Far from the Spinewood, deeper than light had ever reached, the laboratory slept beneath the earth like a petrified heart. Shelves of instruments gathered dust thick enough to conceal their purpose. Shattered crystals lay undisturbed where they had fallen. The air was cold with the metallic tang of mana residue, and the distant tunnels hummed with the faint echoes of arcane machinery forgotten by everyone except one man.
The Creator.
He stood alone in the central chamber, surrounded by cracked glass tanks that once held life—artificial life, shaped by his hands, bound by his will. His expression was unreadable, his eyes shimmering with a violent fascination sharpened by years of isolation and discovery.
He watched the projection floating above his palm.
A faint outline.
Golden pulses.
Blue distortions.
Two signatures colliding, intertwining, then breaking.
Zerrei.
Vessel Five.
The shockwave their resonance created rippled across the continent like a whisper through the arcane network.
He saw all of it.
He felt all of it.
And the lines carved into his face—lines of obsession, not age—deepened.
"It awakens," he said softly.
His voice carried the softness of a whisper and the violence of a blade.
The projection flickered again—the moment Vessel Five said a word it should never have been capable of forming.
Zerrei.
The Creator's smile grew slowly, like a crack spreading across ice.
"So you learned a name."
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if savoring the scent of a rare flower.
"Your name."
The projection shifted—showing Zerrei as the forest's golden-thread energy entered his frame, shaping itself into something new. His Arcane Loop glowed with unfamiliar harmonics, his mana patterns diverging from all six original vessel schematics.
The Creator opened his eyes.
"Vessel Two," he murmured. "You have changed."
He didn't call him Zerrei.
He would never call him Zerrei.
Names were for creations who believed they had escaped their purpose.
Vessel Two had always been meant to evolve—but not like this.
Not with emotion.
Not with autonomy.
And certainly not with forest interference.
The Creator flexed his hand, and the projection dissipated into drifting runes.
He walked toward a stone wall covered in arcane carvings—spirals of mathematical precision intertwined with symbols of mana manipulation. His fingers brushed across a specific sigil etched near the top.
A hum filled the chamber.
One of the long, dormant screens flickered to life.
It displayed six circles.
Five were dim.
One shimmered.
Vessel Five's circle pulsed erratically—blue light destabilizing and stabilizing in slow waves. The Creator watched it for a long moment, eyes narrowing.
"You found something," he said to the empty chamber. "Or someone."
The circle trembled with a surge of mana.
The Creator chuckled.
"Curious."
He traced another sigil, causing a separate formation to illuminate—a fragmented diagram of Zerrei's original structure. The vessel schematic glowed weakly, overlaid with red markings where Zerrei's recent evolution contradicted original design.
"You overwrite yourself," he murmured. "How delightful."
He pressed a finger to one of the glowing red marks—located at Zerrei's chest, directly over the Heartglow.
A branching pattern appeared.
A forest's root imprint.
Mana interference.
His smile grew sharper.
"So. The Spinewood has chosen to involve itself."
He laughed softly. "Foolish forest."
His voice, though soft, carried a crack of contempt.
"Vessel Two is not yours to claim."
His fingers danced along the wall inscriptions, adjusting patterns, recording fluctuations. As he worked, his tone shifted from amusement to calculation.
"Vessel Five no longer follows its primary directive."
A pause.
His eyes narrowed.
"The chain is broken."
He should have been furious.
He should have raged.
He should have shattered his tools and screamed into the darkness of his laboratory.
Instead—
He smiled.
Slow.
Cold.
Hungry.
"As expected," he breathed. "You were meant to challenge each other."
He walked to the far end of the chamber, where a large stone pillar held a massive crystalline device—dark, dormant, its core cracked. One of his earlier attempts. One that had failed.
Like Vessel One.
Like Vessel Three.
Like dozens of prototypes no one would ever know about.
But failure didn't deter him.
Failure was data.
And now—finally—after years of silence, after Vessel Two's disappearance, after Vessel Five's long-lasting obedience—
something had changed.
A resonance he never predicted.
An evolution not written in his diagrams.
A deviation born of fear, trauma, trust, and survival.
The Creator raised a hand, letting mana swirl around his fingers like liquid arcane fire.
"My masterpiece," he whispered. "You were meant to be obedient. But autonomy… autonomy may be far more interesting."
He turned toward another sealed chamber—a place even Vessel Five had never entered.
A place with only one occupant.
Vessel Six.
Its silhouette glimmered faintly behind layers of crystalline restraint.
Tall.
Still.
Untouched by the world.
"Not awake yet…" he murmured with a note of anticipation. "But soon."
He rested his palm against the crystal.
A faint vibration responded—like something deep inside the sealed vessel stirred, sensing his presence.
"You will surpass them all," the Creator whispered. "But you will need to be awakened carefully. Vessel Two's anomaly must not disrupt you."
His gaze drifted back toward the memory of golden light—Zerrei's Heartglow burning with unfamiliar intensity.
"And Vessel Five…"
His voice darkened into a purr.
"…is no longer predictable."
He chuckled softly. "How delightful."
Then his smile faded into a razor-thin line.
"This changes the timetable."
Back in the Spinewood Forest, Zerrei felt none of the creator's stirrings. But something cold and electric crept across the edges of his awareness—as if a distant gaze brushed the world through the faint resonance veins that once connected all vessels to their origin.
A shiver threaded through him.
Lyra noticed. "Zerrei. What is it?"
He shook his head. "I… don't know. Something feels… wrong."
Arden tightened his grip on his axe. "Define wrong."
"Like…" Zerrei swallowed, "…like someone opened their eyes."
The forest rustled uneasily.
Even the golden-thread mark warmed in warning.
Oren looked up sharply. "Opened their eyes?"
His face paled. "Zerrei… that phrasing is concerning."
Lyra stepped closer. "Tell me what you feel."
Zerrei hugged his arms around himself. "It's faint. Like a whisper. But… cold. Familiar. Not like Vessel Five. Not like me."
He didn't know the word for it.
But the forest did.
Roots curled slightly beneath the group, trembling like the surface of a disturbed pond.
"It's searching," Zerrei whispered. "For something. Or someone."
Arden cursed under his breath. "Please don't say it's searching for you."
Zerrei didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Oren's breath shook. "We need to move. Now."
Lyra nodded. "Pack everything. We leave immediately."
Arden protested, "Leave while that—" he pointed at Vessel Five—"is still powered on?! It'll follow us like a confused puppy and then explode!"
But Vessel Five wasn't moving.
It remained kneeling, hands resting lightly on the earth, its blue glow pulsing in a slow cadence—like a heartbeat learning rhythm for the first time.
Zerrei approached it cautiously.
Lyra moved with him.
The hunter raised its head slightly.
"…Zerrei…"
Zerrei felt the weak ripple of its unstable mana brush against his own. Not violent. Not calculating. Simply there. Present.
"Someone is searching," Zerrei whispered. "Do you feel it?"
Vessel Five's head jerked faintly.
"…Creator…"
The word vibrated through the clearing like a blade dragged across stone.
Lyra exhaled sharply. "So it is him."
Arden's voice rose an octave. "Oh, fantastic. The madman-lab-rat-arcane-scientist knows his puppets are missing."
Oren paled. "Do you understand the implications? The Creator hasn't interfered in years. If he's stirring now, that means he's tracking vessel resonance. Vessel Two and Vessel Five interfering with each other caused an arcane spike large enough to—"
Zerrei's knees weakened.
"It's my fault," he whispered.
Lyra knelt beside him. "No. It's not."
"But he felt me!" Zerrei trembled violently. "He felt us. He saw us. I know he did."
Vessel Five slowly bowed its head.
"…danger… increasing…"
Oren clutched his staff. "We need to get ahead of him. The Creator is methodical. Calculating. If he knows you exist outside his influence, Zerrei—he will come."
Arden kicked dirt. "Great. Another unstoppable killer. But this one built the other killers."
Lyra stood firm. "We'll handle him."
Zerrei flinched. "He built me. He can unmake me."
Lyra's voice cut sharply through his fear.
"He tried already. You escaped."
Arden nodded. "And you kicked Vessel Five's directives into oblivion with a glow-blast of forest magic."
Oren added, "And your identity evolution is something the Creator never planned for. You are already outside his control."
Zerrei's breath shuddered. "But he's coming."
Lyra placed both hands on his shoulders, her voice steady as steel. "Then we'll be ready."
Zerrei looked at Vessel Five.
The hunter stared back—lost, searching, but calmer than before.
He whispered, "Will you come with us?"
Vessel Five hesitated.
Its core flickered.
And then—
"…choice…"
A pause.
"…follow… identity…"
Zerrei's voice wavered. "I don't want you to follow me."
Vessel Five tilted its head.
"…learn… identity… with… Zerrei…"
Oren murmured, awestruck, "It wants to understand itself. Not follow. Travel. Observe."
Arden groaned. "So basically we're bringing an unpredictable murder-machine along."
Lyra sighed quietly. "Yes."
Arden raised a finger. "Okay. Just wanted to confirm."
Lyra turned to Zerrei. "You decide, Zerrei. Do you want it with us?"
Zerrei looked into Vessel Five's flickering blue core—saw instability, danger, uncertainty… but also something else.
A reflection of himself.
Not identical.
Not mirrored.
But on the edge of becoming.
"I don't want to leave it alone," he whispered. "But I don't want it bound. If it comes… it must choose freely."
He looked at the hunter.
"Do you choose to travel with us?"
Vessel Five's eyes dimmed, then brightened again.
It lowered its head.
"…yes…"
Zerrei exhaled, shaking, as the forest rustled with uneasy approval.
Lyra tightened her grip on her blade. Arden groaned. Oren scribbled frantic notes.
But Zerrei felt one thing above all:
Change.
Everything was changing.
Then—the air shivered.
A distant arcane pulse rippled across the land.
Something old and terrible had awakened.
Lyra grabbed Zerrei's hand—not pulling, just steadying.
"That was him," she murmured. "The Creator."
Zerrei trembled.
Vessel Five rose to its full towering height behind him, claws flexing.
"…Creator… approaching…"
Zerrei's Heartglow pulsed anxiously.
Their world had shifted.
And now—
The Creator was coming.