Solace stepped back into the manor, a rare sense of satisfaction warming his core. Behind him, the forge's soft glow pulsed like a heartbeat. His grand creations—the living sword and self-evolving formation—had proven his concept: he could define potential itself.
It was time to build a name.
He crossed the polished stone floor and faced Gaia and Aetheria.
"So," he said, voice calm and measured, "what is the highest tier of weapon this world currently recognizes? And what tier do the true powerhouses actually wield?"
Gaia glanced skyward, her gaze steady. "For the general realms, Mythic Grade stands at the pinnacle. But whispers speak of Relic Grade weapons preserved by ancient powers—monuments of old. Meanwhile, the most widespread weapons—the ones in common use by armies and sect heirs—are Earth Grade: durable, effective, and ubiquitous."
Solace nodded, stepping closer to the forge, where he placed a hand atop the molten heart of the hearth. "Good. Aetheria—what about that black katana the system gave me. What tier did it fall under?"
Aetheria smirked, her eyes twinkling. "Merely Mythic Grade, love."
He allowed himself a slight grin. "Then I will produce weapons from Iron through Mythic, and even craft a few Relic Grade pieces for auction. But—these won't be ordinary weapons."
Solace leaned in, absorbed in his work. Guided by the Dreamer's Core, he worked day and night for two weeks straight. Hammering, molding, and teaching each creation a prelude of what it could become. He did not merely craft objects; he instilled archetype and potential into them.
When at last he laid down the hammer, the manor's great hall thrummed with energy. Spread before him were tens of thousands of blades, tools, and talismans—ranging from simple Earth Grade swords to intricate Mythic-grade blades, and four rare prototypes of Relic Grade.
He stepped onto the marble floor, eyes scanning the array with approval.
"Nice," he murmured. "Now… let's see how that dear princess is doing."
He reached into his pocket—for the communication token that linked him to distant threads of alliance and intrigue.
And only then did Solace notice something odd.
"W–wait… where are my clothes?!" he exclaimed, cheeks flushing as his footing shifted slightly.
Gaia laughed—joyous, playful, ancient in its ease. "Oh, now you see?"
Aetheria mirrored the amusement, a quiet laugh dancing in her eyes. "Who would tell you before such a breathtaking view?"
Solace cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. His gaze flicked to the array of weapons and canceled his blush with a simmering grin.
"Well, first I command attention. That's one way to entrust my legacy to memory."
----
Solace retrieved a fresh set of clothes from a stack of neatly folded linens—crafted earlier and stripped naturally of formality, yet tailored to his calm elegance. He dressed swiftly, garments whispering across his now-calm presence.
At his side lay the communication token, an object meant only for Princess Elara—but now, a vessel for new purpose.
He clasped the token lightly, channeling a tendril of mana into it. Idle seconds stretched—and then snapped.
Solace grinned, his voice smooth through the link:
"Ahem… would this happen to be the lovely Princess Elara?"
Silence crackled across the line.
"S–Solace, you're still alive?!" Elara's voice trembled; disbelief laced with relief. "I… I heard Solara gave you to the Dragons seven years ago. I never imagined you'd make it out. But… it's so good you're okay."
Solace let her relief linger, easing the tension.
"Minor detail," he replied. Calm. "'Living now in the Ithmar Kingdom. I have a proposal you won't turn down."
He supplied her with the manor's location, then ended the connection.
He tucked the token away.
A moment passed as he watched the softly pulsing mana well at its center—the pulses tiny echoes of life and trust across worlds.
"And now… we wait," he said quietly, turning back toward the forge and his hundreds of Tiered creations.
Gaia observed him thoughtfully.
"Every ripple you make now," she murmured, "draws threads across realms."
Aetheria appeared by his side, concern and confidence both woven in her gaze.
"The world may believe you dead, Solace," she whispered, "but soon, they'll know you as far more."
"Perhaps so" Solace muttered as he began to think over ways to use his new abilities.
----
Night wrapped the manor in silent embrace. Torches flickered their golden glow along ivy-draped walls as Princess Elara approached the entrance. Her breath caught in her throat—this place was far grander than the rumor-laden manor she'd expected.
The door swung open of its own accord, revealing a scene that would burn into her memory forever.
Inside, seated across a softly glowing hearth, were two women of such divine beauty they seemed sculpted from moonlight. Between them sat Solace—his dark skin and flowing white‑silver hair illuminated in the gentle firelight, every contour and curve refined by silent power.
Ba‑Dumpp.
Elara's heart skipped a beat. She stared at him, disbelieving that this was his face—and stunned that anyone could be more beautiful than legend had described.
Solace noticed her silent reverence and allowed a smirk to bloom on his lips. He'd been experimenting with the concept of becoming—defining not just potential, but even more—and now he stood at its center.
He rose, graceful as shadow, and spoke with deliberate warmth.
"Welcome, Princess. Please, take a seat."
Elara swallowed, flushed, and obeyed.
Once she settled, Solace turned back to both women and nodded.
"Now… shall we begin?"