Days have bled into weeks since Solace christened the auction hall with his presence. The echoes of his name now resonate through mountain holds, forest courts, and mist-laden bogs.
In the Silverwood Council Hall, deep within the verdant spires of the Elven Clans of Verdant Vale, matriarchs draped in moonlit robes gather. Ancient tapestries and floating mana lanterns cast dappled shadows across their faces.
"His sword… it behaves," murmurs Matrone Lyreia, tracing arrow-slate designs on a table.
Matrone Fenriss leans close, voice curious: "He claims... potential. No legacy. That defies our understanding."
They agree to send a Warden envoy—master recorders and seekers of truth—to learn more.
Far below, in the granite passages of the Ironback Mountains, the dwarves of Hammerkeeper and Steelbind guilds roar approval. Orders are drafted, wroth with intent, ink sizzling on parchment.
In the mist-wreathed marshes, the Demihuman Council of Mirekind—with Enteldra's barked voice and Reedkind's subtle taps—endorse sending emissaries. They sense latent resonance within these creations, hungry to harness it.
Even Dragon lords—violet and golden scaled—whisper through couriers. "Ithmar's weapons... are remaking power."
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Within the manor's grand forge, Solace watched rows of newly polished blades stand quietly. Next to him lingered his creation: Echo‑X, a clone of potential—his living commission to run crafting operations.
"This one will manage the forge," Solace announced softly.
The clone nodded and stepped into the heat of production.
Solace exhaled, content with delegation, and turned toward the silent cusp of his next horizon.
Solace entered the cultivation chamber, the walls aglow with silent runic energy. Aetheria followed, her aura shimmering like a constellation. Gaia trailed behind, grounded and fierce.
He settled cross-legged, folding into meditation.
"The next stage… Ascendant Core?" he murmured.
Aetheria nodded.
"You must elevate three Laws to at least 50% comprehension, then forge a world within your core. That microcosm becomes your cultivation realm."
Without hesitation, Solace raised his hands into the air. He envisioned a formation—chairs anchored not in the ground, but in concept, lines of brilliance weaving into floating geometry.
The Dreamer's Core pulsed in rapture, feeding him with improbable insights: not teachings, but unlocked thresholds of knowing.
He intended to make a formation that would allow him to comprehend laws limitlessly. The only restriction being he would already need to have access to the law.
The chamber's air shifted as Solace whispered:
"Space… Fire… Time.... Shadows"
Tiny sparks flared.
On his inner vision, he saw:
Space: 2%... 8%... 15%... 24%
Fire: 2%... 7%... 13%... 23%
Time: 2%... 6%... 11%... 20%
Shadows: 2%... 9%... 13%... 25%
Shadows bent, light curled, and reality seemed to lean closer.
He inhaled, steady, flesh and spirit aligned.
In the hush that followed, Aetheria's voice shimmered.
"In one sitting… he's already began to ascend."
Gaia nodded, eyes softening.
"He's potential itself...."
A breath passed.
Solace opened his eyes—white fire beneath black crosses, echoes of the infinite.
"Now, the Ascendant Core stage," he whispered.
And with that, reality shifted…
The cultivation chamber was still, suffused with the hum of ascending mana. Solace—white-eyed and calm—hovered on the edge of metamorphosis. Before him, the air warped with swirling glyphs and pulsing light, their patterns alive with intent.
Aetheria and Gaia watched from the threshold, silent witnesses to what was to come.
Solace took a breath, and the world around him responded.
With a deliberate motion, he extended both hands in front, tracing improbable shapes in the air. Lines of crimson, violet, azure, and void‑black sprang alive forming a vast Orb of Becoming.
"This is not a realm forged," he murmured, voice soft as star dust.
"This is the concept of a realm… alive."
The orb expanded, occupying the chamber's center, its surface rippling as if breathing.
"I will redefine what an Ascendant Core realm is. It need not be a perfect world—I will make it a world of intent."
Slowly, images coalesced within:
A harbor where Stars crashed gently upon the beaches, dissolving into new mana.
A forest that rearranged itself with each intent, vines rearranging reality.
Oceans of molten thought, ebbing and moving like dreams given physical form.
"Here," Solace said softly, "my comprehension isn't just bound. It grows."
The Orb's surface pulsed as four Law sigils—Space, Fire, Shadows, and Time—flared to life. Each vortex spiraled inward, weaving into the orb's center.
"This world inside my core… responds to me. As I evolve, so does it. This is not cultivation—it is co-creation."
The orb brightened, casting shadows that merged with the chamber walls.
Solace closed his eyes, stepping into the projection.
To the outside eye, he seemed to walk on nothing—but within, each footfall echoed across dream-rock and star-wild shore.
The air smelled of dawn in distant galaxies. He could sense ambient mana crystals in the stones ahead of him; he could hear the slow hum of formation lines rippling under his presence.
"If I so choose," he whispered, "I could re-anchor time in this world. Grow a forest that blooms in the next century. Forge a sun that burns for intent."
Within the Orb, Solace folded his arms, gazing at galaxies he had birthed. From each constellating star, potential wafted upward waiting to be claimed.
A new self-had begun to form.
"This is my inner world," he said softly.
"A realm of Becoming. And now… I cultivate not toward a goal, but through a universe I define."
At his word, the world pulsed, dimmed… and folded into him.
He felt every line, every rhythm of that realm settles into his core.
He exhaled.
His eyes opened.
And he was changed.