The past few weeks had been nothing short of cataclysmic.
Not outwardly, perhaps—not with thunder or spectacle. But within Alaric, the change was seismic. Tectonic. His once stagnant power, once brute and unfocused, had risen—not through raw increase, but through mastery. Through understanding.
Before, he could bend the space around his fist—distort it like smoke under pressure, just enough to make his strikes ripple unnaturally. Now?
Now he could teleport.
Yes. Teleport.
He had tried it for the first time two days ago, and to his own disbelief, he'd burst out laughing. Actually laughing. Then jumping. Then teleporting mid-jump just to feel the thrill again.
It was a dream come true—one he'd carried even in his past life. Back then, it had been a fantasy. Something cool. A trick for heroes in books and battle mages in hollow games.
But now? Now it was his.
