Chapter 9
The Anchor and the Abyss
Kaelen's eyes opened to the familiar, low ceiling of his Aethelgard apartment. The return was no longer a violent expulsion, but a slow, deliberate surfacing from deep waters. For a long moment, he simply lay there, performing the mental ritual of re-integration.
I am Kaelen Marcus. I am in the Aethelgard Arcology, on the planet Aethelgard, in the Helios Corridor of Galaxia Krystallos from Universe-Prime. My draft ship leaves in twenty days.
The thoughts were an anchor thrown into the storm of foreign memories. The feel of a wooden practice sword was still vivid in his palm, the scent of the castle's forge a ghost in his nose. He flexed his hands, his real hands, feeling the undeniable density of muscle and tendon that had not been there a month ago. Subjectively, he had spent over two years in Renly's body, training, breathing, living. The transformation was no longer just spiritual; it was physical, a quiet theft of strength from across the Veil. He was careful to move with a deliberate, slightly awkward gait when outside, masking the preternatural grace and control he now possessed. Even an unexplained improvement in coordination could raise flags he couldn't afford.
He rose and activated the main wall display. The screen flickered to life, bathing the room in the cool blue light of the Federal News Network (FNN). This was part of his consolidation ritual—re-immersing himself in the reality he was fighting to remain in.
A sleek, digitally rendered graphic of a lush, green-and-blue planet dominated the feed. The ticker below read: ELYSIAN SETTLEMENT: PHASE ONE ACCELERATES. FEDERATION HAILS 'NEW DAWN FOR HUMANITY'.
The narration was a smooth, patriotic baritone. "The first wave of settlers has established a firm foothold in the Equatorial Basin, with prefabricated arcologies rising at a record pace. Initial surveys confirm Elysian's remarkable Aetheric concentration, measured at 18% higher than the previous record-holder, Nova Terra. Scientists from the Veridian Syndicate suggest this pervasive energy field may be responsible for the planet's incredibly vibrant and robust flora and fauna."
Kaelen watched, a cynical knot in his stomach. A "New Dawn of 2600" built on the backs of the drafted, like him. The camera panned over gleaming, half-built structures, but he knew the reality for the first wave would be mud, danger, and brutal labor on the frontier. The high Aether concentration was a blessing for future Enhancers and industry, but a curse for the initial settlers facing an energized, unpredictable ecosystem.
The segment shifted to political analysis. A commentator with the sharp features and severe uniform of the Aethelgard Hegemony was debating a woman adorned with the subtle, interlocking continent-and-star motif of the Euro-African Concord.
"The Helios Spire region is historically Aethelgard's sphere of influence," the Hegemony representative stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Our military provides the security for the entire corridor; it is only logical that the resource rights to the Spire's northern mineral belts fall under our administration."
"Logical, but not equitable," the Concord woman countered, her smile diplomatic but her eyes sharp. "The Concord has contributed the bulk of the terraforming engineers and ecological stabilizers. The Federation is a union, not an empire. Elysian's bounty must be shared according to contribution, not historical posturing. We propose a joint oversight council."
Kaelen changed the channel, finding a financial feed. A representative from the Veridian Syndicate, her hair a genetically perfected silver, was making her case."Our analysis is clear. Elysian's unique, Aether-rich biome presents adaptation challenges that baseline humans are ill-equipped to handle. Our genetically optimized settlers have a 47% higher projected survival and productivity rate. We are not asking for privilege; we are advocating for efficiency. A 'Biometric Priority' system for land grants and leadership roles is simply the most logical path to a successful colonization."
He could almost feel the outrage from the other nations. It was all a grand, galactic game of chess, and the people being shipped out were the pawns. The news scroll at the bottom of the screen hinted at the darker undercurrents: FGN Patrols Increase in Elysian Orbit Amid Reports of Unregistered Ship Traffic. Federal Intelligence Directorate Warns of Smuggling Activity on the Frontier. It didn't take a genius to guess that the Shadow Cartels and other fringe groups were already trying to carve out their own pieces of this pristine, habitable world, seeking to establish a foothold before the Federation's control became absolute.
Then, a smaller, flashing headline caught his eye, tucked away in a science and ethics bulletin:
AVALON TECHNOCRACY DISAVOWS RESEARCHER. DR. ARIS THORNE II CHARGED WITH 'COGNITIVE TRANSFERENCE' VIOLATIONS.
Kaelen leaned forward, his interest piqued. The article was sparse on details, citing "ethical breaches" and "forbidden experimentation into the non-physical substrate of consciousness." The official statement from the Technocracy condemned the research as "a dangerous deviation from sanctioned cybernetic enhancement, trespassing into realms the Federation is not prepared to navigate. The subject of consciousness and its transference remains theoretical; to experiment upon it is to risk the very essence of human identity."
A cold, relieved certainty settled over him. Cognitive Transference. It sounded grandiose, but it was stumbling in the dark compared to what he could do. The Federation's brightest, even in the secret labs of the Avalon Technocracy, were just beginning to theorize about the soul, and they considered it a forbidden, dangerous frontier. The standard AVRC medical scan was a physical and basic Aetheric resonance check; it was designed to measure muscle density, neural activity, and Aether-weaving potential. It would look at him and see a healthy, if surprisingly fit, young man. The idea that it should scan for "inter-dimensional soul scarring" or the subtle shifts in his consciousness wouldn't just be impossible; it would be scientifically incoherent to them. His secret was safe behind a wall of scientific ignorance and ethical fear. This knowledge was a shield, as vital as any he was forging on Valeria.
His chronometer beeped softly. His consolidation period was over. It was time to return. He had left Renly's body on autopilot for a Valerian month now, with the simple command: "Train. Obey Joric. Survive." It was a risk, but a calculated one. He needed to maintain Renly's progress without spending every night there himself.
Settling back onto his bed, he closed his eyes. The journey was becoming a familiar road. The vast, star-dusted expanse of the multiverse opened before his inner vision. There was no soul-splitting pain this time; that was only necessary to reestablish a connection to a world after recovery from the traumatic severance of a Death Recall. This was a practiced, gentle projection. He found the familiar, vibrant pulse of Valeria and sent his consciousness hurtling toward it.
For a moment, he lingered in the nexus, observing the connection. He could feel the faint, steady thrum of Renly's existence, like a program running smoothly in the background. Then, he released his primary awareness, letting it flow down the cord.
The transition was instantaneous. One moment he was in the infinite, the next he was in the finite, his senses flooding with the reality of Renly's world. He was in the castle courtyard, drenched in sweat, mid-way through a sword drill. His (Renly's) muscles burned with a healthy fatigue. He glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed the brief absence of the "pilot." The autopilot had held, maintaining the routine with impressive fidelity.
He spent the next few days re-familiarizing himself, subtly adjusting the body's movements, reinforcing the optimized forms he had designed. As dusk fell, he prepared to return. He immersed himself in the most complex drill Ser Joric had taught them, focusing on the flow of vital force from his core to his limbs. He then issued the command, pouring his intent into the consciousness he would leave behind.
"Practice the Storm-Step. Cultivate the Breath. Survive."
It was a more complex order, a test of the autopilot's sophistication. He then consciously pulled his primary awareness back, the silver cord reeling him in across the dimensions.
Back in his apartment, only few minutes had passed. He felt a slight spiritual fatigue, but nothing debilitating. The experiment was a success. He could now multi-task his existence, growing stronger in another reality while navigating the dangers of his own.
He looked back at the news feed, now showing a map of Elysian with various zones color-coded by proposing nations. It was a squabble over a single new world. They were so focused on claiming one new backyard, they were blind to the infinite ones he could access.
They had their political games, their resource wars, their fledgling, fearful science of the soul.
He had the multiverse.
And he was just getting started.