Chapter 72: The Shape of the World

  The shape of the world rarely changes.

  It is only the mind looking upon it that shifts. Where one eye sees a barren, lifeless expanse drained of all light, another might look upon the exact same ruin and see the stubborn, vibrant pulse of life refusing to yield. It is a matter of perspective. A matter of what a heart is willing to let in.

  Warmth.

  As his senses returned, the first thing that greeted him was the gentle heat of the sun against his face. It seeped into the smooth, tiled floor beneath him, grounding his body in a reality that felt impossibly solid.

  Despite the sudden clarity of his waking mind, Aeor remained perfectly still. He just listened. The soft rustle of a passing breeze. The distant, melodic trill of birds. There were no howling storms of unmaking. No crushing pressure of cerulean flames tearing apart the sky.

  His hand twitched. Instinctively, his fingers drifted up to his chest, searching for the familiar, cold weight of silver.

  They met only the rough fabric of his tunic.

  The amulet was gone. The physical anchor of his denial had vanished into the void with his mother, leaving behind an ache that was sharp and profound. He let his hand fall flat against the floor.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes.

  The golden rays of Sol poured over him, entirely unmarked by the apocalyptic light of Existence. The sight that unfolded was intimately familiar, yet entirely foreign. He recognized the pale walls of the temple and the faint, earthy scent of incense lingering in the air. Small shrines and woven tapestries depicting Sol and the Wyrmkin adorned the hall. Through the open double doors, he could see the courtyard, where the grand statue of the First Solenar and Vaelkar stood bathed in light.

  But it was wrong. Or rather, it was too perfect.

  When he had last stood here, this temple had been a forgotten ruin. Now, the once-shattered pillars stood pristine. The torn tapestries were whole and vibrant, their colors rich and heavy. The chipped altars bore fresh offerings, untouched by centuries of dust or decay.

  Aeor lay there, letting the unbroken temple wash over him.

  Then, a voice broke the quiet.

  "So... you have finally decided to wake up."

  The voice was smooth, carrying a quiet weight that seemed to settle into the very stones of the restored temple.

  Aeor turned his head slowly toward the sound.

  Perched on the wide stone sill of an open window was a man of unsettling elegance. A cascade of long, wavy ashen hair framed his sharp, aristocratic features, spilling over his shoulders in a careless drift. Though his words were meant for Aeor, his piercing golden eyes remained fixed on the world outside, watching the light with quiet detachment.

  He wore garments that spoke of ancient, untouched wealth. A shirt of fine, loose white linen was left unfastened at the collar, layered beneath a dark vest heavily embroidered with intricate golden thread. Delicate chains draped across his chest, catching the sun, and a gilded, ornate bracer wrapped around his resting wrist. He looked completely at ease, yet the very air around him hummed with an immense, oppressive pressure.

  Aeor had never seen this face. He had never heard this voice. Yet the resonance pressing against his senses was unmistakable.

  Connection.

  Moving with the slow, deliberate care of a man whose soul felt entirely bruised, Aeor pushed himself up from the tiled floor. He shifted until his back rested against the smooth stone wall, exhaling a long, quiet sigh.

  "Hello, Kalvaxus," he said.

  Kalvaxus turned his head. For a long moment, he simply observed. Those piercing golden eyes swept over Aeor, not just looking at him, but looking through him.

  "You embraced who you are," Kalvaxus noted.

  Aeor looked up, meeting his gaze. "You knew?"

  Kalvaxus offered a single, slow nod.

  "Was it my father?" Aeor asked.

  A smirk tugged at the corner of Kalvaxus's mouth. "Why ask a question when you already know the answer?"

  The fragile smile on Aeor's face deepened, grounding itself into something stronger. Something real.

  "I suppose you are right," Aeor replied with a slight chuckle. He shifted against the wall, rolling his shoulders and stretching the lingering stiffness from his limbs. "So, are we back in time for a new attempt? And why do I still remember everything that happened?"

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  "No, we are not," Kalvaxus replied without inflection.

  Aeor raised an eyebrow.

  Kalvaxus waved a hand dismissively. "We are still in attempt four thousand seven hundred and seventy-eight. Or whatever. I do not really care to keep track anymore."

  "Ninety-eight," Aeor corrected. "And what do you mean it is not a new attempt? Where are we then?"

  "Well, technically, we are not even in the ninety-eighth one," Kalvaxus said.

  Aeor's confusion deepened. "What?"

  "Sol'Karenth has not been touched by the Archives yet," Kalvaxus stated simply. "The Initiation we just lived through is yet to commence. We have about a month or so left."

  The implication seeped into Aeor's mind. He immediately reached into his coat, frantically patting down his pockets for his parchment. His fingers met only ordinary fabric. There was nothing.

  "Relax," Kalvaxus said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "You can still understand and communicate with me, can you not? You didn't lose your traits."

  Despite his assurance, Aeor reached inward. He drew Primeval Death to the surface. Violet mist bloomed instantly in his palm without protest.

  Aeor let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and slumped back against the wall.

  "Is the idea of going through this LitRPG again from scratch truly so terrifying to you?" Kalvaxus asked.

  Aeor froze. He looked up, staring at Kalvaxus. "How do you know that term?"

  Kalvaxus leaned back against the stone sill. "You seem to forget I have experienced several instances of this Initiation. In many of them, I have gotten to know Zoey. Quite a character, that one."

  "She truly is," Aeor said, a simple smile touching his lips as snippets of her antics played in his mind.

  But the warmth of the moment was fleeting. Aeor rubbed his temples, forcing himself to push the heavy wash of emotion away.

  "Setting that aside," Aeor said, shifting the subject. "Doesn't the fact that the Initiation has yet to arrive imply we went back in time? And if we are experiencing it again, wouldn't the count of attempts increase?"

  "Your assumption regarding how this unfolds is mostly correct," Kalvaxus replied. He lowered his leg from the sill and turned to face Aeor fully, his casual posture giving way to something more deliberate. "But the extent of what I can shape with Time is bound to the Initiation itself, and you were never meant to be a part of it. I cannot wind back a clock to a point where your existence was already written into the board."

  "Have I not been stuck in this loop like everyone else?" Aeor asked. "If we didn't go back in time, then what did I just experience?"

  Kalvaxus let the quiet of the temple stretch for a moment before answering.

  "A phantom reality."

  Aeor frowned. "What?"

  "While the true river of time stood frozen, a tributary was carved," Kalvaxus explained, his ancient eyes locking onto Aeor. "A fragmented world was spun into existence. It was identical to the true one, yet entirely fragile. It was into that fractured reflection that the contradiction of your presence was introduced."

  Kalvaxus gestured loosely to the pristine walls around them. "Even though we were undergoing the Initiation in that dream, fully governed by the Archives, the true world remained untouched. To the Archives, the absolute reality where you did not exist remained perfectly intact. Thus, it did not bother to act when you were brought into the fractured one."

  "You realize how absurd that sounds," Aeor said.

  "Very much so, yes," Kalvaxus replied.

  "And despite wielding the power to freeze time and forge entire realities, you still never managed to defeat the First Solenar?" Aeor asked.

  "If I possessed such power, I might have stood a chance," Kalvaxus said, a dry edge creeping into his voice. "But I never claimed to weave phantom worlds or freeze time to such an extent. The best I can manage is rewinding the aspect to a point just before the Initiation begins. And even for that, I must rely on the borrowed authority of the Empyreans."

  "Then who did this?" Aeor asked.

  "Again," Kalvaxus murmured, "you shouldn't ask questions when you already know the answer."

  Father.

  Aeor's mind sifted through fractured memories and cryptic conversations, trying to align the man who had raised him with the architect of this phantom reality.

  "Is he here?" Aeor asked.

  Kalvaxus opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. He looked at Aeor, those ancient golden eyes searching for a certainty that wasn't there.

  "I do not know," he admitted at last.

  Aeor let out a slow sigh.

  "You mentioned the Archives took no action because I did not exist in the true world. Or the absolute reality," Aeor said, a brief hesitation betraying his uncertainty with the terms. "What is stopping it from acting against me now?"

  "Look at the clothes you wear, the weapon you carry, and the memories you have forged," Kalvaxus said. "Your influence on the world has bled through from that fractured reflection. You are a part of the true reality now."

  "So that was the plan all along. Drop me into a phantom reality so I could carve a mark deep enough for the Initiation to accept me."

  "More or less," Kalvaxus replied. "That, and to force you to realize the true nature of the power you wield."

  "And killing all those people," Aeor said, a quiet heat seeping into his voice. "Was that necessary? Even if it was just a phantom reality?"

  He held Kalvaxus's gaze.

  "The ambush you set in Aurel'Tharan. The stolen edict commanding the dead to slaughter thousands across the land. Was any of that necessary?"

  Kalvaxus did not immediately reply. He looked out the window, his expression unnervingly blank.

  "You, of all people, should understand how this works," Kalvaxus said, his voice dropping to a hollow murmur. "I have laughed, bled, joked, and lived alongside these people through thousands of lifetimes. They understood. They sympathized. They cared. And yet... they always forget."

  Aeor's gaze drifted downward. Beneath Kalvaxus's resting hand, the solid stone of the windowsill was silently fracturing. Tiny, web-like cracks spread outward under the sudden, unconscious pressure of his grip.

  "I endured, time and time again, only to find the same immovable wall waiting at the end," Kalvaxus continued, the ancient exhaustion finally bleeding into his words. "The First Solenar is absolute. No matter what strategy I wove, no matter what sacrifices I made. After a certain point, a mind simply grows numb. The lives I once cherished became little more than pieces on a board. A person can only endure so much before they break."

  A heavy, suffocating pause settled between them.

  "There have been times where I slaughtered every single one of them," Kalvaxus said, his words dropping like stones into the quiet room. "I did it with the desperate hope that if there was no Existence left for the First Solenar to consume, I might finally stand a chance. And while it did weaken him... I failed every time."

  He finally turned his piercing golden eyes back to Aeor. They held only a vast, terrifying emptiness.

  "So forgive me if I have lost sight of my morality."

  Aeor did not reply. The wounds of losing his friends were still raw. The memory of them fading into cerulean dust had nearly driven him to the edge of insanity. To experience that kind of agonizing loss... thousands of times over was unimaginable.

  Aeor looked into Kalvaxus's eyes, offering him a slow, understanding nod.

  "Good," Kalvaxus breathed. The suffocating tension in the room dissipated as his posture relaxed.

  "Will the others remember me?" Aeor asked, dreading the answer before it came.

  "No. They will not," Kalvaxus replied. "Though, given how much you have already defied the Archives, I would not be surprised if you found a way to change that."

  "Then how do you remember me?" Aeor asked. "If I understand correctly, when you rewind time, only you retain the memory. But this was a phantom reality forged while time stood frozen here. How does your memory cross over?"

  "We share two traits in common," Kalvaxus said. "First, only one version of us can exist, regardless of how many fractured reflections are spun into being. We are absolute across the board. That is why I remember you."

  "And the second?" Aeor asked.

  "Our fathers dragged us into this mess."

  The words brought Aeor up short.

  Our fathers?

  His mind raced. He seized the scattered pieces of the puzzle and forced them to align. He took in the man sitting on the windowsill. The cascade of ashen hair. The warm olive complexion. The piercing golden eyes.

  Aeor slowly turned his head. He looked through the open double doors, his gaze locking onto the towering statue of the First Solenar bathed in the courtyard's sunlight. He studied the sharp, aristocratic lines carved into the ancient stone.

  Then, he looked back at the man sitting on the sill.

  They had the exact same eyes.

  Aeor's breath caught in his throat. His lips parted as the impossible truth finally clicked into place.

  The smirk on Kalvaxus's face broadened into a wide grin.

  "Allow me to reintroduce myself," he said, the ancient weight of his lineage settling heavily into the room. "My true name is Kalthar Solenar. The firstborn child of the First Solenar."

  Chapter 73 releases Monday at 6 PM EST.

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