Chapter 19

  The smell of charred meat drifted through the ruined temple above, thick and unfamiliar—oily, a little bitter, but undeniably food.

  Raime sat near a broken wall, bare-chested and streaked in dried ichor, watching the flames flicker beneath his makeshift kiln. The alien stone radiated heat like a forge, fed from beneath by slivers of heartwood carved from the Rift’s explosive trees—shaved down, split thin, and stacked like kindling. Their cores burned hot, too hot, and the first few attempts had turned meat into an uncooked and burnt mess. Now, he’d solved that—thick flat rock laid across the top, heat dampened by a layer of stone to keep the fire contained and the surface just hot enough to sear.

  It looked like a crude box of stone. Felt like a primitive ritual.

  But the sizzle was steady now. The meat—some thick-shelled beast he didn’t bother naming—browned slowly across the flat slab. Juices hissed and popped. A good sign. He hadn’t tasted real food in days, weeks maybe. And after what he’d done… after what he’d become…

  He needed this.

  The Rift buzzed in the distance. Creatures stirred just beyond sight. Especially after his earlier outburst. A little part of the forest was levelled by his anger and the fight against any creature attracted by the commotion. But Raime didn’t look up towards it. He leaned forward, turned one of the strips with the tip of a sharpened claw, and let the heat kiss it golden-brown.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to breathe.

  Not plan. Not watch. Not fight.

  Just eat.

  Not yet, though. A few more minutes.

  And still, even here, with blood cooling on his skin and fire at his feet, his mind kept working. Watching the stones. Measuring airflow. Cataloguing the way the Rift-wood sparked and flared.

  Not just for survival, but for understanding.

  He didn’t need to be like this place, still if it wanted to break him… it would have to do better.

  For now, lunch was served.

  Raime tore a piece of meat free with his fingers. It was hot, slick with its own juices, the outer edge slightly crisped. No salt, no herbs, no fire-charred crust—but the flavor was rich, almost sweet. Strange, but not unpleasant.

  Soft, too. It melted on his tongue with barely a chew, fat and flesh breaking down like it had been slow-cooked for hours.

  He blinked.

  What even is this thing made of?

  Didn’t matter. He tore another strip, ate slower this time. Let the warmth spread through his chest, his arms, the pit of his gut. The ache in his stomach eased. His thoughts quieted.

  Beside the fire, he’d set his jacket and shirt out to dry—wrung out as best he could after scrubbing them with the vine sap that passed for water in this place. They still smelled faintly acidic, but the grime was mostly gone. He figured it was better than bloodstains and rot.

  Once he’d finished eating, he’d do the same to himself. Not because he cared about the scent, but because the weight of dried sweat and blood clinging to his skin felt like another layer of this place trying to stick to him.

  There were enough vines around to make it easy. Enough sap to scrape together something like a rinse.

  He chewed the last strip slowly, watching the fire crackle low.

  It wasn’t comfort. Not really.

  But it was close.

  The fire had burned down to embers now, casting long, lazy shadows across the temple’s walls. Its warmth still clung to his skin, but the heat didn’t reach the weight in his chest. Raime sat still, elbows resting on his knees, his soft breathing the only sound in the vicinity.

  His clothes were draped over a length of broken wall, drying slowly in the air. The lever rested nearby, and though it lay dormant now, he could feel it—feel its shape, its mass, the thread of energy that stretched between them like a whispered thought. It was becoming familiar. Like a limb, almost. No longer foreign. No longer heavy in the wrong ways.

  He rubbed a hand over his face, then through his damp hair. His body still ached from the fight—not just muscle soreness, but something deeper. His organs had pulled tight in protest earlier. His bones felt lighter, hollowed out by the desperate conversion of energy. That trait... Mind Over Body... it had stolen what little he had left and turned it into survival.

  Turned me into something else.

  He had noticed it in the way he moved. The way he thought. Reflexes born of instinct, now refined by focus. His mind felt different. Even his fear felt... distant. It didn’t vanish—he still felt it—but it didn’t dictate him.

  Was this what evolution felt like? It didn’t seem like power. It felt like erosion. Like he’d been scraped down and rebuilt from pieces that weren’t quite human anymore.

  He looked at his hands.

  Strong. Sharp, somehow. Like the thoughts that now came too quickly. That Thread in his mind was more than just a tool—it was a tether to something larger. Not the System. Not even the Rift. A part of himself he didn’t know existed.

  And that was the dangerous part.

  Because now I know just how much I can take.

  That thought unsettled him more than the fight had. Because he had taken it. He’d survived a creature that should have killed him. With a Thread of willpower, and a hunk of metal, he’d made it out.

  And the Administrator had saved him.

  Not the System. The Administrator.

  Raime clenched his jaw. That voice still echoed in his memory—so calm, so amused. Offering salvation like a gift, when he knew damn well it came with a cost. Everything here had a cost.

  Still… part of him was grateful. That was the twisted part.

  But gratitude didn’t mean trust. And survival wasn’t victory.

  So what now?

  He leaned his head back against the wall, stared up at the sky. Alien stars looked down at him as though they were watching. Waiting. The silence pressed in again, thick and expectant.

  What was next?

  He had the Thread. He had the weapon. He had learned—painfully—that the Rift was not going to hold back. Every step outside these walls would be a fight. Every bite of food a gamble. He would have to adapt quickly… or he wouldn’t adapt at all.

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

  And yet, even now, in the quiet, he knew this place had more to offer than danger.

  I’m not just here to survive. I’m here to change.

  The System had labelled him an Anomaly. The Rift had claimed him. He'd been altered on a level most couldn't even comprehend. Sooner or later, something—or someone—would come looking for him. Either to use him, or erase him.

  He needed to be ready.

  I need to follow the System quests, at the end maybe it will give me a way home, it will reopen the Rift. For now they are a font of strength and a way of training.

  He exhaled slowly, then nodded to himself.

  No more blind wandering. No more reaction. Direction. He needed a direction.

  And the System will provide that.

  He reached inward.

  The familiar interface bloomed into existence before him—blue-white and cold. The text unfolded with clinical precision.

  Designation: Anomaly - Tier 0

  Status: Unawakened | Rift Integration Incomplete

  Region: Ithural | Local Recognition: Confirmed

  Primary Objectives:

  ? Practice deliberate use of your Psionic Thread (3+ successful activations).(3/3)

  ? Discover one new function of your mental abilities. (0/1)

  ? Survive encounters with three distinct Riftborn entities. (3/3)

  ? Awaken a second Psionic Thread through use, insight, or strain. (1/1)

  ? Use [Skill: Residual Trace] to follow a psionic trail left by an unknown being. (0/1)

  Optional Objectives:

  ? Sustain uninterrupted consciousness for 19Rift-hours. (6/19)

  Rewards:

  ? Choice of insight infusion: Mental Anchor / Neural Shear / Cognitive Mirror

  ? +1 Insight (permanent)

  ? New Quest Chain Unlocked Upon Completion

  ? ??? (hidden reward based on behavior)

  Plus one to insight… it seemed such a good reward before, why is it listed even? Is the progression that different for those with a normal class? Or a normal soul at least? I have accumulated some attributes points again, all given to my anomalous state and soul. And while they will make me stronger, I’m starting to think that this kind of power will only bring me more trouble. We’ll see… In the meantime, let’s think about the near future. I still have to discover other uses for my mental powers, and to follow a trail. Ok let’s get to work.

  First things first, I can’t sleep on power.

  Raime started to add points to Cognition. After the first point he noticed an increase of one point in all his other stats.

  So between a 35 to 36 percent increase from Cognition… good.

  He added more points, one by one, feeling the change, his mind strengthening along his body, it was a feeling better than anything he had felt before, even better than sex.

  [System Warning: Cognitive Stat Threshold Approaching Tier 1]

  You are attempting to breach the upper boundary of Tier-0 Cognition. Proceeding beyond this point without a Core and stable Channels is not advised.

  Standard evolution routes channel controlled energy through developed pathways. These are used by the System to regulate energy infusion and prevent uncontrolled biological mutation.

  Your current structure is unstable and insufficient to support Tier-1 cognition safely.

  Warning:

  Further progression will push your physiology into unregulated biological adaptation or death.

  Expected effects include:

  ? Irreversible neural restructuring

  ? Somatic mutations

  ? Mental and sensory distortion

  ? Permanent deviation from baseline humanity

  Proceeding may irreversibly define your evolutionary path.

  Oh fuck no, I’m not going down that path again. Status.

  Status: Raime

  Race: Human (Altered)

  Level: 0 (Unawakened)

  Attributes:

  Strength: 23

  Vitality: 26

  Vigor: 26

  Resilience: 23

  Finesse: 26

  Perception: 23

  Insight: 30

  Clarity: 26

  Resolve: 26

  Cognition: 33

  Available attribute points: 19

  Racial Trait – Mind Over Body

  Titles:

  ? Traveller of the In-Between

  ? Anomaly

  ? Ithural-born

  ? The One Who Refused

  ? Transcendent Divergence

  ? Progenitor

  Damn those stats are insane, and I still have points left, should I bring everithing to the limit? No wait… what if the System rewards me a point and then it start a mess again? It can’t be that stupid right? It’s a multiversal entity I should be able to reject a reward or keep it for later maybe. Better to leave some wiggle room for now, my attributes are enough already, I don’t even think I’m using them properly, I should learn to squeeze all I can from them first before adding more.

  Raime stared at his stats a little longer, that sharp numerical reflection of his evolving self both grounding and disquieting. The numbers didn’t lie—he was changing fast. Too fast. The surge of power each point brought wasn’t just satisfying—it was addictive.

  And that addiction frightened him.

  He shook his head slowly, trying to exhale the growing hunger that crept beneath the awe. It wasn’t time to push further. He’d come too close to crossing another irreversible line.

  “I need control and knowledge,” he muttered. “Not just power.”

  His clothes were still a bit damp, cold from where he’d washed them in vine sap earlier, but he pulled them on anyway. The sensation grounded him—mortal, uncomfortable, tactile. Human. He needed that right now.

  With a final glance toward the trees in the distance and the now-cleared patch of destruction and corpses that marked his hunt, he turned back toward the temple. The stone beneath his boots felt warmer this time, or perhaps it was just his new perception feeding him richer signals.

  He stopped at the entrance.

  There lay a stone slab—a piece of collapsed ceiling, heavy and jagged. It must have weighed hundreds of kilos. Once, he wouldn’t have considered it movable without tools. Now?

  He grabbed it.

  It protested. His shoulders flexed, legs anchoring into the ground as his psionic thread subtly braced the effort—guiding pressure, stabilizing balance, dampening fatigue.

  He lifted.

  The slab shifted and then rose. Slowly, ponderously, he dragged it across the entrance. It scraped against the stone with a low groan, echoing through the chamber.

  The door was sealed.

  A real threshold. A moment of peace, earned.

  The temple greeted him with silence. The egg room was behind him now, desecrated and still, not a threat anymore. Instead, he made his way back to the bowels of the temple, the central basin.

  He sat at the edge and lowered himself into the basin. It was large and deep, and it felt like it cradled him. Cool stone met his skin, and a faint whisper of psionic residue echoed through the structure. He folded his legs, let his arms rest across his knees, Thunk on his lap, and exhaled.

  He breathed in slowly. Then out. A steady rhythm. His awareness no longer limited to skin or flesh—it extended, subtle and sensitive, like a gossamer web cast into the dark.

  What am I not seeing? What have I missed?

  Since before entering the Rift, the world had peeled itself open to him layer by layer. First, the shift in his thoughts—quicker, sharper. Then the awareness—flickers of movement at the edge of sight, the texture of intent brushing against him before claws ever struck.

  And during the fight—those eyes. Cold, alien. The way they pressed against his thoughts like a hand trying to find a door in the dark. He hadn’t understood it then. He’d only reacted.

  But now…

  His Insight was far beyond what it had once been. What had felt like noise before now teased at structure. Meaning. Patterns.

  He closed his eyes, letting go of sight. Slipping inward.

  What if that pressure wasn’t just a trick? What if it was a connection?

  Something inside him stirred—not the Thread, but the energy he had coaxed into motion before—waiting to be plucked.

  Telepathy. It always sounded so clean in books. Speak to minds, hear their thoughts, project ideas like words. But real minds… they’re not books. They’re storms of thoughts.

  Still, those creatures had reached for him. Clumsy, violent—but they had found a way in. Or at least tried. Which meant there was a path.

  If they could reach me… then he could reach back.

  He focused, not outward, but between—on the memory of those moments: the bite of alien intent, the ripple of consciousness brushing his own. The first meeting outside the Rift, when that creature used a mental attack against him. He followed the echo of it. Not his Thread. Not will exerted over matter. But will seeking understanding.

  Like slipping a hand into still water, he felt it—distant and dim, but real. A space where minds brushed against one another, whether they meant to or not. The Rift was full of creatures that felt, even if they didn’t think. And those feelings left a trace.

  Emotion. Instinct. Fear. Rage. He could learn to read them—not with logic, but with presence.

  So this is another facet. Not just perception of things… but perception of minds.

  His eyes opened. The glow in the stone no longer seemed as foreign. He wasn’t just sensing the room. He was touching it—its emptiness, its age, its calm.

  The ability to move objects had felt like flexing an invisible muscle. This was different.

  This was listening.

  And maybe, eventually… speaking.

  I’ll learn. If they can use this to hurt… I can too. Or at least to understand.

  He remained seated, breathing slow, mind wide open, tasting the shape of thoughts that were not his own. They were faint echoes now—but he would find the voice beneath.

  For now he meditated, gathered insights on his new abilities, but soon he will put things into practice.

  I will need a partner for this, he thought, while a grin appeared on his face.

  But the forest is full of those.