Kael was on his knees—moving slowly, almost mechanically, as he crawled across the floor of the cell. His movements were clumsy, as if he had not yet fully regained control of his body after the breakthrough. Every scrape of his elbows against the stone sent a dull ache through him, but he paid it no attention.

  Before him, stretching across the floor, lay a complex, multilayered magic circle. Not defensive, not empowering—a spirit summoning circle.

  It covered almost the entire floor of the cell.

  The sound-dampening barrier had already been reactivated. Zeiran would never have imagined that, an hour after extracting the boy’s blood, Kael would be doing something like this. He had been certain that Kael was already broken.

  An hour ago, they had literally fed him with a spoon and forced pills into his mouth—he hadn’t even tried to resist. Naturally, Kael had only been playing along—it was in his own interest to recover his strength as quickly as possible.

  But now all of his attention, all of his consciousness, belonged solely to the circle. He did not care about the pallor of his face or the weakness in his body.

  He muttered incoherently under his breath, as if repeating instructions that no one in this world was ever meant to know.

  His amber eyes burned with a faint, almost mad light, yet they remained focused.

  He was finishing the central element of the circle. His hand trembled, but the lines fell into place precisely, without error. Inside the large circle, connected by an arc, two elongated, strange symbols appeared.

  They were hieroglyphs of an ancient language whose meaning no one in Lasthold knew.

  Calling it a language was only nominally accurate—in truth, it wasn’t a language at all. Rather, a set of the most ancient symbols.

  As he finished the symbols, Kael murmured softly, “The Spirit Realm of Space…”

  That was exactly what they meant.

  His memory obligingly supplied him with the knowledge of how to draw the symbols correctly. Every line, every curve—all of it mattered. An error in thickness, angle, or even the order of application could destroy the entire structure.

  Other fragments of knowledge about the script surfaced in his mind as well. They belonged to no people, no culture—according to legend, they had appeared at the very origins of creation itself.

  In the mortal worlds, no one knew their meaning. And no one was meant to know.

  Most merely copied them mechanically from ancient schemes once granted by Gods or powerful spirits. Without understanding, without interpretation—simply reproducing the form, because otherwise the ritual would not work.

  Even in Lasthold, when people created a summoning circle, they reproduced such scripts. To them, these were sacred symbols, something holy and unfathomable, passed down through generations.

  Thinking about all this, Kael finished the final stroke. The line settled evenly; the hieroglyphs faded, sinking into the base of the circle, just as intended.

  He rose to his feet and staggered toward the table. Five items lay there, prepared in advance. Kael took all of them at once, carefully pressing them to his chest so as not to drop anything.

  Turning around, he swept his gaze over five separate sections along the outer edge of the summoning circle. Each was outlined by a miniature ring, designed for a specific artifact. Their placement was perfect—here, a mistake was unacceptable.

  Kael gave a brief nod.

  He approached the first point and placed there a white flower with thick, almost stone-like petals. The flower seemed to radiate a cold that seeped straight into the bones.

  “Hundred-Year Untouchable Flower… a symbol of longevity,” Kael murmured.

  Taking a step forward, he carefully placed a five-pointed plate with a soft violet sheen at the next point, resembling a carved mineral. In truth, it was part of a beast’s carapace.

  “Dragon Turtle Scale,” he said, touching the surface. “The flesh of a creature that repels blows in defense…”

  He positioned the plate so that one of its facets pointed directly toward the center of the circle.

  The third item to take its place was a small root. Kael set it down carefully, as if afraid of disturbing a fragile balance, and murmured—already almost slipping into a strange, focused trance:

  “Root of the Tranquil Tree… a plant that grows for decades and knows no haste.”

  His fingers trembled—not from weakness, but from tension. He was in a hurry. He was waiting. And at the same time, he feared being discovered at the very last moment.

  But his hands continued to move without error.

  He placed the fourth item—a strange beast organ, as though sheathed in the thinnest translucent membrane. Inside, something resembling liquid shimmered.

  Beside it—the fifth. A small, dark stone, reminiscent of a mineral mined in the deepest shafts. It barely reacted to the light, as if absorbing it.

  When all the items had taken their places, the summoning circle was complete. Every symbol, every node, every line was exactly where it belonged. There was no mistake.

  Kael stepped into the center of the circle, straightened as much as his strength allowed, and quietly, even with a hint of bitter irony, said:

  “Not how I imagined my first contract with a spirit.”

  But there was no time for reflection.

  He raised his hand and bit sharply into his finger. The skin burst beneath his teeth. Not the slightest grimace of pain—he was far too exhausted to react to it.

  He pressed on the phalanx below the bite mark.

  A drop of ruby blood welled up on the pad of his finger. It even seemed to Kael that time slowed, giving him a chance to see every moment of its growth.

  In the next second—it broke free.

  Plink.

  The barely audible sound of impact spread beneath his feet. The drop of blood struck the center of the circle, splashing across the ground.

  And in that same instant…

  DU-DUUUM.

  The magic circle flared; a powerful mystical pulsation rolled through the runes, turning into a hum that seemed to run straight through his bones.

  Kael didn’t even have time to cry out—his body jerked as if yanked sharply upward by invisible strings. His shoulders arched, his chin snapped up, his mouth fell open in a silent, convulsive gasp.

  His hair whipped upward as if caught by a strong wind. His pupils began to fade, then seemed to vanish entirely, leaving only the whites of his eyes.

  At the exact moment his consciousness began to slip away, Kael rasped:

  “Finally I’ll know… what it feels like…”

  The world snapped away.

  Everything vanished—his body’s weight, the sound of his breathing, the sensation of his own chest, even the thought that he was supposed to feel something. As if someone, in a single motion, tore his perception from its old shell.

  ? ? ?

  He blinked—and found himself elsewhere.

  There was neither sky nor ground before him. Only a deep, dense blackness, cut through by gigantic spirals of multicolored mana. They moved slowly and heavily, like ancient entities winding luminous ribbons around an invisible center.

  Beneath his feet stretched a wide stone platform, assembled from slabs utterly unlike each other. One was smooth, almost new; another—worn by time, covered in a web of fine cracks; a third—rough, as if freshly broken off an ancient monolith. They seemed to come from different eras, different worlds, yet were still held together by some unknown force that prevented them from falling apart.

  Around the platform, far beyond its edges, extended not space—but rather an endless expanse of levels, passages, and structures that could not exist in any mortal world.

  Arches hung suspended in the air, bending toward invisible horizons. Staircases rose upward and downward, with neither beginning nor end. Bridges vanished into emptiness at impossible angles, twisted, disappeared, and then emerged again—as if returning from wanderings through alien dimensions. All of it moved in an infinitely slow, majestic dance: elements shifted smoothly, changing length, height, tilt, as though obeying an unknown rhythm.

  And in the distance… in the depths of this abyss, entire continents seemed to be drifting.

  Kael wanted to exhale—shock, awe, and amazement demanded a reaction. But he immediately realized something was wrong with him. There was no air inside him. And no body—in the usual sense—either. He sensed form, but not weight. He sensed emptiness more clearly than his own limbs.

  He knew what was happening, but only from books.

  He raised his hands—or what passed for hands now—and quietly breathed out:

  “Well… that’s something.”

  His palms were dense currents of gray haze. Their edges blurred slightly, as if the form were only an illusion and the true essence something fluid. His arms, shoulders, ribcage, legs—his entire body was the same. It trembled like mist compressed into human shape.

  “No wonder my soul’s projection looks like this,” he said, already calmer.

  And mentally added:

  “After all, its nature is the Formless Void.”

  For a moment, he even forgot the situation he was in. Forgot the dungeon, the pain, the mortal danger. He was stunned that he could see all of this with his own eyes.

  But the shock and wonder were cut off abruptly.

  DU-DUUUM!

  A jolt thundered through the void. Then a second. And then five pulses at once, as if a low, ancient rumble rolled through the very fabric of space.

  Above him, in the “heavens,” five gigantic spheres flared to life, arranged in a row. They seemed woven from pure multicolored energy—different shades, different densities, and different vibrations. It felt as though something was hiding behind each of the spheres.

  Their aura crashed down on Kael all at once.

  It was so powerful that it felt as if it pressed directly on the soul, forcing his consciousness to shudder.

  And in that moment, an alarming thought flared in his mind:

  “This aura… it’s almost like the Master’s.”

  But in the next instant, something even more astonishing happened—the first sphere spoke.

  A hoarse voice, as if broken by time itself, resounded everywhere—above him, below him, within his very soul. Yet it was not a specific language—rather, meaning flowed straight into Kael’s mind.

  “Are there any left in the Human Dimension who know our summoning rituals?”

  Kael wanted to lift his head, but felt how difficult it was—the aura continued to press down on him.

  The second sphere responded more gently—the voice was surprisingly soft, reminiscent of a woman’s, yet far too vast to belong to a human:

  “When was the last time something like this occurred? A thousand years ago… or two?”

  The third sphere spoke—and its voice did not resemble a human one at all. There was hoarseness in it, a dull growl, as if a beast were speaking—one that had only roughly learned how to form words:

  “A Soul of the Formless Void… a rarity. Not strong. But suitable for nurturing the spirits of our Realm.”

  The meaning crashed into Kael, and something within him trembled. These entities were reading his nature as easily as he would read an unrolled scroll.

  The third sphere shifted slightly, and thin, almost living streams of energy stretched out from it. They brushed against the Fifth Sphere—lightly, almost playfully, as if teasing.

  “A good soul, wouldn’t you say?” added the bestial voice, mockery clear in its tone.

  But the Fifth Sphere did not have time to answer.

  It was interrupted by the ringing voice of the Fourth Sphere—unexpectedly light, almost childlike in timbre. Yet within that lightness there was a strict, unyielding authority:

  “Enough.”

  The pulsation of space answered her word, as if the very fabric of the dimension itself had obeyed the command. Then the Fourth’s voice turned to Kael—and it sounded different now: more attentive, more intent.

  “Greetings, child. Do you know which spirit you desire? Or should I offer one worthy of your offerings?”

  Before Kael could gather his thoughts, the space beside him shuddered—and from the void emerged the very five items he had placed on the summoning circle. The flower, the scale, the root, the organ, the mineral.

  They rose gently into the air and drifted upward, one by one, toward the spheres.

  A brief but vivid realization flashed through Kael’s thoughts:

  “There they are, the Guardian Spirits. Rulers of this Realm… those who stand above all spirits of space.”

  But there was no time for reverence. Every second in the real world worked against him.

  He immediately dropped to one knee, showing respect to each of the spirits who hid their visages.

  “Greetings, honored Guardian Spirits,” he said, and his voice, though composed of smoky echo, sounded surprisingly firm.

  He lifted his gaze. Five colossal spheres looked down on him as stars look upon a grain of sand, yet there was no contempt in their attention—only interest.

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  Kael continued:

  “At first… I wished to form a contract with the Sky Devourer.”

  The Second Sphere quivered slightly, as if in approval; the Third let out a low chuckle.

  But Kael had only finished half the sentence.

  “But now…” He hesitated for only a moment, choosing his words, for he understood how strange his request would sound. “Now I need the Worker Ant Spirit.”

  All sound seemed to vanish. Absolute silence followed.

  Even for ancient spirits, the choice was so unexpected that all five spheres appeared to freeze. Their vibration weakened, and the pulsations of space ceased, as if they were holding their breath.

  For an instant, Kael thought he had angered them.

  And it was precisely then that the Fifth Sphere spoke—the one that had remained silent until now.

  Its voice was deep, even, calm, like the speech of an ancient elder who had seen too much to be surprised. Yet there was power in it—so dense that even the platform beneath Kael’s feet trembled faintly.

  “You have ideal mana channels, child. And a soul capable of nurturing any spirit.”

  He paused deliberately, then clarified:

  “Are you certain of your choice?”

  But the moment the Fifth Sphere’s voice sounded, it was as if lightning had struck Kael. He did not even hear the question itself—his body jolted, his consciousness froze for a moment, and a single thought flared in his mind, driving everything else aside:

  “It’s him! The spirit who saved me from the Divine Library!”

  The last day of his slavery flashed before his mind’s eye, and the words of that very spirit, spoken when they parted:

  “If fate wills it, we will meet again. But alas, we will not remember this day. For everyone, including you and me, those seven hundred years will be erased. I hope you will live your second chance differently…”

  Because of his Shard ability, Kael simply could not forget it.

  It seemed that this brief hesitation did not escape the Fifth Sphere’s attention. The flows of energy around it subtly shifted in rhythm, and the deep, calm voice rang out in space once more—with a note of attentive curiosity:

  “Did I startle you?”

  Kael immediately pulled himself together. He bowed his head in respect, and at the same time decided to cautiously test his suspicion—so as not to arouse doubt.

  “Forgive me,” he said evenly. “For a moment, it seemed to me that I had heard your voice before.”

  Silence hung in the air. And the answer came after a short pause.

  “An interesting coincidence…” the spirit said in the same even tone. “But that is impossible. Your soul has entered our Realm for the first time.”

  Kael exhaled inwardly.

  “He doesn’t remember me…” he noted to himself. “Just as I’m not meant to remember him.”

  Irritation flared inside him, mixed with anxiety.

  “Damn… Why did we meet right now? At a moment when I have neither time nor the right to make a mistake.”

  Kael’s thoughts lost their order for a moment. Too much surfaced at once, and he had to make an effort not to betray it through any movement or change in tone.

  “Tell him?” the thought flashed through his mind. “No… I can’t.”

  He understood all too well where he was.

  “The other Guardian Spirits may very well be connected to the Gods. And the Void Hermit—whose heir I had now become—was a hated figure among the Gods. If the truth comes out, I risk no less than I did in Zeiran’s dungeon. Perhaps even more.”

  But another thought followed, no less insistent.

  “He saved me…” Kael acknowledged. “But I also pulled him out of his imprisonment. We are bound, whether we want it or not.”

  Kael understood that he could not afford to miss this chance.

  “I can’t reveal myself, but I can try to hint. If I can at least plant doubt in him about the connection between our fates—that will already be a success. In the future, it may work in my favor.”

  Kael was already choosing his words, but had no time.

  The ringing, almost childlike voice of the Fourth Sphere cut in before he could open his mouth. There was no mockery in it—only a statement, dry and final:

  “Since you know which spirit you want, so be it. Although…” the voice shifted slightly, a shadow of regret flickering through it. “It’s a pity you intend to nurture something weak. You are worthy of far more.”

  The moment the Fourth Sphere’s words were spoken, something inside Kael clicked—like an invisible switch. He felt it instantly—not as a thought, but as an inner impulse. A chance.

  “All is well. Any spirit can become strong,” Kael said calmly, lifting his gaze, then continued, with a subtle hint. “I do not cling to form, for form is an illusion.”

  The final phrase was not improvisation. It was a line from the Canon of Primordial Void, one that could not be spoken by accident. Kael knew: the spirit of the Fifth Sphere would recognize it.

  Privately, he noted:

  “He must understand. He has to understand that I inherited the Canon of Primordial Void.”

  But nothing happened.

  The Fifth Sphere did not change its rhythm. The flows of energy around it remained the same. No flash, no pause, not even the slightest hesitation—as if Kael had uttered an ordinary philosophical phrase, nothing more.

  “Did he not understand…?” Kael thought warily, a trace of anxiety creeping in as he watched the spirit.

  And before he could fully process it, the space before him began to change. At the center of the platform, the air thickened, twisting into a dense vortex of gray-black energy. The outlines slowly took shape, growing more defined and grounded.

  A few moments later, a spirit stood before Kael.

  An ant.

  Black and solid, about knee-high, with a massive segmented body and powerful mandibles. Its carapace gleamed with a matte sheen, and its movements were restrained and precise—without fuss or unnecessary gestures.

  At that moment, the ringing, childlike voice of the Fourth Sphere sounded again—calm and final:

  “Your spirit is ready. You will spend the next ten years together.”

  The ant, as if hearing a command, slowly inclined its head and lowered its antennae in acknowledgment of the bond.

  Kael clenched his teeth for a second and closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.

  “All right… For now, I need to survive,” he told himself mentally. “Someday I will return here. And then I will be far better prepared for our meeting.”

  He opened his eyes, feeling a cold, calculated resolve take shape inside him. Giving a short nod, Kael said aloud, “Thank you.”

  He stepped forward toward his spirit, and his foot had only just touched the surface of the platform when space suddenly responded once more.

  The deep voice of the Fifth Sphere sounded calm, but something wary crept into it nonetheless:

  “I don’t like this.”

  Kael froze, not expecting a comment like that.

  “Why do you need this ant, child?” the next question followed, sharper now, carrying pressure behind it.

  Kael was momentarily taken aback, unsure of what was happening, but answered at once:

  “I need its ability to manipulate weight. My physical body is imprisoned. And my life depends directly on that ability.”

  For a moment, silence fell. The flows of mana around the spheres slowed, as if the Guardian Spirits themselves were weighing what they had heard.

  Then the Fifth Sphere spoke again:

  “There is great potential within you. And your offering is far more valuable than what such a lesser spirit requires.”

  She was cut off before she could finish by the soft, feminine voice of the Second Sphere:

  “I agree. We are simply losing a good incubator.”

  Almost immediately, the ringing, childlike voice of the Fourth Sphere objected—this time with a note of reason:

  “Other spirits with a similar ability are too strong for him. Besides, his offerings would be insufficient for gifts of that magnitude on our part.”

  The words of the Fourth Sphere settled into the space evenly and logically. Kael remained silent, not interfering in the discussion, merely listening closely, quietly noting that something strange was happening.

  The thought flared unexpectedly, yet it was too logical to ignore.

  “I’ve almost concluded the contract,” he noted to himself. “But he stopped it… and now it’s as if he’s negotiating better terms for me.”

  And at that moment, a barely perceptible smile appeared on Kael’s face. If not for his mist-born body, there would have been a glint in his eyes.

  “Could it be… that he actually understood my hint?”

  The thought had not yet fully formed when the voice of the Fifth Sphere cut in again. This time there was no wariness in it—only cold, calculating interest:

  “This summoning ritual is strange from start to finish. So why not finish it just as strangely?”

  The Third Sphere reacted almost at once. The bestial voice sounded low and rough, a vibration of curiosity beneath it:

  “And what do you propose?”

  The answer followed without pause, calm and confident:

  “This child has a Soul of the Formless Void. Any spirit can be bound to it. So why not test those little silver ones? We have long been unable to find suitable incubators for them.”

  The space seemed to compress.

  Silence fell—dense, crushing. Kael felt it physically, as if five gazes had settled upon him at once. Not hostile, but appraising, weighing every facet of his essence.

  Then the childlike voice of the Fourth Sphere sounded—light, almost curious, yet without a trace of doubt:

  “Why not give it a try?”

  In that same instant, the space beside the black ant shuddered. The air thickened, twisted, and from it a second figure began to take shape.

  It was also an ant. The same size, but entirely different.

  Its carapace was silver, cold, as if forged from metal. Its legs looked sharper and more massive, its movements more predatory and controlled. Rigid spines ran along its body, and in its appearance there was none of the submissiveness of a worker, only restrained, measured aggression.

  Kael tensed involuntarily and, unable to restrain himself, asked:

  “Who is this?”

  Even with his perfect memory, he could recall no description of such a spirit. He was seeing something like this for the first time.

  The childlike voice of the Fourth Sphere sounded without a hint of solemnity, as though it were speaking of something entirely self-evident:

  “This spirit does not yet have a name.”

  The pause was brief but palpable, and then the same voice continued—now with a hint of concealed interest:

  “This is a new species. It was born from the strongest Worker Ant Spirits. We have observed their development for a long time. Their abilities are not yet fully understood, but we are certain—it will far surpass its predecessors.”

  Kael involuntarily shifted his gaze from the black ant to the silver one. The difference between them was not merely outward—a different pressure emanated from the new spirit—sharper, more predatory.

  “And… what about weight manipulation?” Kael murmured cautiously, not hiding his primary concern.

  He did not finish.

  The deep, calm voice of the Fifth Sphere gently but confidently took over the conversation:

  “The base ability of this spirit is analogous to that of Worker Ant Spirits. But its control over weight will be far more refined.”

  The voice did not change, yet an almost imperceptible note of interest appeared in it:

  “The other abilities are still unknown to us. These little ones… are willful. So far, we have been unable to find a mage whose soul it would agree to bind with.”

  At that moment, the silver ant slightly twitched its antennae, and it seemed to Kael that its gaze—if it could even be called that—lingered on him for a fraction of a second.

  The Fifth Sphere continued, now unhurried:

  “Your soul… is unlikely to repel it.”

  And, as if allowing itself a rare display of emotion, it added:

  “We would be quite pleased if you were to raise one of them.”

  Kael fell silent.

  Inside him, tension mingled with cautious excitement. He understood that he was being offered more than just a spirit—he was being offered an unknown variable—risk and opportunity at once.

  That was precisely what made the offer truly dangerous—and incredibly tempting.

  As soon as this fully settled in his mind, an anticipatory grin spread across Kael’s lips. It appeared on its own—not as a calculation, but as a genuine reaction.

  For some reason, the silver ant claimed his attention entirely. The black one standing nearby seemed to fade from existence, dissolving at the periphery of perception, as if it were merely a shadow or a rough sketch. Kael’s gaze clung to the cold, metallic sheen of its carapace, to the sharp lines of its body, to the restrained, dangerous composure of its movements.

  He took a step forward, almost without realizing it.

  “What I need…but stronger?” flashed through his mind.

  Another step.

  Kael lowered himself into a crouch, bringing himself to the ant’s level. His smoky body warped slightly, but he held the form, never breaking eye contact. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment there arose a sense of a subtle, barely perceptible connection. Not a contract, not a command, but rather a mutual curiosity.

  Kael slowly raised his palm, making no sudden movements, as though unwilling to startle the creature.

  “I will have many tasks—and many enemies…” he said quietly but confidently. “Would you come with me and see other worlds?”

  The words sounded simple, without pathos or promises. But there was more in them than an ordinary invitation.

  The silver ant did not retreat. Its antennae twitched almost imperceptibly, and its massive body leaned slightly forward, as if it had, for the first time, truly become interested in the one standing before it.

  At that moment, the attention of the Guardian Spirits seemed to narrow to a single point. The flows of mana around the spheres slowed, their vibrations aligned, and space itself seemed to hold its breath, watching what was about to happen.

  The silver ant made its choice.

  It moved forward—without a jerk or hesitation—and carefully touched Kael’s palm with its head.

  And in that same instant…

  DU-DUUUM!

  Space erupted in a booming pulsation. Kael’s soul projection surged upward, as if caught by an invisible current. His smoky body stretched and warped, and the silver ant began to dissolve, turning into a pure stream of energy. That stream did not disperse—it entered Kael, weaving itself into the very fabric of his soul.

  The fusion was instantaneous and total.

  Kael felt it immediately—not as pain, but as a sharp, all-encompassing pressure. A new power spread within him, heavy, dense, alive. It did not submit at once, yet neither did it resist—rather, it observed, studying its new master as closely as he studied it.

  He did not have time to fully grasp what was happening.

  The world around him began to blur. The outlines of the platform blurred, the spirals of mana lost their clarity, voices grew distant, as if coming through a thick layer of water.

  And through this slipping world came the calm, satisfied voice of the Fifth Sphere:

  “The contract is concluded. We entrust this little one to you.”

  The final words came at the very edge of fading perception—softly, with a hidden implication:

  “Grow stronger. You will need it. We will meet again in ten years…”

  And then everything vanished.

  Darkness closed around Kael, carrying him away from the Spirit Realm of Space—back to where a dungeon, enemies… and a new power he had only begun to feel were waiting for him.

  ? ? ?

  Consciousness returned abruptly.

  Kael crashed onto the hard, cold stone floor of his cell, as if he had simply been thrown back into his body. A hoarse rasp tore from his chest.

  “Kgh!” He coughed, doubling over, bracing his palms against the stone.

  The pain from the impact was sharp, unpleasant—but utterly irrelevant.

  His heart hammered as if trying to burst out of his chest, and a smile spread across his face on its own—wide, greedy, almost mad. Kael breathed heavily, fully aware of what had just happened to him.

  He closed his eyes.

  His attention shifted inward, toward the Mana Core. To its depths, where before there had been nothing but familiar emptiness.

  And he saw it.

  The silver ant was there—not as a foreign presence, but as part of the system. Calm, collected, slowly pacing along the inner wall of the sphere, inspecting Kael’s very core.

  This was not a vision.

  This was not an illusion.

  Kael slowly opened his eyes. A cold, calculating glint appeared in his amber gaze.

  “The contract with my first spirit is complete,” he said aloud.

  He pressed his palm to his chest, right over his heart, as if marking the place where a new part of his power now lay.

  “You’re in the Human Dimension, little one…” Kael added, the corners of his lips lifting. “Which means it’s time for us to get out of this damn dungeon.”

  He slowly shifted his gaze to the walls of the cell, the bars, the rough stone—and there was no trace of his former despair left in that look.

  “Otherwise,” he finished calmly, “you simply won’t get to see anything.”

  ? ? ?

  At that very moment, far beyond the bounds of the Human Dimension, in one of the forgotten corners of the Spirit Realm of Space, deep within a dark, cloying abyss, three golden eyes slowly opened.

  At first, surprise flickered within them.

  Then—genuine astonishment.

  It was him—the true body of the spirit hidden behind the Fifth Sphere.

  The space around him did not tremble. In the next instant, a faint but distinct vibration passed through his essence—an echo from one of the hundreds of avatars that answered the summoning rituals of mages.

  “Impossible…” he muttered hoarsely, and for the first time in a long while, something living sounded in his voice.

  The thought continued immediately, without words, faster than any sound:

  “If this boy truly wields the Canon of Primordial Void… then he is, one way or another, complicit in my release. In my return to the Spirit Realm of Space.”

  One of the golden pupils narrowed.

  “I used my forbidden ability to reverse time…” he thought. “Which means everything was reversed for the boy as well. I don’t know what happened back then, but to obtain the Canon of Primordial Void, he would have had to infiltrate the private sanctum of the God of Knowledge and Madness…”

  He slowly exhaled, realizing that the puzzle would never fully come together. Until now, he had known only that somehow he had fulfilled his vow to the Void Hermit. And that, at the cost of an enormous portion of his power, he had turned time itself back, forgetting the erased span of time. But now he knew who else had been involved—and most likely, who had helped him.

  “If fate wills it…” he continued, closing his eyes, “we will stand on the same side once more.”

  The golden light went out. The gaze vanished, dissolving into the abyss.

  The consciousness of the Fifth Spirit folded inward once more, retreating into careful, measured contemplation.

  “For the next few hundred years… it’s better not to draw attention,” he decided. “I have lost far too much power…”

  Deep within the Spirit Realm of Space, silence settled once more.