Eduardo
Inner Sanctum
Aeternum pocket space
December 6th 6414
The Kain girl's Codex activated, and before I could react, it pulled us into the inner sanctum of its vessel. The suction was overwhelming—a violent, disorienting force I couldn't resist. It felt as though my soul was being yanked from my body.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a place I didn't recognize. Towering shelves lined with ancient tomes surrounded us, their spines etched with forgotten runes and dust older than nations.
Princess Ariella and the Lycan boy, Ben, stood beside me. Unlike me, they looked completely unfazed, perhaps accustomed to this strange transition.
I stared at them, then at our surroundings.
How did she become a Dungeon Carrier? I wondered. Possessing a Codex-linked Dungeon was more than rare—it was a cultivator's ultimate treasure. A conquered Dungeon wasn't just a sanctuary but a limitless source of power, knowledge, and ascension.
And this girl… she wielded it like second nature.
The more I observed the Kain girl, the more enigmatic she became. Every layer she revealed only deepened the mystery.
A mote of silver light shimmered into existence, coalescing into an androgynous, ethereal figure. Its form wavered between masculine and feminine, cloaked in translucent light, like something pulled from the legends of the Outer Realms—where beings of pure will were said to reside.
"Aeternum, where's Lil?" Ariella asked, her voice casual but laced with familiarity.
"She's currently speaking with Mary Avrams," the spectral being replied, its voice melodic and strangely calming. "Her aunt seeks to bestow the Avram family's ancestral blessing."
Ben, the Lycan boy, stepped forward. "Is there somewhere I can train? If I'm going to be Ella's bodyguard, I'd rather not fall behind. Can't let Lil outpace me that easily."
Aeternum nodded. "There is a battle simulation chamber two levels below us." With a snap of its fingers, Ben vanished in a shimmer of light—teleported instantly.
Ariella sighed and turned to me with a wry smile. "It's a lot to take in, isn't it?"
I exhaled slowly. "I've seen my share of strange things… but this is definitely up there."
The ethereal being—Aeternum—hovered closer, its opalescent gaze studying me intently. I felt like a specimen under divine scrutiny.
"You are Divinely Marked," it said suddenly.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You bear a Divine Blessing—also known as Divine Protection. It signifies the favor of a higher entity. Most likely… an Elohim."
"You can see that?" I asked, caught off guard. I shouldn't have been surprised—Greta had sensed something similar, back when she warned me about the presence that manifested during Carmen and Jose's sacrifice. I tried not to think of the cult. I tried even harder not to think of how Jack Kuria had been involved in it.
"Elohim…" Ariella repeated, frowning. "That word sounds familiar."
"It's an ancient term," Aeternum explained. "From the First Civilization. It was used to refer to divine entities—beings once revered as gods."
"Gods…" I murmured. "Is that what that thing was?"Greta had said it was tied to death. A presence older than time, colder than entropy. I hadn't understood then. Maybe I still didn't. But if anything deserved to be called a god, it was that.
Aeternum's gaze narrowed. "Your Divine Protection is fascinating. It shares properties with Lilith's—though the resonance is… different."
"Is there a way to remove it?" I asked without thinking, already dreading the answer.
The being gave a slow, sorrowful shake of its head. "No. Divine Protection is not like a curse—it is a gift. Once given, it cannot be revoked by ordinary means. Only the one who granted it may reclaim their favor… or a being of greater authority may override it."
A chill ran down my spine. So I was marked. Claimed. And only a god—or something above a god—could undo it.
"Very interesting," Aeternum murmured, its luminous form pulsing faintly.
I could tell it wasn't finished. Something lingered beneath that statement.
"What is it?" I asked, wary.
"The Divine Protection," Aeternum said slowly, "has integrated seamlessly into your soul structure. So much so, in fact, that it may influence the formation of your Ability Factor—if and when you reach the threshold."
My breath caught.
In the cultivation world, when a practitioner reached the Master Realm—the point at which the Mana Core reached full maturity—it became possible to manifest a physical essence within the body. Under the right internal and external conditions, that essence could evolve into an Ability Factor: a unique metaphysical trait drawn from one's soul, identity, and desire.
Most inherited their family's Ability Factors. I had not. Neither of my parents' powers had passed to me, and my bloodline had remained dormant.
But I had always dreamed of creating my own. A Sin Factor, born not from legacy, but from conviction. Few ever succeeded in doing so—forming one from nothing was rare. Almost unheard of. But for me, it was the only path.
And now, this Codex-born being was telling me that the seeds had already begun to grow.
Just as I tried to process that revelation, a sharp pop echoed through the chamber. Lilith appeared in a shimmer of crimson and shadow.
Her eyes found us instantly. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of me speaking with her Codex—but, as always, said nothing directly to me. Instead, she walked over and handed Aeternum an enchanted artifact—the one Sanders had given her.
"You should operate the key, Aeternum," she said. "Your navigation is more precise than mine."
Aeternum took the key as though it were a physical object, even though its form was entirely light and spirit. It drifted away without a word.
Lilith turned back to us. She didn't ask about Ben. She probably already knew where he was.
"It won't take us long to reach Jack Kuria," she said. "So we should rest while we can. There are a few cultivation stations nearby. You'll find them useful."
I nodded, offering a polite bow to Ariella before excusing myself.
The halls of the Codex vessel were quiet, filled with an eerie calm. Eventually, I found one of the stations—a small booth inscribed with a dense magical array. At its center was a softly glowing platform shaped like a lotus blossom, etched into stone.
I stepped inside and lowered myself into the meditative pose. As I crossed my legs and rested my palms on my knees, the ambient mana thickened around me. The array responded to my presence, gently guiding the energy flow into my body.
It was potent—denser and purer than anything I'd felt in the outer world.
I closed my eyes, drawing my breath inward, silencing my thoughts.
And then I descended.
My focus shifted from the physical to the spiritual, from flesh to essence. Deeper still—until I entered that sacred internal space all cultivators possessed, the realm where no deception could exist.
My Soul Realm.
Here, the outer world faded. There was no Codex, no mission, no Divine Protection—only the core of who I truly was. And in that stillness… I could feel it. A presence, dormant yet stirring—subtle as a whisper, vast as the void.
When I opened my eyes, I stood within a vast, forgotten cathedral. Ashen marble stretched beneath my boots. Above me, ribbed vaults loomed like skeletal fingers trying to hold the heavens back. Shadows danced on stone walls, cast by unseen torches that flickered with blue flame. The air smelled of old blood and dust—of rituals long broken and names long buried. The ceiling opened up to a perpetual solar eclipse-a dying sun masked by a black moon. I looked away from the sky, and before me was a black obsidian throne that rose at the far end of the sanctuary.
It was majestic.
And empty.
I took a cautious step forward. The sound of my footsteps echoed endlessly, as if the walls themselves mourned the silence. I passed between rows of gravestones carved into the cathedral floor—unmarked, silent, standing like forgotten sentinels.
I remembered something his father once said:"A crown is not given. It's taken. But you, Eduardo... you're too soft to claim one."
My fists clenched. My chest ached. As I reached the middle of the cathedral, a voice whispered from the shadows.
"Why do you come here, son of the unwanted blood?"
I turned, but saw no one. Only darkness. Then another voice, this one the voice of my late twin brother:
"You were passed over… but not because you were weak."
And another, this one deeper:
"You still wear the name of the fallen—but do you wear it in shame… or promise?"
The whispers swirled around me like a storm of memory. Faces flickered in the shadows—half-familiar, half-forgotten. Ancestors, maybe. Or echoes of possibility.
I dropped to one knee, clutching my chest as a sudden pulse of pain erupted from within. My Mana flared—but something else responded. Not just energy. Something older. Something deeper.
Behind the throne, a shift occurred.
From the darkness, a blackened tree emerged—its bark twisted and worn, like it had weathered eons of suffering. Its branches were skeletal, bare, yet clinging to a single, unopened bud nestled deep within its crooked limbs. It wasn't a flower. Not yet.
But it pulsed—slow and steady, in perfect rhythm with my heart.
My breath trembled.
I understood now.
The tree behind the throne was no idle symbol. It was alive with power—an extension of something that had been planted within me. A representation of the Divine Protection I carried. Of the promise it held… and the cost.
A tolling bell echoed through the cathedral, low and resonant, as though the soul of the place acknowledged what I was touching. Something ancient had awakened.
I rose and stepped forward, not to sit upon the throne, but to walk behind it—to reach for the tree. When my hand met its cold bark, understanding poured into me—not in words, but as raw knowledge imprinted upon the soul. It had a name. Vesper Mortem. The Twilight of Death.
The blessing—or curse—granted to me by that nameless, unfathomable being. It had settled not just in my body, but in my very soul structure. I was not truly alive. Nor was I truly dead. My soul had been suspended somewhere in between—anchored between realms by divine authority.
Death would not claim me. Not until the moment it was destined to. I could be torn apart, maimed, bled dry, or shattered—but I would not die. My suffering could be endless, but the final silence would not come… until death itself deemed it time.
And yet, there was more. Even as I stood in the center of that hollow cathedral, I could feel the subtle changes already at work. My Mana flowed more freely, brimming past what should have been my natural capacity. My body, even in memory, felt lighter, any fatal wound coud heal in moments where they once would have festered. I could sense it: a quiet, instinctive restoration that would surge forth if I ever found myself near the brink.
But more than that… there was a shadow clinging to me, and it did not belong to this realm. A presence that would rise if someone tried to end me. If they came at me with the intent to kill, the pain they tried to inflict could rebound—to strike them in return. A cruel mirror forged by divine irony.
I could feel another layer too—one subtler, more intimate. A pressure, deep in my bones, that would awaken if I faced true destruction. Not fear. Not hope. But defiance. A resistance to the final blow, the fatal curse, the soul-ending fire. A rebellion embedded into my very essence. It would rise and push back when death tried to touch me before its time.
And at the edge of all this power… was a whisper. A quiet certainty. One day, I will know. I would feel it in my chest. In my breath. In the weight of the sky. I would feel the moment when my protection expired and death finally reached for me. That day wasn't today. But it would come. And when it did, there would be no more defiance.
I withdrew my hand slowly, eyes fixed on the bud. It glowed faintly now. A little brighter than before. Vesper Mortem was not just a gift. It was a warning. A contract I had not signed. A crown of thorns placed gently on my brow.
And yet… beneath the dread, there was power. Real, undeniable power. I straightened my back. The bud would bloom. And I would be ready when it did.
The cathedral had gone still again. No more tolling bells. No more whispers. Just the low, ambient hum of ancient mana reverberating through the bones of the structure. I turned back toward the center of the sanctuary, drawn by something I couldn't name. My breath slowed as I realized—
The eclipse above had shifted. Not completely. But subtly. The black moon had thinned around the edges, allowing threads of red-gold light to slip through like bleeding cracks in the sky. That was when I felt it. Not with my eyes. Not with my ears. But with something older. A sense beneath the senses.
There, between the pews. A figure stood in the shadows. No footsteps. No arrival. No motion. It had simply always been there, waiting for me to see. At first, I thought it was a trick of the gloom, a warped shadow cast by the flickering torches.
But then the shadows began to take form.
It was tall, almost impossibly so, its body cloaked in robes that moved as if stirred by wind that didn't exist. Its face was obscured by a smooth, featureless mask—obsidian black, with faint cracks that glowed faintly with the color of old bone. Two void-like hollows peered through the mask's surface—not eyes, but impressions of something behind vision.
Its presence wasn't crushing. It wasn't violent. It was inevitable. Like winter. Like silence. Like death. The air grew heavy, not in weight but in meaning. My soul instinctively bowed inward, as though some primal part of me recognized the truth:
This was Maveth. The one who walked the threshold between ends and beginnings.The silent watcher at the gate of all things. The one who had marked me. I couldn't speak. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. Not from fear, but reverence. The kind you show a power too vast to question. Not a tyrant. Not a god who demanded worship. But a force that simply was.
Maveth didn't speak. Not in words. But something passed between us, like the stillness before a final breath.
You are not mine yet.
The words weren't spoken—but carved into the walls of my mind. Ancient. Absolute.
But you wear my mantle. You walk beneath my eclipse. And when your time comes... I will not take you. You will walk to me willingly.
Something behind the mask shifted. Not emotion. Not expression. Just… acknowledgment. Acceptance. Then Maveth raised a hand. The gesture was slow, deliberate, like the ringing of a final bell. And behind me, I felt it.
The bud on the blackened tree trembled. It began to open. Just slightly. Not yet a flower. But no longer a seed. The presence began to recede—not walking, not vanishing, but folding back into the deeper layers of shadow, becoming once more part of the cathedral's bones.
I remained standing in silence, heart steady, breath slow. Maveth was gone. But the feeling remained—like the afterimage of a dream you couldn't quite forget. And deep in my Soul Realm, the first petal of Noctgrave had begun to unfurl.
My eyes opened.
The stillness of the Soul Realm faded like mist receding from the morning light, and the weight of the physical world returned. Stone beneath me. Air against my skin. The faint hum of enchantments pulsing through the cultivation station.
But something had changed. I took a slow, grounding breath—deeper than usual. My body felt… heavier, but not in a burdensome way. It was the kind of weight a blade might feel once it had finally been tempered. Denser. Sharper. Stronger.
I rose from the lotus platform and stepped out of the array. The mana-rich air no longer pressed against my skin—it flowed around me, familiar, like it recognized me now. Welcomed me. As if the atmosphere itself knew I had crossed an invisible threshold.
I caught my reflection in the metallic surface of a nearby pillar. At first, nothing seemed different. But then I saw it—in my eyes. The dark color hadn't changed, but the depth had. Something lingered in them now: a dark flicker, not unnatural, but eternal. A fragment of the eclipse. A memory of stillness.
I lifted a hand, expecting the usual faint delay as I summoned my mana. But it was already there—eager, fluid, hovering just beneath the skin. My pool had grown, no doubt. The currents inside me felt fuller, more focused. There was no need to reach anymore. The power was present.
More than that, the scars along my right arm, the one I normally covered with a glove. An injury from my Father's disappointment. It had healed. No more burning stiffness. Just pale, renewed skin.
Grave Recovery, I thought. Passive regeneration had already taken effect. Subtle… but undeniable. And then came the silence. Not the absence of sound, but a silence within. Like a space in my soul had been cleared, cleaned. A space where something now stirred—something waiting. Watching.
Vesper Mortem.
It had settled, fully now. Not intrusive, not invasive, but ever-present, like a quiet sentinel at the edge of my being. And somewhere-deeper still, I felt the echo of the blackened tree. The bud had not bloomed yet. But it was no longer asleep.
I stepped away from the cultivation booth, rolling my shoulders. The stiffness in my body was gone. My thoughts clearer. The path before me hadn't changed… but I was no longer standing in the same place. I was moving forward. And something in the shadows of my soul was moving with me.