After exiting the vault, every door he passed and every trap he retraced, he resealed, just as Velthar’s memory had shown him. The security he had bypassed in the vault now reactivated, each one quietly humming with latent energy, ready to punish the unwary. By the time he reached the chamber door, the ritual of sealing the sanctum felt almost meditative.
No one will be able to access the vault. Not on my watch.
Raime climbed the spiral stairwell back to his chamber at the top of the temple, the familiar silence of the stone corridors now carrying a new weight. Inside, the familiar space had transformed. The satchel rested near his desk, still storing the artifacts it carried, the Tetra Unum leaned against the far wall, its four pieces still floating slightly as if testing him, and Thunk lay across the table, mundane by comparison but still a comforting weight in his life. Raime exhaled, feeling the pulse of the armour on his bed and the pull of the weapons.
He began with the armor. First he cleaned himself, he really didn’t want to try it on while being dirty and sweaty. Donning it was a slow, deliberate process; even with the strength he had honed in the temple, every piece pressed against him like a stubborn challenge. The fabric hung heavy, the interwoven metal threads composing the outfit were extremely smooth and strangely warm. He was expecting to feel cold but except for the weight, the garment was better than silk. High boots clamped around his feet and the sabatons over them, with vambraces locking across his forearms without straps. Finally, the cloak settled over his shoulders, its silver weave brushing his neck like liquid light. The ceremonial armour was clearly magical in some way, all the pieces fit him perfectly, the boots were sturdy while not being restrictive, while the sabatons and vambraces were like glued to the cloth without requiring straps, and at his command they separated without issue, while the cloak flowed with him, instead of hindering him, it seemed to help him move, if a gymnast were to start backflipping in it, he wouldn’t find it strange to see the cloak easing the movement to the point it felt easier to perform it with than without.
Incredible… but heavy, heavier than I imagined. Every step feels grounded, weighted. Armor should be a burden, yes, but this… this feels like a second skin that thinks with me, almost breathing.
He discovered the first perk almost by accident: a faint pulse of energy ran along the seams. With a thought and a nudge of his Psionic Thread, he connected with the armour, the surface shimmered, and the layer of dust and residue that had clung to him was lifted, swirling into harmless motes that fell to the ground around him. The cleaning function of the armor took nearly all the energy he had left; for a time he felt completely drained, his thread reduced to a faint flicker, the exhaustion pressing into his temples.
Well damn, I just wasted all this time to clean myself while I could have done that since the beginning. Still, I need to up my game, a single thread is definitely not enough anymore, I need more energy, way more. A network of them, and a core…
After trying to move in the armour, it became easier, and his energy recovered, he turned to the Tetra Unum. The four floating slabs rotated gently as he approached. He ran a hand through the air near them, nudging the edges with a flick of energy, testing the bond without fully claiming it.
Not yet. I can feel it wants me to take it, but I’m not strong enough—not the way the armour asks for strength, not the way it demands control. Still it doesn’t cost me any energy to bring it with me, I’ll give it a try later.
Thunk, in contrast, felt almost mundane in comparison, resting on the desk as though it had been waiting for a long time. He picked it up, weighing the familiar steel in his hands. Even here, it was easier. The contrast was stark: the old weapon was comfortable, forgiving; the new one, a promise of force he wasn’t ready to unleash.
The satchel offered itself next. Raime placed the crystal map on the desk first, the Eye Xethz, feeling its faint pulse against his fingers. Probably it’s scanning me too. Then came the lesser thought-knots, each bead of knowledge slipping quietly into the interior, their tiny lights dimming as if acknowledging their new master. He marvelled at the simple perfection of it. Pure understanding in a bottle. Well, in a pearl… This is the dream of any student, to know the subject without studying. Now, if just these things won’t fry my brain it will be perfect.
Finally, he reached for the crystal slate, cradling it as though it might shatter in his hands. The torrent of information it contained sent a tremor through his mind, the pulse of raw knowledge almost too much for one human head to bear. He placed it carefully in the satchel, leaving it for a later time.
Raime leaned back against the wall, letting the weight of the armour and the burden of the artifacts settle over him.
Everything is here. Everything Velthar left for me… and everything I’m supposed to master. Armor, weapons, threads, knowledge… I can feel it all pressing against me. If I don’t get stronger, none of this will matter. I need to improve. To get back home faster. It’s already been days…
The room, now filled with silent relics and faintly humming energy, felt almost sacred. He glanced at the Tetra Unum again, then at Thunk. Preferential treatment doesn’t matter. One day I’ll wield both. One day I’ll make the weight of this power feel light, not heavy. But for now let’s see what the System has to say about it.
With a slow exhale, Raime allowed himself a moment of rest, the room quiet save for the faint pulse of the armour and the soft glow of the artifacts in the satchel. Then he reached out, opening the System messages. The text of his latest tutorial quest awaited, the cold precision of the interface reflecting back his current progress.
Permanent Stat Increase: +1 Insight
Choice of Insight Infusion (Select One):
? Mental Anchor
? Neural Shear
? Cognitive Mirror
Hidden Reward Unlocked:
Knowledge Infusion – Drokhar
Encoded packet containing instinctive familiarity with the alien beasts known as Drokhar.
Includes recognition markers (hide texture, resonance, psychic presence), behavioural patterns (herd defence, aggression triggers, flight/charge instincts), and survival parameters (weak points, blind angles, environmental preferences).
Upon absorption, the user will intuitively identify and respond to these creatures’ actions, gaining a subconscious edge in bonding attempts, evasive maneuvers, or direct confrontation.
[Tutorial Quest: Restore the Shattered Path – Phase III]
Designation: Anomaly – Tier 0
Status: Unawakened | Rift Integration Incomplete
Region: Ithural | Local Recognition: Confirmed
Primary Objectives:
? Bond with or eliminate each major Riftborn creature previously encountered. (0/3)
? Awaken ten Psionic Threads through deliberate strain, insight, or resonance. (0/10)
? Learn controlled levitation of your body using psionic power. (0/1)
? Cross the Sea of Grass unassisted.
Optional Objectives:
? Discover an instinctive method of energy replenishment. (0/1)
? Form a stable psionic construct with at least three Threads woven together. (0/1)
? Sustain uninterrupted consciousness for 19 Rift-hours. (18/19)
Rewards:
? +1 Resolve (permanent)
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
? New Skill dependent on previous insight infusion
? ??? (hidden reward dependent on outcome of creature confrontation)
? New Quest Chain Unlocked Upon Completion
Raime’s chest tightened as the System finalized the rewards. A soft hum resonated through his armour, as though acknowledging the augmentation within him. He felt a subtle shift in his mind, a clarity threading itself through the corners of his thoughts—the permanent +1 Insight settling comfortably, almost like a lens sharpening his comprehension.
Then the hidden reward unfurled itself inside his consciousness. The encoded packet on the Drokhar materialized as a faint, organic pulse against his mind, not cold data but a living, instinctive awareness. He could feel their bulk before seeing it, sense the subtle vibrations of their movement and the rhythm of their herds. The packet flowed into him like a stream of remembered instinct rather than abstract knowledge. Recognition markers for hide textures, resonance in the air, the psychic signature of these beasts—the information aligned with his mind’s eye. He could already feel the faint pull of reaction patterns, the knowledge of weak points, angles of attack, triggers for aggression and defence. Even without active thought, his body seemed prepared to anticipate them, to nudge his threads instinctively when they moved.
This align with the quest about bonding with the creatures, even if the System wasn’t specific, I think it’s referring to the giant centipede, the little venomous shits, and the Drokhar. Probably… in any case that’s for later. Now, what do I choose.
The Insight Infusion choice still gnawed at him. He already thought about it before, but now was the time to take a path. Mental Anchor… Neural Shear… Cognitive Mirror… He flexed his fingers, thinking of the Tetra Unum, the Threads he would need, the creatures waiting in the clearing.
Mental Anchor would probably steady me.. Useful if I push too hard with the thoughts-knots, or for just defending myself against other mental attacks.
Neural Shear… that could make my mental attacks hit sharper, maybe even destroy other creatures minds or connections, scary honestly.
Cognitive Mirror… reflecting psychic energy, maybe even prevent some harm… but how often will I face direct psionic attacks? Or I’m thinking in the wrong direction, what if it works like a parallel thought? Doubling my mental capability?
He exhaled, letting the thoughts settle.
Well, I don’t really have to choose now, do I? I’d like to make an informed choice for once, and now finally I have a means of understanding something about all this without running around blind. So I’ll wait.
Raime’s mind flicked to the next challenge: Phase III. The requirements pressed against him in a way that felt heavier than the armour itself. Ten Threads, levitation, bonding—or eliminating—the Drokhar and the other major Riftborn creatures, and crossing the Sea of Grass. Each task was a mountain.
Bonding… or eliminating them? He frowned, recalling the young Drokhar from before, its tentative eyes, the way it had frozen rather than flee. If I can bond… I’ll gain allies, insight, even protection. If I fail, I’ll have to fight. And I’m not strong enough to overwhelm them yet. I need more threads, more control, more psychic stamina.
He sat onto the edge of the bed, the armour adjusting softly as if easing him down. First things first… learn from the thought-knots, build a solid foundation of understanding. Then more Threads, get my psionic power high enough. The Tetra Unum can wait; the armour can wait. I need the energy, the foundation, the control… and the creatures. If I bond them, I’ll have a path forward. If not… I’ll be tested the hard way.
The Sea of Grass shimmered faintly in his mind’s eye, vast and unbroken, a horizon of challenge. The Drokhar’s instincts, the Threads forming in his mind, the weight of the armour—they all felt connected now, threads of a tapestry he had only begun to understand.
Raime let the thought settle, fingers brushing over the satchel. He could feel the pulse of knowledge inside, the Eye of Xethz mapping, the lesser thought-knots coiling and uncoiling with potential..
The room was quiet again, save for the soft hum of the armour and the latent pulse of the artifacts. Raime’s gaze drifted to the Tetra Unum on the wall, then back at Thunk on the desk. Preferential treatment didn’t matter—not yet. For now, preparation was everything.
Let’s get to work then, there is so much to learn… fuck, I’m back to uni for the time being.
He chuckled to himself at the thought of needing to study for surviving this absurd tutorial. And then he got to the lesser thought-knots case on the desk, he took the first one in his hand and laying down on the stone bed he steadied his mind and got comfortable, then he followed the memory of Master Velthar and opened his mind to receive the understanding of the lesson in the bead.
Raime settled onto the stone bed, letting the weight of the armour ease with him, and held the first thought-knot in his hands. Its surface was smooth, almost organic, pulsing faintly with the rhythm of contained knowledge. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, and allowed his mind to open, reaching into the small, coiled brilliance of the bead.
The moment the connection sparked, it was as if a door in his consciousness had swung wide. Knowledge flowed not like words, but like sensation—pure understanding streaming into him, unmediated by syntax or translation. His mind didn’t read so much as became aware, feeling concepts instead of thinking them.
The first layer was language. The thought-knot conveyed nuances, not just vocabulary, but cadence, rhythm, and inflection. Raime could hear the patterns of speech as a pulse in his mind, the way one word could ripple through a sentence, bending meaning subtly. He absorbed idioms and expressions, understanding context and emotion instantly, without memorization. This is how they spoke, how they connected. Language was alive, not merely utilitarian, uttered both vocally and psychically.
Then the culture unfolded like a vast tapestry, each thread threaded with instinctive understanding rather than rote memory. He felt the society’s rhythms—the morning rituals of a city rising, the silent courtyards where thought and reflection were valued as much as action, the intricate rules of deference and debate that structured interactions. Art, music, and ceremony passed over his consciousness as waves, not images, carrying the emotional resonance of generations. He could sense the care with which objects were made, the patience in cultivation of gardens, the discipline in martial practice, the joy in play. Each lesson carried subtle practicalities: how they balanced society, how decisions were debated with empathy, how psychic power shaped every nuance of life.
Next, the fundamental principles of psionic cultivation were introduced. Energy flows, resonance points, and the ways threads could be awakened, strengthened, and intertwined—all of it unfurled in clarity. Raime felt the current of psionic energy through himself, in the world, and in others. Threads were no longer abstract; each was a living pathway, and the thought-knot guided him through the motions of awakening them, through small deliberate strain, through focus, and through subtle connection to the world around him. He felt the pulse of his single thread deepen, stretching its consciousness tentatively outward, exploring the contours of space, gravity, and life.
Meditation was next, but not meditation as he had known it. The bead taught the techniques of deep attunement: breathing with the ebb and flow of psionic energy, anchoring thought without losing awareness, harmonizing mental rhythm with the environment. Raime could feel the world’s pulse in a new way, noticing currents in the air, the quiet hum of energy in the stones beneath him, even the faint psychic echoes left by the Drokhar and other Riftborn he had encountered around him. His mind expanded, learning to stabilize itself even under pressure, to recover from psychic strain, to maintain clarity amidst chaos.
Finally, the basics of everyday psychic techniques were imparted. Ways to subtly sense the presence of others, to manipulate small objects without touching them, to feel the emotional undertone in speech or movement, to defend against intrusive psionic influence, and even rudimentary methods of energy restoration. These were practical skills—skills that had once served a society both technologically advanced and beautifully harmonious. Every lesson carried not just instruction, but context: when to act, when to wait, when to bond, when to strike. Survival, refinement, and empathy were intertwined.
Raime’s body trembled slightly as the torrent of understanding flowed into him. Each lesson layered over the other, forming an intricate lattice of knowledge and instinct. He could see the connection between language, culture, and psychic practice as though it were a living map, and somewhere in the depths, he felt the pulse of those who had passed this knowledge down, their intent guiding him to use it wisely.
Hours—or perhaps minutes, time lost all meaning—passed in a quiet cascade of comprehension. Raime’s single thread throbbed with potential; he could already feel the edges of others forming, tiny flickers of new Psionic Threads coalescing in response to the lessons. His mind was not just enriched; it had been fundamentally realigned, primed to accept more, to reach further, to bind and interact with the world of the Rift with a precision he had never imagined.
He finally released the thought-knot, its glow dimmed but still vibrant. Raime sat upright, blinking, overwhelmed but exhilarated. The lessons had not only informed him—they had transformed him.
This… this is the foundation. He flexed his fingers, feeling the armour adjust with a soft hiss of woven metal threads, the Tetra Unum humming faintly in the corner, and the latent pulse of the Drokhar knowledge stirring in the back of his mind. I know how to reliably form Threads now, how did I even manage before? I was like a caveman smashing rocks together in the hope of forming a spark.
He leaned back, closed his eyes briefly, and let the understanding settle, each principle embedding into muscle memory, into intuition, into the quiet pulse of his consciousness. The first lesson of true mastery had been absorbed, and for the first time since entering the Rift, he felt the faintest touch of confidence. This was what he needed to save himself from the rift, and to save what was left of this world from the System. With a thought he made the first thought-knot fly back into its case, and the second one go to his hand.
Again.