Solace stood amidst the stillness of his study, where the air crackled with untamed potential. The ancient volume lay closed before him, but it was Aetheria's presence that held his attention.
He glanced upward and their eyes locked—though they'd never met before, it felt as though recognition passed between them: deep, instinctive, and already intimate.
"A—Aetheria, how?" he whispered, voice soft yet sharp with wonder.
She offered him a patient smile, serene as starlight. "Don't worry about how… for now. Instead, tell me—what did the voice call you?"
Solace's brow furrowed in confusion, many questions ran through his mind seeing Aetheria. But Gaia's curiosity cut through his thinking.
At that, Gaia, who had been leaning quietly against the wall, blended right into the room's aura. Her voice was quiet, unsure. "The voice… Solace?"
Solace blinked, returning to the moment.
"Right. The voice called me—Archanom—the Sovereign of Becoming."
He rubbed his chin, trying to piece this new revelation together. "Apparently, I am no longer bound to a race or a fixed path. I've become existence at its purest. Conceptual. Death is still a risk, but… much harder to accomplish."
He inhaled slowly. "By assimilating the First Sigil, I didn't just evolve—I became the embodiment of limitless potential. Now, my potential is whatever I envision it to be. Not higher than I am… but defined by me. I define the ceiling."
Gaia shook her head, incredulous. "That… that's impossible."
Aetheria, graceful and steady, floated forward. "So—if I understood correctly—does that mean if you were a master swordsman, you could shape the potential of your skill itself?"
Solace nodded. "Not precisely. More like… I don't have an innate limit attached to swordsmanship. I can set its limit. Picture this: I imagine my blade cutting through a star. As long as the blade can physically endure, and I can project that imagery, it happens."
He paused. "But I can't imagine myself manifesting sword intent or mastery automatically. I have to define it first."
Aetheria's lips curved into a soft smile. "Then imagine—Solace. The ability to define your limitations is truly… breathtaking."
She reached for his hand. Gaia watched them, a new spark of admiration in her deep-set eyes.
Solace's gaze followed Aetheria's touch, his mind racing with the boundless horizon unfurling before him. The Sovereign of Becoming—he had become that.
---
The air rippled with the weight of unspoken power.
Solace stood before the forge—a silent titan, cloaked in rebirth. Around him, the workshop glowed softly, resonating with the low hum of living formations and flowing ley energy. Scrolls lay open, their diagrams no longer guides, but echoes of things he now understood at a glance.
Aetheria and Gaia watched in still silence.
"I've studied blades," Solace murmured, voice deep and calm, "but I've never wielded one that was truly mine."
He extended his hand—and from the center of the forge, metal rose. Not just any metal—Veyrsteel, refined from ley shards, soaked in cosmic storm essence. He'd formed it days earlier, but never dared forge it.
Until now.
The Dreamer's Core pulsed, whispering paths forward as his Abyssal Eyes mapped atomic imperfections. But Solace didn't follow these whispers.
He defined them.
"I will forge not a sword of power," he said. "But a sword of potential. One that grows as I do. One that never forgets… that I am Becoming."
The hammer struck.
Aetheria gasped.
Each blow didn't just mold—it unfolded. Reality adjusted itself with each impact, harmonizing with the conceptual weight behind Solace's will.
The sword was forged in intent:
Its edge was sharper not from craft, but because it believed it should be.
Its core pulsed with laws—not imbued, but recognized.
Its hilt adjusted to the user's growth, not the other way around.
Hours passed. Then, the final strike fell.
The workshop went quiet.
From the cooling anvil floated a blade—silver-black with flowing veins of white, red, and void-gold. The edge shimmered like a horizon between two truths.
Solace reached out.
The sword pulsed in response.
It had no name yet—but it would come.
Aetheria approached, eyes glinting with both pride and reverence. "This weapon… doesn't sit in a tier. You didn't forge a sword. You forged an extension of potential."
Gaia stepped forward, her voice steady. "In this world… weapons and tools are ranked. Most scholars agree on this system."
She raised her hand and golden mana spiraled into the air, shaping each rank as she spoke.
Iron Grade – Mundane tools, no enchantments.
Bronze Grade – Infused with minor mana, basic enchantments.
Silver Grade – Intermediate magic weapons used by adventurers.
Earth Grade – Cultivator-forged, law-compatible weapons.
Platinum Grade – Advanced tools, blessed by elemental spirits or law fragments.
Mythic Grade – Weapons made from rare materials, often soul-bound.
Relic Grade – Ancient artifacts that bend reality or time.
Divine Grade – Crafted in higher worlds
Absolute Grade – The highest known level in the entire Galaxy. Can worlds and gain consciousness
She turned to the blade Solace held.
"But this—this isn't Absolute. It isn't known. It's…"
"Unwritten," Aetheria finished.
Solace held the sword, and a faint vibration passed through the manor.
"You are not a weapon," he whispered. "You are a possibility."
He focused.
And defined.
"Your potential is to defy certainty. Your edge will sever inevitability. Your reach is as far as I will stretch."
The blade pulsed. The world blinked.
Aetheria felt it.
And Gaia most definitely felt it.
---
After this Solace moved again.
He stepped away from the forge, toward the center of the courtyard.
The Dreamer's Core pulsed again, whispering ancient formation theory—not just mortal, but theories abandoned by even celestial engineers. Ideas too unstable. Too wild. Too impossible.
Solace didn't borrow those thoughts.
He refined them.
He knelt.
With a single gesture, his finger glowed with radiant mana.
He began to draw—not on stone, but in the air itself. Each stroke etched into reality, not ink or chalk.
Aetheria held her breath.
Gaia sat down again, eyes wide.
Lines became circles. Circles formed shifting diagrams. Runes ignited—but instead of remaining static, they moved.
The formation twisted, expanded, then contracted—and when Solace finally pressed his palm into its heart, it activated.
A dome of radiant light surged forth.
"A cultivation field that rewrites efficiency," Solace explained. "Time passes as it should—but internal comprehension scales with vision. If you can imagine progress, the field helps anchor it."
Aetheria gasped. "It's not just alive… it's ambitious."
Gaia was stunned.
"In this world," she said quietly, "formations follow this hierarchy:
Basic – Utility and shelter.
Intermediate – Energy gathering and minor defense.
Advanced – Multi-function layers.
Masterwork – Designed by formation masters.
Ethereal – Hard to anchor, involve law-infused logic.
Ancient – From lost civilizations.
Heaven-grade – Usually found in higher worlds.
Divine-grade – Can affect entire worlds
Absolute-grade – Power to affect reality, and even entire Galaxies.
She stared at the living formation.
"This… is none of those either."
Solace smiled hearing this. He had never once crafted anything before or even build a formation. However, now he could craft things never thought of. This was only possible because of his knowledge, because if not he wouldn't be able to define his potential within this field.
If his knowledge was only basic blacksmithing then his potential would never be able to reach as far as the Absolute level. However, since he had the knowledge of a master, his potential would be basically infinite.
"I am.... the becoming."