Kael moved through the ancient chamber like a soul returned home.
Every machine, every panel, every rotating mechanism responded to his presence—not because he commanded Essence, but because he understood it. Because he knew how to ask questions no one else dared.
Lyssa trailed behind him, silent and wide-eyed.
The main hall stretched far beyond what should've fit underground. Gravity felt wrong here—lighter, like the world had bent inward. The Weave was denser, but calmer, not divine or hostile. It wanted to be read.
"It's listening to you," Lyssa whispered.
"No," Kael murmured. "It's reading me."
They approached a dais in the center of the chamber. A thin circle of glass hovered above it, its edges lit with shifting glyphs. Kael reached toward it—then hesitated.
This wasn't built by Talents.
It was built by people like him.
Learners.
Thinkers.
Designers of meaning.
He touched the glass.
And the past woke up.
---
A light emerged—not from a source, but from memory. Images burned into air.
A city.
Vast. Towering. Not ruled by gods but guided by ideas. Airships spiraled across the skies, and Weave constructs hummed in precise harmony. There were no Talent brands. No divine symbols. Just a diamond crest split into four: Understanding, Innovation, Discipline, and Rebellion.
The voice that followed wasn't human.
Not divine, either.
Just… tired.
> "Welcome, Bearer. The Archive of Drellem recognizes a living key."
Kael held still. His mind processed the voice's cadence, speed, and tone. It was an echo of someone long gone—but it was built to answer.
> "Designation?"
Kael replied without hesitation. "Kael. Age seven. Learner designation: none. Origin: Earth."
There was silence.
Then, softly:
> "An unbound consciousness has returned. This was… not predicted."
The image shifted. Now a man—grey-cloaked, tall, lean—stood in front of Kael. A projection, not a ghost.
> "We are the final sanctuary of unaffiliated minds. If you have come here, then the Godbound have tightened their grip."
Lyssa stepped forward cautiously. "You're saying… this place was hidden from the gods?"
The projection nodded. "We were the last resistance. Not with war, but with thought. We designed Weaves the gods could not trace. Built systems that required no Talent, only understanding."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "And the gods crushed you."
> "They feared us. So they erased us."
The light dimmed, and the projection faded.
But not before it left a single phrase, etched in gold on the central stone:
> "The mind is divine. All else is permission."
Kael stared at the phrase.
He understood.
And for the first time since arriving in this world—he felt fear.
Because this wasn't just knowledge.
It was a spark.
And sparks start fires.
---
That night, Kael sat in the corner of the chamber, knees drawn, watching Lyssa sleep.
He studied her face—so calm despite everything. She had been raised as a weapon. A Talent meant to conquer. And yet she followed him with quiet faith.
Kael had lived one life already.
He knew what power did to people.
But Lyssa was different.
She didn't crave control.
She craved freedom.
Just like him.
And that made her dangerous—in the most beautiful way.
---
Elsewhere, the divine envoy arrived in the village.
A woman clad in silver robes, bearing a brand shaped like a crown of flame over her left eye. She said nothing. She didn't need to.
The villagers bowed without being asked.
Her attendants moved like phantoms.
They found the traces. The Weave-burnt soil. The makeshift fire construct that hadn't followed any Pattern. A genius-shaped hole in reality.
And she smiled.
"There he is," she whispered. "A little Learner who thinks the world is paper."
She turned toward the south.
Toward the ruins.
Toward Kael.
"Let's see what he writes next."