Chapter 54

  The light of Ithural was bleeding out of the sky when Raime straightened, the corpse of a rhino-sized beast cooling behind him. The air was shifting — the temperature dropping, shadows lengthening across the marble paths that coiled through the Royal Garden. The glow of the crystalline flora dimmed with the dying light, casting a ghostly shimmer over the leaves. Dusk in this place didn’t feel natural; it felt like the Rift itself was holding its breath.

  He exhaled slowly, wiping the beast blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. His pulse was still heavy in his ears, his mind buzzing from the echo of power. One more kill. Another lesson. Every encounter since he came here had been a test of control — of balance between his psychic energy and his body.

  Raime stayed near the right side of the garden, where the terrain sloped gently toward a cluster of obsidian stones shaped like broken monoliths. He hadn’t dared to delve deeper yet. For now, he wanted to test the waters, get a sense of the beasts that inhabited this part of the grounds — and of himself.

  The scent of sap and faint ozone filled the air as he crouched near a toppled column, closing his eyes for a brief moment. His breathing slowed, his awareness expanding outward. The garden pulsed faintly in his perception — a subtle vibration at the edge of his thoughts. Leaves rustled, some creature hissed in the distance. Beneath all of it, faint whispers of presence shimmered like threads tugging at his consciousness.

  Then he felt it — a prickle at the back of his mind, faint but persistent. Something was close. Hidden. Watching.

  His eyes opened, the faint gleam of the fading suns catching the sharp line of his irises. He scanned the underbrush ahead — thick foliage of golden-blue vines interwoven with strange, fern-like tendrils that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Nothing moved. Yet the feeling pressed against his consciousness, unmistakable.

  There.

  His focus deepened, thought stretching into that space like an invisible hand brushing against a veil. Something lurked beneath it — alert, patient and hungry. The pattern of thought wasn’t just movement anymore; it had a flavor, a resonance that scraped faintly against his perception. It wasn’t only the creature’s mind he was sensing — it was something deeper, more intrinsic. Its essence.

  Its soul?

  Raime frowned. The sensation was alien but familiar in the same breath. It wasn’t the first time he had brushed against it — he’d felt hints of it during other fights, but never so clearly. It wasn’t thought or intent. It was... existence itself, like glimpsing a faint reflection beneath deep water.

  Am I really sensing that? he wondered. Neimar said this was one of the first steps toward creating the core... but already?

  He stayed still, focusing on memorizing that strange resonance. Yet as soon as he tried to grasp it consciously, it slipped away — like mist parting between his fingers. His brow furrowed.

  “Damn,” he whispered, too loudly.

  The underbrush exploded.

  Golden leaves tore apart as a massive insect lunged forward, its camouflage breaking with a flash of light. It was as large as a wolf, plated in amber-colored chitin that shined in the dusk. Mandibles snapped open, wicked and curved like scythes. The creature’s body blurred — too fast for its size — and Raime’s reflexes screamed too late.

  Move!

  His twin streams of thought fused instinctively, merging into one focused current. Time stretched. Every sound elongated — the crackle of branches, the whistle of air displaced by the insect’s charge. His muscles coiled, but he knew instantly he couldn’t dodge. The creature’s speed was too great, the distance too short.

  He braced instead. Feet digging into the soft soil, he angled his torso just as the golden blur struck. His hands shot up, psychic energy flooding through his arms like molten pressure, reinforcing tendons and bone as the mandibles clamped down around his neck.

  “Fuck—!”

  The sound came out between clenched teeth as pain lanced through his palms. Even reinforced with energy, the mandibles were cutting into the flesh of his hands, hot blood trickling down his wrists. The force was monstrous — the creature was trying to shear right through him. His vision flared white with pain for an instant.

  “Damn cockroach, just—get away from me!”

  He snarled, pouring more energy into his arms, but strength alone wouldn’t be enough. The insect was overpowering him. His mental field cracked with strain as he split his consciousness again, his second stream flaring alive in a moment.

  That second mind focused purely on force. Telekinesis surged outward — an invisible shove slamming into the creature’s plated thorax. It resisted for a breath, then slid back half a meter, the pressure between its mandibles faltering just enough for Raime to twist free.

  The jaws snapped shut with a metallic clank, missing his throat by a handspan.

  Raime staggered back, his hands burning, and the insect screeched — a jagged, crystalline sound that made his teeth ache. He reacted instantly, moving to the side, his psychic awareness reading the twitch of its limbs before it lunged again.

  This time, he wasn’t unprepared.

  As the creature’s forelegs stabbed forward, he pivoted left and slammed his heel down on two of its rear limbs. He channeled his energy through the motion, threads of psychic force wrapping around muscle and bone, then he went a step further. He froze the motion of his hands locking them in place, and pulled with his arms while stomping down. His foot connected perfectly.

  Crack.

  The insect shrieked, its body shuddering as its left side buckled. Raime felt the jolt up his leg — his ankle throbbed from the impact — but the creature faltered, crashing halfway to the ground.

  “So hard...” he hissed, shaking out his foot. The exoskeleton had absorbed part of the blow, but cracks were spreading along the joint lines of its legs. Not enough to incapacitate it completely.

  The beast twisted, its mandibles slicing through the air, but Raime was already moving. His second stream of thought acted in tandem with his body, pushing a wave of telekinesis at the creature’s flank to disrupt its balance.

  It tried to stabilize itself with its remaining legs, but he was already reaching deeper. Not for a blunt shove this time, but for something more precise.

  His psychic grip fastened onto two protrusions at the sides of its head — horn-like extensions covered in thin grooves. He imagined his power as invisible hands clamping down, fingers digging into chitin. Then he twisted — hard.

  Clockwise.

  It trembled for a heartbeat before the insect’s neck gave way with a wet crunch.

  The head did a full rotation, neck twisted but still attached by a few strings of flesh. The body convulsed once, twice, then fell still. Its legs twitched reflexively, chitin scraping against the marble shards scattered across the garden floor.

  Raime exhaled heavily, releasing the telekinetic hold. The corpse slumped forward, a dull thud echoing in the stillness. The faint hum of the System flared in the back of his mind, confirming what he already knew — another surge of attributes, almost sixty points.

  He stood over the fallen creature, blood dripping from his fingers, his breath controlled. The fight had lasted barely three seconds, but it had drained more from him than the last four combined.

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  He flexed his hands, watching thin streams of red trace along the creases of his palms. The mandibles had cut deep — not enough to maim, but enough to remind him that even a small lapse could cost him.

  The garden was quiet again, eerily so. He scanned the surroundings through both sight and mind. No other creatures nearby. Only the faint hum of flora and the whisper of the Rift’s energy.

  Raime crouched near the insect’s head, his eyes narrowing. The golden chitin looked peculiar under the last light of the dying suns, almost beautiful in a twisted way. He placed his hand against its surface — cold, lifeless.

  That faint feeling from before lingered for a moment — the same flicker of soul-like resonance — then faded completely. Gone.

  He straightened, stretching his neck, the dull ache from the earlier impact already fading. His healing rate was faster now — he could feel it. His body was adapting to the psychic reinforcement, muscles weaving tighter, energy flowing more efficiently. It wouldn’t take long for the cuts on his hands to close and fade, maybe less than a day. Despite the pain, it wasn’t a debilitating injury so he decided to continue.

  Maybe I’ll avoid going full martial artist against beasts for awhile, I should train my telekinesis more in any case.

  He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tightening. Each battle was shaping him — not only in strength, but in understanding. Every movement of energy, every mental adjustment was refining his control. He didn’t know when, but he started to enjoy fighting. Not only that, but feeling the limit of his capabilities, pushing those limits and learning the mysteries of the cosmos, was a feeling bordering on addiction. He wanted more, he wanted to see how much he could improve, wanted to learn all that his new teacher had to offer, and wanted to bring all that knowledge home, to use it against the System and its machinations.

  Despite being stuck in the Rift he was seeing the path forward and wanted to walk it till the end, he wanted to ascend, to protect his family, and to explore this new and vast multiverse. Neimar told him of the countless worlds and planes of existence that before belonged only to fantasy, but now were only a different reality. One he could step into if he became strong enough. In the end everything always boiled down to that, power.

  I swear that I’ll prevent Earth from failing the integration. And I will become powerful enough that nobody will mess with me again, not even the System.

  That Raime promised himself, a spark of defiance against an impossible enemy, still, fatigue crept upon him, inexorable. The sun had nearly vanished behind the crystalline treetops, the air turning cooler. Strange lights shone in the distance — the bioluminescent vines awakening for the night.

  He knew he could push further, hunt one or two more creatures. But his reserves were thinning, his threads pulsing faintly with warning. The mental burn of using his psychic powers and splitting consciousness multiple times was building up.

  He looked toward the faint silhouette of the palace rising beyond the far hedge — distant, framed in fading gold. He’d earned enough for one day.

  Raime took one last glance at the corpse, then turned toward the marble path. Each step carried a faint echo of exhaustion and satisfaction alike.

  He was starting to understand what the Sovereign meant — the growth wasn’t in the victories, but in the struggle.

  And today, he had learned plenty.

  He turned around and made for going back when the form of the Sovereign appeared beside him.

  “You demonstrated a good enough performance,” Neimar said in a casual tone. As if he didn’t risk his life multiple times in the span of a few hours. “What did you learn during your hunts?”

  Raime’s lips curved faintly, though the expression held no humor. “That I’ve been slow. Every time I move, I realize there’s a delay before my thoughts, and another behind it.”

  The Sovereign tilted its head, light fracturing across its form like broken glass. “That is the nature of the mind. The weapon is an echo of you, nothing more. In removing it, you removed the echo — and met the source.”

  He exhaled, rubbing his wrist where psychic strain still hummed under the skin. “It felt like… there was more of me out there than inside. As if each beast I fought reflected some part of what I wasn’t yet understanding.”

  A low hum passed through the garden, stirring the branches of the silverleaf trees. The Sovereign’s gaze lingered. “You are beginning to grasp it. You have walked the path of survival long enough; now you must walk the path of awareness. Power without awareness is akin to a sword, in the hands of a child.”

  Raime’s steps resumed, slower now. The palace loomed nearer, its crystalline spires burning faintly under the last trace of twilight. “Awareness…” he repeated under his breath. “I think I’m starting to feel what that means.”

  The Sovereign’s presence followed beside him, not walking but gliding, its form rippling like smoke caught in moonlight. “You perceive the world now through more than just eyes. Tell me, Raime — what did you see when you closed them?”

  He hesitated. “Everything,” he said finally. “Not in detail — but in the presences, in intent. The beasts moved their thoughts before they acted. I felt their aggression before I saw it. I could sense how the air bent when they decided to strike. I could nearly picture them in my head before I saw them.” Raime paused, reflecting on his experiences. “I felt like there was a bubble around me, and I could feel everything that came inside that bubble, like in three dimension, something like echolocation I think, but not related to sounds.”

  “That is the mind’s reach,” the Sovereign said. “It is a useful ability to sense your surroundings with it. But be warned — such clarity cuts both ways. The more you see, the more the world sees you.”

  The words lingered, sharp and steady. Raime felt a subtle chill crawl across his back. He didn’t need to ask what it meant — he had already felt the faint, probing awareness of some creatures as his own psionic sense brushed against them. A primal recognition, as though their souls could stare back.

  “I’ll manage,” he said quietly.

  “I do not doubt it,” the Sovereign replied. Its tone softened, almost approving. “Tell me, then — what did you learn from their deaths?”

  Raime glanced down at his hands, the faint tremor still running through his fingers. Dried blood had gathered under his nails. “That killing is easier when I stop hesitating. But control… that’s harder. Every time I let go, I get stronger — and every time I get stronger, I lose a bit of restraint.”

  The Sovereign studied him in silence for a long moment. “You walk the edge between creation and ruin. That is what it means to shape with thought — every surge of power is an act of choice. Remember this balance. The mind that commands must not give in to its most basics instincts.”

  Raime’s jaw tightened. “I don’t think I can fully understand the consequences, but I get it.”

  “I have seen the cost,” the Sovereign said. The words seemed to ripple through the air, ancient and heavy. “I have seen what becomes of those who forget what anchors them. The multiverse devours the minds of the arrogant long before it consumes their bodies.”

  He nodded faintly, absorbing the weight of that truth. His feet brushed against the palace steps now, white stone gleaming faintly under the dim starlight. For a brief moment, the silence between them felt almost human.

  Then Raime said, “You wanted me to feel this, didn’t you? Told me to leave my weapon behind — to learn this way.”

  The Sovereign’s expression didn’t change, but the air seemed to pulse with faint amusement. “I did, but you could have refused. Instead you chose to understand yourself.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if I’m just another experiment to you.”

  “To a teacher every student is an experiment, we catalogue data, prepare tests and monitor the progress,” it said. “But you are not an experiment in the way you are implying, I taught to thousands personally, to millions through proxy. I shaped a civilization, I had my fair share of experiments already. I wish you to be more than that.”

  Raime stopped at the entrance to the palace. The massive doors, carved from some translucent mineral that seemed to shimmer with captured starlight, loomed before him. “And what do you wish me to be?”

  The Sovereign’s light dimmed, its voice turning into a quiet hum that seemed to vibrate within Raime’s thoughts. “To be what they cannot name.”

  For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air smelled faintly of rain, though the sky remained dry. Raime felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, exhaustion finally catching up to him. He turned his gaze back toward the garden — a wild expanse of alien color where he had fought until his mind felt like it would tear. The beasts lay silent now, their energy already fading into the soil.

  He felt no pride. Only the faint hum of understanding.

  How is that every fight reveals something I didn’t know about myself.

  When he looked back, the Sovereign was fading — its light dissolving into threads that drifted through the night like sparks.

  “One last thing,” the voice murmured, half from the air and half from within his mind. “When you rest tonight, listen. The mind you awaken with may not be the same as the one that went to sleep.”

  Then it was gone.

  Raime stood alone before the palace. The silence that followed wasn’t oppressive, but strangely still, as if the entire world had paused to let him breathe. He entered the hall, boots clicking softly against the mirrored floor, and felt the temperature shift as the garden’s cool breath gave way to the palace’s faint, radiant warmth.

  Every step echoed faintly in the vast corridors. The walls spoke with faint psionic energy — wards or memories, he couldn’t tell. His reflection followed him across the crystalline surface of the floor, pale and marked with the stains of battle.

  By the time he reached his quarters, fatigue had turned his movements sluggish. His mind, though still alert, pulsed with overuse. He stripped away the dirty tunic, washed himself, and for a long moment just stared at his reflection in the water’s surface.

  The face that looked back was sharper than he remembered — not older, but more defined. There was a quiet steadiness behind the eyes that hadn’t been there before. He smiled faintly — a weary, half-conscious thing — and whispered, “If I change, well, that is that, then. I am willing to see where this path will bring me.”

  When he finally lay down, the palace seemed to hum softly around him. The distant light of the Sovereign’s realm pulsed faintly beyond the windows, a reminder that the road forward was far from over.

  Sleep took him quickly — deep, dreamless, and heavy.

  And then, stillness.