The sky above the mountain realm had returned to stillness, but within Kael, everything had changed.
He emerged from the Trial Gate of the Body altered—not just physically. The mountain wind no longer chilled him. The earth beneath his bare feet bent ever so slightly beneath his steps, as if recognizing something sovereign within him. His senses were sharper, his heartbeat calmer. Power coiled beneath his skin—not explosive, but patient. Measured.
But the moment of peace was short-lived.
The relic pulsed weakly.
"… anomaly detected… convergence thread… proximity alert…"
Kael frowned. "What do you mean?"
"One of the devoured realms… fragment… bleeding into this plane."
His eyes widened.
A low tremor ran through the land. The skies flickered—just once, but enough for Kael's newly honed instincts to notice.
Something had entered this realm. Not fully. Not yet. But a crack had been made.
Kael turned his gaze outward. From this mountain's peak, he could see far—rolling forests, distant city-states, the veil of clouds that marked the edge of known land. For now, life moved as normal. But something had shifted in the fabric of the realm.
And he knew why.
The Comic Convergence.
The relic had spoken of it before its damage had worsened—barely-coherent fragments: broken universes colliding, devourers leaving echoes behind, and realms once sealed opening cracks into others.
"This world was never meant to be touched," the relic rasped. "But interference… began long ago."
Kael clenched his fist.
The Monarch who had left this legacy had foreseen it. That was why the inheritance was made at all—why the Path of Syncretic Ascension existed. It wasn't just to help one rise. It was a weapon against something far greater.
And it would take all ten bodies to wield it.
Far below, in the merchant city of Varnesse, strange events were unfolding.
A child was born with twin hearts.
A river turned to ash for a single hour.
A low chant was heard in the night—coming from beneath the oldest temple, though it had no doors to open.
Whispers spread. "An omen," the priests muttered. "A Gate has shifted."
One man, old and forgotten by most, looked toward the sky from his tower.
"…he's awakened," he said to no one. "Then we don't have much time."
Back atop the mountain, Kael sat beside a small fire. The wind carried dust and silence, and above, the stars blinked into view.
He took out the relic.
Its surface was cracked and dull, flickering erratically. But Kael poured some of his essence into it—just enough to stabilize its form. A faint pulse returned.
"You've passed the first Gate. Your next decision lies ahead."
"Do you continue strengthening the Body, or begin awakening the Mind or Spirit?"
Kael didn't answer immediately.
He had seen the signs. He had heard the warnings. War—of some kind—was coming. But not yet in the open. It would fester in shadows first. And he needed strength—more than one kind.
But which aspect to awaken next?