The pain was unbearable, blinding, as if something raw had been jammed straight into his skull. It pressed against the back of his eyes, behind his temples, through the base of his neck—boiling, tearing, splitting his thoughts apart like wet paper.

  He dropped to his knees, clutching his head, gasping without sound, the world folding in around him, every shape and sound turning into static.

  And then—without warning—the pain dissolved.

  Vanished.

  In its place came nothing. A cold, infinite black that stretched in every direction, not empty like a room without light, but hollow like reality had been peeled away. No ground. No sky. No sound. No weight. No sense of self.

  Hope floated—or maybe he didn’t—in the stillness of an endless void. The pure absence of anything.

  Then a spark.

  Small.

  Brighter than brightness.

  A ripple through the nothing.

  It wasn’t light, not in the way his eyes understood it, but presence—something blooming out of the void, expanding, stretching, growing too fast to follow. The black broke apart as time ignited and space with it, one bleeding into the other as if they had never been separate.

  A cosmic flower uncoiled and flung itself outward with reckless hunger. Energy rushed outward in waves that left echoes across the dark, folding upon themselves and pulling reality behind them.

  He felt stars being born—not watched, but felt—as nuclear fire ignited in silence. Gravity coiled around matter, pulling it together into spheres and swirls and spirals. Heat shimmered across invisible distances. Light bent around shapes still forming. Entire galaxies danced with one another before vanishing into darkness again, replaced by new ones.

  Hope wasn’t floating anymore.

  He was being pulled.

  Not toward anything.

  Through it.

  Through stars and fire and collapse, through the infinite cycle of formation and erasure, through suns that swallowed planets whole and voids that devoured suns in turn. There was no direction, only motion. And motion itself was breaking. Time jerked, folded, surged forward and spun backward, slowed to a crawl, then jumped centuries in the span of a breath he didn’t take. He had no form, no hands or eyes or voice. Just a point of awareness riding the crest of everything that ever was and ever would be.

  And through it all, something began to take shape. A pattern beneath the chaos. Like a net that held the stars. Not a web, not lines, but tension—threads of influence that bent around mass, dipped under energy, rippled when movement passed. The thing that held it all together wasn’t visible. It wasn’t there. But it was everywhere. The universe didn’t sit in space. It was made of it. Space and time weren’t two things. They were one, and they were breathing.

  He understood—not with words, not with thought, but with the ache of something buried deep in his mind finally making sense.

  And then it all collapsed back in.

  The stars, the silence, the tension. Gone.

  “Hop—Hope? Hope, are you okay?”

  He blinked slowly, his vision blurry at first as the light returned and the shapes around him began to settle into something familiar.

  “Eve?” he murmured.

  She gave a small nod, the crease of worry still etched into her brow. He raised a hand to his forehead. It was damp—not with sweat, but with the cool trace of something recently wiped away. A wet cloth, maybe.

  His gaze shifted, and he spotted Gob standing nearby, arms crossed, brow furrowed, the usual spark in his eyes replaced by something steadier.

  “All good, lad?”

  Hope nodded slowly, though the question rattled in his chest more than it should’ve. What just happened?

  He pushed himself upright, bracing against the edge of the chair as the weight of his own body briefly surprised him. He swayed, steadied, and let out a breath.

  Then his eyes caught the screen at the edge of his vision.

  He froze.

  His chest tightened, a sharp beat skipping in his heart.

  “What the…” he whispered.

  Gob’s voice floated over again, lighter now. “Here, some good tea, kiddo. Should help. Courtesy of the house.”

  A cup hovered toward him, the scent already working its way into his mind—warm, steadying, something between spiced roots and soft earth.

  Hope accepted it, cradled it for a moment, then took a careful sip.

  Better than the last one. Still not quite to his taste… but this one worked. It slowed the swirl inside him, pulled the edges of reality back into place.

  He glanced toward Eve, the calm slowly returning to his eyes. “What happened?”

  Eve hesitated. “I… I’m not entirely sure. You were trying to interact with Spacetime Magika… and then suddenly you collapsed. Dropped to your knees, grabbing your head. Blood was pouring from your nose and ears—”

  “Blood?” he interrupted, startled.

  She nodded, serious. “I tried to touch you but—” she paused. “Somehow… you deformed the space around you, Hope.”

  Hope was surprised… but just slightly.

  “I see… so, I did succeed when interacting with Spacetime Magika, then?”

  “Well… yes. But… are you ok?”

  Hope nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s ok. Maybe just a bit more drama than last time with Air Magika, huh.”

  Eve’s mouth opened as if to say something but closed it again.

  “Kiddo, I know it’s a lot to take, but if you could spare me some time, I could make up for it?” Gob suddenly said from behind.

  Hope stared at the weird merchant. He had grown fond of the little guy over the last week but still… he needed to remember he was nothing but a puppet of the fuckers in the sky. And now, it seemed he, or rather they, were oddly interested in what had just happened.

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  Hope’s thoughts raced as he noticed Eve’s expression, the hesitation, the free tea, and now this. But more than that… what he saw on his screen.

  He understood. This was a big deal.

  “Well, don’t be stingy then,” Hope grinned as he stepped closer to the counter. “What do you want?”

  Gob’s brows rose as he raised both hands in mock surrender. “Easy, easy. Just wanted to congratulate you proper, is all.”

  He reached into his coat—one of the endless pockets—and pulled out a slim, dark-metal bracelet etched with thin silver lines that shimmered faintly as they shifted

  “Here,” Gob said, placing it on the table beside him.

  Hope stared at it, and his eyes slightly widened. Seriously…

  Anchoring Band

  Rank 1 Accessory (Grade: D)

  Requirements: Spacetime Handling (Level 5), Magia 240

  Effect: +30 Magia, +2 Spacetime Handling

  Hope eyed the object but didn’t reach for it.

  Gob gave a casual shrug, lips curling just slightly. “That was quite the reaction, kiddo. Impressive. So like… just outta curiosity—what level did that get you to, eh?”

  Hope’s mind spun fast. He even caught the subtle shift in Eve behind him as Gob’s words landed. So this was it? This was what they wanted to know? But… why? What made it important?

  Hmm… should he just say it?

  Hope grinned, leaned forward, and grabbed the accessory. “Nice gift. Send the fuckers in the sky my regards. But tell them a proper C-grade would suit me better,” he chuckled as he put it on.

  “A C-grade, so…”

  “Yep. I’m a goddamn prodigy with Spacetime Magika. Got it to level six,” Hope said, flashing a sharp smile.

  Gob’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly. “Level six, you say, kiddo… are you sure?”

  “The fuck I’m sure. I passed out, not went blind.”

  Gob nodded, and a second later, the counter flickered. Another item appeared.

  Null Ring

  Rank 1 Accessory (Grade: C)

  Requirements: Spacetime Handling (Level 6), Magia 360

  Effect: +50 Magia, +2 Spacetime Handling

  “Well, that was fast,” Hope said, not hesitating as he grabbed the new ring. He slipped off the Grade F Windloop Ring and replaced it with the new one.

  Gob’s eyes narrowed as Hope slipped it on. He watched the shimmer that pulsed once the ring adjusted.

  His jaw loosened slightly. He swallowed hard.

  “Color me blind… a fuckin’ Spacetime supreme genius.”

  “Huh?”

  Gob shook his head and sighed. “You’re something else, kiddo.”

  Hope frowned slightly but smiled anyway. “Well, I’ll keep them both, then. See ya later, Gob. Pleasure getting freebies. You should do it more often.”

  “Keep doing stuff like that, and I’m sure they’ll keep coming,” Gob said with a chuckle—though the flicker in his eyes said something else entirely.

  Hope walked back to Eve and sat beside her. He really wanted to speak in private, but he knew privacy wasn’t something he could get here. So he might as well speak openly.

  “So… what’s with all that? Why does the level you get when interacting with a new Magika type matter so much? I remember Air Magika went to five directly and you weren’t that surprised. So why is this one going to six suddenly such a big deal?”

  Eve stayed quiet for a moment. “Well… there are two main reasons. First, interacting with Spacetime Magika at tier one is… rare, Hope. Very rare. Especially for someone without a formal background or training like yourself.”

  “I figured as much. But what about the level part? Why do the fuckers in the sky care? And why toss out gifts just for that?”

  “Maybe a bit of context will help,” Eve said, her voice calm but focused. “Affinity, which relates to something you’ll see later called aptitude, determines how well someone can manipulate a specific type of Magika. Some people are naturally attuned to one—or sometimes even two or more—types. Others, none at all. But even among the talented, there’s a wide range, and that’s where the ranks come in.”

  Hope tilted his head slightly, listening.

  “As the System expanded, countless years ago, people began noticing a strong pattern between how many levels someone gained upon first contact with a Magika type, and their long-term potential with it. They called that pattern affinity. It’s not something the System spells out clearly—aside from the Prodigy feat—but humans made their own classification anyway.”

  Eve looked at him now, her expression steady.

  “If your first contact with a Magika only gives you level one, that’s called common affinity. It means your connection is weak. You can still use it, but it won’t grow far. Most recommend steering clear of a class related to it.”

  “If it reaches level two, it’s basic affinity. Usable. Decent. You could build a stable foundation, maybe push yourself far with effort—but nothing groundbreaking.”

  “Level three, and you’ve got strong affinity. At that point, it’s clear you’re naturally gifted. It’s worth pursuing seriously.”

  “Four means great affinity. Those who get there on first contact are rare. Their growth is fast, their connection deep. People with great affinity usually devote themselves fully to that Magika type pursuing a mage path on it.”

  “Then comes level five. That’s where the System itself acknowledges it. The Prodigy feat appears. Just like it did for you with Air Magika. This kind of affinity is very rare. Not only does it mark a clear path forward—it clears the obstacles too. You will be a very talented pure mage if you just focus on this type and nothing else.”

  She paused.

  “But level six…” Her voice lowered slightly. “Level six goes beyond even that. Those who reach it are called Supreme Geniuses of that type. And as the name says, it’s pretty clear how gifted they are. Every single Supreme Genius is considered a talent worth nurturing, even on a minor sector level.”

  Hope frowned.

  He didn’t know what a minor sector was, but even without that, he got the point.

  It was a big deal.

  “So that’s the peak? Am I at the top in talent, then?” Hope asked, gaze careful.

  “Well… nearly. I mean, you are an absolute genius, Hope. And in Spacetime, no less. That’s huge. Even the hosts of the show are surely paying full attention to you now. But…” Her voice dipped. “There is one last level. The absolute peak of affinity ever recorded. When someone reaches level 7 on first contact, they’re called… Magus.”

  Hope blinked. “Magus.”

  She nodded. “Even across entire mid-sized sectors, finding one is rare.”

  “I see… damn. That’s cool.” He grinned faintly. “Okay. Thanks, Eve. So… I guess this means I should focus on Spacetime Magika now, right?”

  Eve nodded without hesitation. “Yes. As a Supreme Genius, you should absolutely focus on it. If Air Magika felt like it clicked, this one should feel even smoother—eventually. Just know that Spacetime is complex. Even with your affinity, what you can do at tier 1 will be limited. It’s hard. Demanding. But still… focus on it.”

  Hope nodded. “Thanks, Eve. And don’t worry—supreme genius or whatever, I’ll keep my promise. In the future, ask me whatever you want. One favor, no matter how big—I’ll do it. ‘Kay?”

  Eve smiled softly.

  Hope turned away, hiding a slow exhale. It was hard to keep his face so calm. But even if he wasn’t proud of it, he knew how to lie. Better than even old Mano. If Hope wanted to hide something—no one would ever find out.

  He sat on the ground, steadying his breath.

  It left a bitter taste in his mouth, lying to Eve like that… but he had no choice. Not right now with those fuckers listening.

  Because in that moment, he had made a hell of a call. If level 6 meant Supreme Genius, and level 7 was the absolute peak in recorded history—then… what the hell did this mean?

  ??Spacetime Handling (Level 8 + 4)

  You saw the frame beneath reality. What bends all, bends to you.

  ? 60% reduction in mental strain when manipulating Spacetime Magika.

  ? +12% to Magia while in the presence of Spacetime Magika (only the highest applicable Magika Handling effect applies at once)