The chamber was cold, not because of the lack of warmth, but because of the presence within. Elaria stood at the center, her hands behind her back, eyes fixed on the floating projection before her. A three-dimensional map of the world of Xeros shimmered and pulsed, marked with red zones, mana wells, leyline fractures—and now, a growing darkness spreading from the east like ink in water.
Behind her, the twin doors creaked open.
"You summoned me," said Daren, stepping into the chamber, his armor still stained with remnants of his last skirmish.
Elaria didn't turn. "Yes. It's started."
"What has?" he asked warily.
She gestured to the map. "The equilibrium of the Ascension Realms is destabilizing. And the source... is Kael."
Daren's jaw clenched. "He's gone rogue?"
"No," Elaria replied softly. "He's simply ascending faster than the world can tolerate. The Protocol wasn't meant for this."
Elsewhere, Kael hovered above the ruins of what used to be the Obsidian Vault, his body surrounded by motes of silver-blue energy, eyes glowing faintly with the mark of the [Heaven-Breaker] path. He had just absorbed the Fragment of Solon—a piece of primordial consciousness that had once belonged to a god of order. And now that god whispered within him.
"The Chains of Dominion must fall. You are the scalpel... but also the wound."
Kael exhaled slowly. His thoughts were fragmented, but focused. The further he ascended, the more the system blurred the line between reality and design. Every skill, every trait, even every memory felt like it was being rewoven—perfected, but also... shaped.
He wasn't sure if he was still Kael, or simply the ideal version of what the Protocol wanted him to be.
But doubts could wait.
He looked down as shadows moved across the ground—legions of the Hollowborne, birthed from the corruption leaking through fractured space.
And standing at the forefront was a figure in black robes, a mask of bone covering their face.
Abyssal Vicar. Level 221. Boss-class. Reality-Distorting Aura (Active). Soul-Devourer (Passive). Corrupted Authority: Space.
Kael's system pinged a single phrase:
[WARNING: Local space integrity unstable. Probability of environmental collapse: 84%. Suggest immediate engagement or retreat.]
He smiled.
"Let's test the limits."
Back in the floating citadel of Arx Seraphim, the Council of Eight was in disarray.
"He's disrupting the leylines," shouted Archmage Renvar. "We need to sever his access to the global lattice!"
"He is the lattice now," another councilor countered. "You sever it, the entire Ascension Protocol unravels. This isn't a question of control anymore—Kael has become a keystone."
Lady Irinel, the only one who remained calm, spoke above the rising voices. "Then we need to negotiate."
"With what?" Renvar snapped. "He has no more needs. No more weaknesses. We made him a god."
"No," Irinel said quietly, "we made him a weapon. But we never asked who would hold the blade—or if the blade would choose to cut on its own."
A silence followed.
Then, she continued, "We send Elaria. She trained him. She can reach him."
Far beneath the surface of the world, deep inside the Labyrinths of Echoing Thought, another story was unfolding.
Kael's former companion, Lyra, was navigating the tunnels with half her group injured and low on rations. Since splitting from Kael during the siege of Meridian Cradle, her path had diverged—one that led her to truths even Kael had not uncovered yet.
"The Protocol isn't just for ascension," she murmured, reading the inscriptions etched into ancient stone. "It's... a prison. A failsafe."
"For what?" asked Thorne, coughing up blood behind her.
"For something older than the gods."
The deeper they went, the more the walls bled whispers—memories of a war that predated even the Architects who forged the Ascension System.
And in the deepest part of the labyrinth, they found it.
An altar made not of stone, but of memories crystallized into fractal form. Hovering above it was a name... Kael's name.
But beneath it was another, flickering in and out of existence: Eidolos.
Lyra stepped forward. A prompt appeared in front of her eyes.
[Memory Anchor Detected: Soul-Link Imminent. Do you wish to restore Original Identity? Y/N]
Her hand trembled.
Was Kael not the original?
In the sky above Xeros, where clouds coiled like serpents and lightning pulsed in unnatural hues, Kael battled the Abyssal Vicar with movements that defied physics. Each strike shattered the sound barrier. Each block redirected spatial dimensions.
But the Vicar was not a being of muscle or technique. It was entropy given form. Kael's punches landed with force that could decimate cities—but the Vicar simply rewrote the impact. Every time Kael tried to pin it down, it slipped through folds of corrupted space.
Then, Kael's HUD pinged again:
[Authority Clash Detected. Probability of Victory: 11% unless Ascension State Upgraded.]
Kael grit his teeth.
"I didn't come this far to lose on percentages."
He reached within himself, past his skills, past his stats. Past even the protocol interface.
And there, he found it.
A memory.
Not his. Not entirely. A moment—standing in a burning world, holding the hand of someone who looked like him... but wasn't him. And a name: Eidolos.
"You were the first. You were the last."
Kael's body began to glow. Not with mana, but with concept. His form blurred, then solidified again—sharper, more defined, paradoxically more real than the world around him.
System alert:
[True Name Reclamation Detected. Protocol Override Initiated.]
[Eidolos Awakening: Stage One]
[All stats evolving to Conceptual Tier.]
[New Trait Unlocked: Ego Genesis – Your will shapes reality.]
Kael opened his eyes. The Vicar paused, as if sensing the shift.
And Kael—no, Eidolos—raised a single hand.
Reality cracked.