Moving through the mirror doesn’t feel like anything at all. No resistance. No shift in pressure. No mystical tingle crawling over his skin. Aster half expects the universe to at least have the decency to acknowledge when someone’s sticking their arm into another dimension. But no.
He experiments, because of course he does. First his hand, which vanishes into the shimmering surface like it’s nothing more than smoke. Then his whole arm, his leg. His head—just to see if the world looks different with half his brain on the other side. It doesn’t.
Naturally, he takes it a step further. Eases his hips forward, testing if the portal reacts when he pushes his crotch through.
That’s when Lena’s voice cuts through, dry as sun-bleached bones. "You know, if that gate collapses while you’re halfway through, you’d be split clean in two."
Aster freezes. A beat passes. Then he yanks himself back like he’s touched a live wire, clutching at his groin like a man betrayed by physics itself. His face drains of blood so fast it feels like his soul is trying to leave his body. "You said this was safe!" he snaps, voice pitching higher, sharp with sheer crotch-based terror.
Lena, the sadist, bursts out laughing. Full, unrepentant laughter that echoes off the stone walls of the corridor. "I was kidding. Mostly." She smirks. "Though to be fair, space cultivators can do that. Slice you in half like a fruit. So I wasn’t entirely lying."
Aster glares at the portal as if it were personally trying to castrate him. He keeps one hand protectively cupped over himself, and makes a mental note: no more portal experiments. Ever.
"So," he mutters, words clipped and brittle, "where’s the registration office? Preferably in a place where my anatomy isn’t at risk."
Lena, still chuckling, waves him along. "Small detour first. We need to get your typing."
He narrows his eyes. "Typing? That’s the third time someone’s thrown that word at me. What is this, magic personality quizzes now? You gonna tell me I’m an introvert who channels Fire energy because my moon’s in retrograde?"
She snorts. "Not quite. The Astral Plane is built on seven energy types—Earth, Fire, Water, Wood, Air, and Lightning. Your Astral Vessel aligns with one of them. That’s your typing."
Aster counts off on his fingers, already annoyed. "You listed six."
Lena’s grin slips into something tight and knowing. "The seventh is Spirit. It’s... complicated. Rare, weird, and a little annoying to explain. Let’s just find out if you’re special before we unpack that box."
Which is code for he’s absolutely going to be special in the most inconvenient way possible. Fantastic.
They turn a corner, and the claustrophobic corridors give way to a sprawling open courtyard. It looks like a ritual arena built by someone who can’t decide if they’re constructing a temple or a testing ground. Jagged crystal spires loom like frozen lightning bolts, scattered in deliberate patterns. Students and initiates swarm the space, some pressing their hands to the crystals, others furiously scribbling notes while supervisors bark corrections.
Aster squints as one of the crystals flares a deep rust-red. The kid touching it punches the air like he’s just won the lottery. Probably just finds out he gets to throw fireballs. Lucky bastard.
Lena nudges him toward an unoccupied crystal where a woman in a crisp white uniform stands guard with the bored patience of someone who’s done this a thousand times.
"We’d like to perform a typing," Lena says.
The woman eyes Aster like he’s already a lost cause. "Only typing?"
"Yes, please."
Aster, feeling the weight of that look, crosses his arms. "What else can it do? Read my horoscope? Tell me where to find my tall, dark stranger?"
The woman doesn’t answer. She taps a rune on the crystal, and a semi-transparent screen flickers into existence in the air next to Aster. Rows of numbers. Symbols. Tags. Glowing headers labeled Strength, Speed, Will, Typing, like some kind of cosmic HUD.
Aster stares. “Okay, what in the gamified hell is this?”
Lena steps up beside him, amused. “That’s your stat screen. Technically, it’s an interface rendered by the Nootropic Tether, kind of a planetary spell-script that links everyone’s mind to a shared layer of collective perception.”
He squints. “...You’re saying reality has an app.”
“More like a self-writing wiki you can jack into via magic,” Lena says. “The Tether reads your Astral Vessel, parses it through this ancient spell-algorithm, and builds a profile of your abilities, potential, elemental alignment, all the juicy stuff. Once you're logged, the system updates passively as you grow. It's not just for show either. A lot of spells, contracts, and cultivation techniques literally require you to have your stats registered in the Tether before they’ll work.”
“So it’s... what, a magically enforced skill tree?”
“That and a resume, a diagnostics tool, a public record, and a ranking board all rolled into one. You can’t access most of the Astral Realm without syncing first. Until now, you’ve been a statless drifter.”
Aster makes a face. “And the crystal?”
“Onboards you. First-time tether sync. It calibrates your base stats and typing so the system can start tracking you. After that, boom, your stat screen becomes part of your perception layer. You’ll be able to call it up whenever you want, for yourself or others, assuming they haven’t locked their privacy settings.”
He glances at the screen again, frowning. “So this is, like, my metaphysical character sheet.”
Lena pats his shoulder. “Welcome to the metaphysics of bureaucracy.”
“So, I’m about to see the printout of my entire existence in the next few seconds?”
Lena cuts in before he can spiral deeper. "Yes, but don’t take it to heart. You're only a Veiled-Moon Initiate."
Aster arches a brow. "Translation, as weak as a kitten?"
"Yes. Because right now, your strength's a three. Mine’s eighteen." Lena shrugs. "And I’m not even strength-typed. I could punt you across this courtyard six times over. But we’re both F- ranks, so technically, you’re not that pathetic."
He stares at her. "Three? Out of what, ten?"
"Out of infinity. But the real benchmarks start at 100, then you hit F rank. F+ at 200. E at 300, and so on."
Aster does the math. His stomach turns cold. "So an A+ would be... around eighteen hundred?"
"Roughly, yeah."
His brain backflips. He’s not strong by gym-rat standards, but he’s moved his fair share of heavy boxes, built fences, lifted weights. He remembers his old coworker, a gym head who worships at the altar of human potential, bragging about a 300kg deadlift after two years of training. Aster has maxed out at a humble 100kg.
And even that only translates to a strength of three? Which means the world’s strongest man, lifting two and a half tons, would barely scrape a seventy-five. Only a standard F, just a tier above him.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
What kind of goddamn monsters live here? he thinks, cold sweat beading at his temples.
"And above A+," Lena adds helpfully, twisting the knife, "the power doubles each ranking, S, SS, SSS, Beta, Omega, and Alpha. Alpha strength? Around 120,000."
Sure. Why not. Apparently, reality here is scaled like a shounen anime.
The woman gestures to the crystal. "Place your hands on it. Your typing will appear as a colour: red for Earth, orange for Fire, blue for Water, green for Wood, yellow for Air, indigo for Lightning, and purple for Spirit."
Aster sighs. "Let’s see what kind of cosmic joke I am today."
He slaps his palms against the cold crystal. Instantly, he feels it, like magnets locking onto his bones. A current hums through him, threading into the gaps between thought and flesh, invasive and intimate.
The crystal flares purple. Deep, rich, impossible-to-mistake purple.
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════
[ ASTRAL VESSEL: NOOTROPIC DISPLAY ]
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════
NAME: Aster Elchen
RACE: Human
TYPING: Spirit (Sahasrara)
CULTIVATION: Initiate - Veiled Moon
CULTIVATION TYPE: Symbio-Cultivator
PROGRESSION TIER: 1 - Aware
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
?? CORE STATS [-]
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
?? GATE ALIGNMENT [-]
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
?? GLYPHS [-]
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
N/A
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
?? SCRIPTURES [-]
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
N/A
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
?? ARTEFACTS [-]
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
N/A
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════
Aster peers at it and grimaces. Everything sits at the F range like a bad report card. Except one thing: Will. That one, at least, glows E+.
Lena lets out a low whistle. "Wow. A Greater E in Will and a Standard F in mental fortitude? That’s insanely high for a newbie. I’ve been grinding Spellcraft since I was sixteen, and I’m barely at a Greater F. With Will that strong, picking your build is gonna be a lot easier."
Aster doesn’t feel particularly blessed. He crosses his arms ready to start sulking.
Lena quickly explains.
“But if that was all these stats were, we'd still be the computer nerds dropped in the wilderness with an iPad, lucky for us, every Gate you open comes with a hardware upgrade. Normally, each Typing aligns with different hues, different perks depending on your element. But Spirit’s universal, so your increases are more... straightforward. Open the Earth Gate, your Defense stat climbs. Lightning? That’s your Mana. Fire’s for Attack, Air’s for Speed, Water boosts Stamina, Wood’s tied to Recovery. Spirit is the outlier, it feeds your Will."
Aster raises an eyebrow. “So the Gates are like... magical gym equipment?”
“More like cosmic limiters,” she replies. “You start with all your Gates shut. Stats sit at base values, basically, the raw capacity of your body, soul, and psyche. But the more you cultivate a Gate, the more it opens. Every five percent unlocked gives you a +5 to the stat it's aligned with. Stack it up, and that’s how you get people like me, eighteen Strength, thanks to that corresponding Gate at 12%.”
He glances back at his screen, then at her. “Wait. So I’m not weak because I suck. I’m weak because all my Gates are still shut?”
“Exactly,” Lena says, snapping her fingers. “No unlocked Gates means no bonuses. Your Strength of three? That’s your natural level. Unmodified. Raw and sad. But it's also why Spirit Typing's interesting. You're unboosted, but your Will is already hitting Greater E, which means your Spirit Gate is stirring, even if it hasn't opened yet.”
“Spirit does Will,” Aster repeats. “And mine’s high, despite the Gate being at zero?”
“Because Spirit’s weird,” Lena says, eyes gleaming now. “It doesn’t follow strict cultivation routines. It grows in the cracks—pain, insight, contradiction, pressure. You’ve probably been nudging that Gate open just by surviving long enough to show up here.”
Aster gives her a flat look. “So you're saying suffering is a form of spiritual cardio.”
She grins. “Exactly. And guess what? Unlike other Typings, Spirit doesn’t lock you to one Gate. You can cultivate any of the seven. But while normal cultivators unlock the full range of hues, Magma to Astral Fire, Ice to Astral Water, you only get access to the final hue of each: the Spirit. It’s weaker, rarer, but more versatile.”
"You said Spirit was different. Weird different. Go ahead, hit me with the fine print."
Lena sighs but adjusts her glasses, shifting into lecture mode. "Fine. Imagine your Astral Vessel as a prism that refracts light. Since there are different types, imagine seven types of prisms, each refracting only one of the seven colours. Each typing consists of seven hues that define the attributes of that element. For example, Fire has Ash, Heat, Smoke, Ember, Combustion, Destruction, and Astral Fire, also called Fire Spirit or Fire Essence. A cultivator can use the different hues of their own element, with the final hue being that element’s spirit."
He nods stiffly, brain already bracing for the inevitable catch.
"Spirit typing is unique because you can interact with all elements, but you can't cultivate the powerful energies of the other hues that make up that typing. You can only use their spirit hue, which is like the nucleus holding the other hues together. Every material is made from different hues, complexities, shapes, and functions, all bound by their spirit which acts as its identity."
Aster’s brow furrows. “So... I get all the access, none of the firepower.”
“You get subtle firepower,” Lena says. “Spirit Typing is like playing a rogue deck in a tournament. No direct synergies, but you can counter anything if you know how to play it. And it makes you a natural glyphsmith, enchanter, or spellbreaker.
He frowns. “So I can’t shoot fire, but I might be able to use the idea of fire?”
“I wouldn't be able to explain it exactly to you at this moment. But even though it sounds fragile and confusing, it's actually surprisingly useful when wielded right.”
"But don’t worry," Lena adds, smirking like she enjoys watching him squirm. "There are ways to break past those limits and even excel. Three members of the Celestial Council have reached celestial ranking with Spirit Typing, after all. You just need to choose your classes carefully to maximize your strengths and cover your weaknesses. Lucky for you, you’ve got me, the 'Class Build Goddess.'"
Aster gives her a look flat enough to iron shirts on. "Do people actually call you that, or is that self-awarded?"
She just winks and taps her temple. "I know exactly how to turn you from cosmic deadweight into a functioning cultivator. C’mon, let’s get you registered."
Aster sighs, mutters something unkind about fate under his breath, and follows her, one hand still hovering protectively over his groin. Just in case the universe has one more portal prank lined up for him.
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