Charles stood in the chamber's doorway, bare-chested, his skin purpled and marked by bruises, lightning burns, and sword grazes. Ribs still bore a Sovereign's fury. Each step toward the bath left a wet, half-blood print on the stone.
He exhaled.
"You know," he said dryly, untying his sash, "once upon a time, I was content with a glass of water and a hot towel."
Anya offered a tight smile. "Once upon a time, you weren't trying to ascend the heavens."
Charles rolled his eyes. "Fair."
He stepped into the water.
The bath seized him.
Heat and cold collided, enveloping his battered frame and seeping into his bones. He groaned, pain marking his return to life.
From a black vial at the edge of the tub, he retrieved a Meridian Burst Pill. The capsule swirled with violet threads and sparks, like a storm locked in crystal.
"Bottoms up."
He swallowed.
And then the world detonated.
Charles's body arched with a silent, raw scream of thunderous defiance. Qi burst from his dantian, surging like lava forced through icy tunnels.
His skin glowed, veins flashing blue and gold. Lightning raged beneath his flesh. Every nerve screamed louder than he could.
Muscles spasmed as if trying to leap from bone. His teeth ground together, jaw tight with survival.
"Sssssweet thunder gods," he hissed between ragged breaths, barely able to form the words. "Okay. That's… new."
The Silkroot stormed through, tearing away qi-blockages and old wounds with raw force.
Verdant Jade Dew smoothed and mended torn channels. Drakebone Ash fused them with bursts of alchemical combustion. The pain felt like lightning welding his veins shut.
Then came the Stardrop Essence.
The Stardrop Essence threaded sanity back into a mind unraveling. Each drop anchored his convulsing, glowing body.
He coughed—blood erupting into the silver bathwater like red ink in a divine painting. But it wasn't weakness.
It was the purge.
The filth. The impurities. The rot of past failures is being flushed from his core.
It was the start of something primal.
[SIGMA: Warning—Meridian Overload at 83%. Stabilization required in 180 seconds. Or else… well, spontaneous combustion seems likely.]
Charles rasped, his voice trembling, "Fan-fantastic. That's exactly the footnote I needed."
He tilted his head back, half-laughing, half-choking on blood and absurdity. "Should've stuck to wine and vengeance."
Lightning crackled from beneath his skin.
Every inch of his body burned, stretched, and trembled with rebirth. This was forging, not healing. A crucible for nerve and qi. But Charles never bowed—or screamed without swinging back.
He gripped the sides of the tub, marble cracking beneath his fingers.
His breath hitched, then steadied. "Come on, you bastard," he muttered through gritted teeth. "You survived a boardroom coup. You survived betrayal, exile, and that lovely little assassination attempt. Now you're gonna let a bath beat you?"
His arms trembled. Sparks arced from his shoulders. The tub hummed, the sigils glowing brighter.
"I. Don't. Break," he snarled. "Not in a boardroom. Not on a battlefield. Not in a bloody bath."
His meridians surged again—this time with direction. With force of will.
Charles roared—not from pain, but from fury.
A roar shook stone and sigil alike. Lightning streaked to the ceiling. Steam billowed, defying the calm.
SIGMA's voice flickered back, clipped and robotic—but almost admiring, the inflection belying its usual detachment as Charles's AI medical assistant.
[SIGMA:"Overload dropping. 70%. 65%. Warning—system holding. You're... doing it.]
Charles gasped, eyes wide now, glowing faintly with violet and gold. "Damn right I am."
Then his head dropped back, steam rolling off his body. He wasn't done.
This was just phase one.
But even the storm must start with a single bolt.
[SIGMA: PHASE TWO: HARMONIZATION — 20–45 Minutes]
The storm began to slow.
His breathing evened. His heart beat strongly. Chi lines no longer flared but pulsed. Sweat poured from his brow, silver and jade glinting. The room smelled of ozone, spring, and steel.
Above the bath, mist formed—a subtle chi-vapor rising like sacred incense.
Charles opened his eyes, bloodshot but focused. "Still alive. Hah. Eat your core out, Garrick."
His body wasn't just healing—it was evolving.
The Abyss-Forged Vessel within began to awaken.
He felt the fire—deep and rooted, forming the [Flame Vein Lv . 1]—a passive blaze in his muscles, granting subtle internal heat and stamina.
Then came the lightning—twitch-speed reflexes that coursed through his limbs. [Lightning Flick Lv . 1] unlocked, triggering faint arcs that danced across his knuckles.
And deep below… Earth. A grounding presence—solid, patient. [Earth Rooting Lv . 1] anchored his breath, his posture, his will.
Darkness followed last—not with terror, but promise. A hum of ancient shadow in his spine. Awareness of corners that light had never kissed. Of paths, only the cursed could walk.
[SIGMA: Noted. Shadow Sensitivity is increasing. Recommend future evaluation. Or a therapist.]
Charles chuckled darkly. "I am the therapist."
[PHASE THREE: BREAKTHROUGH OR EQUILIBRIUM — 45–60 Minutes]
The tub stilled.
Then trembled.
A golden halo bloomed faintly around his chest, dancing along his collarbone and arms. His core beat like a second heart—thump… thump… thump—each pulse sending ripples through the room.
And finally—clarity.
He stood.
Water rolled off his skin like oil from metal. His chest rose, unbroken. No blood. No tremors. Only calm.
Charles, now solidified at Foundation Core Level 8, exhaled the last of his pain with a long, tired laugh.
He reached for a dark robe hanging beside the bath. Black silk, stitched with chi-thread in the shape of cloud serpents.
The chamber was bathed in a hush more sacred than silence. Enchanted braziers flickered with quiet life, casting slow-moving gold and violet shadows across ancient stone. Moonlily incense drifted upward in tender spirals, infused with Dreamroot and jade dew—an alchemical blend crafted not merely for aroma, but to sedate the soul.
Soft motes of light clung to the air like stars that had forgotten to fall. At the room's center, a low platform of opaline marble stood encircled by a glowing rune array—older than House Ziglar itself, drawn from the First Restoration Codex and long reserved for heirs at death's door. Tonight, it welcomed a boy who refused to die.
Charles lay on the stone, breath shallow but steady. His body was a canvas of warfare—lightning burns, bruises blooming, skin taut with strain. Beneath, his core pulsed erratically.
Still overworked. Still fraying at the edges from the Meridian Burst Pill and the violent baptism of the Iron-Jade Bath.
But the worst was past. Now came the healing.
"Anya," he called.
Anya entered like dusk—graceful, quiet, resolute. She wore a sleeveless robe of sky-gray silk, her long sleeves tied at the elbows with a cord of phoenix thread. No jewelry. No rank badge. Just warm hands, glowing faintly with gentle Light Qi.
"Success?" she asked.
He flexed his hands—lightning cracked faintly between his knuckles. "Level 8 refined. Core stable. Shadow tamed. Muscles sore. Ego intact."
"Good," she said softly.
On a silver tray beside her rested the centerpiece of tonight's ritual: a narrow glass vial cradled in velvet. The Dreamveil Elixir. A personal blend of Lunabloom, Phoenix Balm, Verdant Jade extract, and a droplet of Stardrop Essence. Anya's hands had mixed this herself—not just as a master healer, but as something else entirely.
Charles peeked sideways, one eye barely open. "You're not going to strangle me under the guise of therapy, are you?"
Anya raised a brow. "Not tonight, my lord. You've earned mercy."
"Tch. Can't even suffer in peace."
She chuckled quietly and poured the golden elixir into her palms, warming it between her hands over a bowl of enchanted starmilk. The liquid shimmered with opalescent hues, as if it carried threads of dreams from another world.
"Breathe slowly," she murmured, stepping beside him. "Let the world fall away."
He smirked faintly. "You first."
Then came her hands.
Warm. Steady. Glowing faintly with golden light.
She pressed them over the curve of his shoulders, letting the Dreamveil Elixir sink into muscle and memory. At once, golden warmth unfurled like sunrise through storm clouds. The fusion of Lunabloom and Phoenix Balm threaded into his tissue, banishing tension with every stroke.
Charles exhaled sharply. "That's either divine intervention or you smuggled dragon wine into this oil."
"Neither," she said with a smile. "But you'll hallucinate if I hit the wrong meridian."
He snorted, and she moved lower.
Her thumbs traced the ridge of his spine with precision. Beneath her touch, the runes of the array awakened. Meridian lines lit up beneath his skin like veins of starlight—Azure cloud, Silkroot residue guiding her path, Verdant Jade resonance sealing the healing in place. His body pulsed with heat and clarity, his limbs trembling with micro-spasms as decades of trauma exited through pores and breath.
"You're holding your breath again," she whispered, leaning close to his ear. Her breath was warm, feather-soft. "Stop controlling the pain. Let it rise. Let it go."
"I don't trust it to leave quietly," he muttered.
"Then scream into the pillow, my lord."
Charles chuckled—and promptly groaned as her fingers pressed into the muscles beside his dantian. His back arched slightly, breath catching, but he did not stop her. Pain had become an old friend. And her touch was sharper than kindness. It was care wrapped in steel.
Minutes passed. Or hours. He couldn't tell anymore.
The world had narrowed to her hands, the rhythm of her breath, the slow glide of oil-slicked palms awakening nerves he hadn't realized were still broken. His spiritual core, storm-wracked and frayed, began to settle. Fire, lightning, darkness—all that elemental chaos whispered into stillness.
And then came the climax.
She rested one hand on the base of his back, another on his forehead. Light pulsed through her like a bell's chime—radiating into him in waves. Stardrop Essence bloomed at last, and for a moment, the world blurred.
No more battlefields. No broken engagement. No throne of betrayal.
Only warmth. Only hands. Only her.
Charles's mind drifted to the past—blood on stone, cold nights alone, a boy too small for his name. And a woman with no obligation, but all the love in the world, brushing his hair in silence after a punishment she didn't stop but always tended.
He sighed. And she felt it.
To Charlemagne Ziglar, this was his mother.
Not by blood. By memory.
By love.
And though his jaw clenched as she activated the Light-Locking Sigil at the base of his neck, he did not flinch. He welcomed the burn. The pulse. The soft locking sensation as all his harmonized meridians sealed into a perfect network.
She stepped back, breathing evenly now.
The air shimmered around him. A golden mist clung to his shoulders like a cloak. His aura was calm, his soul no longer fraying. He stirred, eyes half-lidded, heavy with sleep and something else.
"…What did you do?" he murmured, voice hoarse.
"I lit the darkness from within," she replied, voice a lullaby. "Just a little."
He smiled—not with his lips, but with something buried deeper. A soft, tired laugh followed.
"I think I'm floating."
"You're not," she said gently. "But you've never looked more grounded."
The chamber grew quiet once more.
Outside, the stars blinked. Inside, the light within Charles blinked back.
And for one beautiful, fleeting second, his soul—truly, unmistakably—glowed.
Later That Night…
He lay in bed, the storm finally quiet.
Above, the ceiling bore runes of warding and clarity, pulsing in harmony with his breath.
[SIGMA: Stabilization successful. Core density: +22%. Constitution: evolving. Shadow affinity at 19%. Muscle mass up 11%. Dignity rating restored to 68%.]
Charles groaned. "Let's aim for 70 tomorrow. With a side of sarcasm."
[SIGMA: That was the sarcasm.]
He smiled.
Then, silence.
And in that silence, Charles Vale slept—not as a man defeated by pain, but as one reborn by it.