Chapter 66

  Eleven more days.

  Eleven days of nothing but soul compression, manipulation, and the slow, nerve-flaying work of creating the basis for a core strong enough to stand against the adversities the System has in store for him. He had pushed every waking hour into discipline, strain, and repetition until the meaning of time bled into a constant sense of discomfort.

  His new attributes made the impossible pace he kept merely tolerable.

  Where once his thoughts would have collapsed into fog after a few hours, now they held steady for dozens. His body should have failed; his mind should have shut down; his soul should have become a raw mess under the pressure of constant manipulation.

  Instead, he had endured. Barely.

  There were moments, toward the end, when he felt his soul tremble like overstretched cord, when each attempt at compression made his vision pulse white and his breath turn thin. He kept going anyway. Not only that, he pushed past the threshold several timesduring his last training session, the System whispering another faint increase to his stats, the pain dulled enough for him to continue. The ache became background noise; the reward, intoxicating.

  And the silence from Neimar grew.

  Two days without the sovereign’s presence. Two days without guidance, of sitting alone in the meditation chamber with nothing except the louder, arrhythmic echo of chains breaking somewhere deeper in the Rift.

  They could be felt now.

  Each fracture in Orrhal’s bindings rippled through the corridors, through stone, through the air, through Raime’s bones.

  He rose—slowly, stiffly—from the meditation circle. His legs felt stiff, his soul felt raw, and the last of his energy hovered like a thin cord ready to snap. But the compression was there. Complete. His soul responded to him with new sharpness, as if eager to test its new form.

  Raime stepped out and began the walk toward the throne room, he needed to move his legs a bit.

  Every step echoed. The corridors hummed with tension. The Rift itself seemed to be waiting.

  When he pushed through the final set of doors, he saw Neimar, sat on the throne. Back straight but trembling faintly, his expression carved from iron-hard concentration. His eyes were shut, brows drawn tight, and the faint purple-silver glow of Threads—spectral, distant, but unmistakably real—spiderwebbed behind him like a phantom crown.

  Raime had never seen him like this.

  Not slumped or defeated—Neimar would never allow that—but strained. Truly strained. Power poured from him in steady waves, the kind Raime could now sense with his refined perception. And beneath that… something older. Something cracking.

  The sovereign was holding back a storm by himself.

  For me, Raime thought, throat tightening.

  For Ithural.

  For that cube filled with sleeping people.

  He approached until he stood a few paces from the dais. The closer he came, the more he felt the oppressive resistance in the air, like a pressure front pushing him back.

  When he finally spoke, his voice came far steadier than he felt.

  “Teacher,” Raime said quietly, but the word carried through the chamber regardless. “I am ready.”

  Neimar’s lone eye opened.

  Even exhausted, even locked in battle with something miles beyond mortal comprehension, that eye still carried the authority of a sovereign. A faint flicker of relief crossed his features—a crack in the mask.

  “You finished your preparation,” Neimar murmured, voice rasped but controlled. “Good. Then we begin soon...”

  Something deep in the Rift screamed—a distant, metallic tearing—and Neimar’s concentration visibly faltered before he forced it back into place.

  The chains were breaking faster.

  Raime squared his shoulders despite the tremble in his soul.

  He was ready. He had to be.

  He looked toward the cube suspended beside the throne.

  So many lives.

  So much depending on him.

  So little time left.

  “But you are far too tired to begin. In a perfect world, I would send you to rest for some days before attempting core formation.” His gaze darkened. “We no longer have that luxury.”

  A chill swept down Raime’s spine. “I don’t need that much, I can manage anyway.” then he whispered. “Is it that bad?”

  “Bad enough that we must cheat,” Neimar said. “Open the ring. Look for these vials.” A projection of the vials in question appear in front of him.

  Raime then extended a Thread toward the spatial ring sitting on his left pinky. Its surface warmed instantly, responding to his touch. The moment he connected his senses, the interior unfolded in his perception—vast, layered, filled with the quiet hum of stored power. Weapons. Crystals. Clothing. Tools. Vials. Strange metal shards. .

  Then he saw them.

  Three sealed potions scattered inside the ring. One vibrant orange, glowing like captured sunlight. One murky green, swirling with dense, almost viscous energy. And one completely transparent—so pure it was nearly invisible. Except… the last was not contained in a bottle. It was stored inside a naturally formed crystal, as if the world itself had grown a shell around its contents.

  A thought brought them forth. Light coiled around his hands, and the potions shimmered into existence, their weight grounding him.

  Neimar gestured weakly. “Drink the green first… then the orange. Do not touch the transparent one yet.”

  Raime hesitated. “Teacher, the energy inside these… it feels—”

  “Precious?” Neimar finished with a small smile. “It is. They were meant for life-and-death situations.” His eyes grew distant. “Unfortunately, this is one.”

  Raime swallowed and uncorked the green potion. It smelled like damp earth and bitter herbs. The moment it touched his tongue, warmth rushed through his limbs—heavy at first, then spreading like molten metal filling cracks in stone. His muscles eased. His bones stopped aching. The exhaustion embedded deep into his body loosened its grip.

  He drank the orange potion next. It tasted bright, like sparks on his tongue. A cold wave flooded his skull, then gently dissolved into a soothing warmth, washing through his thoughts and calming the erratic flickers of his weakened mind. His clarity sharpened; his frayed mental threads wove themselves back together.

  Neimar nodded. “Those two will return your body and mind to peak condition in minutes. Raime…” His voice dropped. “I cannot hold Orrhal much longer.”

  A tremor rippled across the chamber. Faint, distant—yet sharp enough for Raime to feel in his bones.

  “What are the chances?” Raime asked softly.

  Neimar closed his eye. When he opened them again, the weight behind it was crushing.

  “Eighty-five percent.”

  Raime’s breath caught. “That high?”

  “Yes.” A grim pause. “Higher than I would like to admit. The moment I saved you during your first encounter with him, a large surge of energy moved through the chain. Orrhal did something to it. And somehow… it accelerated his escape.”

  Raime’s chest tightened painfully. “Is there anything—anything at all—we can do?”

  Neimar looked at him with a sad, tired smile. “This was a long time coming. A miracle that he stayed bound this long. If you had taken even two more days to prepare, I would no longer have the strength to guide you through core formation. And without guidance…”

  “I would fail,” Raime finished, voice quiet.

  “Yes,” Neimar whispered. “And all of Ithural would cease to exist with that failure.”

  Raime lowered his head. “Then… this is the end.”

  “It is.” Neimar’s voice softened. “But you will live to see another day. I will make sure of it.”

  The words hit Raime harder than any monster ever had.

  He stood, unable to find words, and Neimar waved tiredly toward the hallway. “Go. Gather what you need. Once we begin, you will not have another moment.”

  Raime bowed deeply, then turned and walked to his room.

  The moment he entered, the familiar sight steadied him. The Tetra Unum floated beside his bed, humming gently as if sensing his approach. His lever rested mounted on the wall, waiting for him. Despite Neimar’s constant lessons to rely on his own power, Raime couldn’t leave them behind. With a thought, both artifacts floated to his side, circling him with an almost eager energy.

  He stripped away his training clothes and donned the ceremonial armor he had gained from the temple. He had stronger pieces now, stored in the spatial ring—but this one felt right. Familiar. Like a promise he had made long ago.

  The dark and silver garment settled against his skin, the weight comfortable, the movements easy. When he looked into the mirror, he no longer saw the scared youth who had fallen into the Rift.

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  He saw a survivor, a warrior.

  Sadness twisted his reflection though. Neimar would not walk beside him again. Whatever happened here… his teacher would stay in this dying realm, facing a monster, alone.

  So many sacrifices for this little thing. He lifted the spatial artifact, the cube containing the sleeping hope of a fallen civilization. He put it into a fold of his cloak, it would stay with him until he exited the portal back to earth. He will keep his promise, it was the least he could do after all that his teacher did for him.

  Raime inhaled slowly, letting the pain settle, then exhaled until only focus remained. With the potion having taken effect, he levitates himself and went back to meet his teacher and begin his core formation.

  He stepped back into the throne room.

  And froze.

  The entire chamber had transformed.

  Glyphs carved themselves across the floor, walls, and ceiling in intricate lattices of light. Geometric lines linked into spirals and arrays, each one pulsing with controlled power. Pillars of metal and crystal had risen from the floor, glowing from within. Dozens of artifacts floated above the great formation, shedding light in soft waves. The air thrummed with energy, waiting.

  Neimar still sat on the throne, but now the aura around him was immense. Strained, flickering… but immense.

  “It is time,” the Sovereign said.

  Raime stepped into the center circle.

  He felt his body rise without consciously moving. Different from levitation, his weight dissolved, as if the formation itself was pulling him into alignment. He stabilized mid-air as the central pillar of the array began to hum, deep enough to vibrate bones.

  Neimar drifted upward as well, settling into a smaller circle just above the formation’s edge—a control node of sorts. His hands moved in intricate micro-gestures, modifying symbols that shifted under his influence, tuning the ritual as it was needed.

  “Assume a comfortable position,” Neimar murmured.

  Raime folded his legs in the air. It felt peculiar, but the formation held him steady as stone.

  “And now,” Neimar continued, “compress your soul to the appropriate size, then infuse it with psychic energy. Create the fusion again—like you did against the harlven—but within the core of your being. Proceed.”

  Raime inhaled once. Then he reached inward.

  His consciousness folded into his own mind, he started slowly, using his mastery of aura to press against his soul. At the same time he manipulated his soul directly, to start folding it in a specific shape, like the most complex origami in existence, his soul started assuming a complex and patterned form. When he finished the process, in his mind space his soul reached the size of a glass beads, like the one he used to play with in the sand. It was a terrible feeling—his true self—compressed so tightly it trembled like a caged star. Around it floated the Threads he had formed over his time in Ithural. Dozens of them shimmered in the void of his mind. And he chose all but one.

  The first Thread—the Unformed original—he left untouched, floating apart as his perfect template for future growth.

  The rest he guided.

  His focus narrowed, breath easing into rhythm. The Threads responded to command, sliding together in delicate arcs, weaving around the compressed soul in measured spirals. It was like braiding threads of liquid light, each motion requiring microscopic precision. The weaving resonated, creating a cocoon-like lattice that shimmered with psychic tension. The structure vibrated against his soul, stabilizing it and containing the violent swirl of potential within.

  It felt alive. Like a shell that understood it was about to become a core.

  The formation responded immediately—lines shifting, glyphs rotating, energy concentrating inwards.

  The moment the weaving locked in place, a sharp resonance rang through Raime’s chest. His soul flared in response, swirling faster, priming itself for fusion with his consciousness.

  Neimar’s voice cut across the sound. “Ignite it.”

  Raime reached inward and sparked his psychic energy—letting it bloom from the center of his being. A blaze of mental power erupted through the shell. Neimar caught the pulse instantly, his commands adjusting the formation so the flare spiraled rather than burst.

  Raime’s whole body vibrated, trembling in the air as the resonance deepened. The connection between his soul and mind stretched thin, painful.

  “Now infuse the attribute points,” Neimar said. “All that you require for the foundation.”

  Raime’s vision trembled. Infusing points wasn’t a physical or mental action—normally he simply willed the System to reassign them. But here, the System wasn’t involved. He had to feed their raw essence directly into his soul.

  He tried once. The energy slipped from his grasp, scattering wildly.

  Again. Failed.

  His concentration wavered under the pressure, and the core began to destabilize.

  Neimar moved instantly. “Focus. I will hold it.”

  A warm wave of stabilizing energy wrapped around his core, tightening its rotation and securing the weave.

  Raime clenched his jaw. He sank into the familiar command—the same mental gesture he used to allocate points—and reimagined it as a direct funnel. Energy within him shuddered, converging, and at last surged into the soul-sphere.

  It was like pouring molten metal through his veins. Agony and pressure mingled, but he pushed harder. Hundreds of points flowed in. Then thousands. Each one thickening his soul, strengthening its resonance, preparing it to endure the fusion.

  A deep rumble passed through the hall. Raime felt the chains breaking again—faint but massive, like cosmic iron snapping somewhere in the depths of the Rift. Orrhal was accelerating his escape.

  Neimar felt it too. “Don’t get distracted, Raime. This is not the time.”

  Raime forced everything he had into the infusion. The shell of woven Threads began to bulge, straining at its seams. His soul swelled like a star on the verge of collapse. It was becoming impossible to contain.

  “Drink the potion,” Neimar ordered.

  Raime opened his eyes, barely aware of the physical world. The crystal containing the nearly invisible liquid floated beside him. He cracked it, drank its contents, and expected… something.

  He felt nothing. No taste. No warmth. It was like swallowing empty air.

  But the effect hit instantly.

  His soul softened—became pliable in a way that defied reason. His mind suddenly linked to it with perfect clarity, as if a membrane between thought and essence had dissolved. His awareness flooded inward, and simultaneously the formation shifted again as Neimar activated a new layer of symbols.

  For a moment, Raime lost sense of his body entirely. Neimar’s control wrapped around his soul directly, guiding its motion like a blacksmith shaping molten material.

  “Now,” Neimar said, “merge your will into it. Every part of you. Your purpose. Your resolve. Fuse it.”

  Raime did.

  He poured himself into the swirling, trembling mass that was his soul. His consciousness blended with it—memories, emotions, determination, every shard of who he was. He saw images, part of his memories, part of something he couldn’t recognize. A strange sensation washed over him, like stepping into an ocean of himself. It was gentle, luminous, overwhelming.

  And beautiful.

  An epiphany bloomed. For the first time he understood the harmony between consciousness and soul, as if the universe’s structure had unfolded a fraction before him. He felt aligned with something vast. This is what I am. This is what I could become.

  Even Neimar paused, sensing Raime’s state. “Good… very good…”

  But then the light seed stirred. And a chime from the System echoed in his mind.

  Raime didn’t notice. Lost in his heightened clarity, he had no awareness of the small mote buried within him—no sense of its awakening.

  Neimar did.

  His eye widened. The seed glowed, then cracked—sprouting tendrils of pure radiance that seeped into the core.

  Raime’s core, newly stabilized, was suddenly inundated with light.

  His mind expanded so violently he forgot to breathe. Light flooded every part of him, dissolving boundaries between soul, will, and consciousness. For a heartbeat he understood light itself. Understood creation. Understood his place in the weave of existence.

  He was light.

  And Neimar… could no longer help.

  “What is this? How could something so magnificent exist? It is harmonizing Raime’s core with his affinity, no, not only that, it seems like it knows what was happening, like it have a consciousness.”

  The seed’s bloom uprooted his control, severing his influence from the ritual. The Sovereign drifted back to the throne, closing his eye and resuming the desperate suppression of Orrhal.

  “I did all I could, now everything rest in your hands disciple. I have faith in you.”

  The core churned violently. The Thread-shell tore open, Threads fraying—until the light seeped into them too. They glowed from within, their patterns shifting in living waves. Each Thread unravelled and reformed, absorbed into the core’s molten structure.

  A lattice emerged.

  Light-lines flowed through the swirling core like constellations inside a newborn sun. His will sank into it, merging, stabilizing, completing the fusion between soul and will, enhanced by the seed’s illumination.

  Raime drifted back to awareness slowly. He could still see—but not with his eyes. He was perceiving the world from within his core. He watched his astral body suspended in the formation, light radiating from the center of his head. He moved the Threads. Shaped the light. He guided them into patterns and fractals inside the molten soul-core, his will interwined with it all. He didn’t know how he knew how to do it, or why was he was doing it, his core was nearly finished even before the Seed of light acted up, but now his core was different from what he and Neimar envisioned. It was still a noetic core, in the sense that he managed to fuse his soul and will into one, but that’s where the similarity ended, the core wasn’t meant to host his Threads. They should have been used as a shell first, to stabilize the formation and then remove them after the fusion, but now, they had been completely transformed and fused with his core, all converging into a single point of pure light.

  And then, as the epiphany faded, the memory slipped away like a dream. Only faint impressions remained, but not enough to even understand the underlying principle governing the creation of the core.

  The formation dimmed. Gravity returned in a gentle pull. Raime floated downward, touching the throne room floor with new steadiness, new weight. He looked at his hands. He saw them with his normal vision—and with his soul sight. Everything around him was made of energy, flowing currents, shapes visible only by looking into another plane.

  The sense faded gradually, settling into dormancy, but the change remained. A tide of strength spilled through him, followed by the an overwhelming depth—an inner wellspring of power radiating from the core within his soul.

  He felt reborn.

  His core contained a well of energy orders of magnitude above the mere contents of his Threads, their loss stung, but not as much as it would have otherwise. When he wanted to touch upon that well, he felt no resistance, he didn’t need to guide it, he just needed to will it, and his essence seeped into his body, and his body accepted it promptly, without strain. One thing he notice was that his core replenished his aura much faster than before, he could fill it seep from the core to his body, filling it up before extending outward toward the surrounding space in a brilliant white-gold hue to his senses.

  Many more changes were happening to him, but at the moment there was really no time to experiment, he will have to address the system too at one point, but first he wanted to convene with his teacher.

  Raime lifted his gaze.

  Neimar looked… dimmer. Exhausted. But when their eyes met, the Sovereign’s face glowed with pride. The power Raime could sense now from him was a sun compared to his own bonfire, but now he could finally grasp the scale of it.

  He stepped forward. Clasping his hand in the ithurian way, fingers interlocked over the heart, he bowed his head to the Sovereign.

  “I did it, teacher,” he breathed.

  His core pulsed with the statement, his soul knew the weight in those words, the meaning of his success, how hard it must have been on Neimar to put his trust on Raime. Now his dream will become true, he will make sure of it.

  “You did disciple, you really did,” Neimar voice was strained but warm, he regarded Raime like the most precious of treasure. “You can’t really grasp the enormity of what you accomplished, but I do. Now, what remain is just for you to escape out of this fragmented world. The gate is still sealed, so claim your due from the Quest and let’s end this, once and for all.”

  The disciple nodded to the teacher, his emotion were running wild right now, but they didn’t have much time, they had already said to each other what was needed to say. It was time for going back home.

  Raime opened his tutorial quest and prepared to accept the rewards, the formation of the channels would be another great boon to his new core, and would save him time and effort.

  [Failure]

  Designation Adjustment: Anomaly Status – Rescinded

  Subject: Raime

  Tier: I (Awakened)

  Rift Integration: Reclassified – Standard Cultivation Parameters Restored

  Outcome:

  Phase IV of the Tutorial Quest “Restore the Shattered Path” has failed.

  Primary Objective unmet.

  Temporal threshold surpassed.

  External entity Orrhal confirmed unbound prior to core stabilization.

  Consequences:

  ? Tutorial sequence: Terminated.

  ? Dimensional transit permissions: Restored.

  ? Reward package for Phase IV: Forfeited.

  Status Update:

  You are no longer considered an anomalous variable.

  Progression henceforth adheres to orthodox System cultivation protocols.

  He slowly lifted his eyes to Neimar, the shock made distorted his voice nad expression. He looked at the Sovereign, who still strained against invisible chains Raime now understood were no longer there.

  “…Teacher,” Raime whispered, voice tight, disbelieving. “It’s already free.”