Chapter 47

  Raime remained where he stood, the faint hum of psionic energy still resonating through the vast hall. The word Disciple hung between them, carrying far more weight than a title should.

  He raised his gaze to the figure upon the throne. “Why do you want to make me your disciple?” he asked at last. “What does that really mean?”

  Neimar’s silver eye flickered once, and for a moment, the ancient Sovereign almost seemed… pleased.

  “Because,” he began, his tone calm but layered with the gravity of command, “there is much to prepare before what you seek—and what I desire—can be achieved. You wish to return to your world. To do that, your current nature must be mended.”

  Raime frowned. “My nature?”

  “Your status,” Neimar corrected. “You are an anomaly in the System’s design. A variable that does not belong within its defined pathways. As such, the System will not allow your reentry into the flow of your native world. Not for now, at least. You were removed from it the moment you fell into the Rift, and the only way to bridge that divide is to complete what has begun.”

  Raime’s pulse quickened. “The tutorial,” he murmured.

  “Indeed,” Neimar said, inclining his head slightly. “The System still watches you, even here. But your path is now veiled, distorted. You must awaken, Raime—fully and of your own accord. Only then will you become whole again, neither bound by the Rift nor by the limitations of your former self.

  His voice lowered, the resonance of it brushing against Raime’s thoughts like the echo of distant thunder. “Understand this — even if you were to find some other means to break your current chains, remaining an anomaly would grant you nothing but suffering. It is not a gift to carry forever, but a wound that deepens with time. Trust me in this.”

  Raime thought about the words of Neimar, What did he know about anomalies? How was he so sure that staying one will be so bad for me? Well, since I became one I didn’t really have the best of times, I had to admit, but there must be something more to it…

  “I know that I have to awaken,” Raime said slowly, “but I’d still like to understand what makes being an anomaly so… unfortunate. If it’s no trouble, that is.” He added the last part almost reflexively — the Sovereign had been remarkably forthcoming so far, but there was no harm in being polite before someone who could crush his mind with a thought.

  Neimar inclined his head slightly, a faint ripple of approval brushing across Raime’s consciousness. “An excellent inquiry,” he said, his voice carrying the serene gravity of a teacher pleased with his pupil. “And one that deserves an answer, given your circumstances.”

  His words deepened, resonant — the tone of a scholar who had long studied the laws of reality itself. “There are many tales of anomalies spoken throughout the Nexus, though they share only two constants. The first is power. Every anomaly that survives the System’s scrutiny emerges as a force of remarkable potential — unpredictable, formidable, free from the ordinary limits that bind the common existences in the multiverse.”

  He paused, the light of his silver eye dimming slightly, as if shadowed by memory. “The second constant is tragedy. No anomaly, no matter how strong, escapes its price. While there are legends of those who rose beyond the System’s reach — who defied even the weave of destiny itself — they are but stories. Perhaps a few of them true… yet they are the exception, not the rule.”

  The air in the hall seemed to tighten as his tone grew heavier. “Most anomalies die long before anyone learns their names. Many are hunted, marked for elimination by the System or by those who fear what they represent. Those who endure, grow… but their growth is unnatural. Outside the System’s framework, their evolution twists both body and mind. You yourself have brushed that precipice — the moment when power ceases to serve you, and begins to remake you instead.”

  Raime’s fingers twitched slightly, recalling the moment the threshold crossing had nearly consumed him.

  “Of the few who remain,” Neimar went on, “their lives become a sequence of trials — challenges sent by the System itself to probe, to test, to correct. And no being, no matter how gifted, can endure endless trials. Survival, in the end, is only a matter of probabilities...”

  “So, basically remaining outside the System is a death sentence— that I can understand. I’ve had more brushes with death in the last two weeks than ever before—well, I was never really at risk of dying before, except maybe in a car crash.” Raime’s outspoken musings were a way for himself to acknowledge the informations he just received, more than a real answer to Neimar.

  The Sovereign’s next words rolled through the air like a measured tide. “Fate has seen fit not to abandon you to this trial alone. You have at your side the last Sovereign of Ithural—the greatest psionic mind my people ever birthed.” A flicker of pride touched his voice, cool and sharp as polished steel. “With my guidance, you will find the means to succeed.”

  Raime’s thoughts tangled as he tried to follow the magnitude of what Neimar was saying. He should awaken himself, repair his anomaly status while saving an entire civilization’s legacy in the process? It was too much, too fast.

  “And that,” Neimar continued, unhurried, “is only the surface of what awaits us. You and I must discuss the nature of your status, your future path of progression, the true state of your soul, and the encounter you had with Orrhal, the one you call the Eye. Each of these threads connects to your awakening, and each must be understood before you can proceed. There are many matters that demand our attention, and we shall begin with a simple lesson.”

  The Sovereign paused then, his words hanging in the vast stillness of the hall. The lavender light from the dome above framed his form like an otherworldly halo, patient and unshaken.

  Raime took the opportunity to draw a slow breath. The silence between them felt like standing on the edge of a storm—too calm, too poised to last. His mind raced, every revelation grinding against the last, until finally the question that had been forming since the start broke free.

  “Why?” he asked quietly. “Why are you going to such lengths for me?” His voice echoed faintly against the marble. “I can’t imagine a being like you—of your station—needing to do any of this. You could have chosen anyone, or simply waited for the next outworlder to fall. Why me?”

  The question lingered in the charged air, unbroken yet heavy with meaning. Neimar’s expression remained inscrutable, the gleam of his silver eye reflecting Raime’s uncertainty back at him like a mirror.

  Neimar did not answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the great psionic conduits that ran along the chamber walls — veins of faint violet light pulsing like the heartbeat of the ancient hall. When he finally spoke, his tone had changed; softer, stripped of some of the imperious resonance that marked his every word.

  “Why you?” he repeated, almost as though the question amused him. “Because I know you.”

  Raime’s brow furrowed. “Know me?”

  Neimar’s eye shimmered faintly, and the air between them rippled with the memory of distant thought. “When you fell through the Rift, before even the Administrator took notice, I reached for the disturbance that tore through the veil of Ithural. Your arrival was… not subtle. Your mind was open, unguarded — and I saw it.”

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  He leaned back against the stone throne, silver light tracing the ridges of his face. “I saw you, Raime. Your fears, your hopes, your every regret. Your life from beginning to end — the faces that shaped you, the moments that defined you, the choices that made you who you are. I saw it all, and I understood.”

  Raime’s throat tightened. The thought of someone knowing him so completely — so intimately — was both alien and unnerving.

  “I did not choose you because of what you might become,” Neimar continued. “I chose you because of who you already are. There is a steadiness in you, a kind of quiet defiance the System does not account for. You prefer harsh truths over comforting lies, you always keep your word. You are pragmatic, but underneath your logic beats a noble heart. Even now after I revealed what I did, I knew it would not drive you away but bind you closer. That is your nature — to face what is unbearable and still move forward. And the time you spent here, made this trait even stronger”

  The faintest curve touched the Sovereign’s lips, not pride exactly, but something dangerously close to fondness. “Even now, as I speak, you are already convincing yourself that you must see this through. That is why I chose you. You were never going to say no.”

  Raime looked away, jaw tightening, because the Sovereign was right — infuriatingly right.

  But Neimar wasn’t finished. His tone shifted again, this time to something quieter, almost human. “And perhaps,” he said, “there is a smaller truth within the greater one. I have been alone a very long time, Raime. The silence of a fallen world weighs heavier than even power like mine can bear. Once, I guided millions — taught, led, shaped minds to ascend beyond flesh and thought alike. Then came the Fall, and there was no one left to guide. Just an eternity of loneliness to endure.”

  He exhaled, though the sound was more psychic than physical, a sigh of thought and memory. “Now, at the end of that silence, stands you — a mind unbound, raw, but filled with potential. You are not merely a tool to restore Ithural; you are also… a reminder. Of what it meant to lead, to guide, to build something worth saving.”

  The Sovereign’s silver gaze fixed on him again, sharp and steady. “You are my last disciple, Raime. And through teaching you, I find purpose once more. Through saving you, I might yet save my people.”

  Raime said nothing. The air between them hummed with quiet understanding. While he didn’t really like this situation he found himself in, at least he wasn’t enslaved or forced to act against his will.

  More or less. It’s not that I wanted to be here… but I want to help the Ithurian people. I’ve gained so much thanks to them already — this situation is not all bad.

  Finally, Raime nodded, a subtle motion that felt heavier than words. “Then… I guess we help each other.”

  Neimar inclined his head, the faintest echo of approval rippling through the air. “Precisely.”

  “Before we start,” Raime said, his voice quieter now, though it carried a note of urgency beneath the calm, “I’d like to know how long this awakening will take. I’m… worried about my family, about what’s happening on Earth. It feels like I’ve been here for too long already.”

  Neimar regarded him in silence for a moment, then inclined his head slightly. “That should not burden your thoughts, Raime. Time here does not flow as it does in your world.”

  Raime’s pulse quickened, unease flickering across his face. “What do you mean?” he asked sharply. “How is that possible? How much time has passed on Earth?”

  “Be at ease,” Neimar replied, his tone patient, almost reassuring. “Not even two full rotations of your planet have passed since your arrival.”

  Raime froze, searching the Sovereign’s expression for any hint of deceit, but found none. “Two days…?” he whispered, disbelief bleeding into relief.

  “The System is not bound by the linear constraints your kind knows,” Neimar continued, his gaze drifting upward toward the shimmering dome of the palace. “Rifts are not placed upon living worlds, but in the voids between — regions where gravity thins, where even light hesitates. The flow of time there is distorted, stretched. For those within, days may feel like weeks or months, yet beyond, scarcely an instant has passed.”

  Raime exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from his shoulders, though his mind still reeled at the thought. Weeks here, days at home… The scale of it was beyond him, but at least—at least—Earth was not lost to him yet.

  Raime’s chest tightened, despite Neimar’s reassurance. He drew a slow breath, steadying himself, though the familiar ache of longing tugged at him. No matter what, I need to get back to them. I need to see my family.

  “I understand what you said about time here… but I still want to return as soon as I can,” he said firmly, his gaze locked on the Sovereign. “So… how long will it take for me to awaken?”

  Neimar inclined his head, his expression calm, yet carrying the weight of infinite patience. “That depends entirely on you, disciple. Your will, your effort, your understanding of what you are—and what you may become—will dictate the pace. No external force can accelerate it beyond what you can bear.”

  Raime swallowed, absorbing the gravity of the words. “So it’s… entirely up to me.”

  “Exactly,” Neimar replied. “Before we discuss the particulars, you must understand that there are multiple paths to awakening. Each choice will shape not only your abilities, but your very essence.”

  Raime furrowed his brow, leaning forward slightly. “Different ways? How?”

  The Sovereign’s silver eye glimmered with a faint light. “The first path follows the tradition of my people. You could cultivate a psionic core, a vessel designed to store and focus psychic energy—your Threads could expand naturally, weaving into the fabric of your mind and body, as the Ithurians did.”

  “And the second?” Raime asked, intrigued.

  Neimar’s tone deepened. “I could assist you in constructing a mana core—unattuned, blank, and versatile. Unlike the psionic core, it would not be bound to a single type of energy. It would be a canvas upon which your future may be drawn, waiting for the direction you choose to give it. Mana is a raw form of energy, it can shape itself and the world around you in many different ways. We can delve more on the intricacies of mana manipulation another time, possibly after knowing your affinities.”

  Raime’s brow furrowed further. “This is a lot to take in, and I know nothing about mana, I only practiced with psionic energy, but you know that. What other option do I have?”

  The Sovereign inclined his head. “Another way could be that of awakening an attuned mana core, specifically of the mind type. While Orrhal attempted to control you, to bend you into a vessel for its will, it also imparted knowledge. Knowledge that can prime your body to cultivate a core of mind mana, distinct from psionic energy. If we choose this path, we must work together to extract and stabilize it. It is… dangerous, yes, but immensely powerful. Considering your talent for psionic energy, you could take into consideration fusing the two energies and creating two cores, there is the possibility of synergy between the two systems.”

  Raime’s mind raced, trying to weigh the implications. So first it wanted to brainwash me, then I would have cultivated a body fit for him to use as a vessel? Bastard… But I have a chance to use its knowledge to get an advantage now. Mind mana and psionic energy… together they could be stronger than the sum of their parts, it is not dissimilar to what the Administrator wanted to do.

  Neimar’s voice deepened, carrying a gravity that seemed to echo through the chamber.

  “Finally, there is the path of the soul. Given the current state of your soul, it would be possible—though it stands as the most arduous, and perhaps the most perilous of all. Should you succeed, however, it would define your very essence, granting a mastery that surpasses both psionic and mana-based paths. Beginning your journey with a soul core could prime you to become a force beyond measure, especially if you learn to weave other forms of energy into it. Its potential… is vast.”

  He let the silence breathe between them before continuing, his tone soft but steady.

  “The choice is yours, Raime. Each path will shape not only your abilities but the very way you exist within the System. There is no right or wrong choice—only the one you are willing to commit to, with all that it demands.”

  Raime drew a slow breath, feeling the enormity of it all settle into his bones. The future stretched before him like a web of shimmering threads—each one a destiny waiting to be chosen.

  Every choice matters… and every choice will define me.

  “I’ll need some time to think about it,” he said quietly.

  Neimar inclined his head. “You will need more than time, Raime. You will need understanding. Only through knowledge will you learn to shape what lies ahead—and decide the Path that will carry you forward.”

  The Sovereign rose from the throne in a smooth, deliberate motion, the air around him rippling faintly—as though reality itself bent to accommodate his presence. He floated through the air with a quiet resonance, his robes trailing like shifting strands of starlight across the floor.

  “First,” Neimar said, his tone calm yet commanding, “we begin with an assessment of your affinities.”

  He turned and moved toward a tall, arched doorway set into the side of the great throne room, its surface etched with flowing patterns that pulsed softly as he approached.

  “Follow, disciple.”