As the last remnants of the shadowed Guardian faded into nothingness, a single chromatic bead materialized from the dissipating darkness, falling with a quiet clink to the ground. Elmore’s vision was briefly overwhelmed with a notification:

  Congratulations! You are the first to defeat the Hall of Trials.

  You are granted access to the next stratum.

  Reward: 1x companion token

  1x immortal structure token

  He blinked, taking in the message, and let the gravity of his achievement settle over him. But as the thrill of victory surged through him, his focus snapped back to his fallen men, strewn around the chamber. He rushed to each one, administering first aid, applying healing potions until every last vial was spent. Though battered and bruised, every single one was alive, their breathing steady if shallow. None of them, however, were in any condition to move on their own.

  Taking a deep breath, Elmore started the grueling process of dragging each man back toward the doorway, which had now creaked open, revealing their exit. One by one, he heaved them onto the metal trailer, his mind half-focused on their well-being, half still reeling from the ordeal they’d survived. Only when the last of his men was loaded did he remember the strange, prismatic bead.

  Returning to where it lay, he bent to pick it up. The instant his fingers brushed its surface, the bead exploded into a multicolored light that cascaded over him, soaking into his skin in a flood of raw energy. It was as if something deep within him—something bound and hidden—was finally unlocked. He felt a strange sensation, like a seal being broken within his very soul, and another notification flashed at the edge of his vision:

  You have leveled up to Level 6.

  He took a moment to absorb this, feeling the rush of new power and clarity. Elmore opened his status screen, eyes lingering on the glowing stats. All his efforts, his struggles, had earned him 20 more points, a resource he couldn’t afford to waste. He scanned the screen, noticing a remarkable change: the question marks beside Aither had disappeared, revealing it as a full-fledged stat, like the others.

  Elmore’s Current Stats:

  Level 6: Elmore

  Level 3: Chief

  - Strength: 20/60

  - Endurance: 10/60

  - Dexterity: 10/60

  - Agility: 10/60

  - Intelligence: 40/60

  - Resistance: 13/60

  - Vitality: 20/60

  - Aither: 20/60

  Points Available: 20

  His mind raced, torn between his options. He could bring his intelligence closer to its peak, amplifying his perception and mastery of Aither, refining his strategies to a razor’s edge. On the other hand, now that Aither was quantifiable, he felt a gnawing curiosity—a pull to explore this new stat, to see what could be unlocked with an increased storage of it. The sensation he felt earlier hinted that a higher Aither stat could open doors he hadn’t even begun to consider.

  He clenched his fists, weighing the importance of each path. Intelligence had been the key to his mastery of Aither so far, allowing him to strategize and outmaneuver, even in the face of impossible odds. But now, seeing Aither as a tangible stat, he realized this could change everything. He could feel it pulsing within him, a raw, unrefined power that was his to shape if he dared.

  Elmore didn't want to think about how he’d made it back to the surface, hauling his men behind him on the battered metal trailer. Each step through the massive cavern had been a blur of exhaustion and purpose, his vision dim and body moving on instinct alone. But now, with his men resting safely in the infirmary and himself on a nearby cot, his mind finally relaxed and released the tension of the previous days. He slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, the last shreds of adrenaline finally draining away.

  When he woke, sunlight streamed through the infirmary window, casting a warm glow over the room. Elmore blinked, recalling the brutal struggle of the journey back. The memory sharpened, and as he replayed each detail, he felt an odd realization sink in. It had been easier than it should have been. He vividly remembered channeling Aither into his weapon—but it was more than that. He hadn’t just been wielding Aither; he’d been funneling it from himself directly into his axe and what was left of his armor, instinctively feeding his very essence into each strike, each defensive move.

  He sat up, feeling the steady, subtle hum of energy inside him. It was there, thrumming beneath his skin, like a heartbeat he’d never noticed before. His own internal pool of Aither. He’d tapped into a resource he hadn’t even realized he possessed, fueling his weapon beyond its usual capabilities.

  As the clarity of this revelation hit him, so did the understanding of what his new Aither stat truly meant. Intelligence and Aither worked in tandem, but each served a distinct purpose. Intelligence granted him a deeper connection to Aither, allowing him to see, interpret, and manipulate it with an uncanny precision. Aither, however, was the raw supply, the reservoir he could draw from, a quantitative increase in the very energy that made it all possible.

  The decision crystallized in his mind. He would continue to max out his intelligence, pushing it to the highest levels. But with each level-up, he’d add to his Aither pool, ensuring he had the depth of power to match his understanding. He pulled up his status screen, feeling the exhilarating rush as he poured his remaining points into intelligence.

  Level 6: Elmore

  Level 2: Chief

  - Strength: 20/60

  - Endurance: 10/60

  - Dexterity: 10/60

  - Agility: 10/60

  - Intelligence: 60/60

  - Resistance: 13/60

  - Vitality: 20/60

  - Aither: 30/60

  Points Available: 0

  As he finalized the change, the impact was instantaneous. His mind expanded, thoughts weaving into one another like threads in an intricate tapestry. He felt as though he were seeing the world from a dozen different perspectives, each one feeding him layers of detail he hadn’t previously perceived. The sheer depth of awareness, the sharpness of thought—it was overwhelming yet utterly exhilarating.

  And then, he noticed it. A hum—a subtle, persistent vibration, like the resonance of a distant melody. It reverberated through his mind, a low, constant frequency that didn’t fade, like the ambient echo of the Aither itself. He knew, deep down, that this was something he’d unlocked within himself, an awareness beyond sight or sound.

  Settling back onto the cot, Elmore closed his eyes, attuning himself to the hum, letting it ground him. He could already sense how this would change his connection to Aither, sharpening his perception and giving him an edge in ways he was only beginning to understand. And then he noticed it his aither raised with his intelligence. It looks like a 2:1 ratio now his initial 20 aither makes sense so leveling up his aither isn't as important.

  Elmore took the next few days to let his body heal, giving his mind and spirit a break from the recent battles. He spent the time experimenting with his new Aither stat, curious about how it could alter his capabilities. Though it was tricky at first—almost like trying to catch a breeze in his hands—he slowly found a way to funnel Aither into his vitality. Focusing, he pushed the energy toward his body’s regenerative functions, quickening his healing rate and knitting wounds in hours that would otherwise have taken days. It was a revelation, showing him a new layer of control over his own body, and it fueled his resolve to face what lay ahead.

  As the day of the battle crept closer, Elmore felt a need to reconnect with family. He headed down the worn dirt road to his father’s property, the place where the old man had built his life among heaps of metal, tools, and a collection of rusted relics. As he approached the drive, his eyes fell upon The Beast, his cherished black Ford F-100, parked in its usual spot. The truck looked pristine, repaired after their last rough battle, but on the outside, it was difficult to tell if any of the upgrades he’d requested had been completed. If his father had done any work to enhance its internals, he had kept it subtle.

  Elmore’s curiosity was piqued, but he let it simmer as he made his way up to the old trailer that had been his father’s home for decades. The place was modest and worn, but sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the table where his father sat, finishing his breakfast in the quiet. The old man looked up briefly as Elmore entered, offering a slight nod.

  Elmore took a seat across from him, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, the first drag filling his lungs with a grounding calm. For a few minutes, they sat together in silence, the comfortable sort of quiet that comes from years of unspoken understanding. It felt like an eternity, this calm before the storm.

  Eventually, his father set down his fork, wiped his hands on an old rag, and looked at his son, eyes filled with a weight of understanding and concern. "So, you ready?” he asked, his voice steady but carrying an edge that only a father’s worry could bring.

  Elmore took a deep breath, letting the smoke settle in his chest for a moment before exhaling slowly. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. He could feel the weight of his father’s gaze, the depth of concern and pride that lay beneath it.

  The old man gave a short nod, his face a mask of that hardened resilience they both shared. “I finished the work on the truck,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the door with his chin. “Nothing flashy, but you’ll notice it when it counts. Mithril transmission, engine, body, drivetrain, everything metal, even mounted some of them crystals in it for whatever that does was told it helps. Took longer than I expected tho, but… she’ll run better than ever. Won’t find anything out there that could put her down. Just like her driver.”

  Elmore felt a warmth spread through his chest, the kind of pride that comes from seeing the quiet support and dedication of his family. He met his father’s eyes, giving him a nod. “Thank you. I… I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” He took another drag, letting the silence stretch between them, the weight of his gratitude filling the space.

  His father’s face didn't soften one bit, just for a moment. “You’ve done good, boy. Lot better than I thought you’d do when you were running wild back in the day.” There was a hint of a smile, a rare thing from the old man, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “Just remember, when it comes down to it, it’s about more than strength. You’re a chief now. These people… they’re not just following you because they think you’re strong. They’re following you because they believe in you.”

  Elmore let the words sink in, feeling their weight in a new way. He’d known it before, but hearing it from his father gave it a grounding truth that cut through the noise of battle preparations and strategy.

  “Yeah,” Elmore murmured, his gaze steady. “I know. I’m ready for this.”

  They sat in silence a moment longer, until finally, Elmore rose, the cigarette nearly spent between his fingers. “Guess I’d better go see what else needs doing.” He crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table, giving his father a nod of respect.

  As Elmore turned to leave the trailer, a voice called out from down the hallway, faint but unmistakable. He stopped in his tracks, glancing back at his father, who gave him a small, knowing nod. “Go see the old fly,” his father said simply, the gruffness in his tone softened by a look of respect.

  Elmore nodded and made his way down the narrow hallway toward the room where his grandmother stayed. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender, and as he entered, he saw her sitting by the window, looking as timeless and frail as a relic of the old world. But there was something more—her skin had a warmth to it he hadn’t seen in years, her legs no longer swollen, her presence somehow brighter, like life had taken root in her again.

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  Without looking back, she patted the seat beside her, and he moved quietly, lowering himself into the chair. “Hey, Grandma,” he murmured, the words feeling both familiar and distant, like speaking to an ancient memory.

  She turned to look at him, a faint smile crinkling the deep lines of her face before she turned her gaze back to the sunrise. The light poured between the mountain peaks, filtering through the early autumn leaves, casting a greenish glow over the valley. For a moment, they sat in silence, watching the world awaken, the air filled with a stillness that felt like something sacred.

  The room filled with a stillness as Elmore’s grandmother turned her face toward him, her eyes half-lidded as if peering beyond the veil of the waking world. She took a slow, deliberate breath, her frail form somehow carrying the weight of ages as she began to speak in a voice that was both haunting and tender, woven with an eerie, otherworldly cadence.

  “When the shadow first claims you,

  it will not hold you tight;

  you’ll rise from the darkness,

  and walk back to the light.

  But another shade will follow,

  not the first and not the last,

  a dance of death’s rhythm,

  till all debts are passed.

  One day you’ll stand where the rivers split wide,

  and the hills cradle secrets where old spirits bide.

  There, in the green, where the earth meets the sky,

  you’ll greet the final dawn, but you will not cry.

  For then will come the end, true and complete,

  and you’ll walk the last path with a joy bittersweet.

  A smile will grace you, as wide as these lands,

  when you step beyond time, with fate in your hands.

  Take heart, child of mountains, soul of the deep,

  the world won’t forget, and your spirit won’t sleep.”

  Her voice softened, her eyes distant as if she could already see the strange paths ahead of him, winding and twisting like the mountain trails he’d walked since he was a boy.

  She turned her gaze in to him, her old eyes gleaming with something unspeakable, a knowledge far beyond anything he could grasp.

  She paused, letting her words settle into the silence between them, her voice trailing off like the final notes of an old, forgotten song. Elmore felt a chill spread through him, her words lingering in the air like smoke, impossible to grasp but leaving their mark all the same.

  With that, she turned her gaze back to the sunrise, leaving him with the weight of her prophecy, heavy as stone, yet curiously light as air.

  As Elmore sat there, his grandmother’s words echoing in his mind like the haunting chords of an old ballad, a chill seeped into his bones. He felt as if her gaze, which had always made him uneasy, was peeling back the layers of his soul, laying his fate bare in ways he had never dared to confront. The weight of her prophecy clung to him, heavy and oppressive. For the first time, he truly understood the implications of his own power—of the skill he had come to know as Progenitor . It wasn’t just a connection to his descendants; it was a gift to himself, stretching across time like an endless chain.

  He would die, yes, but death would not hold him. He would come back, each time reborn within his own bloodline, a living legacy. He would live to see generations rise and fall, to outlast the passing of his wife, his son, and everyone he held dear. He might one day open his eyes to the world through the body of his grandson, or even his great-grandson, carrying forward both the burden and blessing of the memories he accumulated. He would be both ancestor and descendant, a man and a lineage, his spirit flowing through the veins of his own family tree like an eternal river.

  The realization felt like a punch to his chest. He felt a surge of panic, his mind reeling as he thought of Ash, of Edward—his beloved family, who were now his world. He would live beyond them, watch as they became memories in his own mind, only to return once more, to reclaim his legacy over and over. Each life, each death, a step on a path he was only beginning to comprehend. His heart hammered, his breaths shallow, his mind racing through the implications like a wildfire.

  He stood up, the weight of it pressing down on him as he leaned over, planting a gentle kiss on his grandmother’s crown. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely holding steady.

  She gave him a soft, serene smile, as if she had known all along how this moment would unfold. Elmore felt a strange sense of calm pass over him, a quiet acceptance that somehow managed to anchor him amidst the chaos in his mind. He straightened, giving her one last look before turning and making his way to the door.

  Elmore left the room to silence.

  The door clicked shut behind him like a punctuation mark on a sentence he hadn’t fully understood. His grandmother’s voice still hung in the air of his mind—not echoing, not repeating, just present, like steam off morning earth. The hallway stretched before him dim and narrow, lined with old family portraits and dusty wall lamps that hadn’t been changed since the nineties. His boots struck the creaking wood floors like they weighed twice what they should.

  He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak.He didn’t think.

  Not because he was numb, but because his thoughts had been pulled inward, past conscious reach. Something vast had just shifted in him, and his body was keeping pace while his mind trailed behind, still stuck somewhere between prophecy and breath.

  The screen door let out a long, metallic sigh as he stepped onto the porch. The wind touched his face like an old hand—cool, soft, familiar. It didn’t soothe him. It didn’t need to. It just reminded him he was still here.

  He walked down the steps, past the potted herbs and the cane chair where his grandmother had once shelled peas and gossiped about dead men. The gravel crunched under his boots as he made his way to The Beast, his black ’64 Ford F-100, which sat under the old walnut tree like it had been waiting for him.

  Still no thoughts. Not a single one.Just movement. Just the sound of birds too far off to name.

  He opened the door, slid onto the cloth plaid bench seat, and let the door fall shut beside him with a long, hollow thunk.

  And then—

  The moment his hand touched the steering wheel, it all crashed in.

  Elmore sat in the truck for a long time.

  The cabin of The Beast was dim, shadows flickering on the cracked dashboard from the branches above. Dust glimmered in the slanted light as if time itself was unsettled by what he'd just heard. The door was shut, the windows up, and the world outside could’ve been a thousand miles away.

  He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a long, shaky sigh.

  “When the shadow first claims you…”

  The words crawled back into his ears like a river winding home. He didn’t need to remember them. He already did. Word for word. Like they’d always been there, waiting to be spoken aloud.

  He shifted in the seat, one arm resting on the steering wheel, the other draped across the dash like it needed something to grip. But there was nothing to hold. Not in here. Not in this moment.

  “…it will not hold you tight; you’ll rise from the darkness…”

  She knew. Somehow, in that slow, ancient way old mountain women just did—she knew. About the dying. About the rising. About the cycle. His skill [Progenitor], the first time it will waken. fire under his skin, the terror and awe of watching himself fade and become again… That hadn’t been an invention. That hadn’t been a miracle. It had been inevitable.

  And she’d seen it coming.

  Elmore rubbed his temples, jaw clenched. There was no relief in that knowledge. Only gravity.

  “But another shade will follow… not the first and not the last…”

  He let his head drop forward, chin to chest. This wasn’t about one death. Not even a handful. There would be many. Shades. Plural. A procession of endings that would carry him forward across time like leaves caught in a flood. He wouldn't just be reborn—he’d be hunted by the rhythm of it. Trapped in a loop of grief and purpose, dancing to some ancient song whose tempo only the Aither could hear.

  How many lives? How many years? How many times would he watch the people he loved vanish, while he stayed chained to the next sunrise?

  The thought made his chest ache. Ash. Edward. Would they be in every life? Would they remember him? Or would he be the only one to carry the memory—every loss etched perfectly, painfully, into the vault of [Aither Memory]?

  “…until all debts are passed.”

  That line made something shift in him. Like a cold draft cutting through a warm cabin.

  Debts.

  He didn't know whose. His own? Mankind’s? His ancestors'? Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it all mattered. Maybe every step he took from now on was part of a larger accounting, one soul at a time.

  “…stand where the rivers split wide…”

  He saw it. Just for a flicker. A green hollow somewhere far ahead, cradled by hills so old they forgot how to rise sharp. The river splitting like a decision. Maybe that place was real. Maybe it wasn’t.

  But he’d be there.

  She had said so. “You’ll greet the final dawn…”

  He ran a hand over his mouth, eyes unfocused, staring straight ahead. “Final,” she said. Not next. Not later. Not eventual. Final. The end of the line. The death that wouldn’t send him forward again, wouldn’t resurrect him into some unknown child’s eyes.

  That would be the one that meant something.

  And she said he’d smile.

  That he’d go into it with joy.

  That was the part that rattled him the most.

  Because right now, sitting there with the engine cold and the sky silent, all he could feel was the slow pressure of knowing that every good thing he built—every time Edward laughed, or Ash kissed his cheek, or the valley bloomed in spring—was going to be a moment he lost again.

  He blinked hard, wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and sat back.

  “Take heart, child of mountains…”

  He wasn’t a boy anymore. But somehow, that phrase struck him like gospel. She saw him still as something rooted. Something born of the land, not just standing on it. And she believed in his endurance. That was more comforting than anything else.

  Not that she said it would be okay. But that it would be remembered.

  He didn’t start the engine. Not yet.

  He just sat there a while longer. Let the silence take shape around him. Let the prophecy root itself into his bones.

  It wasn’t fear he felt.

  It was the weight of the future pressing down like a mountain breeze—gentle, constant, and impossible to outrun.

  The gravel crunched beneath the tires as The Beast pulled in slow above the house. The engine sputtered and went quiet. The valley air was still and thick with the smell of pine and woodsmoke. The porch light glowed faintly, catching the mist that curled along the ground like a resting animal.

  Elmore stepped out and shut the door without slamming it. He didn’t want to wake Edward. His boots were heavier than usual on the porch planks, the wood creaking like it understood the burden he carried. He let himself in with that same silent care and paused in the front room.

  Edward was on the couch, curled up in a nest of blankets, his little chest rising and falling with that soft, steady rhythm of deep sleep. A half-read picture book had slipped to the floor. His little arm still clutched a stuffed badger like it was a sword.

  Elmore stood there longer than he needed to.

  He wanted to memorize that breathing. That softness. That peace. But the part of him that could savor was drowning beneath something larger—hot and suffocating. Not fear. Not sorrow. Not yet.

  Something meaner.

  In the kitchen, Ash stood at the sink, rinsing a cast iron pan under warm water. The window above the basin was open an inch, letting in the cool night air and the sound of a slow, twangy guitar drifting from the little radio on the counter. A woman was singing—low, lazy, and kind of sad.

  Elmore didn’t speak. He just sat down in the old wooden chair near the table. It creaked under his weight, but she didn’t turn. She’d felt him come in, same way the deer feel the wind shift. She was always like that.

  She dried the pan, set it aside, then turned off the water and the music both. Wiped her hands. Her eyes found his face like they’d been drawn there.

  She walked over, slow and sure, and took the chair across from him.

  “Elmore,” she said, her voice as gentle as rain on tin, “what happened?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the table like he was watching it rot beneath his hands. Then he exhaled—a long, sharp breath that rattled out of him like it had teeth.

  “She knew,” he said finally. “Grandma. She looked at me like she saw through me, Ash.”

  Ash’s brow furrowed, soft lines creasing her forehead. “Knew what?”

  He leaned back, eyes stormy. “Everything. My… my death. All of ‘em. All the goddamn times I’ll die and come back. She knew before I ever even opened my mouth. Said it like it was a story she read when she was a girl.”

  Ash didn’t speak, not yet. She just listened, her hands folded in her lap. She could tell it was more than just shock.

  “I thought this thing,” he gestured vaguely, tapping two fingers to his temple, “this Progenitor curse—or blessing or whatever you wanna call it—was mine. I thought I was the first. But she…” He shook his head, his voice tightening. “She spoke about it like it was already written. Like it was just destiny, and I got no say in it.”

  Ash’s voice came quiet. “Is that what scares you? That it’s already written?”

  Elmore barked out a humorless laugh. “No. That it ain’t scary. It’s infuriating. Like I’m just a damn tool. A shovel made of flesh and memory, diggin’ holes across time for a world that don’t care if I like it or not”

  His eyes lifted to hers, and there was something wild behind them now—tight-wound rage trying to hold back a flood.

  “She said I’d rise from the dark. Like that’s some kind of comfort. She said another shade would follow—not the first, not the last. How many, Ash? How many times do I gotta lose everything before I get to rest?”

  Ash reached for his hand, but he pulled back—not out of anger at her, but because the touch might’ve broken something loose.

  “She said I’d smile at the end,” he muttered, bitter, low. “That when I finally died, for good, I’d go into it joyful. But I can’t picture that. I can’t picture any joy at the end of all this. All I see is me, alone, again and again, while the people I love don’t come with me.”

  Ash’s eyes were damp, but steady. “You won’t be alone now,” she said softly.

  “I will, Ash,” he snapped, louder than he meant to. Edward stirred in the other room. He lowered his voice, almost choking now. “Maybe not today. Maybe not next time. But it’s coming. Over and over. And I’ll remember it. Every single goddamn time. That’s what this [Aither Memory] does. That’s what she was warning me about. Not that I’ll forget… but that I won’t.”

  The room was silent again. The only sound was the wind outside brushing against the trees.

  Ash finally leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “You’re allowed to be mad,” she said. “You’re allowed to hate it. But you’re not just a tool. You’re a man. You’re my husband. Edward’s father. You’re the chief of this valley. And prophecy or not, you’re still you.”

  Elmore didn’t speak.

  She reached out again. This time, he let her.

  “You said it’s a dance of death’s rhythm,” she whispered. “Well maybe… maybe you don’t get to choose the song. But you still get to pick how you dance it.”

  That sat with him. Heavy. But solid.

  He squeezed her hand. Not hard. Just enough to feel real.

  The anger didn’t leave. But now it had shape. And direction. And a name.

  Maybe that was enough.

  Level 6: Elmore

  Level 2: Chief

  - Strength: 20/60

  - Endurance: 10/60

  - Dexterity: 10/60

  - Agility: 10/60

  - Intelligence: 60/60

  - Resistance: 13/60

  - Vitality: 20/60

  - Aither: 30/60

  Points Available: 0