He could enter the Sublimation Realm in two weeks.
The news anchor chattered on about the coming age of gaming, but Aelion was no longer listening.
He stared at the screen, but his vision was turned inward, toward the seed of power in his chest and the two-week countdown that had just begun.
The race hadn't even been announced, and he was already miles ahead, standing at a starting line no one else knew existed.
Aelion pressed a discreet button on the console of his wheelchair. A soft chime echoed in the silent room.
Moments later, the door opened without a sound, and a woman entered. She was dressed in a severe, impeccably clean grey uniform, her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
Her name was Pearl, and her efficiency was as cool and flawless as the gem she was named for. Her expression was one of professional deference, but her eyes held a glint of sharp intelligence, missing nothing.
"Master Aelion," she said, her voice a calm, even tone.
"I require a year's worth of the high-calorie nutritional fluid," Aelion stated, his voice devoid of request; it was a command born of absolute certainty. "The new MK-IV blend. Arrange for continuous delivery and installation into the pod's external reservoir."
Pearl didn't blink at the extraordinary order. She simply gave a slight, precise nod. "It will be done, sir. The logistics will be handled discreetly. The first shipment will arrive within the hour."
She turned and left as silently as she had arrived, her mind already calculating suppliers, delivery routes, and security protocols. With the support of those fluids, his body's needs would be met intravenously.
He could remain in the game world indefinitely, without ever needing to log out for sustenance. He was determined to bury himself in the digital realm, to put an impossible distance between himself and every other player.
Next, he called Celastine. The line connected, and her cheerful, vibrant voice filled the room, a stark contrast to Pearl's sterile professionalism. "Aelion! Is everything alright?"
"I have two weeks of free time," he said, his tone deceptively calm, masking the tectonic shift he knew was coming. "I may be... exceptionally busy after that. I need to relax before I begin."
There was not a millisecond of hesitation. No questions about his vague phrasing or his sudden availability. "Alright," Celastine replied, her voice softening with understanding he couldn't possibly truly possess. "I will be coming." The line went dead.
Aelion set the communicator down, a complex emotion tightening in his chest. Her instant, unquestioning compliance was a testament to their twisted bond.
Soon, the low, powerful hum of a luxury sports car navigating the private drive broke him from his daze.
Celastine had arrived, not in a corporate limousine, but in a sleek, black vehicle she drove herself. She moved with a feverish energy, a woman on a mission to capture every second of these precious two weeks.
They went out on a ride. The island sprawling around them was not just any property; it was the former Velthane private sanctuary, a sprawling tropical haven.
After the family's fall, in a move no one had anticipated, Aelion had used the last of his hidden capital to secretly have it transferred solely into his name.
The new Velthane headquarters, a sleek, modern compound that rose from the jungle like a hidden fortress, was also here, a symbol of their resurgence built literally upon the ashes of their old life.
As they drove along a coastal cliff road, the wind whipping through their hair, Aelion's gaze, sharp and analytical, scanned the landscape below. He pointed towards a distant, colorful sprawl.
"Buy all the land surrounding that amusement park," he said, his voice cutting through the roar of the wind. "Every parcel. It will be worth twenty times its current value soon."
Celastine didn't ask for a business plan, a feasibility report, or a rationale. She just nodded, already mentally drafting the orders to her acquisition team.
An outsider might have mistaken her silence for dismissal, but Aelion knew better. It was the unbreakable trust of someone who had seen every one of his abstract calculations manifest into concrete, world-altering success.
Their two weeks were a whirlwind, a curated series of experiences stolen from time.
They attended a haunting opera, the tragic melodies seeming to underscore their own complex saga.
They spent a day at the very amusement park he had just targeted, Celastine dragging him onto rides, her laughter a rare, unburdened sound.
They took long, silent field trips through the island's lush interior, the silence between them more intimate than any conversation.
The two weeks passed not in a slow trickle, but in a blinding, beautiful flash.
The final hour arrived. Aelion looked at the pod, now a formidable life-support system.
It was fully loaded, its external reservoir filled with the clear, nutrient-rich fluid that would sustain him.
A complex setup of tubes and monitors connected it to his chair. Each day, the impeccably efficient Pearl would replace the emptied bottles, maintaining his physical shell while his consciousness was elsewhere.
The room was cleared of all servants, leaving only the hushed silence of preparation.
Celastine entered, the door clicking shut behind her. She crossed the room and, with a practiced, gentle motion, settled onto his lap, her weight a familiar and comforting pressure.
She nestled her head against his shoulder, her voice a whisper meant only for him. "I am going to miss you."
Aelion nodded, his chin brushing against her hair. He could feel the intensity of her emotion, a physical heat radiating from her.
Then, a faint, almost imperceptible shift occurred. Obsession filled Celastine's eyes, a deep, consuming fire.
She leaned in closer, her nose brushing against his neck, and she sniffed, a deep, shuddering inhalation, as if trying to memorize his scent, to steal a part of him to keep while he was gone.
The intimate, primal act sent a jolt through Aelion. His own gaze, usually so controlled and calculating, ignited with a mirrored intensity.
His arms, strong from years of wheeling himself, tightened around her, pulling her flush against his chest until not a sliver of light could pass between them.
"Me too," he said, his voice a husky, raw thing he barely recognized.
That was all the permission she needed. Celastine leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that was not soft, but desperate and claiming.
Aelion met her fervor, parting his lips, his tongue sweeping into her mouth in a deep, possessive exploration.
The sounds of their kissing filled the sterile room, a wet, frantic symphony of longing and impending separation.
Celastine broke away, gasping for air, her chest heaving. "Aelion—" she breathed, but he pulled her back in, cutting off her words with another searing kiss, his own obsession now fully unveiled, a dark and matching counterpart to her own.
Finally, with a monumental effort of will, he was the one to break. He released her, pushing her gently but firmly away from him. The transparent dome of the pod began to descend with a soft hydraulic hiss, sealing him in his technological cocoon.
Through the blue-tinted glass, his eyes met hers. The calculation was gone, replaced by a stark, unguarded truth. He looked at her, his partner, his sister, his most dangerous anchor and his only solace.
"I love you," he muttered, the words audible only to the two of them, a final, devastating confession before the plunge.
The world dissolved into a torrent of data and light, the final image of Celastine's obsessively loving face seared onto his retinas. The sensation of her weight on his lap, the taste of her kiss, the sterile air of his room—all of it was violently stripped away, replaced by an absolute, silent blackness.
Aelion found himself standing in a void. There was no ground, no sky, no points of reference. It was a space of pure potential, a blank canvas before creation. The only sources of illumination were two figures before him.
To his left stood his avatar, Aetherius.
It was a perfect digital replica of his ideal self—the powerful, unblemished body, the armor etched with the victories of a hundred floors, the faint, residual glow of the Sovereign Mark that had once been on its hand.
It was a monument to everything he had achieved in Legend of Dungeons.
To his right hung a simple, full-length mirror. And in it, he saw only his own reflection.
Not Aelion the heir, not Aetherius the legend, but his true self. The face was his own, but the body was as it was in reality: seated in a wheelchair, his legs still and useless. It was a stark, cruel juxtaposition.
A choice materialized in the air between them, its text glowing with soft, neutral light.
[Would you like to use your existing avatar or create a new one?]
Aelion's eyes narrowed. The offer was a trap, a siren's call of past glory.
To take the Aetherius avatar would be to step back into a skin of predefined power, to carry the achievements of the old game into the new realm. It was the safe, logical choice. The powerful choice.
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