Omni Pov
Chrono stood in the silence that followed the Patriarch's words: "Welcome to Phase II."
The air between them held its own gravity, dense with expectation and something else—something heavier than pressure.
Evolution.
A line drawn.
He could feel his heartbeat like a metronome.
Perfect rhythm.
Controlled.
He no longer shook.
He no longer hesitated.
He had grown.
The Patriarch stood in front of him, that familiar deranged glint in his eye.
He hadn't moved in what felt like minutes.
Silent.
Watching.
Chrono didn't nod.
Didn't blink.
He simply waited.
The Patriarch tilted his head and clapped twice, theatrically.
"The Mind Route! Now this… this is where it gets beautiful, boy."
"Bloody beautiful."
He walked in a slow circle around Chrono, gesturing madly with one hand, the other twitching near the hilt of a dagger tucked in his belt.
"The body—sure, we've broken it, built it, bled it."
"That was the easy part."
"But the mind…" He grinned.
"The mind is where all your monsters live."
"And magic?"
"Magic loves monsters."
Chrono's gaze followed him.
"You think a strong body can make you a killer? It can."
"But a strong mind makes you untouchable."
"A strong mind makes you God."
The room dimmed slightly, the Time Room reacting to the Patriarch's presence like a living organism.
The Patriarch lit a cigarette, despite the room having no need for smoke or oxygen.
It was just ritual.
"There are two kinds of wizards," he began, voice smooth as broken glass dragged across marble.
"Those who cast with emotion—passion, fear, rage, love, whatever—and those who don't."
He pointed the cigarette at Chrono.
"You and me? We're in the second camp."
Chrono said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The Patriarch was always more interested in the space between responses anyway.
"Emotional casting is louder, brighter, more explosive."
"If you want your spell to burn through a steel wall, sure, be angry."
"That kind of power hurts."
"But here's the secret: it also leaves you open."
"Counterspells, wards that feed on emotion, divination traps... They were designed for sentimental idiots who scream their souls into their magic."
He walked slowly around Chrono, as if circling prey, not a pupil.
"Now, controlled casting—what we'll perfect in the Mind Route? It's lean."
"Clean."
"Not as bombastic, maybe."
"But it doesn't leak."
"No emotional trail."
"No wild mana fluctuations."
"Your spell goes where you tell it."
"Like a sniper's bullet."
"And no one sees it coming."
Chrono looked up.
"So it's discipline over instinct."
The Patriarch smiled, delighted.
"Exactly."
"This phase isn't about making you stronger."
"It's about making you inevitable."
He flicked ash onto the black stone floor.
The Time Room seemed to absorb it.
"The mind is the most underrated weapon in magic."
"Everyone thinks it's the soul."
"The spark."
"The wildness."
"They're wrong."
"It's the mind that defines how long you stay alive after the first spell is cast."
The Patriarch stepped in closer, lowering his voice.
"A trained mind gives you pattern recognition on a godlike scale."
"It lets you see five moves ahead while your enemy is still breathing through their panic."
"Memory recall? Total."
"Not near-eidetic."
"True recall."
"Every sigil."
"Every rune."
"Every word of power you've ever read."
"You'll remember it like a soldier remembers his first kill."
Chrono's eyes didn't blink.
"This path also teaches you how to mask your presence."
"Lie perfectly."
"Restructure thought patterns."
"Build mental vaults."
"Control your dreams up to a certain point."
"Maintain spellcasting even under trauma."
"It can recall a 1,000-page grimoire letter by letter."
"It can break a spell while asleep."
"It can lie so perfectly, not even a Veritas Charm detects it."
"Or… freeze a thought mid-process to analyze it frame by frame."
"That's what we're building."
Chrono spoke quietly.
"Like frame-splitting time."
The Patriarch grinned like a deprived priest seeing sin.
"You do listen."
He waved a hand, and the space before them shimmered.
A thought-thread, pure mana, wove itself into a small floating cube.
"You see this? This is what a thought looks like to someone like us."
"An untrained mind has thousands of these floating, crashing, interrupting each other."
"A trained one?"
He snapped his fingers.
The cube duplicated, then stacked into a perfect tower.
"A trained mind is an archive."
Chrono finally asked, "And the cost?"
The Patriarch didn't smile this time.
"Everything messy."
"Everything soft."
"You'll still feel fear, Chrono."
"Still remember pain."
"But it won't move you."
"You'll observe it."
"Like watching someone else scream from behind glass."
A silence passed.
Then the Patriarch clapped once.
He stood again.
"Sooooo... Tonight, you meditate."
"No magic."
"No movement."
"Just you and your memories."
"Tomorrow, we begin your first Dive."
He turned back one last time, voice now a whisper. "The mind is a mirror, Chrono. If you don't clean it, it shows you things you're not ready to see."
Then, with a smirk, he added:
"Don't blink."