After that heavy conversation at breakfast, my uncle retreated into his laboratory, leaving me alone with my thoughts. His words weighed on me, heavier than any burden I had carried before. But I was not one to wallow in uncertainty. If I was to prove him wrong—if I was to survive—there was only one course of action. More training.

  By the time I reached the training grounds, I noticed I was not alone. Cordelia had followed me, her silent presence pressing against my awareness like an unseen force. Her eyes—two glimmering gemstones, their depths shimmering with unspoken mysteries—ensnared me. I could not compare them to anything, for they were a beauty that defied comparison. A trap, a snare I had walked into willingly, a—

  I shook my head, snapping myself out of it.

  "Thirty-four seconds," Cordelia stated coolly, her voice as devoid of emotion as ever. "It took you thirty-four seconds to break free from a light emotional control ability. All I was doing was telling you to relax. That’s step one for a psyker like me."

  She nodded, and as she did, I noticed something I hadn’t before—a closed third eye in the center of her forehead. It wasn’t something I had the right to ask about. She hadn’t asked why I lacked the almiraj ears of my mother’s lineage, after all. Another time. Another place.

  "Well," she continued, "the good news is that now you know what a psyker’s touch feels like. Some abilities are soothing, like that. Others…" Her gaze flicked to Fractal, who preened herself idly, her shifting mask unreadable. "Well, your bird is filled with Dream mana. Imagine a person creating nightmares, both their own and others, and then giving them life."

  She motioned toward a table at the side of the training ground. There, waiting in an eerie stillness, were three cubes, each pulsing with latent power.

  "Your mother’s gift is on the left. Your father’s is in the middle. Mine is on the right," Cordelia said, giving a humble curtsy.

  “Wait. I thought my parents couldn’t give me a gift?”

  Cordelia shook her head. “They can’t train you, provide you techniques, or provide you miasma. They can, however, provide you skillcubes that have never entered their spirit.”

  At that, I simply nodded. Not questioning the rules of Dominus Demeterra.

  My gaze locked onto the cubes. Each was unique, radiating an elemental essence so strong I could feel it pressing against my skin.

  The leftmost cube, my mother’s gift, was a deep forest green, but within its depths, hues of blue and black swirled like shadows beneath a canopy. It gave the impression of a vast and ancient forest—one that breathed, one that watched. At certain angles, the green would shift, revealing veins of midnight blue that pulsed like slow-moving rivers. The black within it was not pure darkness, but rather the rich, fertile soil beneath towering roots—deep, steady, waiting to nurture something new.

  The center cube, my father’s gift, was opal-like, its surface ever-changing, refracting light in a thousand shifting colors. It seemed almost alive, as though it held the very essence of transformation itself. The hues within it shimmered unpredictably—sometimes soft pastels, sometimes sharp, electric bursts of brilliance. But beneath the surface, there was something more—something stable, something resilient. No matter how much it changed, no matter how many colors it revealed, it remained whole. Unyielding.

  The final cube, the one from Cordelia, was mesmerizing—its surface mimicked a nebula, an expanse of cosmic energy swirling in a vast, celestial dance. Deep violets, blues, streaks of fiery reds and gold. At times, tiny pinpricks of light flared within, like distant stars being born and dying in an eternal cycle. It was something beyond comprehension, beyond the physical world—an echo of the limitless unknown. It was beautiful. And terrifying.

  I hesitated.

  "Wait… you’re giving me a Skillcube?" I turned to Cordelia, disbelief creeping into my voice. "Why? These things cost a fortune—at least, the combat ones do."

  Her expression didn’t change, but something shifted behind her eyes. A shadow.

  "My previous Walker was one of the casualties in the Lost Republic War."

  Her voice, once emotionless, grew colder. Sharper.

  “She had to enter a Gate. A-Rank. Soul Realm 1. She was ambushed. By the Hopeless of the Republic.”

  A chill ran down my spine.

  The Hopeless.

  A religious zealot faction that emerged from the ashes of the Lost Republic. They hunted those who killed Others. They slaughtered those who upheld the duty of a Walker.

  In other words, they would slaughter me.

  I didn’t need to ask why she was doing this. I already knew. And I didn’t need words to understand her meaning—she had already spoken them directly into my mind, her voice coiling through my thoughts like a phantom whisper.

  They hate us.

  I swallowed. My hands clenched into fists.

  "So… how do I do this?" My voice was quieter now, the weight of what these cubes represented settling on my shoulders.

  "Place your palm over each one," Cordelia instructed. "You can only absorb one per element of your mana type at a time, and it will take three days to fully integrate into your spirit."

  I reached toward the first cube, but Cordelia suddenly spoke again, her words rushed, almost frantic.

  "Don’t tell me what your inner self looks like."

  I hesitated, glancing at her. "What?"

  She shook her head. "Not yet."

  The look in her eyes was unreadable. "You don’t trust me enough to share something that critical with me. Not really."

  I opened my mouth—to argue, to deny it—but the words never came. Because she was right.

  And that realization sat in my chest like a stone.

  I reached for the middle cube first—the opal one, my father’s gift—only for Cordelia’s hand to clamp down on my wrist. Firm. Unyielding.

  “Last,” she said, shaking her head. “Trust me.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on me. Trust. I didn’t trust her. Not after the stunt she had pulled earlier, slipping into my mind so effortlessly. Not after proving just how easily she could snare my thoughts without me realizing. But still… she was the expert here. And if there was one thing I did trust, it was that she knew more about Skillcubes than I did.

  Reluctantly, I withdrew my hand and moved toward my mother’s cube instead.

  The moment my palm pressed against it, sensation flooded through me.

  It felt like a forest—but not just any forest. A forest submerged beneath the surface of a vast, unseen ocean. The air felt thick, humid, yet alive with motion. I could feel the roots beneath my feet, shifting and twisting like living veins, pulsating with power. The soil was rich, dense with energy, as if it had been nourished by centuries of untouched wilderness. Then, without warning, the cube shattered into hundreds of tiny shards, each one sinking painlessly into my skin. They coursed through me, threading into my bloodstream, embedding themselves into the very essence of my core.

  A notification flickered to life before my eyes.

  [You have awoken the ability: Atlas’s Manifest.]

  Atlas’s Manifest

  Rarity: Uncommon

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Aspects: Nature, Water, Earth

  You are unimpeded by natural terrain. You gain bonus effects based on the terrain you attune to.

  I frowned. "That seems... unimpressive."

  Cordelia let out a sharp breath through her nose, shaking her head. “Never doubt utility cubes,” she said, her tone carrying the weight of someone who had heard that sentiment far too many times before. “Yes, your skill with a weapon will be important, but so will survival. The open roads are as dangerous as any Otherrealm.”

  I considered her words, but the disappointment still lingered. I had expected something more... flashy.

  Turning to her gift, I placed my palm over it and braced myself for another surge of energy. But nothing could have prepared me for this.

  My mother’s cube had been gentle—the caress of a forest breeze, the steady rhythm of an ancient ecosystem. This one was wild.

  It made me feel small.

  No, smaller.

  I wasn’t in control anymore. I was a speck of dust in an endless, ever-expanding void. The weight of infinity pressed against me, suffocating in its vastness. Stars burned and died in the distance, their light swallowed by the abyss before I could even begin to grasp their brilliance. I was lost, trapped in a current of something incomprehensible—something so much greater than me that I barely even registered as a thought in its existence.

  I gasped, my breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of it. I turned to Cordelia, my body rigid, my mind barely tethered to the present. She merely nodded. Silent. Expectant.

  I swallowed hard and forced myself to take its power.

  Just like before, the cube shattered, but this time, the fragments did not simply enter me. They tore into me. Not painfully, but violently. Unrelenting. Like a rushing tide dragging me under, like the gravitational pull of a collapsing star. I barely had time to blink before the next notification appeared.

  [You have awoken the ability: The Millennium Halls.]

  The Millennium Halls

  Rarity: Unknown [Error.]

  Aspects: Dimension, Star, Growth

  You are able to open a doorway to any anchor spot by visiting the Millennium Halls. Doing so requires focus and meditation in a safe area. Mana expenditure is based on the number of people entering the doorway. You are able to place 1+1 [Almiraj Bonus Applied] anchors per Soul Realm.

  I stared at the notification. Then at Cordelia. Then back at the notification.

  "How... how the hell did you acquire this?" My voice came out quieter than I would have liked, but the concern bled through all the same.

  Cordelia simply raised an eyebrow. “It’s a portal ability. One of the most common.”

  I shook my head, my gut twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the lingering energy coursing through me. "No." My voice was firmer now. "This is not a common portal ability." I gestured toward the notification, my breath coming quicker. "Rarity: Unknown? No. If it were common, it would say common.”

  Cordelia’s expression didn’t change, but I saw it—the flicker of confusion. The momentary break in her ever-calm mask.

  A soft chime came from my Gloss-Crystal—a notification. A request from Cordelia.

  She wanted to see my system message.

  I sent it.

  The moment she saw it, her head tilted slightly. Then she shook her head, her brows knitting together ever so slightly.

  “That...” she started, voice unusually quiet. “That was not the ability I gave you.”

  A chill crept down my spine. "Then what the hell did I just absorb?"

  Cordelia didn’t answer immediately. She just stared at the message, her lips pressing into a thin line. The first true sign of unease I had ever seen from her.

  “Do you know what this ability does?” she asked at last.

  I nodded slowly, eyes still locked onto the notification. "I know what it means."

  But what I didn’t know—what I couldn’t know—was why it had changed. And more importantly... who had altered it.

  And that uncertainty was far more unsettling than anything else.

  ***

  We had taken a brief break. Cordelia returned with a tray, setting down a porcelain cup before me. Jasmine tea. Its scent curled through the air, warm and floral, a delicate contrast to the lingering weight in my chest. I inhaled deeply, letting the aromatics settle my nerves, even as my mind continued to churn.

  Cordelia sat across from me, her posture as composed as ever. “My Lord,” she began, voice quiet, smooth, like the tea before me. “I will admit—the gift I gave you was mostly from your mother. But I was the one who selected it. It was supposed to be a basic portal ability. A simple technique to help you understand the fundamentals of dimensional movement.” She lifted her own cup, fingertips brushing the porcelain in a thoughtful gesture. “You were only supposed to be able to move from point A to point B. That’s all.”

  Her words lingered in the air between us.

  And yet, that is not what happened.

  My attention drifted, pulled away by the soft, melodic chirps coming from across the table. Fractal. She was singing, her voice clear and rhythmic, a gentle melody threading through the quiet space. There was something… entrancing about it. Not just the beauty of the sound, but the way it felt like she was communicating. A conversation carried through song.

  A thought formed before I could stop it. Melody. Melody Fractal Duarte.

  A sister. A little sister.

  The idea sat comfortably in my chest. She was already my companion, my partner. But perhaps, one day, she could be my family too.

  Absently, I pulled up my Gloss-Crystal, scanning records on Spirit Beasts. My suspicion was confirmed—most Spirit Beasts, upon reaching Soul Realm 4, developed a humanoid form. Not an oddity. Almost expected.

  And then… I saw something else.

  I skimmed further, reading too fast, hoping I had misinterpreted something. But no. It was there in plain text.

  Most Spirit Beasts did not form sibling relationships with their wielders.

  The most common outcome was something… else.

  I felt my stomach drop. My face grew warm.

  No.

  The deeper I read, the worse it became. The mana lines between Spirit Beasts and their contractors were already deeply intertwined, forming bonds unlike any other. That bond often… evolved. And not in the familial way I had just been thinking.

  My grip tightened on the Gloss-Crystal.

  Nope. No, no, no. Not thinking about this right now.

  But my cursed brain kept going.

  Spirit Beasts passed down their unique traits through descendants. A contracted Spirit Beast and their partner could merge their mana in ways that enhanced future generations. The numbers were laid out coldly in research papers—a child of a Spirit Beast and their contractor was, on average, 14% stronger.

  I nearly choked on my own breath.

  Absolutely not. Nope. Never mind. Not thinking about it. Not now. Nope.

  Slamming the Gloss-Crystal shut, I forced my gaze away from Fractal, who was still chirping her lovely, innocent song, utterly unaware of the unholy crisis spiraling through my mind. My ears burned. I could feel Cordelia watching me, and I prayed to every Dominus in existence that she wasn’t somehow reading my thoughts.

  Clearing my throat, I busied myself with the tea, lifting the cup with slightly unsteady fingers and taking a long, slow sip. It was still warm, still fragrant, still soothing. I focused on that. On the floral notes. On the way the steam curled upward, delicate and fleeting.

  Cordelia remained silent, her expression unreadable. Whether she had noticed my moment or not, she didn’t comment.

  Good.

  Because I needed to not be thinking about this. Not now.

  Later…?

  No. Not even later. I buried the thought. For now, Fractal was my innocent weaverbird. My companion. My partner in battle. My… potential little sister?

  Yes. That.

  I exhaled, forcing my shoulders to relax, and turned my focus back to Cordelia. There were far more pressing matters to consider.

  Once I had finished my tea, I turned my attention to the final cube. The opal one. My father’s gift.

  I reached for it slowly, hesitantly, as if some instinct within me already knew that this one was different.

  The Millennium Halls had made me feel small—like a single grain of dust adrift in the cosmos. But this... this was something else entirely.

  This was predation.

  The moment my fingers brushed the cube’s surface, a shiver ran down my spine. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t hot. It was simply... there, seeping into me like something waiting—watching. My breath hitched as the energy coiled around my arm, creeping into my core, my very being. Unlike the previous cubes, this one didn’t shatter immediately. It lingered, stretching the moment impossibly thin. And then, with a pulse, the cube broke apart into countless shards, sinking into me.

  I inhaled sharply.

  The world around me faded.

  And then, I saw.

  Eyes.

  Dozens. Hundreds. Myriad golden eyes, blinking in perfect unison, locking onto me like a predator assessing prey. Their pupils narrowed to slits, each one gleaming with the weight of ages. Intelligence. Hunger. Judgment.

  The heads came into focus next, each one stretching from a massive, singular body—serpentine, regal, terrifying. Every head was crowned in opalescent scales, shifting in color with each movement, the hues flickering like liquid fire—gold, violet, emerald, sapphire, pearl. Their bodies, sleek and powerful, were wreathed in golden hide, their very forms radiating something ancient. Something that had existed before laws, before dominions, before man.

  I was nothing before them.

  The ground beneath me was scorched and cracked, a wasteland of charred stone and molten embers. The air shimmered with the oppressive heat, yet despite the inferno, the Hydra before me stood untouched—untouchable. Its sheer presence demanded reverence. The flickering flames of my vision cast shifting shadows across its massive form, giving it an almost ethereal, primal beauty.

  This was a being that no one—no one—dared to anger.

  A beast that had never known fear. The Hydra loomed over me, countless heads twisting and writhing in unison, its eyes burning into my soul. And I realized, in that moment, why I had felt as if I were about to be devoured.

  Because I was.