them nearly as much as their third. You could have ten skillcubes now, and it still wouldn¡¯t cement your role the way your third shell will.¡±

    I frowned. ¡°And why is that?¡±

    She gave me a pointed look. ¡°Because the third shell is when your soul stops experimenting and starts committing. That¡¯s when you lock in your true path, whether you realize it or not. You can take all the varied skillcubes you want now¡ªWind, Metal, Poison, Healing¡ªbut by the third shell? That¡¯s when your abilities start converging into a singular purpose. By then, your own nature starts rejecting what doesn¡¯t fit."

    I exhaled, still uneasy. "So basically, the Association giving her a perfectly harmonized cube is just¡­ an early nudge?"

    Cordelia nodded. ¡°It strongly suggests a direction, but it doesn¡¯t dictate it. If she decides later that she wants to be a full combatant instead of a Magus type, she can. She just has to make sure her next few skillcubes don¡¯t lean too hard into one category.¡±

    I mulled over her words, still feeling the weight of the decision looming over me.

    Cordelia, sensing my hesitation, gave me a smirk. ¡°Besides, you don¡¯t seem too worried about locking yourself into one path.¡±

    I scoffed. ¡°That¡¯s because my Arte already makes my future a damn mess.¡±

    She let out a short, amused exhale. ¡°Fair enough. Still, I¡¯d explain all of this in better detail, but we aren¡¯t anywhere near your third shell yet. You¡¯ve barely filled half your first.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes. ¡°That¡¯s an excuse. The real reason is that you just don¡¯t want to bother explaining the complexities of Soul Realm theory.¡±

    Cordelia gave an exaggerated shrug. ¡°That too. Besides, I¡¯d be a hypocrite.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°How so?¡±

    She clicked her tongue, almost irritated. ¡°I¡¯m still searching for those two Death cubes that won¡¯t turn me into an actual monster.¡± She folded her arms, looking away as if the very topic annoyed her.

    That made me pause. Death-aspected skillcubes were notoriously dangerous¡ªmost of them required soul sacrifices, blood rituals, or worse.

    ¡°¡­Yeah,¡± I muttered, deciding not to push further. ¡°I can see why that¡¯d be a pain.¡±

    Cordelia rolled her eyes. ¡°You have no idea.¡±

    I turned my focus inward, searching for my abilities. My inner self was shifting, solidifying into something tangible.

    What was once a vast asteroid field, chaotic and fragmented, was now slowly coalescing into a proto-planet, its shattered remains beginning to take form around the paper white dwarf that was my core.

    The closest proto-planet¡ªno, the foundation of my first shell¡ªhad four moons orbiting it. Each moon shimmered with power, their very presence dictating my growth. [Sugared Maw]¡ªand in that instant, I felt it fully awaken, no longer a dormant skillcube but something active, hungry. [Gluttony of the Golden Hydra]¡ªits influence weighed on me, an insatiable hunger always gnawing at the edges of my being. [The Millennium Halls]¡ªa gateway, an anchor, a means to step through space itself. [Atlas¡¯s Manifest]¡ªa connection to the land, allowing me to move unimpeded by its natural obstacles.

    I observed my Crystal Mana, once dormant, now gleaming like a field of gemstones embedded in the proto-planet¡¯s forming crust. It pulsed, awake, fully active, feeding into the structure of my inner world. A thrill shot through me¡ªthis was progress. My Soul Realm was no longer just scattered debris, it was building itself into something greater.

    A flicker of satisfaction crossed my mind¡ªright before I realized I had still been walking while meditating.

    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    My foot caught on a loose cobblestone, and in an instant, all my grand contemplations shattered as I tripped, barely managing to catch myself before eating dirt.

    Cordelia sighed. ¡°Are you seriously trying to achieve enlightenment while walking?¡±

    I groaned. ¡°Multitasking.¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Right. Well, maybe next time don¡¯t trip over reality while searching for divinity.¡±

    ***

    By the time we all gathered in my barracks¡ªmy team¡¯s barracks¡ªthe moons had long since settled into its vigil overhead. The room¡¯s soft glow from enchanted sconces cast flickering shadows across the absurd opulence we had been given.

    V was frozen in place, his cigarette dangling from his lips before gravity finally claimed it, sending it tumbling to the marble floor. His expression was one of sheer stunned disbelief, his usual casual demeanor utterly shattered as he took in the sheer luxury afforded to him simply by being part of my team.

    Ten, meanwhile, looked terrified.

    Her small frame tensed, eyes darting around as if expecting this to be a trap. Her entire stance screamed fear, like a stray animal being offered food for the first time¡ªskeptical, distrusting, waiting for the catch. I doubted she had been in a room this large, this extravagant in years. Maybe ever.

    V was the first to break the silence, rubbing the bridge of his nose and exhaling slowly. ¡°Okay, Boss. How in the hells did you afford this? Your dossier said you were bankrupt. Hell, I read that you eat money.¡±

    I sighed. I knew he¡¯d find out eventually¡ªeither through his insufferable curiosity, his contacts, or simply staying around me long enough.

    Might as well rip the bandage off now.

    ¡°I can make skillcubes with my Arte.¡±

    V blinked.

    Once.

    Twice.

    His mouth opened slightly¡ªthen closed. His jaw clenched, working through the implications of what I had just said. He stared at me, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally exhaled sharply.

    V inhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his temple as if physically trying to massage the revelation into his skull. His fingers drummed against the side of his head before he exhaled¡ªslow, measured, disbelieving.

    "You¡­ can¡­?" His voice trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air like an unfinished curse. He blinked, then scoffed. ¡°Oh. I see. Yeah. Okay. Sure.¡±

    He didn¡¯t believe me. Not yet.

    Before I could say anything, Cordelia cut in.

    "He means it."

    Her voice was calm, absolute, the kind of unwavering certainty that shattered any room for doubt. ¡°It¡¯s the reason we are listed as an International Asset of the highest priority.¡±

    V¡¯s brows shot up at that.

    Cordelia didn¡¯t stop. ¡°It¡¯s also why we¡¯re assembling a full team for him as fast as possible. Normally, Walkers are sanctioned to have four Adjutants¡ªonly four. That number is standard, expected. But¡­¡± Her violet eyes flickered to me. ¡°I was given orders to find five.¡±

    I felt Ten shift beside me. She was still too stiff, her shoulders locked tight, her eyes flickering between Cordelia and me. She wasn¡¯t used to being included in anything, much less something this monumental.

    V whistled, long and low. "Five, huh? That¡¯s... excessive.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s necessary.¡± Cordelia countered. ¡°With you, Ten, and myself, we have three. That means we still need two more.¡±

    V let out a low whistle, clearly impressed as he glanced around the lavish space. His eyes flicked over the polished floors, the extravagant furnishings, and the sheer unreal opulence that made this suite feel more like a high-ranking noble¡¯s estate than a Walker¡¯s barracks.

    Stretching his arms behind his head, he rocked back on his heels, exhaling sharply. "Well, hell. Guess I should start looking for a bunk."

    I didn¡¯t even look up from where I was absently flipping through my Gloss. ¡°You mean room.¡±

    V blinked. ¡°Come again?¡±

    I gestured vaguely around us. ¡°We have a seven-bedroom, four-bathroom suite, equipped with a full kitchen, round-the-clock service, priority delivery, and¡ªaccording to my Gloss¡ªroom service.¡± I turned back to my display, scrolling idly. ¡°So, unless you¡¯re really set on sleeping on a cot in the hallway, you should pick a room. Apparently, the beds are customized to preference.¡±

    V¡¯s mouth opened, then closed. He rubbed his face with both hands. ¡°You are a child. A bankrupt child. How in all the hells are you living better than half the damn nobility?¡±

    Cordelia, who had been quietly steeping tea in the corner, spoke without looking up. ¡°Because he¡¯s worth more than half the damn nobility.¡±

    V let out a short, sharp laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Shit. I should''ve tried harder in school."

    I smirked. "If it helps, I wouldn¡¯t trade this for a normal childhood."

    Ten, who had been stiff and silent up until now, finally shifted where she sat, eyeing the room like it might vanish if she blinked too hard. Her fingers twitched against the fabric of her borrowed clothes¡ªWalker-issued, clean, comfortable. It probably felt wrong to her.

    "This is¡­ too much."

    Her voice was small, nearly swallowed by the vastness of the suite.

    I exhaled, rubbing my temple before looking toward Ten. "I imagine this is a lot to take in. A bit of a culture shock, to say the least. But on the bright side¡­" I swiped through the dining options on my Gloss, scrolling past the usual selections until I found something more¡­ fitting. Sure enough, on Ten¡¯s personalized menu, there it was¡ªdragon steak. "If it helps, you can have dragon steak every day for waning bronzes on the waxing silver. Cheap, too."

    V, who had been lounging against the doorframe, suddenly stiffened. His cigarette nearly slipped from his fingers. "Wait. What? They¡¯re actually offering her dragon meat? Why? That¡¯s¡ªThat¡¯s ridiculously dumb! It¡¯d make her¡ª"

    I turned to him sharply, my voice dropping to a dangerous cold. "Are you unaware she ate a dragon in E-block?"

    The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

    V¡¯s mouth opened, then shut. He blinked once, twice, and then let out a slow exhale. His usual lazy smirk was gone, replaced with something more serious. "Ah. Yeah. That explains a lot."

    My grip tightened around my Gloss. It explained more than a lot. It explained everything.

    Ten stared at the menu for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Her fingers brushed the edge of the screen, hesitating for a moment before she finally spoke, her voice quieter than before, almost tentative.

    ¡°Dragon meat¡­ every day?¡± she murmured, her eyes flicking back to the list of options on the screen as if she couldn¡¯t quite believe what she was seeing. Her fingers hovered over the list, but she didn¡¯t select anything yet. ¡°That... that would¡¯ve been a dream. When I was hunting. When I had to... kill.¡±

    She leaned back, her shoulders sagging as the weight of that thought settled in. ¡°All that effort, all that hunting, all the dangers... and now I could just...¡± She trailed off, clearly processing the shift in reality, in her world. ¡°Just have it whenever I want?¡±

    Her voice carried a tone of disbelief, as if the idea of having food¡ªreal food¡ªso easily available was foreign to her. She was so used to surviving, scavenging, and fighting for every scrap. To have it so effortlessly provided, at such a small cost, seemed unreal.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to fight anymore... don¡¯t need to hunt... to eat..." She shook her head slowly, as though coming to terms with a completely new concept. ¡°I could just... live, like everyone else. No more running, no more starving. No more¡­¡± She faltered, looking down at her hands, which were now clasped tightly in her lap.

    ¡°For the first time... I don¡¯t need to fight just to survive.¡± Her voice cracked, just barely, as if the realization was a weight too heavy to hold back. ¡°I could... just eat. And live. And... be a part of something.¡±

    Her shoulders relaxed for the first time since I had met her. There was something fragile, something wistful in her expression, as if she had never thought she¡¯d be allowed the luxury of simply existing without the constant burden of survival.

    She looked at me, her eyes softer now, almost vulnerable, and for the first time since our meeting, she didn¡¯t seem like a cornered animal. ¡°I could just¡­ live, couldn¡¯t I? Without always being afraid of what comes next.¡±

    I placed my hand on her head, and at first, she flinched. A sharp, instinctive movement, as if expecting a blow, as if she had learned long ago to brace for pain. Her body tensed, her eyes widened slightly, and she pulled back as if the touch might turn into something harsher.

    But then... her posture relaxed, just a little. Slowly, she stopped pulling away, and her breath steadied. She didn¡¯t resist. She let the touch remain, as if testing whether the world really had changed, whether this was the same brutal reality she had always known or something different.

    I kept my hand there, gentle and steady, not pushing, not demanding anything. Just there. Just a reminder that there was no harm meant in the gesture.

    When she finally relaxed into it, I smiled¡ªjust a little. It wasn¡¯t a grand, overpowering smile, but something small and real, the kind of smile that could mean hope, the kind that said, you¡¯re safe for now. I let my fingers brush the top of her head in a soft, soothing motion, waiting for her to understand that the touch wasn¡¯t to hurt, but to give comfort.

    For a brief, fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Something uncertain, but soft¡ªsomething like trust.

    And for the first time, Ten didn''t pull away.

 Chapter 31: Another Kind of Peace

    It had been several days since my visit to the prison, and Ten was slowly starting to adapt. The ragged prisoner garb was gone, replaced by something more dignified, thanks to Cordelia¡¯s efforts. She was now clothed in a short robe, a deep blue that contrasted sharply against her rough past. The fabric clung to her small frame, emphasizing her delicate legs, and for the first time in a long while, she looked almost... normal. It was a small step, but it was progress. The robe was a symbol, one of transformation, marking her journey from prisoner to something else. Something better.

    But even with the change in attire, some things hadn''t shifted. The chains around Ten''s ankles¡ªheavy, cold, unyielding¡ªremained. They were a constant reminder of the life she had been forced into, a life that refused to release its grip on her. Cordelia had tried, many times, to convince Ten to remove them. She argued that the chains were unnecessary, but Ten insisted. They helped her focus on her Strength Manipulation. The weight kept her grounded, tethered to something she could control. I could understand that reasoning, but a part of me couldn¡¯t help but wonder¡ªhow long would it take for her to feel truly free?

    I looked down at the last waxing bronze coins in my wallet. It was still there, the familiar metallic bitterness in my mouth, and I hated it. Hated the way it reminded me of how much further I had to go before I reached a real solution. Two coins. Two days left before hunger would begin to claw at me, sharp and relentless, threatening to strip away everything I had worked for.

    V, seated across from me, still shot me the same bewildered look every time I ate one of those coins. His expression was a mix of confusion and judgment. He couldn¡¯t fathom why I didn¡¯t just ask for help, why I didn¡¯t go to the authorities, the ones with resources to spare. But V didn¡¯t understand. How could he? He didn¡¯t know the feeling of being tethered to a power you couldn¡¯t access fully, of trying to keep your soul from being eaten alive while your stomach begged for sustenance. For me, food wasn¡¯t just fuel. It was a reminder that I had no choice but to continue walking the path I had set out on. But hunger was a brutal thing, and the price I had to pay for what I had was becoming clearer by the minute.

    I was losing track of time, and that only made everything feel worse. Fractal¡¯s absence was weighing heavily on me. She was still at the academy, and I couldn¡¯t just pull her out. It was necessary, after all. Spirit Beasts needed time to grow independent from their bonded partners. It was a rule. A rule that I had no choice but to obey. But every day felt like an eternity without her, and the silence in the barracks only added to the pressure. I could hear the ticking of the clock, echoing in the empty spaces. It was the quiet that got to me, more than anything.

    The only connection I had with her now was the skillcube I had sent to her room. It was the only way I could reach her¡ªthrough that object, a token of progress. The thought of her learning, growing stronger in her own way, gave me a little comfort, but it wasn¡¯t enough. She would be ready when the time came. But until then, the silence stretched on, a constant reminder of how much I was carrying on my own.

    And then there was Ten. I had chosen her to be my Adjutant, to help me, to stand by me. But I was beginning to realize that she needed more than just help¡ªshe needed healing. And so did I. We were both broken in different ways, trying to find a way to move forward, but we couldn¡¯t do it alone. Neither of us had the luxury of being whole.

    I had slaughtered and killed twenty-seven people. Twenty-seven. Just like they had done to many before. Just like the one who butchered and ate those children. I wasn¡¯t different from them. I wasn¡¯t better. I was culling a field of monsters in order to preserve the harvest.

    I had a therapist assigned to me, someone I was supposed to speak to after each mission like that. And I had. I¡¯d spoken to her a lot. She had been patient with me, guiding me through the aftermath. She said it was a brutal and necessary trial, one that I was free to discuss as often as I needed. To be an executioner¡ªshe said it like that¡ªwas no small thing. It¡¯s a weight I carry, she told me. But it¡¯s also part of the responsibility I had now. A Walker¡¯s burden.

    Yet, as I sat with that weight, I couldn¡¯t help but compare it to Ten¡¯s. To her trauma. To what she had endured. Her suffering wasn¡¯t just about the physical pain she had been subjected to, it was in her mind. The mental scars. The isolation. And here I was, focusing so much on my own pain, my own trauma from those kills. How selfish am I? How could I even begin to compare what I had been through to what she had lived for years, alone, branded, discarded?

    I killed twenty-seven people, but I did it for what I thought was necessary¡ªfor the greater good. For the survival of others. But Ten? Ten didn¡¯t have the luxury of choosing. Her pain wasn¡¯t a decision; it was a life she was born into, a life she never asked for.

    I had a purpose behind my trauma. But she didn¡¯t. She was just surviving. Day by day. It made me sick to think about how easily I could justify my actions, when she had never had the same luxury of choices, of self-determination.

    Maybe I was still trying to convince myself that I wasn¡¯t a monster. Maybe I was still trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. But I couldn¡¯t shake the guilt, the realization that I was not the only one suffering. I wasn¡¯t the only one who carried scars, who carried trauma.

    And in that moment, it became clearer than ever: I wasn¡¯t the only one who needed healing.

    Alexander Juliut Duarte

    Walker #SSS-Z-5939

    Duty Assigned: Caravan Crossing

    Escort a medicine caravan from Marr to the Dunehollow Duchy. Stipend is two waxing bronze coins per day, with a reward of 17 waning silver coins on completion.

    Bonus Reward: Death skillcube, Smoke skillcube, Dimension skillcube, Blood skillcube, Venom skillcube.

    <hr>

    The notification hit me like a splash of cold water, and I stared at the screen, trying to absorb the weight of the words. A simple task, but the reward was anything but. The bonus skillcubes were tempting¡ªDeath, Smoke, Blood, Venom, Dimension. I couldn''t help but feel the allure of what they could offer.

    V''s voice broke through the tension. ¡°So, who has the Venom mana, boss?¡±

    I paused, letting the question settle. ¡°Fractal,¡± I replied quietly, feeling a knot in my chest. ¡°Being this far from her... it''s hard. She¡¯s off at the academy, and I know it''s important, but I can¡¯t help but feel disconnected. She¡¯s out there, learning, growing, and here I am, alone. It''s... hard.¡±

    V nodded, his usual grin absent as he took that in. But he was quick to follow up with another question, turning his attention to Ten. ¡°I assume Ten here has Death?¡±

    I shook my head, cutting in before anyone else could speak. ¡°No, that¡¯s Cordelia. She¡¯s the one with Death mana.¡±

    Cordelia nodded, her gaze shifting toward Ten. ¡°You, on the other hand,¡± she said, pointing at Ten, ¡°You have Smoke or Blood. Which one is it?¡±

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Ten hesitated, and for a long moment, it seemed like she wasn¡¯t going to answer. Then, her voice barely above a whisper, she finally spoke. ¡°I have Blood.¡±

    There was a weight to her words, a sense of finality in them, like she was accepting a part of herself she hadn¡¯t fully come to terms with. Her power, her past, all of it wrapped up in those two words.

    I glanced around at the team, each of us carrying different burdens, different powers, and now, it seemed, we were all united in some strange way. We were each connected by the forces we controlled, the responsibilities we had, and the struggles we were facing.

    With the notification still glowing in front of me, I knew that this was more than just an assignment. It was a test, a chance to unite the team, to take on something bigger than ourselves. And together, we would face whatever came next.

    ***

    The caravan consisted of seven mana-fueled carts, each glowing faintly with the hum of energy running through them. In the center, a cart was reserved specifically for us, a luxury in the otherwise utilitarian procession. Behind that, a guard''s cart trailed, a clear indication that security was a consideration, though I couldn¡¯t help but question why I was here protecting such an innocuous thing.

    The caravan was just a simple transport of medicine, wasn¡¯t it? No, it was more than that. The guard¡¯s cart and the presence of our team indicated that there was something lurking just beyond the surface.

    "Because, you''re here to eliminate an Other threat," Cordelia¡¯s voice came through clearly, cutting through my thoughts like a blade. Her words were sharp, always so matter-of-fact.

    I sighed heavily, a weight settling in my chest. "I really dislike when you do that..."

    She didn''t need to ask what I meant. She knew. She always knew.

    "Yes. Quit having such loud thoughts," she retorted, an edge to her voice. "We''ve been over this."

    It was true. I had been trying to control the noise in my mind, to keep my thoughts guarded. But it was difficult when everything felt like it was crashing in on me¡ªthe pressure of being a Walker, the weight of the team¡¯s expectations, and now the uncertainty of why I was here in the first place. Sure, the mission was simple enough on paper, but Cordelia¡¯s cold reminder echoed in my mind: eliminate an Other threat.

    What threat could this caravan really face? A band of thieves? A pack of monsters? Or perhaps something far darker? The looming question gnawed at me.

    I glanced at the convoy again, the guards on alert, their eyes constantly scanning the horizon. The mana-powered carts rolled along steadily, their wheels gliding smoothly over the uneven terrain, but my gaze kept drifting, searching for something that wasn¡¯t there yet.

    I tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on the present. We were here, and we had a job to do. But it wasn¡¯t easy to forget the questions that lingered in the back of my mind, and it certainly wasn¡¯t easy to ignore the unsettling feeling that something was wrong.

    ¡°We should make it to the Dunehollow Duchy by the twelfth nightfall,¡± Cordelia said, her voice softer now, though still carrying an underlying tension. ¡°Keep your wits about you. You know how these things go.¡±

    I nodded, trying to steady my racing heart. Tonight, we would face whatever awaited us on the road ahead, and I would be ready. Whatever threat loomed over this simple caravan¡ªwhatever had drawn us here¡ªI would face it head-on.

    The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the camp as we set up for the evening. The caravan had been relatively quiet during the day, save for the occasional clink of the carts and the steady hum of the wheels moving over the rough terrain. Now, as the camp settled into a quieter rhythm, we had time to unwind. Cordelia and V were engaged in a poker game, the sounds of cards shuffling and chips clinking punctuating the quiet.

    I sat to the side, reading a book I had brought along¡ªan old, worn volume that had become a comfort to me over the past few weeks. It wasn¡¯t the kind of book that held grand epics or vast histories; no, it was something smaller, more personal. A collection of essays, of reflections, meant to provoke thought and contemplation. I was still trying to make sense of the path I¡¯d chosen, and sometimes I found comfort in the words of others who had been lost in thought long before me.

    While I immersed myself in the text, I couldn¡¯t help but glance up now and then to see how the others were faring. V, as usual, was the most animated. His arms were spread wide as he exaggerated his poker moves, his usual sarcasm and jokes flitting in and out of the conversation. "You can¡¯t win with that hand, Cordelia. Even I know that."

    Cordelia, however, remained unflustered. Her eyes glinted with a mix of mischief and calculation, and it was clear that she wasn¡¯t just playing the cards. She was playing V. Every time he glanced away for just a second, she''d shift her cards with the precision of someone who¡¯d mastered the art of subtlety. V, in his usual style, didn''t catch on. "Sure, sure. You can think that."

    Meanwhile, Ten remained distant, her head bowed as she walked through the grass, her bare feet barely touching the earth. She moved with a grace that was foreign to me, like she was walking a path of her own that no one could tread beside her. She had always been reserved, and even though we were traveling together, she seemed to find comfort in being apart from the group. As the others engaged in their game, Ten ran, slowly at first, feeling the coolness of the grass beneath her soles. It was her form of solitude, her way of staying grounded, and I respected that.

    I had learned not to force her into anything she wasn¡¯t ready for. She didn¡¯t speak much, and while the others had begun to open up in their own ways, Ten remained largely silent, reflecting more than participating. She didn¡¯t join in the games. No dice, no cards for her. Her quiet was a constant presence, one that I had come to appreciate.

    V, on the other hand, seemed to be fascinated by her. He would watch her from the corner of his eye, clearly intrigued by how much she kept to herself. But rather than question her or try to draw her in, he seemed content to leave her to her own devices¡ªat least for now.

    Every once in a while, I¡¯d glance up from my book, my eyes following the movement of Ten as she ran freely in the open. She would stop, pick up a flower or a stone, and study it as if it held some deeper meaning. Her actions were simple, yet they held a weight to them that spoke volumes. I couldn¡¯t help but feel that she was slowly discovering herself in the small moments, even though she didn¡¯t share her thoughts with the rest of us.

    As the night deepened, V broke the quiet once more, his voice loud and amused. ¡°Alright, Cordelia, you¡¯ve cheated your way through this game long enough. Let¡¯s see you try to win fair and square for once.¡±

    Cordelia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. ¡°I don¡¯t win fair and square, V. That¡¯s not how I play.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, you¡¯re making it too easy for me,¡± V replied, throwing down his cards with a dramatic flourish. ¡°I¡¯m out. If you can¡¯t at least try to lose, then we¡¯re done here.¡±

    Cordelia chuckled, her expression unreadable as she casually scooped up the winnings. ¡°You did sign up for this, remember?¡±

    I could sense the camaraderie in the air, even if it was wrapped in the familiar edge of playful banter. I¡¯d never been part of a team like this before¡ªone where the lines between personal and professional blurred just enough to make the journey feel a little less lonely. There was a strange sense of connection among us, even though each of us had our own personal burdens to carry.

    With Ten still lost in her world of solitude, and Cordelia and V settling into the rhythm of their game, I returned to my book, though my mind wasn¡¯t quite focused on the text anymore. I had thought that being a Walker, having this responsibility, would be a constant battle against the outside world. But in this moment, I realized that the battle wasn¡¯t just out there. It was within. With the people I was traveling with. With myself.

    For the first time in a long while, I felt something I hadn¡¯t experienced in days¡ªsomething close to peace.

 Chapter 32: Ten Out of Ten

    The next morning, that fragile peace was shattered.

    ¡°MONSTERS!¡± The cry rang out, and I knew what it meant before my mind could even catch up. It was happening again¡ªan attack. An ambush, but there was something different in the way the caravan had reacted. Panic spread like wildfire. The tension crackled in the air, thick and undeniable. I didn¡¯t need to look around to know that I was expected to act, but before I could even think, a whirlwind of motion erupted in front of me.

    Ten.

    She was already in motion, her silhouette blurring with incredible speed. Her body was a streak, a blur against the morning light, each stride propelling her forward with such force that it looked like she was barely touching the ground. Her feet¡ªbare, as always¡ªbarely seemed to make contact before she was launching herself again, moving impossibly fast.

    I watched in awe and horror as she leaped, a distance so great that for a moment, I thought she might disappear into the horizon. But no, she was there¡ªright in front of one of the towering ogres that had charged at us. The sheer mass of the creature was staggering, its hulking frame looming above her, a grotesque collection of muscle and sinew. But Ten¡­ she was something else entirely.

    With a grunt, she slammed her foot directly into the ogre¡¯s midsection, pressing her weight into it like a sledgehammer striking a stone. There was a sickening crunch as the impact ruptured the ogre¡¯s stomach, and Ten¡¯s foot dug into the void of its hollow torso. The ogre¡¯s body convulsed, but Ten didn¡¯t stop. She bounced off the empty space, springing back with the force of a coiled spring. Her body twirled mid-air, agile as a predator.

    Her foot collided with another ogre, the sound of breaking bones echoing through the air as its head was torn clean off, severed with a brutal twist of her strength. The headless body crumpled to the ground, its remaining limbs flailing uselessly as the life drained from it.

    I stood frozen. I couldn¡¯t process it, couldn¡¯t understand what I was seeing. It wasn¡¯t just a battle¡ªit was destruction on a scale I hadn¡¯t witnessed before. Ten wasn¡¯t just fighting. She was annihilating, cutting through the ogres like a scythe through wheat. Her movements were fluid, calculated, each one designed to maximize damage, leaving no room for the enemy to retaliate.

    The remaining ogres tried to regroup, but they were already too slow. Ten leapt again, this time higher, and landed squarely on the chest of another ogre, her foot driven into its sternum with enough force to split its ribs like kindling. The ogre bellowed in pain, but Ten didn¡¯t hesitate. With a single swift motion, she whipped her leg out, sending the creature crashing into a nearby tree with such force that the trunk snapped in half, splitting the wood with a deafening crack.

    And then¡ªanother leap.

    She bounded over the final ogre, landing behind it with a terrifying grace. Without missing a beat, she slammed her heel into the back of its skull, the impact sending a shockwave through its entire body as its spine crumpled under the force. The ogre crumpled to the ground, its body a lifeless heap.

    The battlefield was eerily silent now. All that remained were the fallen bodies of the ogres, torn apart by Ten¡¯s savage display of strength and agility. Trees had been uprooted, their trunks twisted and broken, their branches hanging like twisted limbs in the aftermath of the carnage.

    For a long moment, I stood there, unable to move, unable to speak. The power in Ten¡¯s movements was overwhelming, and in that moment, I realized just how much she had been holding back¡ªjust how much she was capable of. She wasn¡¯t just a warrior. She was a force of nature.

    I glanced over at Cordelia and V, both of them watching the aftermath with something approaching awe. Cordelia¡¯s eyes were narrowed, calculating, while V¡ªever the unflappable one¡ªsimply exhaled sharply, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

    ¡°Well, that was¡­ something,¡± V muttered, wiping his brow.

    I turned back to Ten, who stood in the center of the destruction, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She was covered in blood, the remnants of the ogres and the carnage she¡¯d wrought. But there was no triumph in her stance, no sense of satisfaction in her eyes. She looked¡­ detached, almost as though she were waiting for something. Perhaps it was for the world around her to catch up with what had just happened.

    ¡°Good work, Ten,¡± I finally managed, my voice hoarse, the words thick with both awe and uncertainty.

    She didn¡¯t reply, and I didn¡¯t expect her to. Her actions had spoken louder than any words could. She was a silent storm, and now that storm had passed, leaving only the scattered remnants of our enemies and the destroyed landscape in her wake.

    Ten acted without thinking, her instincts driving her forward in a brutal yet efficient display of power. It was terrifying how effortlessly she dismantled the ogres, how fluidly she moved through the chaos, turning it into something almost... beautiful. I couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang of envy, but it wasn¡¯t the kind of envy that stemmed from her strength or her ability to fight. No, it was something deeper. It was envy for the ease with which she could act without hesitation, without fear. She was untethered by doubt or remorse, and that made her dangerous.

    Yet, even that wasn¡¯t the part that I envied. What I envied was her ability to just be¡ªto exist without questioning what to do, without the crushing weight of responsibility or the fear of losing control. There was a simplicity in that, something that I could never have.

    What disturbed me more than the fear that others had of her¡ªfear of her power, her speed, her violence¡ªwas the way they reacted to her presence. The caravan members, the people who had been traveling with us for a day, suddenly became jittery, wary of her every move. The shift in their demeanor was subtle at first, but it was undeniable. I could feel it. It wasn¡¯t just fear of her actions, but fear of what she represented. They saw her as a weapon, as something untamed, and that unsettled them.

    The worst part? I realized I was no better than them. The moment someone showed hostility toward Ten, I could feel a shift in myself. My hand instinctively moved to where my weapon would be. I had to stop that thought before it even fully formed. I was not going to be that person. I was not going to become like the monsters I hunted.

    Just because I fought monsters, just because I fought Others, didn¡¯t mean I had the right to prey on the weak. And yet, the temptation was there, lurking in the back of my mind, whispering that it would be so easy¡ªso easy to turn that instinct into something more. It was a battle I¡¯d never thought I¡¯d face. To keep my humanity in a world that seemed to strip it away, piece by piece.

    I couldn¡¯t allow myself to fall into that. I couldn¡¯t let the violence I fought against consume me, no matter how close it might feel at times.

    Ten was a weapon, a tool, but she was also a person¡ªa person who had been broken and reforged into something else. And if I didn¡¯t start seeing that, if I didn¡¯t start seeing her as more than just an asset, then I was no better than the monsters I sought to destroy.

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving,¡± I said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen over us. My voice sounded almost too steady, too calm, but I couldn¡¯t afford to falter. Not now. Not with the team watching.

    I turned away from Ten and looked to the rest of the caravan, pushing down the storm of thoughts threatening to rise within me.

    ¡°Onward,¡± I added, more firmly this time. "We have a duty to finish."

    ***

    That night, a heavy silence settled over the camp. It was unsettling. The kind of stillness that put you on edge, that made every rustle of the wind, every shift in the shadows, feel like a warning. There were no birds singing their late-night songs, no small creatures skittering through the underbrush. Not a single leaf rustled in the breeze. It was as if the world had gone still, waiting, holding its breath.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    I knew what that meant.

    One of three things.

    First, we were being ambushed by bandits, a group that had cleared out all the wildlife, possibly setting traps and preparing for an attack. Second, we were about to face down some resident monsters¡ªsomething familiar enough that I could be ready for it, preferable in some ways, if I were to be honest. Or third¡­ the most dangerous possibility, the one that sent a cold chill through my spine: Others.

    Those damnable creatures from another realm, things that didn¡¯t belong in this world. They could feel like nothing, a whisper on the wind, or they could tear through everything with a rage that left nothing in their wake.

    I glanced over at Ten. She was asleep, curled up under a thin blanket. Her chest rose and fell with the slow, steady rhythm of someone who had earned their rest. She was still adjusting, still trying to make sense of the world around her, but she had done her part earlier that day. Her strength was a thing of raw power, and the last thing I wanted was to disturb her. She needed this sleep, deserved it more than anyone.

    That left the rest of us.

    ¡°Cordelia, scout the west. V, the east. I¡¯ll take the south. Let Ten sleep. She earned it.¡±

    V didn¡¯t need to be told twice. He gave a small nod, a fleeting smile on his lips, before setting off to his post, as always, ready for whatever we¡¯d face.

    Cordelia, ever the diligent one, paused. Her gaze met mine, sharp, calculating. ¡°Should I use telepathy if I find anything?¡± Her voice was low, controlled, as though she¡¯d already worked through the possibilities in her mind.

    ¡°No,¡± I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the anxiety that clawed at my chest. ¡°Use the Gloss. If one of us doesn¡¯t respond within twenty seconds at this distance, it means the crystal comms were intercepted. If that happens¡­ we¡¯re not dealing with monsters or bandits. We¡¯re dealing with Others.¡±

    She nodded, her eyes narrowing in acknowledgment. A brief, unspoken understanding passed between us. She turned, her figure melting into the shadows as she moved west, her presence fading like a wisp of smoke.

    I, too, turned away from the campfire and moved toward the south, my footsteps light on the damp earth. The trees loomed like silent sentinels around me, the darkness pressing in from every side. I had to stay sharp. The silence didn¡¯t feel like a blessing anymore. It felt like a warning. A trap, waiting to spring.

    Every few moments, I checked my Gloss, verifying the comms were still active. No messages. No strange signals. Everything seemed normal, for now. But that didn¡¯t mean I could relax. I knew better than that.

    The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. Then, the unmistakable sound of something snapping underfoot. A twig. A light shuffle. My heart rate spiked. I knew that sound. And yet¡­ there was nothing.

    I gripped my bow tighter, the familiar weight of it a comfort in my hand. Then, in the distance, I saw movement. A figure¡ªsmall, almost imperceptible¡ªslipping through the trees, barely visible but enough to make my instincts flare to life.

    Before I could react, my Gloss buzzed.

    ¡°Cordelia?¡± I whispered into the comms, voice barely above a breath.

    No response.

    I waited. Ten seconds passed. Fifteen.

    Nothing.

    I knew then. We weren¡¯t dealing with bandits. Or monsters. The Others had arrived.

    And we were their prey.

    ***

    I was flanked by two humanoid creatures. Their skin resembled marbled stone, shifting with veins of gray and white that made their forms seem almost sculpted, their features sharp and unyielding. Their eyes, large and segmented like those of an insect, glistened with a cold intelligence, and everything about them screamed alien. Their daggers gleamed in the dim light, wickedly curved, and held in a steady grip, pointing straight at me. This could not get worse.

    I didn¡¯t have time to think. The instinct to act kicked in. Without hesitation, I placed my hand on the ground, drawing on the mana that had become second nature to me. My first active skill¡­ It wasn¡¯t what I expected. I had been warned it would be different, but nothing could have prepared me for this. The earth shifted beneath me as a deep pit materialized in front of the stone-skinned man. From its depths, countless mouths¡ªsnapping, biting, gnashing¡ªappeared, each one trying to pull the man down into the abyss. The creature screamed as it fell into the pit, the mouths eagerly sinking into its flesh. The pit swelled, hungry, relentless.

    But the other creature, the one that had stayed out of range, was no fool. With a swift leap, it avoided the trap, landing on solid ground a few feet away, its eyes fixed on me with deadly intent.

    The sensation of my skill, the mouths tearing into the stone-skinned man, was unnerving. I could feel every bite, every shred of flesh being torn away. I tasted it, not physically, but mentally¡ªlike a phantom sensation, the horror of what I was causing. The feeling settled deep in my chest, and I tried to ignore it. I had to focus. The fight wasn¡¯t over yet.

    The creature that had avoided the pit lunged toward me with terrifying speed. It was too close, and there was no time to grab another arrow or prepare my bow. I dropped it to the ground with a quick flick of my wrist, the bow hitting the dirt with a soft thud. The creature¡¯s dagger was thrusting toward me, aimed directly for my chest. The archer I had trained to be wasn¡¯t useful in this situation¡ªthis was pure melee, and I was still too far from my own skill set.

    Instinctively, I raised my hands, grasping the Marbled other¡¯s thrust towards me. I staggered back from the force of its weight. barely avoiding the full impact of the strike. But I didn¡¯t have time to recover. I fumbled through my pack, pulling out the blank book I always kept with me. A deep breath, a flick of my wrist, and I called on my power.

    I began shaping paper. Thousands of thoughts rushed through my mind as I focused on each delicate fold. The pages of the book blurred as they turned into small, deadly paper bees¡ªeach one a sharp, swift weapon. I could feel the drain on my mana as I burned through sheet after sheet of paper. Each bee cost one third of a full page. Nine pages¡ªtwenty-seven bees. They were ready. I sent them forward, a swarm of sharp, paper rapiers cutting through the air toward the creature.

    It was fast, too fast, and it slashed at the swarm with its dagger. The creature was able to sever several bees before they could strike. They fell, crumpled paper torn in mid-flight, but the rest of the swarm managed to reach their target. Bees pierced into the creature¡¯s stone-like skin, each sting drawing blood, each one delivering a sharp blow. The creature howled, swiping frantically to knock the remaining bees away.

    I wasn¡¯t finished. I sent more bees, relentless, while I moved back, pulling another sheet from my book to replenish the swarm. The bees continued to sting, dodging and weaving around the creature¡¯s powerful strikes, attacking from every angle. Its body was covered in wounds now, paper sticking from its arms, its face, its legs. The creature stumbled, its movements slower, more erratic.

    It took a desperate leap toward me, and I knew it was now or never. I couldn¡¯t keep this up much longer. The bees were tiring, my mana reserves were dwindling, and my arms were aching from the strain. But I wasn¡¯t going to let this monster take me down.

    I dropped my book to the ground and pulled the final sheet of paper, shaping it into a massive paper blade¡ªlarger than anything I¡¯d ever created before. The blade felt almost alive, vibrating with the force of my will. I stepped forward, throwing my entire weight into the strike. The paper blade cut through the air like a guillotine, and with a final, desperate thrust, I drove it deep into the creature¡¯s side. The paper sliced through its skin with ease, cutting deep into its chest, and with one last, painful cry, the creature collapsed to the ground.

    I stood over it, panting heavily. My arms were shaking, my book nearly empty. The battlefield was quiet now, save for the sound of my heavy breathing. It was done. The stone-skinned creature was dead, but the toll on me was far from over.

    I watched the body for a moment longer, my heart pounding in my chest. Every bite I had felt, every slice, every sting¡ªit was all still with me. I felt the weight of it, but there was no time to linger.

    I could taste the man in the pit, the sensation sharp and unsettling. With one final, visceral crunch, the miasma of the creature poured into me, and along with it came a shard. My first shard. I could feel it¡ªits power swirling inside me.

    And the taste? It was sweet. Incredibly sweet. It tasted like caramel blended with cream puffs, chocolate, and gumdrops, all layered together in a sugary rush. But beneath that sweetness, there was something darker. The same monstrosity that had birthed this shard clung to its taste, souring it like a bitter aftertaste. It was as terrible as it was delicious, a reminder of the twisted world I was now a part of.

    Ensuring that the Others were fully deceased, I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. I gave a quick status report, ticking off the essentials in my mind, mentally cataloging everything I had just done. But as I took stock, my eyes fell on the pile of discarded paper¡ªshredded, consumed, and burnt away in the heat of the battle.

    I scowled at the sight, feeling the weight of the cost. The paper was more than just a resource; it was an extension of my will, my power. I had used so much of it in such a short span of time, and each torn page felt like a wound in my own soul. The price of survival.

    Everything has a price, I reminded myself. And this time, I had paid too much. The realization stung, a harsh reminder of how quickly my resources could drain. Still, it was done. The battle was won, but I couldn¡¯t afford to keep making the same mistakes. I needed to be more strategic, more mindful. The cost would always be there, and it would only grow as I moved forward.

    I looked down at the remnants of the battle, my fingers trembling slightly as I clenched the last shred of miasma from the fallen creature. But before I could steady myself, a shadow loomed in the distance, too large, too unnatural to ignore.

    Something else was coming. And this time, I wasn¡¯t sure if paper would be enough.

 Chapter 33: Hope is Where the Heart Is

    I quickly knocked another arrow, instinctively drawing the string back as my senses sharpened. The faint sound of distant steps rumbled through the ground, each thud heavy with the promise of something monstrous.

    ¡°Cordelia? V? Status!¡± I called out, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the rising tension.

    ¡°We have you back online? Thank the Dominus. What happened back there?¡± Cordelia¡¯s voice crackled through, a rare note of concern creeping into her otherwise composed tone.

    ¡°Nothing this direction. Should we rendezvous with you?¡± V¡¯s voice was much quicker, barely a moment behind Cordelia¡¯s.

    ¡°I need you two to wake up Ten. Something MASSIVE is coming. I was ambushed by two 1-1 Others. No skillcubes, but they were overtly hostile. I¡¯m also out of paper¡ªbring a resupply from the mana cart.¡±

    I could feel the air vibrate as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. It was like a marching band of drums, but with each heavy beat, the tension built in my chest. Something was coming, something that had no intention of negotiating.

    Each footstep seemed to shake the ground beneath me, reverberating in the air. The beast was close, and I could already tell¡ªit wasn¡¯t just any Other. This one had a presence. Something that made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

    I didn¡¯t wait for a response; I knew they were already on their way. But I didn¡¯t know if they¡¯d be fast enough. The ground shook again, and I had only one thought¡ªwhatever this was, it was coming for me.

    Running, I launched another arrow behind me, the string snapping taut as it sped toward the beast. The sound of it sinking into something¡ªflesh or stone, I couldn¡¯t tell¡ªwas drowned out by the sheer volume of the next howl. It ripped through the air, shattering the silence around me, sending a chill down my spine. The ground shook with every footfall of whatever creature was chasing me. The steps were large, and the howls grew louder. It was as if each one was a promise, getting closer, and closer, and closer.

    I didn¡¯t dare look back. My mind raced, and my body obeyed instinct, pushing forward with each stride. West, I told myself. I wasn¡¯t going to endanger the caravan. That was my first duty: to protect them. My second duty, though, was to survive this¡ªto draw it away from the innocent.

    Every ten steps I fired another arrow, hoping to slow it down, but I didn¡¯t hear the sickening crunch of impact again. The creature was too fast, too strong. My breath came in sharp gasps, my legs burning from the exertion, but I didn¡¯t stop. I couldn¡¯t.

    Suddenly, Cordelia¡¯s face appeared in the Gloss overlay. It wasn¡¯t the usual calm expression I was used to seeing. No, this was different. Her eyes were wide with something I hadn¡¯t seen in her before¡ªgenuine horror.

    ¡°That scream is of a Howling Abbess. You need to REALLY get the moons away from there,¡± she said, her voice clipped, sharp with urgency. ¡°If the Walker¡¯s Association knew an Abbess had broken through, this would have been a C to B class expedition, Alex. Run.¡±

    The words hit me like a stone. The Howling Abbess. That was what had been chasing me. I didn¡¯t need to know anything else to feel the weight of her words.

    I swallowed hard, my chest tightening as I forced myself to run even faster. I didn¡¯t have time to process the implications of her words¡ªonly the sound of the beast growing ever louder behind me. If the Association had known an Abbess was nearby, this would have been classified as a high-priority, high-risk mission. That meant death for anyone unprepared.

    And I had only just begun to prepare.

    Panic surged inside me, but I buried it beneath the adrenaline, pushing my legs faster. Each footfall was a countdown, each breath a reminder of how close I was to the brink. The Howling Abbess was gaining ground, and no amount of arrows or hope would stop it.

    I needed to keep running.

    I kept pushing myself harder, each step a battle against the burning in my legs and the weight of the fear that was settling deep in my chest. "Cordelia, is there anything we can do?!" I panted, trying to keep my voice steady as I forced my legs to continue. Every breath felt like it was coming through a narrow pipe, but I couldn''t stop now. Not when the Howling Abbess was on my heels.

    "Boss man, save your breath," V¡¯s voice came through, calm as ever, even in the face of the impossible. "I have mines set up in the vicinity to your northeast. I¡¯m currently moving them via my Arte to your direct north. End coordinates are Echo Delta 14."

    Echo Delta 14. That was... far off, but it was the only hope I had right now. The Abbess was coming too fast for me to outrun, but maybe I could use the terrain to my advantage. It wasn¡¯t ideal, but it was my only shot at surviving this encounter.

    I pushed my body harder, feeling the strain building in my chest, my heart hammering in my ribcage as I glanced at the distant horizon, marking the direction. "Did someone wake up Ten?" I asked, my voice strained, but my mind was steeling itself for what I was about to do.

    ¡°The scream alone did. She¡¯s waiting for you at Echo Delta 15. Keep the Abbess chasing you and reach the rendezvous point.¡± Cordelia¡¯s voice had softened, but I could hear the undercurrent of concern in her tone. She was worried, and I couldn¡¯t blame her. The Abbess wasn¡¯t something to take lightly, and neither was the risk of me getting caught in this madness.

    I took another deep breath, trying to steady myself as I fought to push forward, as my steps became more erratic. "Cordelia. Let me ask you this. How likely is my death from this?"

    The silence stretched for a heartbeat, then her voice came back, cold and factual, though I could hear the faintest hesitation in it. "Greater than half."

    I nodded grimly, my lips curving into a twisted, dark smile. There it was¡ªthe bitter humor of the situation sinking in. The odds were not in my favor, but I was used to that. I had to be.

    Everything has a price, damn it. And this... this was the price I was going to have to pay.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    I steeled myself, feeling the weight of the decision wash over me, knowing that the only way I¡¯d make it out alive was to keep running, keep fighting, and keep trusting the team behind me. My death was a high price to pay for success, but sometimes, you had no choice but to keep moving forward.

    I wasn¡¯t going to let it end here.

    With every step, I moved closer to that rendezvous point. To Ten. To survive this fight. And, for better or worse, to whatever else was coming my way.

    My body screamed in protest. My legs felt like they were being driven by raw desperation, each step more erratic than the last. Every ten paces, I had to turn and fire an arrow, my hands trembling as I drew, released, and heard that unholy howl chasing me. The sound reverberated in my chest, gnawing at my resolve. Every inch of me begged for it to stop. I wanted to wake up¡ªjust once more. I wanted to open my eyes and find myself back in the safety of the camp, back to where everything made sense.

    But that wasn¡¯t going to happen. This wasn¡¯t a nightmare.

    The crushing weight of reality hit me when I heard the thunderous sound of the Abbess¡¯s massive footfalls. Before I could react, the beast hurled an entire tree at me. I didn¡¯t even have time to fully brace myself. The tree collided with the earth with a bone-shaking crash, and debris flew everywhere.

    I managed to dodge the initial onslaught, but a shard of rock or splintered bark found its way to my left ankle, embedding itself deep into the joint. I cried out, the pain shooting up my leg like fire. The force of the impact sent me sprawling, my body crumpling to the ground.

    ¡°Damn it. It hit me with that!¡± I forced the words out between gritted teeth. It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d been hurt, but the pain was unbearable.

    With my breathing ragged, I scrambled to push myself up, struggling against the overwhelming pain. I needed to keep going, but I knew that this wasn¡¯t sustainable. I wasn¡¯t going to last much longer on my own.

    ¡°Echo Delta 9. Repeat. Emergency distress. Echo. Delta. 9.¡± I forced the words through the comms, desperation flooding my voice.

    I gritted my teeth and tried to push myself up, but the agony in my ankle made every movement feel like a punishment. I attempted to put weight on it, but the joint buckled under the strain. A wave of frustration crashed over me, but I couldn¡¯t stop. I needed to move. My body betrayed me as I tried hopping, each attempt more desperate than the last, but I faltered again. The pain flared up like wildfire, and I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

    I looked up.

    The Abbess loomed above me like a nightmare made flesh. Its enormous, hairy form was a grotesque parody of a humanoid creature, towering at least ten feet tall and stretching nearly fourteen feet across. Its fur, matted and dark, seemed almost like a rough gown, giving it the appearance of a grotesque, living dress¡ªa fitting name, Howling Abbess. The creature exuded an overpowering presence, an aura of deadly strength and ferocity. Every movement was deliberate, brutal, and unrelenting.

    It slammed its massive fist down, sending a shockwave through the earth that nearly knocked the breath out of me. I rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow. My body screamed in protest, and each roll felt like it was taking everything out of me. I could barely hold on, my ankle pulsing with pain as I tried to weave around its next strike.

    I wanted to run. I needed to run. But every instinct that screamed for me to flee was met with the stark reality of my injury. My ankle wouldn¡¯t let me. I was trapped.

    The Abbess roared above me, its voice shaking the air, and it raised one of its enormous feet. I scrambled, my mind shouting at me to dodge, to avoid the crushing force that was about to come down. The ground trembled as its foot descended with impossible speed.

    I barely managed to roll out of the way, my body lifted slightly off the ground as the force of the strike pushed me up a few inches. The world spun in a blur as I tumbled, trying desperately to regain my footing, but I couldn¡¯t. I felt the brush of its foot just above me, and then, with a sickening thud, the Abbess¡¯s foot collided with the earth.

    If I had been a fraction of a second slower, I would¡¯ve been crushed, flattened beneath the sheer weight of the beast. Instead, I found myself sprawled on the ground, gasping for air, my body still aching and trembling with the strain of barely avoiding death.

    I couldn¡¯t keep this up. I needed to get back on my feet, but I wasn¡¯t sure how much longer I could last. My mind raced, Gloss notifications were flooding in, asking me to confirm the status of my situation, the team, the mission, everything. But I couldn¡¯t focus on that. Not right now. I had to survive. I had to trust my team.

    I didn¡¯t want to die here. Not like this. Not alone. So, I prayed. To any Dominus who might be watching, to any god or higher power that could hear the plea of a desperate soul¡ªlet this end. Let the nightmare cease.

    But prayer alone wasn¡¯t going to save me. I couldn¡¯t just lie there and hope for a miracle. I bit down on the cloth of my sleeve, feeling the rough fabric against my teeth as I tumbled and rolled, trying to get further away from the Abbess. Every jolt sent pain shooting through my body, but I couldn¡¯t stop. I had to keep moving, keep running¨Crolling. The Abbess¡¯s footfalls shook the earth behind me, its fury relentless and unforgiving. I needed a way out, a place to hide.

    I didn¡¯t know where I was going. My body just reacted, tumbling down a hill as quickly as it could. The rough terrain ripped at my arms and legs, scraping them raw as I collided with branches, rocks, and anything else in my path. Every collision felt like it would knock the air out of me. But it was a price I was willing to pay to escape that crushing weight, that monstrous force.

    And then, I found it.

    A small hill with a hole in the earth. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough. I scrambled into the hole, my body desperate for cover, and huddled in the space, trying to regulate my breathing. The hole was narrow, just enough to hide me from view. I tried not to make a sound, hoping that the Abbess would pass by without noticing me.

    It was a temporary reprieve, a flicker of hope in the middle of chaos. It wasn¡¯t salvation, not yet, but it was a chance¡ªa chance to survive, regroup, to escape long enough for my team to find me. My mind raced, thinking of the distress signal I had sent out, hoping against hope that my team would pick it up, that they¡¯d track me down and get here before the Abbess found me again.

    I didn¡¯t count on it. I couldn¡¯t count on anything right now. But as I lay there in the dirt, hiding in that small hole, I allowed myself one fragile, fleeting hope. That maybe, just maybe, my prayer had been heard.

    I opened my Gloss with trembling hands, the weight of my desperation pressing down on me. Every second I spent in that hole, waiting for the Abbess to move on, felt like an eternity. I had to act. I couldn¡¯t just lie there, helpless, hoping for a miracle.

    With shaking fingers, I composed the message. Each word was a struggle, my vision blurred by pain and tears that I couldn¡¯t hold back. I quickly detailed my injury¡ªhow my ankle was swollen, useless, unable to support my weight¡ªand my current location, hoping the coordinates would be clear enough for them to track. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the sweat soaking my skin as I forced the words out.

    "Status: Injured. Unable to walk. Location: Echo Delta 9. Under attack by Abbess. Request immediate assistance. Please¡­ please help."

    As the message sent, I felt the tears fall freely, hot against my cheeks. I wiped them away furiously, feeling weak, vulnerable. My pulse thudded in my ears, and the constant tremor in my limbs only made everything worse.

    The fear gnawed at me. The fear of what would happen if they didn¡¯t arrive in time. The fear of being caught, being torn apart by that thing, consumed in a moment of pure, unrelenting violence. Would I end up as another one of its victims? Another nameless corpse left to rot?

    I swallowed hard, pushing the panic back down into the pit of my stomach. I had to believe they would come. They had to come.

    I leaned back against the cold earth, hoping beyond reason that my message would reach them, that they would be able to decipher the location and find me before it was too late. I was counting on them. I had no other choice.

    I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing on the sound of my breath, the only thing I could control. Every minute felt like an hour, but I had to believe that help was on the way. I had to hold on.

    Because if I lost hope that they couldn¡¯t save me, then I¡¯d lose the hope that I could save myself.

 Chapter 34: The Gateway to Lies is the Truth

    Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into eternity. My mind knew it hadn¡¯t been more than ten minutes¡ªmy Gloss was feeding me the precise Continental Standard Time the entire time¡ªbut my body, my nerves, they told a different story. Time warped in the darkness of the hole, stretching and snapping back in a relentless cycle of pain and anticipation.

    The Gloss had finished a full damage report on my ankle. A sedimentary rock shard had lodged itself between the cartilage supporting my right foot, tearing through tissue like a cruelly placed wedge. My body was a map of pain¡ªscrapes, cuts, bruises painting my skin in shades of misery. Two broken ribs added to the tally, each breath reminding me of their jagged protest. But the worst wound wasn¡¯t physical. The waiting was far worse. The mental anguish of being trapped, powerless, surrounded by the suffocating weight of earth and fear.

    My messages were all set to text-only¡ªprecautionary. No sound could escape. No unnecessary noise to give away my hiding spot. The responses came in, their sterile letters carrying the weight of my lifeline.

    <hr>

    V: Status?

    5939: Alive. Sending damage and location report.

    Cordelia: No major vital damage, but your healing limit is going to be pushed way past normal strain. You¡¯ll be bedridden for weeks.

    V: Rather be crying about the pain than be dead.

    5939: Yeah. Me too. What are the odds of me being found here? Refusing to run the probability on the Gloss Matrix.

    Cordelia: Good news? Your death probability just dropped to 12%. Bad news? We can¡¯t get to you. Ten is leading the Abbess away.

    5939: Then why the hell can¡¯t you get me out of here?

    V: Because we¡¯re dealing with a ton of small fry. You have to reach the end point at Foxtrot Indigo.

    <hr>

    Shit. Fuck. Keep things together, Alex. Not everything is hopeless. Ten was drawing the Abbess away, which meant I had an opening. Small steps. One at a time.

    First, the wound.

    I sucked in a breath, gritting my teeth before biting down on my sleeve. The moment my teeth sank into the fabric, my robe rippled, as if sensing my intent, and the torn fabric simply¡­ restored itself. Not helpful right now. But at least I could use it as a temporary gag for what I was about to do.

    With one quick, sharp movement, I yanked the stone shard from my ankle.

    White-hot agony exploded through my leg. My body seized, my vision darkening at the edges as pain pulsed through every nerve like wildfire. I forced myself to stay conscious, to breathe through it, to focus on wrapping the wound. My fingers shook, clumsy with pain, but I tightened the makeshift bandage as best as I could.

    Then, as if to mock me, a cascade of Demeterra Decrees flooded my vision.

    <hr>

    [Skill, Pain Tolerance, has increased from Level 2 to Level 3.]

    [Skill, Pain Tolerance, has increased from Level 3 to Level 4...]

    [Skill, Pain Tolerance, has increased from Level 7 to Level 8.]

    [You have acquired the Skill, Acrobatics, Level 1.]

    [Skill, Acrobatics, has increased from level 1 to Level 2.]

    [You have acquired the Skill, First Aid, Level 1.]

    <hr>

    Oh, NOW you kick in. Holy hell. Could¡¯ve used you earlier.

    Did these notifications only ever show up after I¡¯d already suffered? Was there some rule that skill advancements couldn¡¯t trigger in the heat of the moment? Every time, it seemed like they only arrived after the danger had passed, like some kind of cruel joke.

    I tested my foot by putting pressure against the wall¡ªbad idea. The second I put weight on it, white-hot agony lanced up my leg, nearly sending me flat on my back. Nope. Just¡­ no. My leg wasn¡¯t going to move. Not properly. Not soon.

    I forced myself to push past the pain long enough to send a message to the team on my Gloss, detailing my condition. The responses were instant.

    Cordelia: Tsk.

    V: [Sent Image: Him frowning, arms crossed.]

    Thanks, guys. Real supportive.

    I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself, but everything was spinning. My limbs felt like lead, my eyelids heavier than they should be. I was so tired. Exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that clawed at the edges of my mind, threatening to drag me under.

    My head throbbed in a way that wasn¡¯t just pain¡ªit was wrong. I shook it off, blinking hard, forcing myself to stay present. That was when my Gloss delivered another unwelcome alert.

    [WARNING: Concussion risk detected. Fight off sleep immediately.]

    Well. That was not what I wanted to hear.

    The Gloss wasn¡¯t omnipotent¡ªit could scan the exterior of my body, making the best guesses possible, but it wasn¡¯t like the system the Prince had. It wasn¡¯t tied into my nervous system. It couldn¡¯t diagnose me with absolute certainty. But the fact that it even flagged concussion risk meant that things were bad.

    I clenched my fists, forcing myself to focus. Stay awake. Stay alert. Just a little longer. If I let myself slip, I wasn¡¯t sure I¡¯d wake up.

    I focused inward¡ªnot on the broken solar system that usually defined my inner world. No. Something else.

    A book. A quill. A coin. An arrow. A small, contained pocket of reality all its own.

    I reached out, my fingers brushing against them. I wasn¡¯t thinking¡ªI was answering. The book sprawled open, spilling forth a world of black and white. A world I had never seen before.

    It was a study. A grand one. The architecture was intricate, the craftsmanship meticulous. Bookshelves lined the walls in perfect symmetry, stretching infinitely into an ink-stained horizon. The only things in the room that held color were myself, my belongings, and two books sitting untouched on a shelf.

    I smiled. Bitterly.

    I knew them, even though I had never seen them before. One was The Archimedes Principle. The second? The Great Game.

    Both mine. Both waiting for me.

    Tomorrow. That would be tomorrow¡¯s issue. Today? Survival.

    Then, as if the world itself shifted, a third thing gained color.

    A person. No. A presence.

    And he was beautiful.

    His beauty was not the soft kind, nor the rugged kind¡ªit was the kind that defied description, that felt sculpted by divinity itself. He was pride given form, grace incarnate. Regality personified. His features were sharp yet effortless, his demeanor poised yet uncaring..

    Golden skin, shimmering with flakes of opal. Hair like aged copper, kissed with a red patina. Two black, spiraling ram horns crowned his head.

    For a moment, I thought he was a statue.

    Then, he moved.

    His arm lazily lifted, fingers running through his hair as he let out a slow, drawn-out yawn.

    His voice was smooth¡ªas if words were too much effort, drawn from a place of perpetual exhaustion.

    ¡°Alexander, right¡­?¡±

    He tilted his head, cracking an eye open just enough to regard me.

    ¡°My name is Morres. The original Bibliokinetic.¡±

    A pause. A lazy flick of his wrist.

    ¡°Little Demeterra asked me to stop by¡­ since you were¡­ unwell?¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­ what are¡­?¡± I started, but the words felt clumsy, my thoughts too tangled to form something coherent. I was baffled.

    As far as I knew, I was inside my own spirit¡ªthe one thing that no one, no one, should be able to interfere with. It was mine. My domain. My space.

    Yet here he was.

    I took a breath, steadying myself.

    ¡°Excuse me, Morres, you said? Why are you here?¡±

    Morres sighed, stretching his arms in a slow, almost exaggerated motion, like a cat waking from a long nap. His golden skin shimmered as he moved, catching the light of this strange study in a way that felt almost ethereal.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    He waved a hand¡ªlazily.

    ¡°You are slow,¡± he muttered, rubbing one of his horns absentmindedly. ¡°Demeterra said you were sharp, but I¡¯m not seeing it.¡±

    I clenched my jaw. ¡°Answer the question.¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine.¡± He rolled his shoulders, seemingly unbothered by my demand. ¡°I¡¯m here because you¡¯re fumbling in the dark, and our dear Dominus Demeterra doesn¡¯t want her newest Bibliokinetic to¡­ what was the phrase she used?¡±

    He snapped his fingers, as if recalling something from a half-forgotten dream.

    ¡°Ah. Yes. ¡®Die stupidly in a ditch.¡¯¡±

    I blinked.

    ¡°What?¡±

    He grinned. ¡°Yeah, she was very clear about that part. Said you had potential, but you were ¡®acting like a wild dog thrown into a library¡¯ and ¡®grasping at power without a handbook.¡¯¡±

    I felt heat rise in my face. ¡°That¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°Accurate?¡± Morres interrupted smoothly, his grin widening. ¡°She thought so too.¡±

    I scowled, but he didn¡¯t stop.

    ¡°See, kid, you¡¯re playing with something big.¡± He gestured around us, to the boundless library, the shelves that stretched into eternity. ¡°Bibliokinesis isn¡¯t just ¡®book magic¡¯¡ªit¡¯s narrative power. It¡¯s written reality. You¡¯re touching on something that can shape stories themselves¡ªwhich means you need to understand the rules.¡±

    Rules?

    I straightened, crossing my arms.

    ¡°What rules?¡±

    Morres gave me an almost pitying look. ¡°You really are new at this.¡±

    I straightened, folding my arms as I stared at Morres. ¡°Alright, then tell me¡ªwhat are these ¡®rules¡¯?¡±

    He smirked, tapping the spine of the book again, and this time, the letters didn¡¯t just bleed from the page¡ªthey twisted, spiraling into the air like living ink, forming intricate patterns before fading.

    ¡°There are three rules for Bibliokinetics in Demeterra¡¯s domain,¡± Morres said, his voice slow, measured.

    He raised a single finger.

    ¡°One: You must abide by your Arte¡¯s type.¡± His golden eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. ¡°A Shaper Shapes. A Creator Creates. A Manifester doesn¡¯t create but wills things into being.¡±

    My breath caught. That meant¡­

    Morres grinned. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re not some book mage, kid. You¡¯re a Manifester. That means you don¡¯t write stories. You don¡¯t just pull from them. You force them into existence.¡±

    I clenched my fists. That explained why my Arte felt so different from other magic users. Why my connection to books wasn¡¯t just about reading or learning¡ªit was rewriting reality itself.

    Morres lifted a second finger.

    ¡°Two: Taking from the narrative always has a consequence.¡± He let the words hang, watching them sink in.

    ¡°Not from Demeterra,¡± he continued, voice darkening. ¡°She doesn¡¯t care about what you steal. She won¡¯t punish you. But the print in question? The books themselves?¡±

    I shivered as the shadows around us deepened, as if the very library was listening.

    ¡°They remember,¡± Morres murmured. ¡°Every word you rip from them, every power you take¡ªit will cost you something. Maybe it¡¯s a skill. A memory. Maybe something worse.¡±

    I thought of the Sugared Maw cube. The price it demanded. The taste of flesh in my mouth when I used it. I had already paid for something, hadn¡¯t I?

    Morres exhaled, then raised a third and final finger.

    ¡°And the last rule.¡± His expression sobered, all traces of amusement gone. ¡°Three: You MUST ascend to your Dominus state by your 98th birthday.¡±

    I froze.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°No exceptions,¡± Morres said flatly. ¡°If you don¡¯t, you don¡¯t just die.¡± He leaned forward, golden skin shimmering as his voice dropped to a whisper.

    ¡°You are unwritten.¡±

    A chill ran through me. ¡°Unwritten?¡±

    Morres nodded. ¡°A Bibliokinetic who fails to ascend doesn¡¯t get an afterlife. Doesn¡¯t get reborn. Doesn¡¯t even fade into history.¡± He tapped the book in his lap. ¡°Their story erases itself.¡±

    I swallowed hard, my mind racing.

    This was more than power. This was a path with a countdown.

    Morres closed the book in his hands with a deliberate thud, the weight of his words settling into my chest like an iron weight. His golden eyes, gleaming like polished opal, locked onto mine, unblinking.

    ¡°There¡¯s a fourth rule,¡± he repeated, his voice slow, patient, but carrying an edge that made my skin crawl. ¡°One you¡¯re already breaking.¡±

    I stiffened, my breath caught in my throat. A rule I was breaking? I was inside my own spirit. How could that even be possible?

    ¡°But this isn¡¯t a Demeterra rule,¡± Morres continued, tilting his head slightly. ¡°This is a reality rule¡ªone that you should understand.¡±

    My fingers curled into my palms. I could feel the tension in my body, coiled like a spring.

    ¡°Violating another Bibliokinetic¡¯s library is a crime.¡±

    My entire body went cold.

    Danatallion¡¯s Halls.

    The cursed books. The inescapable tomes. The nightmares lurking in ink and parchment.

    Morres sighed, tapping a finger against the book¡¯s cover. ¡°Danatallion was the fifty-third Dominus to ascend as a true Bibliokinetic. You know what that means, don¡¯t you?¡±

    I swallowed hard. Fifty-third. That number alone sent a chill down my spine.

    ¡°All the tales you keep diving into?¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°The grimoires you violate?¡±

    His next words came like a hammer to my skull.

    ¡°They are his nightmares.¡±

    The room tilted. I wasn¡¯t breathing.

    I thought I had been navigating an ancient, abandoned domain, a relic of something long past. But I wasn¡¯t just stealing from books¡ªI was stealing from a Dominus¡¯s personal hell.

    Morres studied me, gauging my reaction. My mind was reeling, trying to process what this meant.

    He leaned forward, voice softer but no less sharp. ¡°You need to make a choice, Alexander.¡±

    I barely managed to force out a whisper. ¡°A choice?¡±

    Morres gave me a faint, knowing smile.

    ¡°Find a way to stop going there¡­¡± he paused, letting the weight of his next words settle,

    ¡°¡­or find a way to go there even more often.¡±

    My mouth went dry.

    I wasn¡¯t just an intruder. I wasn¡¯t just some lost soul wandering Danatallion¡¯s Halls.I was trespassing in his domain. A domain forged of his own nightmares. Morres tapped the book in his hands once more, as if to drive the point home.

    ¡°You are both an invader in his grand domain and someone pursuing what every Bibliokinetic does.¡± His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light. ¡°The next book.¡±

    A shudder ran down my spine. I was a Bibliokinetic. I was also a thief in a library of nightmares.

    Morres leaned back against the grand wooden desk in the study, his arms crossing as he observed me with a knowing gaze. He was entirely at ease here, a figure so regal yet effortless, like he belonged within the pages of a myth long forgotten.

    ¡°My advice?¡± he began, voice smooth, deliberate. ¡°Grow. Expand.¡±

    His fingers trailed across the spine of an unseen book on the shelf beside him. ¡°This is your Danatallion¡¯s Hall. Your library. Every book you¡¯ve conquered will appear here. Every tale you have mastered, every story you have carved your name into.¡±

    I looked around, eyes drifting over the countless shelves, the endless tomes. It was vast, but¡­ empty. Barren.

    Morres chuckled. ¡°Ah, you see it now, don¡¯t you? You think your Arte only allows you to acquire. That it¡¯s about plucking items, skillcubes, weapons from the ink and bringing them into the real world.¡±

    His golden eyes gleamed in amusement.

    ¡°You are wrong.¡±

    I stiffened.

    Morres pushed himself off the desk and took a step forward, his presence washing over me like a tidal wave. ¡°You¡¯ve seen that hell. Walked those cursed halls. Every book within Danatallion¡¯s domain? Every story he has conquered? He has made his own. He has made them whole.¡±

    The weight of his words settled into my chest.

    Morres let out a soft, almost melodic chuckle. ¡°Demeterra abhors our Arte,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°She sees it as a violation. A violation of the past, a violation of creative expression.¡±

    I frowned. ¡°Why?¡±

    His smile widened. It was breathtaking. His skin shimmered with opal iridescence, shifting colors under the dim study light. When he spoke again, I caught a glimpse of his teeth¡ªperfect, brilliant, like diamonds carved from eternity itself.

    ¡°Because our Arte is the one that rewrites what was.¡±

    He paused, letting the silence stretch, as if savoring the weight of his next words.

    ¡°I believe our Arte is what it should be.¡±

    Morres tilted his head, his voice dropping into something soft. Almost reverent.

    ¡°The truth.¡±

    Name: Alexander Julius Duarte

    Race: Half-blood. [Human/Almiraj]

    Age: 16

    Arte: Paper Manipulation

    Skillcubes:

    Soul Realm 1 Skill Cubes 4/9 1/5 Dimension, 2/2 Crystal 1/2 Nature

    Atlas¡¯s Manifest

    Rarity: Uncommon Aspects: Nature, Water, Earth

    You are unimpeded by natural terrain. You gain bonus effects based on the terrain you attune to.

    The Millennium Halls

    Rarity: Unknown [Error.]

    Aspects: Dimension, Star, Growth

    You are able to open a doorway to any anchor spot by visiting the Millennium Halls. Doing so requires focus and meditation in a safe area. Mana expenditure is based on the number of people entering the doorway. You are able to place 1+1 [Almiraj Bonus Applied] anchors per Soul Realm.

    Gluttony of the Golden Hydra

    Rarity: Epic

    Aspects: Crystal, Hunger, Metal, Draconic, Growth

    You are able to consume treasure, wealth, and magical items. You gain effects based on the value and properties of the items consumed. You are required to consume at least your Soul Realm¡¯s worth in waxing coppers per day or suffer from malnutrition.

    Sugared Maw

    Rarity: Unique

    Aspects: Hunger, Crystal, Dark, Growth

    Effect:

    Whenever you or your allies defeat an enemy within your miasma, once per day you may consume a crystallized fragment of that enemy.

    You can conjure a pit in the ground of writhing mouths. The strength of the teeth in the mouths is based on the number of crystallized enemy fragments you have consumed, as well as your Soul Realm.

    Skills:

    Acrobatics [Level 2]

    Archery [Level 1]

    First Aide [Level 1]

    Machina Operation [Level 1]

    Multiversal Language [Level EX]

    Origami [Level 2]

    Pain Resistance [Level 8]

    Speed Reading [Level 1]

 Chapter 35: Prices

    ¡°So¡­ if Dominus Demeterra hates our Arte¡­ why did she send you?¡±

    Morres didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, a languid stretch like he had all the time in the world, despite the gravity of the conversation. When he finally spoke, his voice was casual¡ªtoo casual.

    ¡°She hates it because she knows¡ªwithout question¡ªwhat your Arte is most likely to evolve into. Our final evolutions are shaped by¡­¡± He waved a hand vaguely, as if gesturing at something unseen. ¡°You know what? I¡¯ll let you figure that out.¡±

    I scowled. Again? This was just like when I was younger, demanding answers about Otherrealm Gates, only to be met with vague reassurances and outright refusals. Back then, I had wanted to step through a Gate at seven years old¡ªhad nearly begged for it. I had been denied. Repeatedly. You aren¡¯t ready, Alexander. You don¡¯t understand.

    I hated being denied.

    ¡°Okay, so she knows what it will be, and it¡¯s¡­ an antithesis of hers?¡± I guessed, arms crossing.

    Morres shook his head slowly, exhaling as if I was the one being frustrating. He stretched again, yawning, his golden skin catching the dim light. ¡°Nah. It¡¯s not that it violates her Arte¡ªit violates her Truth.¡±

    The way he said that word¡ªTruth¡ªwas powerful. Commanding.

    The entire study trembled with it. The bookshelves, despite being mostly barren, resonated with the word. The two colored books on the desk shuddered. Even the ink on the pages of books not yet written quivered in response.

    My breath caught. I took a step back. ¡°What¡­ was that?¡±

    The words left my mouth in a whisper, awe, wonder, and curiosity clawing for an answer.

    Morres smirked. ¡°My Providence,¡± he answered smoothly, as if that explained everything. ¡°What the Domini call it, anyway.¡±

    I swallowed. ¡°Providence?¡±

    ¡°The Truth¡ªwhat we know of ourselves.¡± He lifted one hand, palm up.

    ¡°The Lie¡ªwhat we wish we were.¡± His other hand mirrored the first.

    ¡°And the Ideal¡ªthe combination in between.¡± His hands came together, fingers interlocking, seamless. Complete.

    A shiver ran down my spine. Truth. Lie. Ideal.

    ¡°¡­And what does that mean for me?¡± I asked, voice barely above a breath.

    Morres¡¯ diamond-bright teeth flashed as he grinned.

    ¡°That, little Bibliokinetic¡­¡± Morres stepped forward, his opalescent eyes locking onto mine. There was something weighty in his gaze, something that knew far more than he was telling me.

    ¡°That isn¡¯t something I can just give you,¡± he continued, his voice smooth as glass but sharp enough to cut. ¡°I can say this much¡ªyou¡¯ve touched upon your Truth. Multiple times, in fact. You even know what it is, deep down. You have the words.¡± He gestured vaguely with his hand. ¡°Hell, I¡¯ve said the words already.¡±

    I stiffened.

    ¡°You simply don¡¯t have the right¡­ picture yet,¡± he added. ¡°You have the words of your Truth, but not the understanding of what they mean. Think about it. Are there any words that resonate with you? Ones that keep shimmering in your thoughts, repeating when you aren¡¯t paying attention?¡±

    Something in my chest lurched.

    It clicked.

    I knew it.

    Morres knew I knew it.

    His lips curled into that sharp, knowing smile.

    Everything has a price.

    I exhaled, the weight of realization pressing against me. My shoulders sagged, yet I felt lighter, as if some invisible chain had been undone.

    ¡°¡­Does this mean I¡¯m greedy?¡± I muttered.

    Morres chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Well, yes. You are. But not for money. Probably. From what I know¡­You hunger for knowledge. You hunger for adventure, for freedom¡ªfor an escape from your mother¡¯s grasp.¡± His eyes gleamed. ¡°You were willing to pay the price you didn¡¯t even realize you were paying. You understood that nothing was free¡­ but the price you¡¯re paying? It isn¡¯t measured in coin.¡±

    I closed my eyes.

    And suddenly, an image burned into my mind.

    A statue. A weeping, broken statue, clutching a burning book in its arms. Its tears¡ªblack, thick with ink and ichor¡ªstained the stone beneath it, dripping like rivers of sorrow. Around the statue, the scales of balance lay shattered, their pieces scattered like the remnants of a dying star, strewn across a vast, empty void.

    The price of victory? Pain.

    The price of law? Chaos.

    The price of power? Isolation.

    The price of progress? Prejudice.

    The price of my folly? Injuries. Death. Destruction.

    Everything has a price.

    The weight of the thought pressed down on me, suffocating in its truth. My mind spun, trying to reconcile the cost of each decision. What had I done? What would I have to do? The scales before me? They weren¡¯t just broken¡ªthey were asking for balance. They demanded it.

    I reached out, not physically, but mentally. I willed the scales to shift. They did.

    The statue''s once blackened tears began to change¡ªno longer just ink, no longer just ichor. The liquid began to shimmer, to glow, as if pulling the very stars from the heavens. Nebulae swirled in the blackness, galaxies were born in its wake, stars igniting in the empty space. The book still burned, yes, but now it was open. Not a destructive blaze, but one that emitted light¡ªthousands of stars, planets, possibilities¡ªradiating outward, each one a consequence, each one a decision.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    The scales now shifted¡ªrestless. Constantly weighing. Every option. Every choice. Every reward. Every price.

    I stood before them, feeling the pull of choice in my bones.

    Everything has a price. The whisper of it lingered in my mind like a forgotten truth.

    I stood there, heart hammering, breath shallow, eyes locked onto the scales. I had to choose. I had to balance. Was I willing to pay what needed to be paid? Was I willing to sacrifice? To give up something dear in exchange for the unknown? What was the cost of my progress?

    And more importantly¡­ was I ready for the consequences of that choice?

    ***

    I had awoken, though not fully, still teetering on the edge of consciousness. My mind felt sluggish as I slowly sifted through the pile of unread Gloss messages that flooded my feed. Most of them were simple¡ªdetailed reports of the team''s current locations, attempts to wake me from the haze that had overtaken me. Apparently, when I had lost consciousness during my meditation, the system automatically triggered medical alerts, notifying everyone in my team. They all had taken priority, trying their best to get me back to the surface. Their concern was touching.

    But it wasn''t the urgent messages that caused a spark of relief in me. No, the notification that caught my eye¡ªand made my lips curl into a smile¡ªwas Cordelia''s.

    Cordelia: Location: Echo Delta 9. ETA with stretcher: 5 minutes.

    Five minutes. Just five more minutes. I could handle that. The moment I read it, a strange sense of calm washed over me, as if a weight had lifted from my chest. I still felt the remnants of pain in my body, the dull ache from my injuries, but it didn¡¯t seem as unbearable anymore.

    As I lay there, I noticed something else. Something more profound. I felt... different. More... real. That was the phrase that kept echoing in my mind. My senses were sharper, more attuned to my surroundings. It wasn¡¯t just physical clarity, though that was part of it¡ªit was like I had awoken to a version of myself that felt truer, more authentic than I had ever known. I had always been driven by purpose, by the responsibilities that weighed on me, but now? Now it was as if I could feel myself for the first time, without any distractions, any external demands pulling at me.

    I stretched, and the ache in my muscles felt almost... right. It was as if my body was coming back into alignment, like I was finally becoming the person I was meant to be. Even the way I breathed seemed deeper, more in tune with the world around me. It was subtle, but it was there.

    Five minutes. I could wait. But I couldn¡¯t shake the sense that something else was shifting within me. A new chapter was beginning, and I could feel it starting to unfold. A part of me couldn¡¯t help but wonder if it was all tied to what I had experienced¡ªwhat I had just discovered¡ªinside my spirit. There was more to my journey ahead. More to me.

    I became aware of a subtle sensation¡ªa faint pressure on my finger. My hand instinctively reached up, and there it was: a ring. Not the thumb ring I used for my bow, nor the access ring for the suite. This one was different. It was something new, something... unfamiliar. It had an intricate design embossed on its surface, one I instantly recognized. It was the same statue I had seen earlier, the one in the vision¡ªa weeping, broken statue clutching a burning book in its arms, ink bleeding from its eyes like thick, black ichor.

    The ring''s surface shimmered, almost imperceptibly, as if it were alive with the same ethereal colors as the nebula. Radiant swirls of purple, blue, and pink glowed from within, pulsing gently with an almost hypnotic rhythm. It expanded and contracted with each subtle shift, like a living, breathing thing. I couldn''t look away. It was mesmerizing. The beauty of it felt so familiar, yet so foreign, as though it was tied to something I hadn¡¯t quite discovered yet.

    Five minutes passed in what felt like a dream. The world around me was distant, the weight of everything else fading into the background as I lost myself in the ring''s glow. My focus was lost¡ªno thoughts of duties, responsibilities, or even pain. It was as if everything had quieted down, leaving me in a kind of suspended reality. The only sound was the soft hum of the ring, the rhythm of its pulses syncing with my own breath.

    Then, as if the universe had decided to pull me back to the present, the silence was broken by the familiar ping of a Gloss notification.

    Cordelia: Pinging Gloss. Please ping back.

    I blinked, the sudden return to reality feeling like a sharp jolt. The glow of the ring dimmed slightly, but its presence still lingered, pressing in on my awareness.

    I raised my hand instinctively, placing it on the ground to steady myself. My mind sharpened as I refocused.

    5939: Acknowledged. Pinging back.

    The Gloss responded almost immediately, a sense of urgency in Cordelia''s next words.

    Cordelia: Status report, now.

    I sighed, shaking my head as I forced myself to clear the lingering fog that seemed to cling to my mind. The ring''s influence, subtle as it was, had nearly lulled me into a trance. It was so easy to be distracted by its beauty, by the feeling of it, but I had to refocus. There was too much left to process, too many questions I didn¡¯t have answers for yet. But for now, I had a duty, and I needed to stay sharp.

    5939: Fine? Fine as I can be. Where are you all? I¡¯m in a hole.

    I could almost hear Cordelia¡¯s sharp exhale through the comms, her unflappable exterior barely masking the worry beneath.

    Cordelia: Following the carnage you created¡ªand searching for your Gloss comms. We¡¯ve located you, another three minutes.

    Her words sent a flicker of relief through me, but I couldn''t afford to linger on that feeling. Every second was precious, and I still had no idea what was coming next.

    The minutes stretched on, though they felt like hours. I could almost hear the weight of the silence closing in around me, but then, as promised, Cordelia¡¯s voice came back through.

    When they found me, the scene was as surreal as it was beautiful. A field of flowers¡ªdelicate and vibrant, their petals stained crimson¡ªspread out like a blanket around me. The blood from my injuries seemed to almost soak into them, but in a way that felt... nurturing. The flowers, as if guided by some unseen hand, gently cradled me, lifting me from the hole in the hill with a grace that almost made the pain bearable.

    I didn¡¯t know how long it took for them to move me, but once I was on the stretcher, I finally allowed myself to breathe again. Relief flooded through me in a way I hadn¡¯t expected.

    But then something unexpected happened. Cordelia, ever the composed and professional one, paused. Her gaze softened, and for a brief moment, I thought she might speak again. Instead, she did something I couldn¡¯t have predicted.

    She pulled me into a hug.

    It wasn¡¯t long or lingering, but it was enough. The warmth of her arms, the weight of the moment, everything that had been left unsaid in our dangerous game of survival¡­ it all poured out in that one act.

    I stiffened for a moment, unsure of how to react. But then, as if by instinct, I allowed myself to sink into it, just for a second. My breath steadied, my pulse slowing as I realized that this wasn¡¯t just about surviving the monsters, or the battles, or the weight of our duties. There was something about the quiet comfort in that gesture¡ªsomething that reminded me of my humanity.

    But that moment passed quickly, as moments always do. Cordelia pulled back just as swiftly as she had embraced me, her usual sharpness returning.

    Cordelia: Don¡¯t get used to it. We have work to do.

    Her words, though tinged with the usual indifference, felt different this time. There was something softer in her text, something more¡­ genuine. The walls that usually separated us seemed to have cracked just a bit, even if only for a fleeting moment. And though I didn¡¯t fully understand it, I knew one thing for certain:

    We were in this together. For better or worse.

 Chapter 36: Hospitalized Hostility

    ¡°Your injuries¡­ okay. So, Alexander,¡± Cordelia began, her voice steady despite the severity of her words, ¡°Bad news. We can¡¯t complete the trip. You need a hospital. While none of the injuries are life-debilitating by themselves, your Gloss doesn¡¯t even register half of them. Want me to list?¡±

    Her mana was weaving itself around me, a comforting warmth like a soft blanket. It didn¡¯t numb the pain, but it eased the edges, making it just a little more bearable. Her energy was calming, even if her words weren¡¯t.

    ¡°You¡¯re... a doctor?¡± I asked, my voice coming out more weakly than I intended. The thought didn¡¯t make sense, given everything I knew about her. It wasn¡¯t information my uncle had provided. Her role had always been shrouded in mystery, an enigma. I never expected her to be the one to take care of me like this.

    She didn¡¯t hesitate, though, as if the question were irrelevant.

    ¡°Psyker. You know this. Medically, I specialize in aromatherapy and can play triage nurse when needed. Your ankle is the worst¡ªbone inside is completely shredded. Good job pulling it out, by the way. The type of stone was paldikryte. It¡¯s a neurotoxin because of the amount of mercury it contains.¡± She spoke, as always, with an unsettling calmness, as if she were commenting on the weather or a mundane task. Her nonchalance made the situation all the more surreal.

    I stared at her for a moment, processing her words. I¡¯d felt the pain, the sheer agony of pulling the stone out myself, but hearing her break it down with such a detached tone somehow made it all the more real.

    ¡°So¡­ how long do you expect me to be out of commission?¡± I asked, already bracing myself for the answer. The words tasted bitter as they left my lips. I had a time limit on all of this. I couldn¡¯t afford to sit around healing forever. The future loomed ahead of me like a ticking clock, and I was well aware of the brevity of it. I might be sixteen now, but that didn¡¯t change the fact that I had a timeline, one that stretched for just eighty-two more years if I was lucky.

    Her eyes flickered with something I couldn¡¯t quite read, but she didn¡¯t waste time. She ran a hand over her temple, drawing on her psyker abilities to scan me more thoroughly.

    ¡°At least two weeks in a proper medical facility for starters,¡± she replied. ¡°Your ankle¡¯s not going to support weight anytime soon, and without treatment, it¡¯ll only get worse. The rest of your body? Mostly superficial damage, but the bruising, the lacerations¡­ they need more attention than what we can do on the road.¡± Her gaze softened a fraction. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you didn¡¯t bleed out. You¡¯ve been running on fumes, Alexander.¡±

    The thought of waiting, of being confined to a hospital bed, frustrated me. I clenched my fists, the pain in my body somehow less of a concern than the weight of the situation.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have two weeks,¡± I muttered under my breath. ¡°I need to keep moving, keep advancing, keep¡ª¡±

    I cut myself off, realizing what I was saying. The desperation in my words was evident, but so was the need to grow stronger. Time wasn¡¯t something I could waste. Not when I was this close to my potential.

    Cordelia tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. She paused, then spoke with quiet certainty.

    ¡°I know,¡± she said, her voice almost gentle. ¡°But you don¡¯t get to rush this. Not this time.¡±

    I wanted to argue, to push back. But I didn¡¯t. Something in her tone, the calm yet firm authority in it, made me realize she wasn¡¯t just speaking as a member of my team. She was speaking as someone who knew exactly what was at stake¡ªand someone who understood the price of pushing too hard.

    I sighed, feeling the weight of it all. This wasn¡¯t how I planned it. This wasn¡¯t how I expected things to go. But sometimes, the journey demanded more than just willpower. It demanded patience.

    ¡°Two weeks then,¡± I said, gritting my teeth. ¡°But that¡¯s the limit.¡±

    Cordelia didn¡¯t respond immediately. She just continued tending to my injuries, the soft hum of her mana weaving around me. Her touch was gentle but firm, and for the first time since the fight, I felt¡­ truly cared for. Despite everything else, despite the looming challenges ahead, I knew she¡¯d keep me alive. At least long enough to find the next step in my journey.

    And then, with a soft exhale, she spoke again, her voice as steady as ever.

    Soon, a floral fragrance was in the air. Calming. Heavenly. I couldn¡¯t help it as my eyes were drifting off to sleep.

    ***

    I awoke to the steady beep of a heart monitor, the rhythmic sound reminding me that, despite everything, I was still alive. My body ached, the weight of my injuries pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. The sterile smell of the hospital room filled my nostrils, and as I blinked into the dim light, the world slowly began to come into focus.

    A man I¡¯d never seen before stood to my right, his hands expertly working to assess the heart monitor, his brow furrowed in concentration. His presence was sharp, commanding yet calm, and something in the way he moved told me that this was a professional who had seen his fair share of injuries. A doctor, or perhaps a surgeon, given the way he approached everything with such meticulous care.

    But it wasn¡¯t him that made me freeze.

    No, to my left¡ªsitting comfortably in a chair, as though he had all the time in the world¡ªwas Morres. Morres, golden and opalescent as ever, was casually reading what appeared to be some kind of printed newspaper. His golden skin shimmered in the low light of the room, and his hair, that striking copper with a red patina, framed his face as he turned a page with a leisurely grace.

    I blinked, convinced for a moment that I was still trapped in some kind of strange fever dream. But no. The steady beep of the heart monitor, the sterile hospital smell, the soft light¡ªit was all too real.

    I tried to sit up, but the pain in my body was immediate and overwhelming. I winced, falling back onto the soft mattress with a groan.

    The man to my right¡ªwho I now saw was wearing a doctor¡¯s coat¡ªnoticed the movement immediately. He turned toward me, his face lighting up with recognition as he hurried over.

    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re awake,¡± he said, his voice serene, almost too calm for my rattled nerves. ¡°I can see why that would startle you. You¡¯re alive. You¡¯re fine. Just rest.¡±

    Stolen story; please report.

    His words were soothing, the kind of voice one would expect from a seasoned surgeon who had long ago mastered the art of reassurance. There was no coldness in his tone, no sense of hurry¡ªonly the practiced ease of someone who had performed these routines a thousand times. His demeanor, while cordial, also had a touch of cunning, like someone who had seen all manner of injuries and understood their consequences in a way that most people never could.

    I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, my words weak. The weight of everything¡ªthe fight, the pain, the fear¡ªstill lingered on me like a heavy fog.

    ¡°Where... where am I?¡± My voice cracked slightly, the words feeling strange on my tongue.

    The doctor smiled gently, adjusting the heart monitor with a few quick taps. ¡°You¡¯re in a hospital, safe now. You''ve had quite the ordeal, but you''re out of danger. Rest is the only thing you need for now.¡± He glanced at the heart monitor one last time before meeting my gaze. ¡°Everything seems to be in order.¡±

    I could barely register his words. My mind was fixated on one thing¡ªthe man to my left, casually reading a newspaper as if nothing had happened.

    ¡°Morres?¡± I asked hoarsely, still unsure if I was seeing things clearly. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    Morres glanced up at me from his newspaper, a smile tugging at his lips. His golden eyes glinted with a strange mix of amusement and patience, as though he¡¯d been waiting for me to fully process everything.

    ¡°Ah, Alexander. I see you¡¯re finally back with us,¡± he said, his voice a velvety mix of warmth and authority. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for you to wake up. You¡¯ve been through quite a lot, but rest assured, you''re not going to be left in the dark for much longer.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes at him, still too disoriented to fully comprehend why he was here¡ªor why he seemed so... at ease. He shouldn¡¯t have been here. He was a distant presence in my mind, a figure tied to my inner journey, yet now he was sitting in a hospital room with me, like an unwelcome part of a story I had not fully understood.

    ¡°I don¡¯t... understand,¡± I managed, my voice barely a whisper. ¡°Why are you here? Why did you¡ª¡±

    Before I could finish my sentence, Morres raised a finger to his lips in a silent gesture, his eyes locking onto mine with a knowing look. He then pointed upward, where a small crystal floated just above his head, faintly glowing. I watched it closely, sensing the weight of his intent. A sudden ping from my Gloss flashed in my vision, followed by a text.

    Morres: I can¡¯t have you tell the doctor who I am or what our Artes are. I¡¯m not supposed to be here. He can¡¯t see me. The only reason you can is because I¡¯m allowing you to. Remember my Providence? It¡¯s part of that.

    5939: Okay. Great. Can you tell me what''s going on?

    Morres: Later. After the doc leaves.

    I blinked in confusion. What did he mean by Providence? Did the Truth or Lie do anything? The Ideal? And why was he so insistent on keeping his presence secret from the doctor? My questions swirled, but I was interrupted by the doctor¡¯s voice, which cut through the haze of my thoughts.

    ¡°I¡¯m here to make sure the bone reconstruction of your ankles and two of your ribs went fine, as well as repairing the tendons, nerves, and bones of your right foot,¡± the doctor said, his voice steady. ¡°Everything else went well¡­ but bonework isn¡¯t many people¡¯s specialty, aside from Marryllin¡¯s.¡±

    I froze. My mind immediately latched onto the name, but the casual way he said it caught me off guard. No ¡°Prince Marryllin,¡± just Marryllin¡¯s. The context seemed¡­ wrong. The pieces didn¡¯t fit.

    ¡°Who¡­ are you?¡± I asked, turning to look at him fully, now certain that this man wasn¡¯t connected to the place I thought I was. My heart raced.

    The doctor seemed to pause for a moment, a shift in his demeanor that had me on edge. He straightened up, his body language suddenly more formal, like he had just dropped any pretense of being a simple, reassuring medical professional. His voice shifted too, no longer the calm, empathetic tone I¡¯d heard earlier, but something colder, more militant. Then, just as quickly, he reverted back to his previous demeanor, almost as if nothing had changed.

    ¡°Surgeon Fincarr Rittman of the Technocracy of Myne,¡± he answered, the words carrying weight. ¡°The moment your license class was admitted into the hospital, you became my responsibility.¡±

    A chill ran down my spine at the mention of the Technocracy of Myne.The technocracy. Our devout allies, although their stance on magic is absurd. Magic isn¡¯t real. Everything was technology, science, and everything could be explained. A fireball from your hand? That was the expansion of superheated air, into a near plasma state causing oxidized combustion. What was he doing here, and why had the Technocracy taken an interest in me?

    I opened my mouth, but the flood of questions that arose from his statement threatened to overwhelm me. Before I could ask, Morres¡¯s voice cut in, though this time it was a bit more distant, a soft murmur that I felt in my mind rather than hearing aloud.

    Morres: He¡¯s not a typical surgeon. But that¡¯s not your concern right now. You¡¯ll understand soon enough. Just focus on resting for now, Alexander. You¡¯re being watched, but we have time.

    I wanted to respond, to ask what he meant, but I couldn¡¯t. The words caught in my throat, and all I could do was watch as the doctor finished his assessment. I had too many questions and no answers in sight.

    ¡°Okay. Everything seems to be good on the tests¡ªno infection, no rejection. You¡¯ve gone over your healing limit four times, so you¡¯ll need an additional three days of rest,¡± Surgeon Fincarr Rittman explained, his tone professional but firm. He paused, looking at the digital readout on the side of the bed before tapping his Gloss screen. ¡°Follow this meal plan.¡±

    A new message flashed on my Gloss, detailing a structured meal schedule designed to help with my recovery. The list made my stomach growl despite myself.

    For breakfast, I was to have a bronze waxing coin paired with a powdered wheat donut. It seemed simple enough, though the combination felt oddly off. For a snack, two apples and a peach, spaced two hours after breakfast. I raised an eyebrow at that¡ªfruits to supplement the rest of my sustenance? I didn¡¯t exactly feel like I had the appetite for that, but I wasn¡¯t about to argue.

    Lunch gave me a choice: duck curry, roasted chicken salad, or a tofu dish. I grimaced slightly, not sure which to choose. The thought of duck curry sounded rich, hearty, but I knew I¡¯d have to pace myself. Roasted chicken salad seemed like the safest bet, but tofu? It seemed like it belonged in a diet plan for someone far more disciplined than I felt at the moment.

    A snack followed two hours later¡ªa medicinal yogurt that contained some kind of pill I was to take with it. I wasn¡¯t sure what the pill was for, but the yogurt had an oddly calming look about it. Maybe it was part of the concoction to help my body repair the damage.

    Finally, dinner. A light vegetable salad, paired with three small slices of fish. Simple, manageable, but lacking in any sort of indulgence. I sighed, knowing it was for the best.

    With all the prescribed meals laid out for me, I had little choice but to comply. The details had a quiet, almost clinical precision to them, designed for efficiency, healing. But somehow, I found myself resenting the lack of options, the limitations. This wasn¡¯t about choice or comfort. It was about survival.

    ¡°Understood,¡± I muttered, looking up at Surgeon Fincarr with a mix of thanks and frustration. ¡°Three days, huh?¡±

    His eyes softened slightly. ¡°Yes. But you¡¯ve been through much more than expected. Just follow the plan, and you¡¯ll be back on your feet in no time.¡± He gave a gentle nod before turning to leave, the door sliding shut behind him.

    I sat in the sterile hospital room, staring at the meal plan on my Gloss, feeling a strange sense of unease. Everything was laid out for me¡ªclear, organized, precise¡ªbut it only served to remind me that I was at the mercy of a system I barely understood. How much of my life was truly mine to control anymore?

    But for now, I had no choice. I had to heal. I had to survive. The world outside was waiting, and I couldn¡¯t afford to be weak for long. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me, and forced myself to focus on the task at hand: recovery and answers.

 Chapter 37: More Numbers

    ¡°Alright. Doctor¡¯s gone.¡± Morres spoke slowly, as though he was savoring each word. His tone was methodical, almost disinterested, but there was something underlying all of it¡ªsomething deliberate. ¡°First off, congratulations on forming your Truth at 1-1. That¡¯s the best time to do it, but also the riskiest. That¡¯s precisely why I was asked by Dominus Demeterra to rush over to you.¡± His voice took on a bit of a chuckle, but it was clear he wasn¡¯t entirely amused by the situation. ¡°Also, from now on, I¡¯m not Morres. I¡¯m Dominus Morres.¡±

    He let those words hang in the air, his gaze steady on me, waiting for an acknowledgment, something to show I understood the gravity of the situation.

    I blinked, still a little off-balance. ¡°Yes, Dominus Morres?¡±

    He nodded, his golden eyes gleaming with approval, as though the formality was just another box to check before moving on. ¡°Good. Welcome to the club. That ring you have on? It¡¯s your Truth. It¡¯s a representation of your mana types: Dimension, Crystal, Nature. Dimension¡ªit''s radiating vast space, nebulae of color swirling, light bending in its form. Crystal¡ªthe stars are made of metallic, superheated cores, all matter forged from the remnants of long-dead stars. Nature, though¡­ That¡¯s the embossing on your ring, the burnt wood pattern, the essence of life, growth, decay¡ªlife and death intertwined. You¡¯re a Shaper and a Manifester, the combination of sophistecated creation and projection.¡± He paused, his hands subtly tracing the air as if illustrating the concepts before him. ¡°Most are a Shaper/Creator, a Creator/Bioweaver, or a Bioweaver/Manifester, or even a Shaper/Manifester, but rarely it does deviate. The lines usually follow their adjacency.¡±

    ¡°Adjacency?¡± I asked, the term unfamiliar but oddly intuitive in the way it was presented.

    Morres raised a brow, giving me a look that carried just a hint of amusement, but his voice was neutral. ¡°Study it yourself. I¡¯m not your tutor,¡± he said dismissively, clearly eager to move on from the basics.

    Morres settled into his chair with a heavy sigh, his opalescent skin catching the faint light of the room, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he was savoring the act of speaking. His eyes, almost half-closed, seemed to drift somewhere far beyond the immediate moment, his voice taking on a relaxed, almost lethargic tone, as though every word was weighed with centuries of thought.

    ¡°What I am here for,¡± he began, his voice soft and stretched, like the words were rolling off his tongue lazily, ¡°is for you to realize... you¡¯ve just tapped the first part of your Providence. The Truth, unsurprisingly, is the one that affects you the least.¡± He paused, letting the words hang in the air, his eyes drifting closed as he took a deep, cathartic breath, as though the very act of speaking was a slow release of some built-up tension.

    He continued, and each word felt deliberate, as though he were carefully choosing them, savoring the thought of it all. ¡°Once you form your Lie and Ideal, you¡¯ll gain a mana aspect. But what the Truth does¡­¡± He dragged the sentence out, eyes flicking open just enough to meet mine, ¡°is allow you to control your aura, your projection. It shapes your inner world... your image. It¡¯s the framework for the rest of your being, really. You¡¯ll be able to control your paper constructs with greater ease, enter books faster, and... have a more innate understanding of things. Though, that last one,¡± he chuckled lightly, ¡°is difficult to read with your Arte itself. But that¡¯s the closest I can offer you.¡±

    ¡°Does it¡­ do anything on its own?¡± I asked, my voice still tinged with confusion as I tried to wrap my head around what Morres was explaining.

    Morres¡¯ head tilted slightly as he considered the question, his lips curling into a slow smile. He nodded with a languid grace, as though each movement took its time. ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, his voice thick and drowsy, each syllable drawn out. ¡°Unsure of its exact workings for you, of course, but yes¡ªyour Truth does influence things in its own way.¡± He seemed almost lost in thought for a moment, his gaze drifting far beyond the present, before he refocused on me.

    ¡°My Truth,¡± he continued, his tone still slow, almost meditative, ¡°was [Dreams are sacred.] An odd thing to hold sacred, isn¡¯t it? But it was my reality. My Truth shaped itself into an image¡ªa golden crown of cotton candy, floating above a bubble that contained all the hopes, desires, and dreams of those around me. It was absurdly sweet, and light, but it held such depth. The candy, the bubble¡ªit represented everything that people wished for but couldn¡¯t reach. I wanted to help those people¡ªthe ones who couldn¡¯t live out their dreams. And so... it became sacred to me.¡±

    He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in, his eyes soft with a faraway look. ¡°That crown... it lets me accumulate high mana based on those asleep in the vicinity, including myself, of course. Their dreams, their desires, all feeding into my mana. Their hope, their deepest wishes, flow into me while they sleep.¡± He stretched, his body languid, as though the very idea of the power was something that rested in him. ¡°Though, I haven¡¯t needed to sleep for millennia,¡± he added with a yawn, his voice still thick with exhaustion.

    ¡°Then¡­wait if you haven¡¯t needed to sleep for such a long time, then why are you always tired?! That was the seventh or so yawn you¡¯ve done!¡±

    ¡°Parts of your Providence change you. Your Lie. Your Ideal. They aren¡¯t about who you are, but about who you wish to be, and what you¡¯re willing to do to reach that. I can¡¯t push you further along that path. You can¡¯t form your Lie before completing your third shell of skillcubes¡­¡± He paused, and I noticed the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. ¡°Speaking of which¡­ Part of the reason Demeterra cashed in three of her favors to me was because of your companion. Fractal, her name is?¡±

    I froze. Panic gripped me. Fractal was still in school, still studying, unaware of everything that had happened to me. She hadn¡¯t heard from me, nor I from her. She didn¡¯t know about my injuries, about the risks I had been facing. The thought of her being left in the dark¡ªalone, while I was here, like this¡ªwas unbearable.

    Morres, sensing my distress, held up his hand as though to calm me. ¡°She¡¯s a Dreamweaver. A rank two Spirit Beast. Her Arte, Bismuth Manipulation, isn¡¯t common amongst her species, but her Dream mana is literally her definitive feature. Venom mana means she was born from a nightmare, and giving her birthplace, I¡¯d have to agree. You two share Crystal mana, correct?¡±

    I nodded, though I was still reeling. How did he know so much about us? More importantly, why was he telling me all of this now?

    Morres didn¡¯t seem to wait for a reply. ¡°That¡¯s what I was told. Twilight, Steam, and Metal were my default aspects. My Lie granted me Dream. Then my Ideal gave me a mana aspect I can¡¯t even speak of in this realm, as it doesn¡¯t exist here. But needless to say, Metal is one of the mana types in a realm that is required for Crystal. You and Fractal¡­ you¡¯re tied together by your aspects. Have you been taught higher-tier aspects?¡±

    I blinked, realizing how little I truly knew. Higher-tier aspects? ¡°No,¡± I said softly. ¡°I haven¡¯t.¡±

    He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. ¡°Good. At your stage, exposure to higher-tier aspects could taint your Lie. You need to focus on what¡¯s directly in front of you now. What¡¯s necessary for you to complete. Rush your skillcube acquisition. You¡¯ve been tasked with a heavy responsibility, Alexander. Your Arte is powerful, but it¡¯s also volatile. And once you¡¯re aware of your Lie¡­ well, things get complicated.¡±

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    I clenched my jaw, the weight of his words sinking in. ¡°But¡­ what happens if I can¡¯t complete it in time? If I can¡¯t rush my skillcubes fast enough?¡±

    Morres met my gaze, his eyes unwavering. "You¡¯ll get there. But you¡¯ll need guidance. Trust the ones around you. Your companions. Especially Fractal." He paused, and I saw something flicker in his expression, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Cordelia, too. Has she told you that your thoughts are loud?"

    I stared at him, my irritation flaring. My eyes narrowed. "Yes. Many times."

    He chuckled softly, almost to himself. "Great. Work on it." He leaned back slightly, his movements languid. "You aren¡¯t allowed to tell anyone else about your deadline. The only reason I¡¯m allowing you to talk to Cordelia about it is because she can read your mind and knows about it already."

    I absorbed that, my mind racing. "So... you were alluding to why Dominus Demeterra cashed in those favors. Was Fractal one of your favors?"

    He shook his head slowly, as if considering how best to respond. "No. I can¡¯t control the drop table in another Dominus¡¯ realm, let alone one of the Dominus Monarch domains."

    I opened my mouth to respond, but he raised a hand, silencing me. "I cannot talk about the Monarchs until you are a Dominus yourself. In many ways, I am bound by more law than you are. No, the first favor was actually training your Dreamweaver in Dream mana skills and helping her form her Truth. I started with your Truth because you were simply too stubborn to realize it. You were a hair''s breadth away from forming it yourself, even before you started the caravan."

    I blinked, trying to process everything. He knew. He¡¯d seen it before I had.

    Morres sighed, pulling out a small piece of paper. With a flick of his wrist, a long thermos appeared, the lid popping off to reveal a warm, steaming liquid. He took a sip, clearly satisfied, before continuing.

    ¡°Much better,¡± he said, with a contented hum. "Now, the second favor Demeterra cashed in was this: I¡¯m to help you grow your personal library, so that you can get out of her realm faster without dying. She doesn¡¯t want your soul¡ªor your Arte¡ªappearing in another. The third and final favor? Once you¡¯re a Dominus, it''s tradition for a newly established lord to find a faction. I can¡¯t have you join Solomon¡¯s Legion, which is what Danatallion is part of, and Demeterra wouldn¡¯t have you. So I¡¯m treating you like you¡¯re already my faction¡¯s protege."

    I leaned forward, more intrigued than ever. "And your faction is...?"

    Morres¡¯ smile turned predatory, just a flicker of something dark and dangerous passing over his features. "Pandora¡¯s Box. We are those who fought monsters, and became monsters ourselves. We are the ones who remind people that those who ignore the lessons of the past are doomed to repeat them. We are the ones who guard the relics lost to time, so they are never found. And when Pandora¡¯s Box is opened? All monsters leave civilization in order to ravage it. All that remains? Hope."

    The weight of his words settled over me, pressing down like a heavy cloak. I could see the philosophy behind his words, the way he viewed the world¡ªa world where the lessons of the past were guarded, and the monsters, those forgotten horrors, were kept at bay. But something in his voice, in the way he spoke of Pandora¡¯s Box, sent a chill down my spine. What had he truly meant by "all that remains"? What kind of future was he shaping?

    I didn''t have time to dwell on it, though. My mind was already spinning with the implications of his words. I was being treated as a protege in a faction that dealt with the darkest and most dangerous forces of the world. And now, it seemed, I was being pushed to face my own transformation into something... else. Something more than just a Walker. More than just Alexander.

    I glanced at Morres, who was already back to sipping his drink, seemingly unconcerned with the weight of the conversation we¡¯d just had. I wanted to ask more questions, but for now, it felt like I was being swept along by a current far too strong to resist.

    The knock on the hospital door jolted me out of my thoughts, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet. I barely had time to process it before the door opened, revealing a woman who immediately commanded attention.

    Her skin was a deep tan, etched with intricate white tattoos that spread across her arms like a flock of birds taking flight into the sky. It was as though the birds themselves were soaring across her, each one a delicate stroke of artistry. Her hair wasn¡¯t hair at all. Instead, it was a cascade of metallic feathers¡ªyellows, blues, pinks, oranges¡ªeach feather shimmering like a living rainbow in the light. It was breathtaking, as if the very essence of color was woven into her being.

    Her clothing was minimal, certainly, but still retained an air of elegance. A part of me couldn''t help but admire the way her attire revealed just enough to keep her allure mysterious. Yet what truly caught my attention was the robe she wore¡ªan unmistakable garment that mirrored my own. It wasn¡¯t quite the same, though. While mine was black and gold, hers was gold and black. The insignia on my robe was bronze and silver, while hers was silver and gold.

    I knew who she was before the bond in my mind confirmed it. It was Fractal. She had arrived.

    I smiled, and so did she. Her smile was radiant¡ªalmost otherworldly in its beauty. It was as though the very room around us had brightened. Her presence, both warm and ethereal, filled the space with a serene energy.

    At her waist hung a mask¡ªfamiliar to me. It was made of shifting aetherial smoke, the same form Fractal used to wear as her hat. She now wore it with grace, an elegant piece draped at her side.

    "Dominus Morres. Alexander," she said, bowing to Morres first in respectful acknowledgement, then turning to me. A radiant smile graced her lips as she stepped forward, pulling me into a tight hug.

    The warmth of her embrace was unlike anything I had experienced. For a moment, the exhaustion, the pain, and the fear that had plagued me seemed to dissipate. It was as though everything was... right again. Her touch was familiar, comforting, and I realized how much I had missed her.

    ¡°How... How long have I been out?¡± I managed, still caught in the haze of her presence.

    I pulled away slightly, checking my Gloss for an answer. The timeline clicked into place, and as I read the information, my eyes widened.

    I¡¯m seventeen.

    The realization hit me hard. I¡¯d been unconscious for  not days, not weeks. I was unconscious for MONTHS. ELEVEN.

    Fractal rushed to me, her movement swift and sure. Without a word, she enveloped me in a tight embrace, her arms trembling slightly. I could feel the warmth and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, a reminder of how much she meant to me, how much we had been through together. As she held me, I felt something shift within her. Her body began to shrink and reshape, transforming before my eyes. In a matter of seconds, she was no longer the woman who had just greeted me but the small, delicate form of the weaverbird Spirit Beast I had come to cherish. She perched on my shoulder, nuzzling up to me, her feathers warm and soft against my skin.

    I couldn''t help but smile, my hand gently stroking her shimmering plumage. "I didn''t think you''d be so emotional, Fractal," I murmured.

    Her tiny form fluttered, and I could sense her deep affection for me, despite the usual reserve that came with her species. She chirped softly, nestling closer into the crook of my neck. There was a comfort in her presence that settled over me, a peace I hadn''t realized I needed until now.

    From across the room, Dominus Morres''s voice broke the silence, though it was far from harsh. His tone was measured, almost amused. ¡°You have... some decisions ahead of you, Alexander. A lot of them.¡±

    I turned to face him, feeling the weight of his words. Morres was still as enigmatic as ever, though there was a softness to him now, something more human than I had sensed before.

    ¡°You did save an entire Duchy from an Abbess with your team," he continued, leaning casually against the wall, his opalescent gaze fixed on me. "So, remember how I said you would rush through your first shell of skillcubes?"

    He smiled, though there was something calculating in his expression. "Well, we¡¯re going to go over all the skillcubes you currently have, and the many options you now have from the Free Cities.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow, my mind already spinning. ¡°How many options do I have?¡±

    Morres¡¯s smile widened, and there was a gleam in his eye. ¡°Three hundred sixty-four thousand nine hundred forty-six.¡±

 Chapter 38: Interesting Times

    I was escorted out of the hospital by Fractal, her humanoid form now a little more solid, a little more regal. She had her Walker¡¯s robe on, and the look suited her; it framed her graceful frame perfectly, each movement fluid, almost ethereal. I couldn¡¯t help but notice how the robe clung to her, and for a moment, I was distracted by how it complemented the subtle shimmer of her chromatic feathers. Her appearance was still dazzling¡ªlike a tapestry woven from sunset and dawn¡ªbut there was an undeniable strength in her now.

    My own body felt different. I was lighter, faster, as if the very marrow of my bones had been reforged. The pain in my leg was a distant memory, the tightness in my ankle replaced by an energy I hadn¡¯t felt in days. My legs felt... better. Amazing, even.

    ¡°As they should,¡± Fractal said, her voice harmonious and lively as she glanced at me, her eyes full of that knowing light. ¡°Part of what they did to counteract the mercurial toxicity was to magically weave a brand new right leg. Due to something-something another, they said they had to do the same for the other one, to keep the balance. I didn¡¯t pay attention to the technicalities.¡± She shrugged, and a playful glint appeared in her eyes. ¡°Just as soon as I was cleared for duty, I ran over.¡±

    I blinked, processing the words. My leg had been remade? It didn¡¯t make sense, but at the same time, it did. The constant ache I¡¯d been fighting was gone, replaced by a smooth, almost unnatural sense of strength. I glanced at Fractal, who looked entirely unaffected, already at ease in her humanoid form.

    ¡°How did you get a human form?¡± I asked, still grappling with the changes. ¡°I thought that required¡­¡±

    ¡°It requires me to have completed my first three shells. Yes.¡± She finished for me, her voice almost flippant, but it didn¡¯t make the answer any less weighty.

    Three shells. Twenty-seven skillcubes. And I had missed them all. It was overwhelming to think about. She had reached such a milestone, and I hadn¡¯t even been there to witness it, or even to guide her. It was a jarring reminder of how much I had lost touch with, how quickly the deadline was encroaching.

    ¡°Wait¡­ How did you progress so quickly?¡± I asked, my voice tinged with concern.

    Her eyes glimmered with mischief as she answered, ¡°I had to protect you when you slept.¡± She seemed to take great amusement in this, her smile radiant but tinged with something darker. ¡°You were dragged off to Danatallion¡¯s Halls every night while you were recovering. Craven¡¯s are delicious. So are Mastegors! They¡¯re like... giant bullmen, but instead of a minotaur, reverse it? They¡¯re man-topped, bull-bottomed, and no opposable thumbs. Think of them as steaks.¡±

    I frowned as she described them in a disturbingly casual tone. My thoughts were already racing, the gears of my mind working through the implications. A year of my life had been spent in that damn place, my body recovering from the poison, and Fractal¡ªmy companion¡ªhadn¡¯t just been standing by. She¡¯d been in her own trials, progressing while I languished. But more than that, it struck me how much she had been protecting me during my unconscious state. I had missed everything. And now, time was slipping away faster than ever.

    I turned to her, the question pressing in on me. ¡°How am I supporting the bond we have then? I thought if you progressed past me, it would sever?¡±

    Before she could answer, Morres spoke from the corner of my vision, his voice breaking the silence with an almost imperceptible shift of tone. He looked over at Fractal, then back at me. ¡°Only if she desired it to be severed. She didn¡¯t.¡± His voice softened, a hint of something almost protective underlying his words. ¡°I also recommended against it. Pandora¡¯s Box values Spirit Beast pairings above all else.¡±

    I glanced back at Fractal, confusion still lingering in my mind, but there was something else there too. Something... reassuring in the way she looked at me. She hadn¡¯t wanted to sever the bond. We hadn¡¯t wanted to. A part of me knew this was more than just duty¡ªit was our connection, our shared journey. Despite the unspoken rules of our power, of our progress, we were still bound by something deeper. A sense of trust. A sense of purpose.

    ¡°So, this bond¡­¡± I began slowly, feeling the weight of it all, ¡°it¡¯s not just about skillcubes and power?¡±

    Fractal gave a quiet, almost wistful nod, her feathers fluttering lightly against my shoulder. ¡°No, Alexander. It¡¯s not just about that. It¡¯s about us¡ªwhat we¡¯ve been through together, and what we will continue to face.¡± She paused, her gaze softening. ¡°And as long as we both choose to, we¡¯ll walk this path together.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I didn¡¯t do anything for you, Fractal. Honestly, I didn¡¯t. You were just there. A circumstance. You watched, you learned, but I didn¡¯t grow with you. Hell, you even protected me for almost a year.¡± I spoke with a heavy heart, the weight of my own helplessness pressing down on me. Fractal had been there, keeping vigil while I lay unconscious, and it seemed as if I had done nothing but drift, unaware.

    She tilted her head slightly, her feathers rustling as she perched beside me, a quiet smile on her face. ¡°And? It was great training.¡± Her voice was bright, unburdened. She seemed to take the idea in stride, her wings shimmering like an abstract painting. ¡°I¡¯m a Dusk-blade! Oh, Dominus Morres will go over all the potential archetypes with you later! That way we can get your third shell finalized too!¡±

    I blinked, a little taken aback. ¡°Wait, I¡¯m getting there today?!¡± My voice was laced with disbelief. The idea of achieving my third shell so soon felt too unreal.

    ¡°Nope.¡± She said casually, unphased by my surprise. ¡°But you¡¯ll be getting there this week. Just gotta absorb all the skills for the first shell¡¯s completion. Then you have to empower your inner self¡¯s world with miasma and have the skillcubes for the second shell. For the third? You need your Truth. Mine was easy~! [Life is a Game.]¡±

    I sat there, processing the whirlwind of information. Her ease with it all only amplified the feeling that I was way behind, stumbling to catch up. My Truth¡­[Everything has a Price.]

    ¡°Wait,¡± I asked, furrowing my brow. ¡°You got your Truth that easily?¡±

    Fractal giggled, an almost ethereal sound that filled the room. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not about how easy or hard it is, Alexander. It¡¯s about what resonates with you.¡± She fluttered her wings in a fluid motion, the hues of her feathers shifting like a living rainbow. ¡°The Truth is always there. For me, it was obvious. Life is a game. I play it. I win. I lose. But I enjoy it either way.¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Morres met my gaze, his golden eyes unblinking. He exhaled a slow breath, as if the weight of what he was about to say carried some gravity.

    ¡°In that regard, Alexander,¡± he began, his voice smooth and calm, ¡°you are ahead of her. Fractal had to reach the peak of completing her second shell to even start figuring out her Truth. You? You barely needed a push. You only needed to realize it, and you did. In the ditch you were in. Right there, when everything seemed the darkest.¡±

    I felt a lump form in my throat as the pieces started to fit together. My Truth. The clarity of it all, but only in the moments where I had felt the most vulnerable.

    Morres continued, his tone almost casual, but there was something deeply calculated beneath the surface. ¡°I also lied to you, Alexander. The reason I went to you first, why I pushed you into that corner? The only way you were going to survive was if I forced you into discovering your Truth then and there. You weren¡¯t going to make it otherwise.¡±

    The weight of his words landed like a heavy stone in my chest. I¡¯d thought it was mere circumstance, that my breakdown had led to some kind of awakening. But no. It was by design. I had been cornered, not just by fate, but by him.

    Morres paused, as though savoring the moment, then added with a touch of amusement, ¡°Just because you were close doesn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t dilating time for you. You were drifting, Alexander. On the edge, hanging by a thread. You needed that extra nudge, that moment of clarity in your crisis. You needed to understand your Truth. You needed to know that nothing would change unless you did.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t fully process what he was saying. I had been guided, even manipulated, into the discovery of my Truth, and now it felt like everything that had happened in the last few days¡ªweeks even¡ªwas part of a much bigger plan, one that I had been blind to.

    "But why?" I asked the question tumbling out before I could stop it. "Why me? Why now?"

    He looked at me with an unreadable expression, his golden eyes gleaming with a mix of mystery and finality. "Because you were always meant to. And because you were running out of time."

    ***

    Morres led me to a larger home¡ªspacious, but not as ostentatious as my uncle¡¯s estate. At the same time, it wasn¡¯t as humble as the house I had grown up in with my mother. It sat in that strange in-between, neither extravagant nor simple, but somewhere in the middle.

    We settled at a wooden table, its surface smooth and well-used. The chairs weren¡¯t uncomfortable, but they weren¡¯t designed for long hours of sitting either. Functional, like the rest of the house.

    Morres leaned back, resting his arms against the table. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go through your planned build. The more details, the better.¡±

    I exhaled, running a hand through my hair as I gathered my thoughts. ¡°Well¡­ I was training as an archer,¡± I began, ¡°but I¡¯ve come to realize that a bow alone isn¡¯t nearly good enough. Not against what I¡¯ve been facing.¡± The memory of the Abbess loomed in my mind, that crushing difference in power. ¡°So then, I thought of a Witchhunter¡ªsomething that blends ranged combat with adaptability.¡±

    Morres nodded, listening intently.

    ¡°But then I remembered¡­¡± My gaze drifted to my side, to where my Machina¡¯s card form rested. ¡°I had this the entire time. My Machina. And I could have used it in the fight against the Abbess, but¡­¡± I let the silence fill in the answer. The sheer gap in strength had made it irrelevant. I had been fighting for survival, and even with all my resources, I had barely managed to come out alive.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get used to it,¡± Morres warned, his voice matter-of-fact. ¡°Your Machina is useful in this realm, sure, but once you take the next step, its effectiveness drops dramatically. Unless you make it your Decree.¡±

    That word. Decree. I had seen it before, read it in passing, but I had never fully grasped its meaning.

    ¡°Decree¡­¡± I repeated, frowning. ¡°I remember reading about that, but I never really understood what it meant.¡±

    Morres gave a half-smile, one that carried the weight of knowledge he wasn¡¯t willing to share. ¡°Can¡¯t tell you much about that, Alexander. Not yet. You¡¯ll have to figure it out when the time comes.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes but didn¡¯t press further. If Morres wasn¡¯t telling me now, it was because I either wasn¡¯t ready, or because understanding it prematurely would ruin something critical.

    He tapped his fingers on the table. ¡°So, let¡¯s see what we¡¯re working with. Archery, magic, and puppetry.¡± His grin widened, eyes glinting with something between amusement and exasperation. ¡°Oh boy, a trispect build.¡±

    The way he said it made it sound like both a challenge and a problem.

    I frowned. ¡°That bad?¡±

    Morres chuckled. ¡°Not bad. Ambitious. Trispects aren¡¯t common because they split focus across three disciplines, which can make them weaker than a more specialized build. But¡­¡± His grin sharpened. ¡°If done right, a trispect can be overwhelming. The problem is getting it right¡ªmost people crash and burn before they reach that point.¡±

    I folded my arms. ¡°So it¡¯s a gamble.¡±

    ¡°Everything worth doing is.¡± He leaned forward, the humor fading slightly from his tone. ¡°You¡¯re taking on three disciplines. Archery for range. Magic for versatility. Puppetry¡ªwell, let¡¯s call it Machina manipulation¡ªfor battlefield control. If you can merge them into a cohesive whole, you¡¯ll be deadly. But if you spread yourself too thin? You¡¯ll be a jack-of-all-trades, master of none, and that won¡¯t cut it in the long run.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ am I to assume you¡¯ll be sorting through the available skillcubes for me, picking the ones that best fit my build?¡± I leaned forward slightly, watching Morres for confirmation. ¡°A¡­ Ranah-Tahiri, I believe my examiner called it?¡±

    Morres groaned, tilting his head back as if the weight of the name itself was physically exhausting. ¡°Ugh. So her influence extends here too¡­ Give me a break.¡± He let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temple before looking back at me with a flat, unimpressed stare.

    I raised an eyebrow at his reaction. ¡°I take it you two have some history?¡±

    ¡°Something like that.¡± He shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a rivalry within the faction between myself and Ranah. Not worth worrying about.¡± His tone made it clear he had no interest in elaborating. ¡°For now, tell me what you already have.¡±

    I listed them off without hesitation. ¡°[Sugared Maw], [Gluttony of the Golden Hydra], [The Millennium Halls], and [Atlas¡¯s Manifest].¡±

    Morres stared at me. Blankly. Long enough that I began to wonder if I had said something insane.

    ¡°You¡­¡± His eyes narrowed slightly, and he exhaled through his nose. ¡°You have a Sin Stone?¡±

    The weight behind his words wasn¡¯t lost on me. I swallowed. ¡°Uh¡­ yeah?¡±

    ¡°Never mind.¡± He waved a dismissive hand before I could ask more. ¡°We¡¯ll deal with that later.¡± He tapped the table with his fingers, moving back to the topic at hand. ¡°Alright. So, you¡¯ve got your crystal filled. That means you still need another nature and four more dimensional abilities.¡±

    I nodded, keeping up as best I could.

    ¡°We¡¯ll get you two dimensional archer abilities¡ªso you don¡¯t abandon that training completely. We¡¯ll make a Machina ability your nature¡ªsince you already rely on it. And two dimensional magic abilities to round it out.¡±

    At his words, Fractal chirped in approval, her mask-like haze shifting in delight. I wasn¡¯t sure whether that was a good or bad sign, but I had a feeling I was in for something interesting.

 Chapter 39: The Prelude to History

    Within minutes, Fractal had already fetched a cup of coffee for Morres, the normally sluggish man now uncharacteristically focused as he sifted through endless lists. His fingers danced over his interface, scrolling, filtering, discarding¡ªuntil, at last, he finalized a selection. With a flick of his wrist, the compiled choices materialized before me in a crisp, glowing projection.

    ¡°These are your best options for Dimensional Archery,¡± he stated, voice steady but expectant.

    Phantom Vector

    Rarity: Uncommon

    Aspects: Dimension, Darkness, Dream

    Your next arrow fired produces a phantasmal afterimage that repeats the same power and trajectory at fifty percent potency. The spectral shot exists in an intangible state for a brief moment before solidifying, striking just after the first.

    Hunter of Hagravengaurd

    Rarity: Common

    Aspects: Dimension, Predation, Nature

    Place a mark upon a target. For the next minute, any arrow fired will instinctively veer towards the marked location, subtly adjusting its trajectory to ensure greater accuracy.

    Volley of the Damned

    Rarity: Rare

    Aspects: Dimension, Death, Fire

    Imbue your arrows with the essence of sulfur and bone. Upon impact, additional spectral arrows rain from the sky at the target¡¯s location, their numbers and spread determined by the original shot¡¯s force and precision.

    Lunarias

    Rarity: Epic

    Aspects: Light, Dimension, Darkness

    Summon a bow woven from liquid moonlight. Its power fluctuates with the time of day and the presence of celestial bodies. At midnight, under a full moon, it reaches its peak, its arrows striking with unparalleled force and clarity.

    Morres leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee in both hands as he regarded me with a calculating expression. ¡°Pick two,¡± he said, his tone betraying just a hint of curiosity. ¡°I¡¯ve already eliminated an ungodly number of choices to narrow it down to these. Don¡¯t make me regret it.¡±

    Fractal peered over my shoulder, her ethereal mask shifting in curiosity. ¡°Oooh, Lunarias sounds fancy! A bow of moonlight? Imagine the aesthetic!¡±

    Morres shot her a dry look. ¡°He¡¯s not here for aesthetics.¡±

    I, however, remained silent, my mind already at work dissecting the possibilities. Each choice had its own merit, its own tactical applications. But I could only take two.

    [Hunter of Hagravengaurd] was out. Not due to its rarity, but because I felt it¡ªan instinctive, visceral rejection. Taking anything imbued with the Predation aspect while the essence of the Hydra still coiled raw within me? A gamble I wasn¡¯t willing to take. I had no idea what kind of reaction that might cause, but I wasn¡¯t about to find out the hard way.

    [Lunarias] intrigued me. Its potential was undeniable, but would it falter in daylight? That uncertainty gnawed at me, though it didn¡¯t outweigh the pull I felt toward it. My [Truth] resonated with it¡ªnot because of Fractal¡¯s enthusiasm, but as something deeper, something fundamental. That alone demanded my consideration.

    [Phantom Vector] was an easy yes. No debate, no second-guessing. The utility was too good to pass up¡ªfreeing me to deliberate between the overwhelming area denial of [Volley of the Damned] or the adaptability of a conjured bow that would always be at my side.

    I sent the question through our bond, half-expecting the answer before it even came. And, predictably, Fractal chose the prettier option.

    ¡°[Lunarias] and [Phantom Vector],¡± I said, meeting Morres¡¯ gaze as I made my final decision.

    His response was immediate, his voice slow and deliberate. ¡°Why?¡±

    I exhaled, steady. ¡°A bow can break. A bow I summon will not. If I¡¯m going to dedicate a third of myself to archery, I don¡¯t just want any bow¡ªI want one that resonates with me. One that feels right. My [Truth] sang at [Lunarias]¡¯s description. Why? I don¡¯t know. But I trust it.¡±

    ¡°And it¡¯s pretty!¡± Fractal interjected, her voice lilting with excitement. ¡°Not as beautiful as my feathers, my body, my mask¡ªbut liquid moonlight! That has to be beautiful! It¡¯ll be fun to watch you shoot!¡±

    I had already known her reasoning before she even spoke. Predictable, really. But hearing it aloud, with that boundless enthusiasm, still brought the faintest tug of a smile to my lips.

    Her intelligence was like that of a younger teenager¡ªsharp but sometimes whimsical, impulsive yet perceptive. It was adorable. But even as she spoke like a carefree child, her stance told a different story.

    Seven daggers. Three on her right hip, four on her left. Their placement wasn¡¯t just for show. The worn leather of her sheaths bore silent testimony to their frequent use. She had fought. Likely more than I knew.

    A quiet reminder of just how much she had protected me in that year I had lost.

    ¡°Alright. That¡¯s reserved for you. Now, we¡¯ll pick your next one. Remember, these dimensional abilities are key to your growth as a spellcaster. Gravity¡¯s influence over them is almost always present¡ªeither in the pull, the weight, or the distortion of space itself.¡±

    Morres took another sip of his coffee, the motion habitual. His fingers flew across the Gloss display in front of him, bringing up a new set of options for me. His sudden burst of energy from the lethargy he had displayed earlier in the hospital was almost startling. But then again, my own... library? Soul? Inner self? Whatever that deep space of thought had been, it was now at least a little more familiar to me.

    ¡°Alright, Alexander. One of these is non-negotiable. You need something with that level of force to truly start catching up to Fractal¡¯s ability. Cordelia is closer to your current level, but you¡¯re still behind.¡± Morres¡¯ eyes flickered over the screen as he sighed, his voice a touch more deliberate as he added, ¡°I¡¯m telling you this because I know you. Fractal¡¯s far beyond where you are right now.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow at the mention of Fractal, a mix of pride and mild exasperation flooding my thoughts. ¡°Wait, what about Ten? And V?¡±

    ¡°Ten¡¯s waiting for you to recover fully. V, however, is more aligned with Cordelia. So, Fractal¡¯s definitely ahead of your little group. Demeterra coddles its Walkers... It¡¯s disgusting.¡±

    I caught the muttered side comment but didn¡¯t address it. He continued his quick but methodical scanning, fingers moving in a blur over his screen. The Gloss display shifted, and he sent a notification to my own gloss.

    "[Ruinous Axis]," Morres said. "You''re definitely taking this one."

    ¡°Wait¡ªmythic?¡± My voice carried disbelief.

    "Yes, Mythic." Morres didn''t flinch at the surprise in my tone. "You saved the lives of an entire duchy by delaying a Howling Abbess¡ªa massive threat, one that far outranks you right now. The Alliance of Free Cities is footing the bill, so, no, you¡¯re not just getting the usual. Check the others. Pick carefully."

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    I glanced through the list as the other options appeared before me.

    <hr>

    Ruinous Axis

    Rarity: Mythic

    Aspects: Dimension, Gravity, Destruction

    Description: Create an unstable gravitational field at a chosen location. Any object or entity caught within will experience randomized shifts in gravity¡ªsudden crushing force, weightlessness, or spiraling distortion¡ªall happening in chaotic succession. The longer the spell remains active, the more volatile and destructive it becomes.

    <hr>

    Eventide Singularity

    Rarity: Rare

    Aspects: Dimension, Gravity, Darkness

    Description: Conjure a small gravitational singularity at a chosen point, pulling in nearby enemies and objects before violently collapsing. The collapse causes an implosion that deals damage based on the mass accumulated.

    <hr>

    Tesseract Veil

    Rarity: Epic

    Aspects: Dimension, Gravity, Arcane

    Description: Surround yourself in a shifting veil of folded space. Attacks that strike you have a chance to be displaced to another plane, nullifying their damage entirely.

    <hr>

    Horizon Step

    Rarity: Uncommon

    Aspects: Dimension, Gravity, Motion

    Description: Instantly reposition yourself within a short distance by folding space, leaving behind an afterimage that explodes with compressed gravity a second later.

    <hr>

    Cosmic Descent

    Rarity: Rare

    Aspects: Dimension, Gravity, Fire

    Description: Summon a falling celestial body, such as a small meteor or burning comet, and direct it toward your enemies. The meteor¡¯s descent distorts space around it, causing objects to be pulled toward its impact zone.

    <hr>

    ¡°[Horizon Step],¡± I said quickly. ¡°Hands down.¡± I didn¡¯t need to debate it for long. A repositioning move that worked when I wasn¡¯t focused solely on melee combat? It was perfect for me. ¡°It¡¯ll save my hide, my fur, my horn. Whatever.¡± I chuckled, realizing how serious I was about my survival.

    Morres didn¡¯t smile but gave me a knowing nod, tapping his screen to reserve the ability. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s move on. You¡¯re ready for this. Now let¡¯s get those other cubes finalized. Err¡­cube finalized.¡±

    He scrolled through the list on his Gloss, his face twisting into a frown as he examined the options. ¡°Well, it looks like with my filters, you¡¯re getting four choices,¡± he announced, his tone laced with mild frustration. ¡°Good news? I¡¯m not combing through endless lists of skillcubes. Bad news? I¡¯m really not happy with what¡¯s on offer. Then again, I¡¯ve always found Djinn¡¯s a loathsome combat style¡­ Damn you, Ranah.¡±

    The list flickered before me:

    <hr>

    Sapstorm Barrage

    Rarity: Uncommon

    Aspects: Nature, Air, Force

    Description: Channel the fury of nature¡¯s winds into a devastating attack. The Machina rapidly fires high-velocity projectiles made of hardened sap and bark, enhanced by the power of the wind. These projectiles hit with the force of a small cannonball, and upon impact, the sap explodes outward, entangling enemies and inflicting significant damage.

    <hr>

    Resonant Shards

    Rarity: Rare

    Aspects: Nature, Glass, Sound

    Description: Tap into the harmonic frequencies of nature by converting sound waves into lethal glass projectiles. Upon activation, you and your Machina generate high-frequency vibrations that cause nearby glass elements¡ªwhether windows or natural crystal formations¡ªto shatter, sending shards flying at enemies with pinpoint accuracy.

    <hr>

    Cinderstorm Gale

    Rarity: Uncommon

    Aspects: Fire, Nature, Wind

    Description: Summon a localized storm of burning embers, ash, and gusts of wind that disorient and damage foes. The Machina channels the power of the wind to whip up a violent tempest of ash and embers, blanketing an area in scorching air and fine dust. Enemies caught in the gale suffer continuous fire damage, and the fierce gusts disrupt their movement, reducing combat effectiveness.

    <hr>

    Aquatic Barrage

    Rarity: Uncommon

    Aspects: Water, Nature, Dust

    Description: Launch a rapid-fire barrage of water-imbued dust projectiles. The Machina channels water to saturate the ambient dust, forming hardened projectiles that fly in rapid succession. These projectiles carry both the crushing weight of dust and the penetrating power of water, impacting targets with formidable force.

    <hr>

    I could sense the logic behind each option, yet none of them immediately appealed to me. I mulled it over silently¡ªeach had its merits, but my instincts were telling me something. Finally, I broke the silence.

    ¡°If it¡¯s from this list¡­ [Resonant Shards]?¡± I suggested tentatively.

    Before I could elaborate further, Fractal¡¯s voice chimed in with a playful lilt, her eyes alight with mischief. ¡°Awww¡­ I was hoping for [Cinderstorm Gale],¡± she said, her tone both teasing and earnest.

    I shook my head at her exuberance. ¡°If V is joining us on this, I don¡¯t want him accidentally blowing up everything,¡± I replied, half-joking. ¡°The guy is practically coated in his own explosives and traps.¡±

    Her laughter was a soft, melodic counterpoint to the seriousness of the discussion, yet I could see the wisdom in her preference. Still, the decision was mine to make¡ªmy path, my skillset, my destiny. As I scanned the list one final time, my mind racing with possibilities and contingencies, I knew that every choice here would have a lasting impact

    Morres seemed to move through the task with an almost painful lethargy, his fingers drumming absently on the edges of his Gloss display. He didn¡¯t seem to care much for the technicalities of the process; inputting data, filtering through lists, selecting options¡ªit all felt like the drudgery of a task he would¡¯ve preferred to delegate. His eyes were half-lidded, as though he were on the brink of slipping into some kind of nap, but his words were carefully weighed and as sharp as ever.

    He let out a long, drawn-out sigh, the sound heavy in the air. His voice, though tired, held a note of finality as he glanced at me, his demeanor far more serious than I¡¯d expected given the apparent lack of energy in his movements. ¡°Delivery should be here tomorrow morning,¡± he muttered, tapping something on the Gloss, clearly disinterested in the details but still efficient enough to get the job done. ¡°Until then, I have a task for you. A rite of passage, more than anything.¡±

    Morres paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. There was a certain gravity behind them, an edge of finality that contrasted sharply with his languid state. He looked at me, his gaze sharp beneath his disheveled appearance, his voice dropping lower with an almost ominous calm. ¡°Succeed? You get the cubes and myself as your manager, free of charge.¡± His tone didn¡¯t waver, not even a hint of sarcasm or irony. He was dead serious.

    Then, with a subtle yet deliberate pause, he added the last part¡ªhis words like a silent warning, far more threatening than anything he¡¯d said before. ¡°Fail? And Pandora¡¯s Box has no further use of your corpse.¡±

    There was no exaggeration in his voice. No dramatic flourish. It was just a plain, matter-of-fact statement that carried with it all the weight of someone who had seen what happened to those who didn¡¯t measure up. His lethargy didn¡¯t hide the truth in his words; if anything, it made them more chilling. There was no room for failure in this world, not under his watch, not if I wanted to come out of this alive.

    The tension in the air settled, the quiet hum of the Gloss display punctuating the moment. Even Fractal seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation, her usual chatter muted for a brief second as the reality of the task ahead set in.

    He handed me the book without ceremony, its thick pages heavy in my hands. The Complete History of Pendell. The title alone seemed weighty, as though it carried the burden of centuries, of countless battles, triumphs, and failures. The leather cover was worn, its edges frayed, as though this book had seen more than its fair share of hands¡ªhands that had perhaps grown tired of its weight.

    I stared down at it, feeling the weight of history pressing into my palms. It wasn¡¯t just a book¡ªit was a portal to something far deeper, something far more real. I looked back at Morres, who seemed completely unfazed by the gravity of what he was handing me. He had no need to explain further; his eyes already told me everything.

    Realization hit me like a sudden gust of wind. The dull ache in my stomach, the sinking feeling in my chest, and the uneasy flutter of Fractal¡¯s feathers beside me told me all I needed to know. This test wasn¡¯t about theory or tricks. This was about living history¡ª first-hand.

    I wasn¡¯t just going to read about the past. I was going to experience it. And from the way Morres had phrased it, this wasn¡¯t going to be some peaceful, academic journey. There were lessons here, lessons that could only be learned through direct experience¡ªand likely at great personal cost.

    That cost rang to my [Truth.] I smiled. I¡¯m willing to pay that price.

 Chapter 40: Party at Pendell

    Pendell, a city renowned for its towering spires and vibrant marketplace, once stood as a proud and prosperous center of trade, culture, and innovation. Situated along the coast, Pendell¡¯s cobblestone streets had long been a testament to the blending of ancient architecture with the vitality of modern ingenuity. Yet, despite its outward serenity, the city¡¯s history is one fraught with war, political intrigue, and, above all, the unpredictable influence of magic. The rise and fall of Pendell would forever change the fate of the known world, for it was not just the might of armies that razed the city¡ªbut the power of Artes, magic, and forces that defy the laws of nature itself.

    Pendell was founded over 800 years ago, after a great migration from the East, following the fall of several ancient city-states in the region. Its founders sought a fresh start, a place where the best minds could come together to build a new civilization¡ªone that honored the balance of magic and technology. Early on, Pendell was a hub for artisans, scholars, and mages, and its waters were teeming with merchants eager to trade rare goods from across the continent.

    As its population grew, so did its reputation. Pendell attracted skilled artisans who mastered various Artes¡ªabilities that connected people to the elements, harnessing the very forces of nature to shape the world. By the third century of Pendell''s existence, the city had become an undeniable beacon of progress, with magnificent libraries, complex magical constructs, and sprawling towers that reached toward the heavens.

    But the true force that set Pendell apart from other cities was its deep connection to the magical arts. Unlike other cities that treated magic as a tool to be used sparingly, Pendell embraced it, making it a cornerstone of everyday life. This led to a flourishing of technological advancements, with Artes being integrated into everything from public transportation to farming tools.

    For centuries, Pendell lived in relative peace, thriving as a nexus of commerce and magic. However, this golden age could not last forever. The discovery of runes¡ªancient symbols that enhanced magical ability¡ªshifted the delicate balance of power in the region. For the first time, mages could wield far greater power than anyone had previously imagined.

    The kingdom of Pendell became divided between two factions: the Magisters, who advocated for greater regulation and control of magic, and the Free Mages, a more radical faction that believed magic should be unrestrained and shared by all. These tensions led to multiple uprisings, with each faction striving to control the vast resources of magical power contained within the city.

    Pendell was a city on the brink of ruin. Internal strife weakened its influence and strained its political structure. The very forces that had once allowed it to thrive now threatened to tear it apart.

    In the year 1024 of the current age, the final conflict that would decide the fate of Pendell began. The city was encircled by a coalition of rival nations, each eager to gain control of Pendell¡¯s immense magical resources. But it wasn¡¯t just soldiers that threatened the city¡ªmagical warfare, never before seen on such a scale, was about to engulf the entire region.

    The siege of Pendell was not a traditional one. While armies surrounded the city with standard siege weaponry¡ªcatapults, trebuchets, and battering rams¡ªmystical forces played an equally important role. The Free Mages, those who had not been silenced by the Magisters or the royal government, had secretly allied with these invading armies. As the siege began, waves of dark, chaotic magic descended upon Pendell. Artillery was reinforced with destructive spells that bent time and space itself, ripping through Pendell¡¯s defenses and rendering most of its magical wards useless.

    The battle wasn¡¯t fought solely on the ground or in the skies, but in the very fabric of reality. Artillery was laced with magic-enhanced energy, bending space to create rifts that warped time, creating illusions and confusing the defenders. The city¡¯s protectors, relying on their Artes, attempted to summon barriers and counter-magic, but the overwhelming force of the siege¡ªand the traitors within¡ªwas more than Pendell could withstand.

    The True Strike, a magical cannon created by the Free Mages, was the decisive blow. It released a blast of concentrated energy that tore through Pendell¡¯s central tower, the Heart of the City. This tower, the pinnacle of Pendell¡¯s magical achievements, housed a vast amount of arcane energy that kept the city¡¯s defenses running. The destruction of the tower sent a shockwave throughout the city, causing massive structural damage and creating an unstable surge of uncontrolled magic.

    As the magical storm raged, Pendell¡¯s last defenders tried to evacuate the civilians, but it was too late. The streets, once full of life and commerce, became battlegrounds where no one was safe. Buildings crumbled, shattered by the repeated blasts of artillery and spells. The very earth itself was twisted by the ravages of magic, creating sinkholes, distortion fields, and destructive, unnatural storms.

    The rulers of Pendell¡ªboth the royal family and the Magisters¡ªfought to the bitter end, but without the Heart of the City and its central magic, they were unable to counter the overwhelming force of the invaders. The city¡¯s magical wards failed, and soon, the city fell into total chaos.

    By the time the invading forces entered the heart of the city, only a handful of mages and soldiers remained, guarding the ruins of what had once been a proud civilization. Pendell had been razed, not by the might of armies, but by the very magic that had made it great.

    The fall of Pendell was the end of an era. Its knowledge, its magical prowess, and its culture was lost, scattered to the winds like ash. Yet, despite its destruction, Pendell¡¯s legacy endured. The magical knowledge contained within its libraries was perserved in scattered ruins, passed down to future generations.

    The city of Pendell became a symbol: a reminder of the danger that comes with unchecked power and the fragility of even the most advanced civilizations. But Pendell also left behind a warning. The war between the Free Mages and the Magisters, the alliances and betrayals¡ªthese were the seeds of Pendell¡¯s destruction. It was a city built on the belief that magic could solve all problems, only to be undone by the very forces it had embraced.

    Pendell¡¯s fall was a tragic end to a beautiful city, but also a new beginning¡ªa cautionary tale that echoed through time, shaping the future of the world, and serving as a constant reminder that magic, when abused, can become a weapon of unimaginable devastation.

    <hr>

    [Speed Reading has advanced from Level 1 to Level 2.]

    The flood of information surged through my mind, an overwhelming rush of names, dates, and events that left a sharp ache behind my eyes. I winced, pressing my fingers against my temple.

    "The current era?" I muttered, my voice laced with disbelief. "The siege of Pendell was literally during the last dynasty. Did they really believe the continent¡¯s rulers would never change?"

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Morres barely reacted. He let out a drawn-out yawn, rubbing his eyes as if this entire conversation was a minor inconvenience. ¡°Actually,¡± he said, his words sluggish yet deliberate, ¡°it¡¯s referring to another Pendell. Not the one from this realm. For them, it is still the current era, though even then, the text is off by about three hundred years.¡±

    I blinked. Another Pendell? So this book wasn¡¯t just a record of history¡ªit was a bridge between realms, linking past and present across different realities. That meant whatever I experienced inside might not align with what I knew. That also meant my mistakes could ripple out in ways I wasn¡¯t ready for.

    Morres, still only half-invested in the conversation, stretched and exhaled through his nose. ¡°You¡¯ll likely have to solve problems without a bow,¡± he continued. ¡°They rely primarily on gunpowder and lack refined magic. Instead, they lean heavily into magi-tech, as you saw.¡±

    I thought back to what little I had gleaned so far¡ªthe massive iron cannons, their thunderous roar shaking the very foundations of the city walls, the eerie glow of artificial runes inscribed along their barrels. It wasn¡¯t like the arcane artillery I was used to¡ªthese weapons were crude, industrial, but undeniably deadly.

    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± I murmured, glancing down at the book. ¡°Those cannons seem... deadly.¡±

    Morres didn¡¯t even open his eyes. ¡°They were.¡± His tone was completely detached, yet there was something final in the way he said it. Like he had already accepted the horrors written in these pages. ¡°And while their technology is outdated by today¡¯s standards, it¡¯s likely what you¡¯ll be using to breach into Pendell¡­ provided you¡¯re on the offense. If you¡¯re on the defense¡­¡± He finally opened one eye, fixing me with a lazy but pointed stare. ¡°Have you been told how to conquer a historical tome?¡±

    I took a slow breath and nodded. ¡°I wasn¡¯t told,¡± I admitted, flipping through the heavy pages, the scent of aged parchment filling the air. ¡°But I found the information.¡±

    I met his gaze.

    ¡°For anything non-fiction, you must make sure everything repeats with very little deviation from the truth.¡±

    That was the law. The past could not be rewritten, only preserved.

    But what if something wanted it rewritten?

    Morres let out a slow, weary sigh, rubbing his temples as if bracing for a migraine. ¡°Don¡¯t even consider it,¡± he warned, his voice suddenly sharp, slicing through the haze of my thoughts like a blade. ¡°You do not want the consequences of using your Arte to create a paradox on paper.¡±

    He leaned forward, his eyes¡ªusually clouded with disinterest¡ªnow burning with something far more intense. ¡°You¡¯ll become something similar to Danatallion. You do not want your library to start that process.¡± His voice dropped, heavy with a weight I couldn¡¯t quite grasp. ¡°Focus on preserving history. Promise me.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow, more out of instinct than defiance. ¡°How did you know I¡¯d even¡ª¡±

    Morres exhaled, looking more exhausted than usual. He waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Because your thoughts,¡± he muttered, ¡°as Cordelia has so graciously pointed out, are loud.¡± He gave me a tired look, then tapped the side of his temple. ¡°I have very few, and I mean very few abilities when it comes to telepathy, but your thoughts?¡± He scoffed. ¡°They echo in a deep, dark cavern. Over and over again. Impossible to ignore.¡±

    I frowned, but Morres¡¯ expression remained unchanged. There wasn¡¯t a trace of amusement or exaggeration¡ªhe was completely serious.

    ¡°Cordelia has mentioned this before¡­¡± I admitted, shifting uncomfortably. ¡°But I assumed, with how quiet she is, that it was mostly her complaining. I have been practicing an image¡ªa¡­¡±

    ¡°A locket,¡± Morres interrupted flatly. ¡°Yes. A locket imprinted on hundreds of different random playing cards, scattered like a mosaic of games.¡± He waved a hand lazily. ¡°It helps, but you haven¡¯t passively formed it yet. You¡¯re still forcing the construct, which means it only works when you actively concentrate on it. I¡¯d highly recommend you find a more passive form of protection¡ªone that doesn¡¯t require constant effort.¡±

    His tone made it clear that this wasn¡¯t a casual suggestion.

    I exhaled, nodding. ¡°I¡¯ll work on it.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Morres said, already moving on. ¡°But that isn¡¯t important right now. Are you ready for your test?¡±

    ¡°Of course he¡¯s ready!¡± Fractal chirped before I could even open my mouth. She flitted to my shoulder, puffing up proudly. ¡°He can handle a large, dusty, old book. Right?¡± Her head tilted toward me, feathers shimmering like liquid metal.

    I sighed, glancing at the massive tome. The Complete History of Pendell. My fingers traced the ancient, weighty cover, and something in my gut twisted uncomfortably.

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll have to be.¡±

    I placed my hands upon the open pages, feeling the weight of history hum beneath my fingertips. The ink pulsed, alive with something deeper than mere words¡ªan echo of events long past, yet still waiting to be lived.

    The pages trembled, then scattered, bursting outward like a flock of startled birds. Each one shimmered as it spun around me, glowing a deep, resplendent crimson, the color of fresh-spilled blood. The carnelian light shifted, darkened, thickened, melting into an amber so deep it felt like time itself was congealing around me, trapping me within its resin embrace.

    I was the fly. The book was my prison.

    The pages spiraled faster, their movement hypnotic, and I felt it¡ªmy body was changing. My simple attire dissolved into something heavier, more layered. The fabric twisted, reshaped. I now wore a hybrid of an archmage¡¯s ornate robes and the rugged practicality of military fatigues. Heavy boots met the ground beneath me. A bandolier, lined with magazines and arcane cartridges, draped across my chest. A ring formed on my left hand, cool against my skin, thrumming with latent energy. Evoker. That was its name, if the book was to be believed.

    The pages coalesced into a final, blinding flare of light¡ªthen vanished.

    And before me, the city of Pendell stretched into the horizon.

    But something was wrong.

    This wasn¡¯t a city preparing for war, nor was it caught in the midst of battle. There were no rallying cries, no formations of soldiers, no war machines rolling through the streets.

    Pendell was already lost.

    The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke, gunpowder, and decay. The sky was a sickly, oppressive gray, the sun barely able to pierce through the swirling clouds of soot. Buildings¡ªonce grand and mighty¡ªstood as shattered husks, their skeletal remains jutting out like broken bones. Rubble choked the streets. Corpses, some clad in tattered uniforms, others in scavenged armor, lay strewn across the ruins, their stories lost to the ashes.

    I turned slowly, taking it all in. This wasn¡¯t the siege of Pendell.

    This was what came after.

    A besieged wasteland.

    A graveyard.

    And then, the realization settled in, heavier than the ruined city around me.

    I had not been placed in Pendell¡¯s past. I had been sent into its aftermath.

    But why?

    And, more importantly¡­

    Was I alone?

 Chapter 41: What Respects Power?

    Much to my dismay, the answer was yes.

    I was alone.

    The ruins of the city loomed around me like the remains of some fallen titan, skeletal buildings jutting toward the ashen sky. The streets were littered with corpses, their forms twisted in agony¡ªsome charred beyond recognition, others half-eaten as if something had feasted upon them. Some bore the distinct perforations and shattered bone of gunfire, while others had been sliced apart by weapons far more archaic¡ªblades, pikes, maybe even something more savage.

    I crouched beside one of the bodies, my fingers hesitating above the tattered uniform. The fabric was stiff with dried blood, its emblem burned away by heat or time. This didn¡¯t align with what I had read. The Siege of Pendell was fought with gunpowder and magi-tech, not swords and tooth-marked flesh.

    ¡°Was this really the gunpowder age?¡± I muttered to myself, frowning as I glanced down at my uniform.

    It certainly didn¡¯t match.

    The book had forced an outfit onto me, something between an archmage¡¯s robe and military fatigues, but it felt closer to space-age than anything tied to gunpowder. The heavy fabric carried an odd weight, as if layered with hidden protections. My fingers traced the reinforced stitching along my sleeves, and I caught sight of the bracelet strapped to my wrist¡ªa thin band with a dull, uncut gemstone embedded in its center. As I moved, the stone flickered faintly, reacting to something unseen.

    I scanned my surroundings again. The city¡¯s architecture, while ruined, showed clear signs of technological advancement; electrical wires, shattered glass from once-intact windows, and most tellingly, the remains of communication relay antennas. Some had been snapped like twigs, their bases blackened from an explosion. Others still stood, battered yet defiant, their runes flickering with whatever residual energy still clung to them.

    This place had Artes, Skillcubes, Providences. Providi? Whatever the plural was.

    I exhaled, taking stock of my equipment again. My robe was long and gray, its pattern oddly mixed with splashes of white and red¡ªurban camouflage, but poorly executed, as if whoever designed it had read about military tactics rather than understood them. My gloves were dark, made of some rough, durable leather that sacrificed fine motor control for protection.

    Then there was the bandolier.

    I ran my fingers across the pouches strapped to my chest, my breath catching for a moment before I unfastened one and peered inside.

    Paper.

    Not just paper¡ªbullets made of paper.

    I let out a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I was holding. Whatever dictated fate in this world, whatever force had woven this narrative into the book, had at least acknowledged my Arte.

    A small comfort in a place that reeked of death. And flies.

    Flies.

    They were everywhere.

    A black, buzzing tide, shifting and swirling in lazy spirals over the corpses and remnants of what was once a thriving city. They crawled over sightless eyes, darted in and out of half-rotted mouths, and feasted on flesh too long left to the elements. Each step I took disturbed them, sending a ripple of motion through the otherwise stagnant air.

    The alleyways were filled with broken remnants¡ªshattered wooden beams from collapsed homes, torn fabrics of once-bustling market stalls, and overturned carts now coated in dust and dried blood. This city had once been alive, filled with voices, trade, and movement. But now, death had settled on Pendell like an unchallenged tyrant, ruling in silence.

    And yet, the only life that remained?

    Flies.

    No dogs, no cats, no vermin scuttling through the debris. No domesticated farm animals cowering in the shadows. Just the dead, the ruin, and the relentless buzzing of carrion flies.

    I exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of my neck.

    "The way you conquer a historical tome is to let history happen," I reminded myself. "But this... this wasn''t in the synopsis I got from my skill. Nothing even close. The siege was there, but not the aftermath¡­"

    I grimaced. And now you''re talking to yourself out loud, Alex. Stop that.

    I clenched my jaw, pushing the habit aside, and pressed on through the ruins of Pendell. If this was the world the book had cast me into, then I needed to understand why it had deviated from the known history.

    Eventually, my aimless wandering led me to what was once a well¡ªone of the few structures still standing. Unlike the rest of the city, it hadn¡¯t been reduced to rubble or decay. A test crank of the bucket revealed that it was still in working order, the rope creaking as it descended.

    That was... unexpected.

    I took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. The air here wasn¡¯t thick with the scent of rot like the rest of the city. No, it reeked of acid and decayed meat, a biting, acrid stench that clung to the back of my throat. My eyes scanned the area, and the realization settled over me like a weight.

    This had been a tannery. Or maybe an entire tanner¡¯s guild.

    The blood, the chemicals, the sickly stench of treated hides¡ªit had all mingled with the carnage of whatever had happened here. Death had tainted everything else in Pendell, but here, the reek of industry had left its own unique signature.

    I swallowed hard, peering down into the depths of the well.

    The water was dark.

    Too dark.

    Either some of the rot of the tannery had mixed and merged into the water, or the water was not pure of any shape of the imagination. In either possibility, I was not risking my body with the acrid display of sludge and sewage that could have contaminated the water supply. Moving on from the well, I started searching the building. If I was going to¡­

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    I felt my neck slowly detach from my body. As my head and body evaporated into dust.

    ***

    Demeterra''s voice was sharp enough to cut through stone.

    "You really had him go into that?"

    Her words carried the weight of something far greater than mere disapproval¡ªthis was fury restrained by the thinnest thread of patience. The very air in the chamber grew heavy, thick with unspoken threats.

    Morres, in stark contrast, barely seemed fazed. He let out a long, drawn-out yawn, stretching his arms as though he had just awoken from a pleasant nap. Only when he was finished with his leisurely motions did he finally turn his gaze toward the Dominus.

    "You suddenly care about what happens to Bibliokinetics, Bookdwellers, and Tomewalkers? Since when?" His tone was casual, almost mocking, but his eyes held a glint of something far sharper.

    Demeterra¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line, but it wasn¡¯t anger that flashed in her gaze¡ªit was something colder. Calculated. Dangerous.

    "I care about people violating the laws of time, Morres." Her voice was quieter now, but all the more dangerous for it. "You threw him into a temporal anomaly. Do you even understand what you''ve done?"

    Morres shrugged, unbothered. "Yet it was not the laws of your domain that were violated. Therefore, you have no power over it." He met her gaze unflinchingly. "Until he answers the question he needs to ask, he will be there."

    A silence stretched between them, taut as a wire. Then¡ª

    "The only reason I¡¯m not burning you alive and feeding your ashes to the harvest is because if I do," Demeterra said, her voice like a slow-moving storm, "Pandora¡¯s Box would devour me and my faction alive."

    Morres smirked, leaning back ever so slightly. "Then, like all, you must obey the only law that this universe has."

    His voice dropped to a whisper, yet it echoed through the chamber as though carried by something far older than either of them.

    "Power respects power."

    ***

    [Loop 2, Initiate]

    I found myself standing once again in the middle of the ruined city, right where I had started. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart hammering against my ribs as though it sought escape. The remnants of fear and confusion from what had just happened coursed through me like venom. My hands trembled as I instinctively reached for my neck, fingers skimming over unbroken skin. Still attached. No sign of a wound. No scar. No lingering pain. And yet, I knew, with absolute certainty, that I had just died.

    "What in the five hells just happened?" I whispered to no one but myself.

    I forced my breathing to slow, steadied the rising panic, and tried to piece it together. I had been at the well, examining the water. Had something crept up behind me? Cleaved my head from my shoulders in one fell stroke? It was possible. But unlikely. My instincts weren¡¯t dulled enough to miss something like that¡ªnot here, in this city that reeked of death and decay.

    Morres had sent me here as a test. That much, I understood. It was the final step before I could claim my first Shell¡¯s Cubes and ascend to Soul Realm 2. Almost anyone could reach SR2 with enough effort. The challenge wasn¡¯t the process¡ªit was the parity of the cubes, finding the right ones to match my core. That was the true test. And yet, none of that explained this. A reset? A rewind? A temporal anomaly? I ground my teeth. I hated time-based nonsense.

    A sharp whisper of air was all the warning I got. I rolled to the side, barely avoiding the sickle-like object that cut through the space where I had been standing. The blade sank into the stone road, splintering it with a sharp crack before it was yanked free.

    I sprang to my feet, my eyes locking onto my attacker. What stood before me was a grotesque hybrid¡ªa fusion of mantis, carrion fly, and something else I couldn¡¯t immediately place. It had four arms, each ending in curved sickle-blades that gleamed in the dim light. Its chitinous body pulsed with unnatural motion, the flickering remnants of something half-decayed and half-reborn.

    I reacted instinctively, raising my hand and sending a paper bullet flying toward it. The creature''s leg shot out, slicing through the paper mid-flight, reducing it to a flurry of confetti. Too fast. Too precise.

    I adapted. I didn''t need singular bullets¡ªI needed swarm tactics. The shredded confetti responded to my call, shifting in the air, weaving itself into the form of an insect to mimic my assailant. But the moment I began shaping it¡ªI felt the bite of steel piercing my back.

    My breath hitched. I looked down to see the blade protruding from my chest, slick with my blood. And as my vision darkened, I finally understood.

    The flies.

    They weren¡¯t just scavengers.

    They were them.

    I snapped back into existence at the same starting point, my lungs heaving, my heart still echoing the agony of my last breath. My hand went to my chest, expecting to feel the warm slickness of blood. Nothing. Just fabric and the steady rise and fall of breath that I no longer trusted.

    Think. Adapt. I wasn¡¯t just fighting one enemy¡ªI was fighting a hive. Each of those flies was a fragmented piece of the larger predators. They weren¡¯t just watching. They were hunting, waiting for the right moment to coalesce.

    I had to change the battlefield.

    I pulled at my Arte, sending out a storm of paper in all directions, flooding the alleyway in a blinding flurry. If I couldn¡¯t outfight them directly, I¡¯d outmaneuver them. The flies responded instantly, converging toward me, but this time, I was ready.

    Paper wasn¡¯t just paper¡ªit was mine. The moment they swarmed, I twisted my fingers, reshaping my conjured storm into a shifting dome, a makeshift barrier of layered paper. The creatures crashed into it, their momentum driving their bladed limbs through the material, but I didn¡¯t stop. My control extended beyond just forming paper¡ªI could weave it.

    I wrapped them in ink and fiber, forcing the pages to constrict around their bodies, to bind their limbs, to suffocate the swarm before it could fully reform. A screech filled the air, high-pitched and grating, a death cry shared by a dozen throats as my paper crushed them into dust.

    The remnants of their bodies collapsed, turning into a sickly, decayed mist. The flies that had once buzzed through the streets fell silent.

    I exhaled, steadying myself, but I knew better than to relax completely. This wasn¡¯t over. If this was a test, then Morres wouldn¡¯t let me pass just for handling one ambush.

    I glanced at the ruined structures around me, taking in the destruction with new eyes. The reset wasn¡¯t just my body¡ªit was everything. The moment I died, the city reverted to its initial state. Which meant every time I failed, I would be thrown back to the beginning, forced to fight through the same horror again and again.

    I pressed my fingers against the ring that had formed on my left hand when I arrived. The Evoker. I didn¡¯t know its full purpose yet, but it had to be part of my kit for a reason. If this battlefield was locked into a cycle, then maybe¡­

    I raised my hand and focused. The ring pulsed. The world shuddered. The streets flickered, momentarily overlayed with what seemed to be another version of the city¡ªa brief glimpse into the past. I saw movement¡ªcivilians running, soldiers forming makeshift barricades, the city still alive.

    And then it faded.

    A temporal echo.

    I clenched my fist. If I could tap into that, I might be able to break the cycle. Find a way to outmaneuver the loop entirely. But I needed more information, and I needed to survive long enough to get it.

    I turned my gaze back toward the ruins, steeling myself. The city of Pendell held answers. And I was going to tear through time itself if I had to in order to find them.

 Chapter 42: Buzzing

    Six times, I had failed. Six times, I had died.

    Each attempt had ended the same way¡ªwhenever I neared a puddle of brackish water, something struck from beyond my sight. A scythe-like limb, impossibly fast, cutting through flesh and bone as if I were made of parchment. Each time, I tried to react. Each time, I failed.

    The worst part wasn''t the dying. It wasn''t even the waiting to wake up at the start again, with my heartbeat hammering, my mind reeling from phantom pain. No. The worst part was the buzzing.

    The unceasing, maddening drone of wings, thousands of them, filling every ruined corridor, every street choked with decay, every broken shadow. No matter where I went, it followed. A constant, oppressive sound that gnawed at the edges of my sanity.

    I exhaled, forcing my nerves to settle. This time, I refused to be caught unaware.

    I reached for my Arte, drawing paper bullets from my bandoliers. This time, I would not waste them on simple attacks. This time, I would create.

    The forms I had shaped before¡ªthe bee, the bird¡ªwere too rigid, too expected. I had spent so long thinking within the limits of what I knew, but paper was not bound by flesh. It did not have to obey nature¡¯s laws. It could be more.

    I withdrew further into the ruins, pressing my back against cold, crumbling stone. A place without water. A place where I could think.

    First, a bird. Simple, familiar. Then, I refined it. Strengthened it. I shaped its wings larger, honed its talons sharper. Still, it was not enough.

    So I built upon it.

    A hive¡ªa nest of folded chambers nestled beneath its wings. A living construct, something that would grow, that would spread. It was not just a bird now. It was a warden, a hunter, a harbinger.

    Still, I needed sight.

    I closed my eyes and focused, letting the image of my truth guide my hands. The statue from my visions¡ªthe weeping angel, nebulas spilling endlessly from its eyes, starlight cascading like an endless judgment. Everything has a price.

    I fed that truth into my creation. I poured my mana into the folds of paper, my miasma into its wings. The intricate weave of my will became its body, its purpose. And on those wings, it began the hunt.

    But no hunter worked alone.

    From within its hollow hive, others began to form. Not birds, but spiders¡ªdelicate, precise, their legs razor-thin as they unfurled into existence. One by one, they dispersed, silk-thin threads of paper trailing behind them, constructing a web that only I could see. A network of strings, stretched through shadow, through silence, through still air.

    And then¡ª

    The buzzing stopped.

    The stillness was almost deafening. A silence so sharp it threatened to cut.

    The flies had noticed. My web, my hunter¡ªit had disturbed their cycle of carnage, broken the rhythm of their slaughter. They were searching now. Adjusting. Preparing to strike.

    Good.

    I took a slow breath, steadying my pulse. Every thread in my web trembled at the slightest motion, every vibration feeding back to me. I could feel them moving, flitting through the air, circling above, hesitating just beyond reach.

    They were waiting for me to step near the water. For me to make the same mistake I had six times before.

    I smiled.

    Not this time.

    With a flick of my wrist, I sent a single pulse through the web. The bird twitched in response. Its wings flared, paper rustling like the whisper of dry leaves. And then¡ª

    It launched.

    A blur of motion, a shadow streaking through the ruined city. It wove between broken pillars and shattered rooftops, following the unseen trails of my web. The spiders followed, trailing delicate filaments of reinforced paper, forming a second layer of detection.

    And then I heard it¡ª

    A crack, a snap, the shudder of something caught.

    My pulse quickened.

    One of them had touched the threads.

    Without hesitation, I twisted my fingers, commanding my bird to turn. A sharp arc, a shift in trajectory¡ªpaper wings angled like blades, it plunged into the darkness.

    The moment before impact, I finally saw it.

    It had never been just one fly.

    The monstrosity before me was a hive, a churning amalgamation of carrion flies¡ªwings stitched together, bodies fused, forming a singular mass of chitin and hunger. It had been waiting, lurking, moving unseen through the fragmented cityscape. Each individual insect had been an extension of its greater form, each attack nothing more than a limb of something far larger.

    No wonder I had never seen it before.

    No wonder I had never stood a chance.

    Until now.

    The bird struck first, colliding with the mass of wings and limbs. The impact sent a shockwave through my web, strands snapping, tension releasing in a ripple of stored force.

    The spiders reacted immediately, detonating their lines, sending shards of sharpened paper raining upon the hive.

    The buzzing returned¡ªthis time in a frantic, panicked crescendo.

    I surged forward.

    I had one shot.

    With a snap of my fingers, the bird unraveled, its form expanding, twisting, reforming. Its wings became scythes, its body a maw of jagged paper. It did not just strike.

    It consumed.

    The hive twisted, writhing, its mass pulling apart at unnatural angles. But it was too late.

    The predator had become the prey.

    The buzzing turned into a shriek.

    Then¡ªsilence.

    For the first time in seven loops, the ruined city was still.

    I exhaled, feeling my heartbeat slow. My web remained intact. My spiders still crawled, their threads reinforcing the space around me.

    I was no longer blind. No longer prey.

    This time, I will move forward.

    ***

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I awoke. Again.

    The ruined city stretched before me, its shattered buildings standing like gravestones beneath a sky choked with smog. The air reeked of decay. The stones beneath me were slick with rot. And the buzzing¡ªthat cursed, endless droning¡ªreturned in full force.

    A sound that had haunted me through seven loops.

    A sound that meant I was still trapped.

    ¡°WHY?!¡±

    The scream tore from my throat, raw and furious, burning like bile as it echoed through the empty streets. My voice rang against broken walls and crumbling towers, but the city gave no answer. No divine revelation. No explanation.

    Only the buzzing remained.

    The ceaseless, maddening buzzing.

    And then¡ªdeath.

    A blur of motion. A whisper of steel slicing through air.

    I had no time to react. No time to move.

    The scythe struck true.

    A clean cut. Effortless.

    I did not feel pain, only a sudden weightlessness as the world twisted, my vision lurching at an unnatural angle.

    My final sight was my own body¡ªheadless, blood pouring freely, limbs twitching in the growing swarm. The flies descended upon me like a living tide, their blackened forms writhing, feasting, burrowing.

    Then, nothing.

    ***

    Okay. Think.

    What did we learn from that last attempt?

    One: Killing the Chimera Carrion Creature does not end the loop.

    Two: It is attracted to brackish water.

    Three: It is attracted to those near brackish water.

    Four: And most of all¡ªit is attracted to screams.

    I sighed, my breath shaky, my body tense. Frustration gnawed at me. Hunger gnawed at me. My own mind felt like a starving beast, circling the problem, desperate for a solution.

    I bit down on my fingers, a nervous tic I had developed somewhere between the third and fourth loops. Harder this time¡ªhard enough that my teeth clinked against the cool metal of my ring.

    The Evoker.

    The enchanted ring I had worn all this time.

    The moment my teeth scraped against it, a rush of energy flooded my veins. Raw. Overwhelming. Alien.

    And then, it hit me¡ªlike a hammer to my gut.

    Hunger.

    Ravenous. Bottomless.

    It twisted inside me, something primal, something monstrous.

    My hands trembled. My mouth burned. My stomach clenched.

    And before I could stop myself, before I could question it¡ª

    I ripped the ring off my finger and devoured it.

    Teeth sinking into enchanted metal. Jaw tightening with the force of a madman. It should have been impossible. Should have shattered my teeth. Should have poisoned me, cursed me, killed me.

    But instead¡ª

    I consumed.

    And as I swallowed the remnants of the ring, information surged through me.

    Not just knowledge. Power.

    <hr>

    Material Composition:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Carbon Trichloride</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Copper Dioxide</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Carbon Ferrite</li>

    </ul>

    Name: Evoker

    Treasure Type: Enchanted Item

    Original Effect:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Grants the ability to summon a spirit doll, known as a Bouncer.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Each Bouncer is a unique manifestation of the summoner¡¯s will, shaped by desire, personality, and choices.</li>

    </ul>

    Devoured Effect:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Your Machina is now Soul-Bound.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">It inherits the personality and qualities of the Bouncer you would have summoned.</li>

    </ul>

    <hr>

    I staggered, breath coming in ragged gasps. My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my skin.

    What was¡­?

    I didn¡¯t finish the thought. I didn¡¯t need to.

    I knew the answer.

    This hunger inside me¡ªit had always been there. I had ignored it. Feared it. Feared the beast it came from.

    The power of the Golden Hydra.

    This is what Archimedes meant.

    I was on the path of Hunger.

    And Knowledge and Artifacts were my diet.

    ***

    The revelation settled into my bones like lead. Pendell was never meant to fall to war. No great armies had come to raze it, no tyrant had sought to claim it. This place had rotted from the inside out.

    I exhaled, steadying myself. The buzzing was distant now, my paper constructs doing their work in silence. If I had truly broken free of the reset condition, even slightly, then that meant I had room to experiment. I had room to act.

    Carefully, I gathered what scraps of paper remained from my bandolier, reshaping them in my palm. The bird-and-spider constructs were efficient, but slow. I needed something faster. Something precise. I folded the next construct meticulously, the shape taking form as I pressed my will into the fibers. A wasp.

    A hunter.

    I poured my Arte into it, shaping its stinger from hardened layers of paper, reinforcing its wings for speed. The moment I let go, the wasp flickered with the faintest trace of my miasma before vanishing into the dark. Find me something I can use.

    I moved carefully through the ruined city, sticking to the shadows. The streets were clogged with filth and decay, the husks of buildings sagging under their own weight. The corpses had long since melted into indistinguishable masses of rot, the only proof of their former humanity the occasional gleam of bone amidst the sludge. How long had this place been abandoned?

    More importantly¡ªwhat still lurked here?

    The buzzing grew louder again, a tremor of sound that rattled in my skull. I pressed against a crumbling wall, watching. The creatures were drawn to the brackish water, that much I knew. But they weren¡¯t just mindless husks. They moved with purpose. With intent. I had assumed before that they were merely scavengers, feasting on the remnants of a doomed city.

    But what if they were the cause?

    I gritted my teeth. If this loop was different, if I wasn¡¯t being reset upon every kill, then that meant I had a chance. A real chance.

    I needed to test it.

    With a flick of my wrist, I sent another construct into the air¡ªa moth, this time. A lure. The paper shimmered as it caught a faint draft, wings folding and unfolding as it pulsed with my energy. I guided it towards one of the creatures, watching as the sickly mass of flies shifted in response.

    It reacted instantly.

    A limb like a scythe lashed out, too fast, too precise. My construct was shredded in an instant, paper fragments dissolving into the wind. I swallowed back my frustration. I still hadn¡¯t seen the thing¡¯s true form, hidden beneath the writhing swarm. But the attack¡ªit had direction. Intelligence.

    I needed to see more.

    I waited, breath slow and measured. The creature resumed its hunt, drifting between the ruined streets in search of another disturbance. I was already unfolding my next plan.

    This time, I didn¡¯t bait it with a simple lure.

    I crouched low, pressing my palm against the ground. Paper seeped out from my bandolier, flowing like liquid as it pooled around me. A network of lines, intricate and delicate, taking form beneath my feet. A trap.

    I forced myself to be patient, weaving every strand with precision. The structure needed to hold. It needed to work.

    Then, I moved.

    I stepped out from cover, allowing my footfalls to echo against the crumbling stone. The buzzing stopped. It had noticed me.

    The scythe came first. The same bladed limb that had severed my head countless times before. This time, I was ready.

    I twisted, the blade missing my throat by inches. The force of the swing alone sent a gust of wind through my hair, a reminder of just how close death was. I didn¡¯t wait. I dove backward, leading it exactly where I wanted.

    The moment its mass crossed into my trap, I triggered the web.

    The paper snapped taut. Hundreds of delicate strands pulled at once, wrapping around the shifting form in an instant. The buzzing became a shriek, something deeper beneath the swarm howling as my trap bound it in place.

    I saw it.

    For the first time, I truly saw what I had been fighting.

    Beneath the flies, beneath the writhing black mass, was a shape. A hollowed-out husk of a man, limbs elongated into something grotesque. Its face was stretched into a permanent scream, eyes long since rotted away. The flies weren¡¯t just surrounding it. They were part of it.

    The creature thrashed, straining against the paper binding it. I needed to finish this.

    I drew my knife, channeling everything I had left into it. If this was my chance to break the cycle, I wouldn¡¯t waste it.

    The blade sank into its chest.

    For a moment, silence.

    Then¡ªcollapse.

    The entire form unraveled, the flies dispersing in a violent explosion of movement. I barely had time to shield myself as the swarm scattered, vanishing into the night.

    I waited. Breath held.

    No reset.

    I was still here.

    I let out a slow, shuddering breath. The first real victory I had claimed since this nightmare began. But I couldn¡¯t celebrate. Not yet.

    Because something had changed.

    The city felt different now, the air thick with something I hadn¡¯t noticed before. The remnants of the creature¡¯s death clung to me, a faint trace of something ancient and hungry.

    I glanced down at my hands. They were trembling.

    I had killed it. But this loop wasn¡¯t over.

    No, I had only drawn attention to myself.

    The buzzing returned.

    And this time, it wasn¡¯t just one.

 Chapter 43: Its Time To Write My Own Damned Story

    My body was torn into shreds. Hundreds. Thousands. Ribbons of red spiraled through the air, twisting like macabre streamers, a grotesque parody of celebration. They wove themselves into the cyclone of buzzing wings, merging with the writhing storm that had consumed me.

    Faces. So many faces.

    Mothers, brothers, daughters, sisters, sons, fathers. Their features flickered through the black, undying tide, hollowed eyes staring out from the writhing abyss of flies. They weren¡¯t just remnants, not just echoes of the past. They were inside it. Bound to the endless, mindless hunger of the swarm.

    As the cyclone enraptured me, the ribbons of red deepened, darkening into black filaments. My vision blurred, the world collapsing inward as my limbs grew distant, foreign. Each breath was a struggle, shallow and erratic, as though I were breathing through the corpse of something long dead. I was fading.

    The tide of flies shuddered, stained red with my blood.

    Then¡ªnothing.

    Darkness. Silence.

    Another death. Another loop.

    I awoke gasping, my body lurching upright with the force of stolen breath. Cold sweat clung to my skin, but it wasn¡¯t sweat at all¡ªit was blood, my own, the memory of my last death still lingering in my nerves. The sensation of being unmade clung to me like damp rot.

    I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, steadying myself. But the knowledge remained, clear and cold.

    I understood what I was fighting now.

    The bodies in the streets, their bloated forms abandoned in alleyways, crumpled beneath collapsed buildings¡ªthey were not merely corpses. They were hives.

    Every fallen human, every animal carcass left to decay, had been claimed. Once enough magic and miasma had seeped into the dead, the carrion flies would come, burrowing into the flesh. And when their numbers grew too vast for a single husk to contain, they would merge, twisting their swarm into a singular, writhing entity. A new puppet. A new predator.

    I had spent loop after loop trying to survive, trying to fight them one by one.

    But there was no ¡°one.¡±

    There was only the swarm.

    I clenched my fists, pressing them into the dirt beneath me. The truth settled over me like a shroud, heavy and suffocating.

    That¡¯s the answer to the loop, isn¡¯t it?

    I exhaled shakily, looking up at the ruins of Pendell. Its broken skyline loomed over me, skeletal towers crumbling into the remains of homes and marketplaces. The city wasn¡¯t just doomed. It wasn¡¯t just lost.

    I had to burn it.

    Not just to escape this loop. Not just to stop the infection.

    To erase it.

    Because I had seen the end. I had lived it, bled in it, died in it. The Siege of Pendell had not been won by war. It had not fallen to soldiers, to invaders. No plague had hollowed it out.

    It had been razed.

    By fire. By unrelenting, consuming destruction.

    By me.

    The realization shook something deep inside me, a weight pressing against my ribs like a hand wrapped around my lungs. My throat burned, and before I could stop myself, a single tear slipped down my cheek.

    What doomed Pendell was the swarm.

    What gave it its funeral was me.

    I wiped my face with the back of my hand, shoving the emotion down. I could break later. I could grieve later.

    For now¡ª

    I had work to do.

    ***

    Finding my workshop again, I allowed myself a small, victorious smile. Good. Everything was still here. The scattered remnants of my work, the artifacts I had consumed, the tools I had painstakingly assembled¡ªit was all intact. More importantly, the treasures I had devoured in previous loops remained within me, their effects still active.

    I reached out, fingers brushing against the worktable. No matter how many times I died, how many times I was flung back to the start, this remained constant. The hunger that had driven me to consume them, the power I had wrested from their essence¡ªit wasn¡¯t undone.

    I kept what I had taken.

    A breath of relief slipped past my lips, tension easing from my shoulders. That meant¡ª

    Yes. My Machina was still Soul-Bound.

    A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth as I tilted my head skyward, addressing the unseen audience I knew was watching.

    "Take that, Morres. You sick prick. I know you¡¯re out there. Watching. Calculating." I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. "I hope Ranah punches you for trying to deny her fighting style."

    ***

    ¡°Oh man.¡± The younger woman chuckled, rich and dark, like melted chocolate. ¡°He¡¯s got you good, Morres.¡±

    She lounged in her seat, arms draped across the back, watching the projection of the boy with sharp, calculating amusement.

    ¡°Although me? Punching you?¡± She arched a brow, violet eyes glinting with mirth. ¡°We both know you outspeed my body three times over... when you bother to wake yourself from your little dreams.¡±

    Across from her, Morres barely stirred. Draped in his usual languid posture, he remained half-reclined, fingers lazily tracing circles against the armrest of his chair.

    ¡°Enjoying the show, Ranah?¡± he murmured, voice carrying its usual lethargic elegance. ¡°Do keep in mind, the only reason I invited you here was because he¡ª¡± Morres gestured toward the projection of Alexander, ¡°¡ªis aiming for a Puppetry-based trispect. A rare path, using a Spiritual Mechanoid Puppet¡ªor as your decree so poetically rebranded them, a Machina.¡±

    Ranah''s smirk faded slightly. A trispect?

    Her gaze flicked back to the image of Alexander in his workshop. Interesting.

    "A trispect of what?" she asked, though she already suspected the answer.

    Morres exhaled, slow and measured. "You know full damn well, brat," came a third voice, rough and aged, filled with the gravel of long winters and longer battles.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Ranah tensed slightly, her expression shifting into something more guarded as the old man leaned forward from the shadows.

    ¡°And don¡¯t you dare lie to her, Dreamweaver,¡± the elder continued, voice sharp. ¡°She¡¯s not here as a courtesy. She¡¯s here to round out the three factions of our state.¡±

    Ranah rolled her shoulders, exhaling sharply. ¡°You seriously pulled Temptation into this?¡± she asked, finally turning to face Morres again. ¡°Okay. That means they were serious. He¡¯s worth burning this many favors to train?¡±

    Morres shook his head, slow and deliberate, before a ghost of a smile played across his lips.

    "Him?" He scoffed. "No."

    The room fell into stillness.

    Morres'' eyes flickered with something deeper¡ªsomething unreadable¡ªas he murmured,

    "Pandora''s Box is the one owing us favors. Not me owing you two.¡±

    Silence followed. Not the absence of sound, but a heavy, charged silence. One that made even Ranah still.

    ***

    My spiders and birds had changed.

    Their forms were still paper, but they were no longer just delicate origami constructs. No, these were now lined with something far more volatile.

    Gunpowder.

    Layer upon layer, meticulously embedded into their folds. Each avian and arachnid construct carried the potential for destruction within its fragile body. And it wasn¡¯t just them¡ªI had coated the very veins of this dying city in it. Thin, near-invisible lines of black powder traced through streets and alleys, marking a path that would soon be swallowed by fire.

    Pendell was the wickerman, a city doomed to burn.

    And I was it''s executioner.

    It felt... wrong.

    Not the act of setting it ablaze, but the realization that this place¡ªthis civilization¡ªwas more advanced than I had assumed. Magical runework laced nearly every structure, from buildings to bridges, from the cobblestone streets to even the lampposts. This was a place that had embraced progress, using magic not just as a tool but as a foundation for daily life.

    And yet, despite their achievements, they had fallen.

    To what exactly, I still wasn¡¯t sure. A curse? A blight? An Arte gone horribly wrong? Some insidious force had infested this city, stripping it of life and turning it into a breeding ground for horrors.

    But that wasn¡¯t my concern anymore. Judgment belonged to the fates.

    The price of progress? Prejudice. The price of power? Loneliness.

    Pendell had stood alone. No allies, no reinforcements. Only a city abandoned to its fate.

    Only me.

    I was the lone mourner at its funeral. The only one left to give it its last rites.

    I waited, listening. The buzzing was ever-present, an angry, unrelenting drone that gnawed at the edges of my senses. But¡­

    It wasn¡¯t as bad as before.

    Were they¡­ allergic to gunpowder?

    I frowned, shaking my head. Too many variables, not enough time. Even if I wanted to test a theory, it was too late.

    Because the city was already burning.

    The first explosion rippled through the streets, a chain reaction set in motion by the carefully placed lines of gunpowder and the vats of oil I had tipped into just the right places. The wooden interiors of the buildings¡ªdry, aged, ready¡ªignited with terrifying speed.

    A golden inferno consumed Pendell.

    The heat was suffocating. The air itself seemed to warp and twist as the fire spread, devouring everything in its path. Roaring. Cracking. Consuming.

    And yet, in the midst of the destruction, there were no screams. No cries for mercy.

    Just the silent, empty streets.

    Just the sound of fire devouring a civilization already lost.

    And then¡ª

    A whisper.

    A shift in the wind.

    A sensation that wasn¡¯t quite sound, wasn¡¯t quite silence.

    I felt it, more than heard it.

    A final, lingering echo.

    A humble thank you.

    ***

    The flickering light of an old lamp illuminated the dark chamber, casting elongated shadows against the carved walls. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and something less tangible¡ªthe weight of observation.

    Ranah leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, watching the pages of the book ripple as if alive. The image of Pendell burning was reflected in her sharp golden eyes, and yet, there was no shock. No pity. Only calculation.

    "Well," she said, her voice like dark honey, slow and rich, "he finished the loop."

    "About time." Morres let out a breath that was almost a yawn, rubbing his temple. "This one took him long enough. Thought he was going to keep playing the martyr until the end of time."

    "You do love to make them suffer, Dreamweaver." Temptation¡¯s voice was low, rasping, like an old man humored by a particularly grim joke. He leaned forward, fingers tapping against the table, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. "You forced him to burn it, didn¡¯t you?"

    Morres shrugged. "I didn¡¯t force him to do anything."

    "Liar," Ranah said, smirking.

    "Guided is a better word." He gave her a half-hearted smile, rubbing his jaw. "But yes. That was the answer. There was no saving Pendell. No noble solution. No hero¡¯s redemption arc."

    "And yet, he still tried." Temptation¡¯s fingers stilled. "Until the very end."

    There was a pause.

    And then¡ª

    The book slammed shut.

    The air in the room shifted. Something new entered the space.

    At the center of the round table, I was immediately offered a seat.

    My form was unstable, ink still deciding whether to be bound to the page or to bleed out into reality. My breath heavy, my hands clenched.

    I didn¡¯t turn to look at any of them, uncaring of the new faces in the room. All I saw was the book, The Complete History Of Pendell. Its black cover, the history that had trapped and ensared me. The one that had twisted me. Even now, I felt its siren call.

    Not removing my eyes from the book. I asked the three of them a question.

    ¡°How long?¡± My voice was low. Slow. Deliberate. I forced the words to finally speak. ¡°How long have you and your two guests been watching?¡±

    Ranah tilted her head, fully unbothered. ¡°The whole time.¡±

    I exhaled, sharply through my nose. I turned my head to Morres. He had the audacity to look, even sound, bored.

    ¡°So you could have stopped it at any time.¡±

    ¡°I could have.¡± Morres admitted with ease, not concealing the truth. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t have been a lesson or test, now wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    I didn¡¯t reply.

    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m Ranah, that¡¯s Temptation. I know you aren¡¯t going to get introductions from Morres or Tempta there, so I¡¯ll do it for both of them, although you¡¯ve already met the peacock Morres.¡±

    Ranah¡¯s skin was a tarnished copper. A red patina formed all along it. Her jewelry was various metals and colors I couldn¡¯t even describe. The most mundane thing about her was simply her outfit and hair. Brown hair, and her clothes were just¡­normal. Sweats, hooded sweater. Sandals. She looked like she was simply jogging if it wasn¡¯t for the absurdity of everything else.

    ¡°Now, onto some questions from me¡­¡± Ranah continued. ¡°You knew from the start, didn¡¯t you? That there was no saving Pendell.¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°Not from the start. I knew I was going into a doomed city, one that was destined to die from a military siege. It said nothing of that. I had hoped. So no. I didn¡¯t know from the start. I learned though.¡±

    ¡°What did you learn?¡± Morres asked. His voice, slow and lethargic, with a yawn voice in between you and learn.

    Silence. I paused for a moment. Trying to find the best way to summarize my answer.

    ¡°Hope is worthless without power.¡±

    At this, Temptation had a loud and sharp laugh. ¡°What else boy?!¡±

    I turned my gaze to the older gruffer male. He was normal. Truly normal. He appeared to be an old man with a long, white, braided beard, with myriads of scars coating his entire face.

    ¡°That I am weak. And weakness breeds a demon called despair. One that I refuse to allow to ever creep into my heart again.¡±

    At that answer, the three of them looked at each other, and smiled.

    I looked at the three of them. Really looked at the three of them.

    The dreamweaver, who bound me in this test.

    The amazoness, who watched and waited to see what I would do.

    The old serpent, who had whispered loudly so I would be tempted towards a realization.

    Then there was me.

    I was trapped in a hell of ink, ichor, and time. I had been forced to destroy in order to understand.

    I was simply a boy, barely an adult. I had crawled my way out of a burning city, covered in soot, smoke, and knowledge.

    I exhaled one final time. I had closed my eyes, and when I opened them. I knew what I was feeling.

    Determination.

    ¡°I think,¡± I said quietly to the three, knowing they¡¯d hear, ¡°it is time for me to write my own damn story.¡±

    And this time, I refuse to be left behind.

 Chapter 44: Lying in Wait

    I was finally fully cleared¡ªnot that I¡¯d ever followed my doctor¡¯s advice to the letter.

    My leg, or rather, the veins inside it, had been replaced with something called Ion-Veil. A synthetic vascular system designed to regulate my blood flow after I¡¯d ruined my original one through mercurial toxicity. My healing limit had been stretched far past its breaking point, which was why I¡¯d spent an entire year in a coma.

    Naturally, the moment I was cleared for ¡°light¡± exercise, I threw myself into a gauntlet of never-ending flies.

    I swear, if I ever see a blowfly again, it¡¯d be too soon.

    But today, the doctor finally gave me the official clearance to return to Marr, where my skillcubes were waiting.

    The doctor also cleared me for visitors¡ªas if that mattered. Because the three Domini standing in the room with me had long since proven that they couldn¡¯t be seen by anyone unless they wanted to be seen.

    First was Cordelia.

    She arrived with her usual grace, carrying a delicate porcelain teacup filled with rose tea. The scent alone was enough to ease the tension in my limbs, and when I took my first sip, the floral warmth settled deep in my chest.

    "You always bring the best, Cordelia," I murmured, savoring the taste.

    She smiled, ever composed. "One of us has to make sure you experience the finer things in life, Alexander."

    Then came Fractal.

    In her childlike energy, she fluttered into the room, her brilliant, iridescent feathers shimmering as she landed on the table with a dramatic fluff.

    ¡°I brought games!¡± she chirped, presenting a small stack of wooden puzzles and playing cards. ¡°For the trip back home. You¡¯ll need something fun while you¡¯re stuck in a carriage.¡±

    I ruffled her spectral head, watching as the veil of mist that made up her face swirled at my touch.

    Then came Ten.

    Her arrival was¡­unexpected.

    She stood in the doorway, her small, delicate frame somehow completely betraying the absolute devastation she was capable of. Her usual ragged combat gear was gone, replaced by a sleek, high-cut dress that accentuated her legs. The spheres attached to her ankles gleamed under the dim light, and it didn¡¯t take long for me to recognize them.

    Uncle Rodrick¡¯s invention. The spike balls.

    The same ones I had rejected.

    But for Ten? They were perfect. They suited her ¡®my legs are a cannon¡¯ approach. I still remembered what she¡¯d done to those beasts on the way to the duchy. The sheer force. The devastation.

    She didn¡¯t say much¡ªnot that she ever did.

    And behind her?

    V.

    Ever indifferent, ever unbothered V.

    His choice of clothing still made him look like a mobster who had never actually committed a crime. A man desperately trying to ignore the times while simultaneously refusing to change.

    He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded with his usual air of lazy amusement.

    I exhaled, looking at all of them. The people I had chosen.

    "It''s good to see you all," I said, and then turned to Cordelia. "Have you arranged a carriage for me?"

    She gave a small nod, sipping her own cup of tea. "Already handled. It will arrive in an hour to take us to Marr."

    I nodded back. Good.

    I turned to all of them.

    "There you have it. Once we arrive, I¡¯ll be acquiring my skillcubes¡ªand then we start training. All of us. I¡¯m tired of being weak. I want you to punish every single weakness I have. I have a feeling, though, that you¡¯ll have help in that matter."

    "If you mean the three geezers in the corner trying to not be perverts, yeah. We know."

    V¡¯s voice cut through the room like a knife.

    He shrugged, completely unimpressed.

    "I¡¯d say Dominus damn them, but that¡¯d be like me yelling at bread. They¡¯ve already got a plan set for training you privately¡ªalong with pretty feathers over there." He nodded toward Fractal, who chirped proudly.

    "As for the rest of us?" He stretched, rolling his shoulders. "We either assign ourselves early to their lovely little training program, or we stick with whatever hellish regime you assign, boss."

    I smirked, eyes flicking toward the three figures lingering in the shadows.

    The Domini. Watching. Waiting. Always waiting.

    Their presence loomed in the room, unseen by the uninitiated, but suffocatingly real to those who knew better.

    I exhaled sharply.

    "I guess I should see what kind of hell they have planned first."

    "For now?" Ranah answered, shrugging as if our conversation was mundane. "We have nothing until you get your cubes. Morres is going to explain how to form your shell."

    I frowned. Shell formation wasn¡¯t exactly difficult. Every Walker worth their salt eventually developed one¡ªa structured network that stabilized their skillcubes and let them utilize multiple abilities efficiently.

    "Why would he need help forming a shell?" V asked, shifting his weight against the wall. Then, he turned his gaze toward Cordelia. "Also, did you ever find those two death cubes? You had the budget for it."

    Cordelia gave a small nod, setting her tea aside. Cool. Collected. Always prepared.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    "I¡¯ve finally formed my shell," she said smoothly. "I took a Life/Death/Desire cube and a Death/Rat/Dream cube into it. Neither had side effects, so I absorbed them fully."

    A Life/Death/Desire cube. And a Death/Rat/Dream cube.

    The combination alone made me pause. The first was a rare hybrid, capable of manipulating the border between existence and longing. The second? Likely filled with the kind of abilities that only those fascinated with death and subconscious torment would consider useful.

    V let out a low whistle. "Guess we won¡¯t have to worry about your skillset, huh?"

    Cordelia merely smiled.

    Temptation, however, took that moment to step forward.

    "As for why he needs help forming his shell," he said, tilting his head, "he¡¯ll be incorporating some¡­extra weight into it. Something we need him to have."

    A pause.

    Then, Ten spoke.

    Her voice was quiet but beautiful¡ªthe eye of the storm, a serenity that never faltered.

    "Why?"

    A single word, simple and direct.

    Morres, still appearing half-asleep, gave a soft sigh. "Dragon Huntress Ten, we can¡¯t inform you of this. All we can say is¡­ it will not harm Alexander, nor will it harm any of you."

    Not exactly a reassuring answer.

    That was when V narrowed his eyes, his tone turning sharp.

    "You plan on having him absorb his Machina, don¡¯t you?"

    The air in the room stilled.

    None of the three answered.

    Not Morres. Not Ranah. Not Temptation.

    Their silence was all the confirmation I needed.

    ***

    The hour passed, and the carriage ride was long. The Domini didn¡¯t bother joining us, instead opting to meet me later in my ¡°barracks.¡± That was fine. More time to relax.

    Fractal and I were playing with the cards she had gotten me specifically for the ride, her feathers shimmering excitedly as she shuffled through them. It was a strange game¡ªone I had never heard of before. Each player had the same base deck, but everyone also brought twenty-one blank cards, filling each one with their own miasma. The blank cards would then adopt the three starting mana types of their creator.

    Since there were five of us playing¡ªFractal, Cordelia, V, Ten, and myself¡ªour game had an interesting spread of mana types:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Fractal: Crystal, Dream, Venom</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Cordelia: Life, Mind, Death</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">V: Smoke, Wind, Sand</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Me: Dimension, Crystal, Nature</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Ten: Blood, Bone, Flesh</li>

    </ul>

    V let out a huff as he glanced over Ten¡¯s set. ¡°Wait. You¡¯re telling me Ten has the perfect set of mana for elemental body-type cubes and she hasn¡¯t used them?¡±

    Cordelia sighed, shaking her head. ¡°Please don¡¯t judge someone¡¯s skill choices. She¡¯s already becoming a perfect damaging vanguard as she is.¡±

    V held up a hand in mock surrender. ¡°I¡¯m just saying, Flesh, Blood, and Bone? That¡¯s basically the textbook definition of a full elemental body build.¡±

    I cut in before V could go on another one of his rants. ¡°So, Fractal¡­ how does this game actually work?¡±

    Fractal chirped happily, her mask-like face shifting in excitement. ¡°Ooooh! I was hoping you¡¯d ask! Okay, so now that we all have our full sets of cards, we put everyone¡¯s mana-infused cards into a shared deck and shuffle it. That makes up the mana deck.¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Alright. Then what?¡±

    ¡°Then, we each draw three cards from the top of the deck, one at a time. But! You don¡¯t show anyone what you got. The goal of the game is to figure out what mana types people have in their hand¡ªwithout getting caught lying.¡±

    V raised an eyebrow. ¡°So it¡¯s a bluffing game?¡±

    ¡°Yup! On your turn, you draw a new card from the deck and announce what mana types you have in your hand. You can tell the truth, or you can lie. But the next person in order is the only one allowed to call you out. If they think you¡¯re lying, they can accuse you, but if they¡¯re wrong, they¡¯re out instead.¡±

    Ten tilted her head. ¡°And if they¡¯re right?¡±

    ¡°Then the liar is out.¡± Fractal fluttered her wings. ¡°Last one standing wins!¡±

    V crossed his arms. ¡°So it¡¯s basically Liar¡¯s Dice but with mana cards?¡±

    Fractal¡¯s wings drooped slightly. ¡°Kinda¡­¡±

    ¡°Why bother with all the mana infusion then?¡± V asked, shaking his head.

    Fractal perked up again. ¡°Because this is only one of the games! We don¡¯t have all the other pieces yet. Myne didn¡¯t have the full set¡ªjust the blanks. Once we get to Marr, we¡¯ll be able to play the actual full version!¡±

    She sighed dramatically, but then grinned. ¡°But hey! Games are fun!¡±

    I chuckled and picked up my cards. "Alright then. Let''s play."

    And just like that, we passed the time in the carriage, the echoes of laughter and the sharp tension of each bluff filling the space between us.

    ***

    ¡°Is no one going to call BS on the fact that we¡¯re playing a lying game against a psyker?¡± V groaned, tossing his last card onto the pile in frustration. ¡°She¡¯s won every single round. She¡¯s the one who literally shields our thoughts and can passively read them. How is this fair?¡±

    Cordelia smirked, shuffling the discarded cards back into a neat stack. ¡°Get better at thinking quieter, then.¡± She turned to me, eyes sharp with amusement. ¡°I¡¯ve always told you¡ªyou think too loudly. You should hear how bad he gets when he has that ring off.¡±

    I exhaled sharply, leaning back in my seat.

    V immediately rebutted Cordelia. ¡°Duh. That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯ve got enchantments to counter it. I know I¡¯m weak to mental attacks. If Fractal hadn¡¯t insisted that removing my ring would somehow make me better at lying¡ª¡±

    ¡°It does.¡±

    Ten¡¯s quiet, serene voice cut through my words, her tone carrying a rare certainty.

    V shot her a skeptical look. ¡°And how does that make any sense?¡±

    Ten didn¡¯t so much as blink. ¡°Because lying isn¡¯t about blocking thoughts. It¡¯s about flooding them.¡±

    I sighed. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. And yeah, I get it. I¡¯m weak to mental interference.¡± I crossed my arms. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯ve been working on it.¡±

    Cordelia raised a brow, intrigued. ¡°Oh? And what method have you been using?¡±

    I didn¡¯t even hesitate. ¡°Found an image. One that I abhor.¡±

    Cordelia, sensing the invitation, reached into my thoughts¡ªand immediately recoiled, her expression twisting in distaste.

    In her mind¡¯s eye, she saw thousands of animated bodies.

    Men, women, children¡ªall controlled by swarms of carrion flies.

    Blowflies crawling into ears, burrowing into eyes, their bodies writhing with grotesque purpose.

    They marched in unison, an endless tide, their hollowed expressions void of will.

    The buzzing was deafening.

    Cordelia jerked, shaking her head as if to dispel the imagery. ¡°What the hell have you been doing to have a mental image like that?¡±

    I exhaled slowly, tilting my head. ¡°Time flies when you¡¯re not having fun.¡± I allowed a small smirk. ¡°Although, this game is pretty fun. At least compared to the weeks I spent in that ruined city.¡±

    Her expression shifted in understanding. ¡°Right¡­ that.¡±

    Cordelia straightened, her fingers drumming against the cards in thought. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, the buzzing flies make an excellent distraction. They distort your true thoughts, and the imagery of being assailed by them makes it even better.¡± She leaned forward slightly. ¡°I could pierce it if I wanted¡ªbut for a passive defense? Much better.¡±

    She gave a small, approving nod. ¡°You still think loudly, but whenever you sense me even getting close, you flood your mind with the flies. It¡¯s obnoxious, but it works.¡±

    A slight smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. ¡°Good job.¡±

    ¡°See! Proof she¡¯s just better than us.¡± Fractal chirped in, laughing.

    ¡°Of course she¡¯s better than us at lying!¡± V said. ¡°It¡¯s her entire¡­¡±

    His words were cut off by Ten delivering a solid punch to his shoulder, with V yowling in pain.

    ¡°Lie.¡± I called out immediately. ¡°No one has pain mana here.¡± Which caused the entire carriage to erupt into laughter.

    I smiled. This felt good. Travelling with friends, learning new abilities, new powers. This is what a Walker is supposed to be. I just hoped these good times were worth the nights of bad ones.

    I gazed at everyone¡¯s face, and smiled. The smile was a bittersweet. I lost a year. A whole year. Only Fractal and Cordelia knew the truth.

    Only eighty-two years remained before Dominus Demeterra¡¯s deadline.