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Dawn crept slowly over the ruins, stretching long fingers of light across the broken columns and scattered weapons. The horizon shifted from violet to a molten gold, the sea beyond glimmering like liquid fire.
All around, the ashes of the burned corpses still drifted lazily upward, curling into the pale morning sky like ghostly prayers — silent reminders of last night's violence.
A little apart from the others, Atlas sat cross-legged on the cool stone. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. The camp still slept — Lukas snored softly against a fallen pillar, and the siblings lay bundled near the fire. For once, the world was quiet enough for him to listen to the hum inside his own body.
And there it was again — the galaxy-like core, glowing faintly within him.
It pulsed like a second heart, every beat whispering ancient energy. Swirls of light twisted and folded in endless motion, resembling a miniature cosmos trapped in his chest.
Atlas focused on it, drawn by curiosity and unease. As he reached out with his mind, the luminous spiral began to react — its lights aligned, forming lines, symbols, then words.
A soft hum filled his skull. A rectangular shimmer unfolded before his inner sight, like glass bending into existence.
Status Window
Name: Atlas Li
Age: 20
Talent: Unparalleled Comprehension (+)
Ability: Traveler (+)
Atlas's eyes snapped open. The world around him blurred for a heartbeat as disbelief rushed in. "A… status window?" he muttered. "Like in those old system novels?"
His lips twitched in half amusement, half disbelief. I actually have one?
Curiosity overrode caution. He reached out mentally, tapping the glowing (+) beside Unparalleled Comprehension.
The text shifted, expanding.
Talent — Unparalleled Comprehension (–)
The host can grasp and master any knowledge or technique with extraordinary speed and clarity. What others need years to learn, the host may understand in hours — or seconds.
Atlas exhaled, the corners of his mouth lifting. "So that's why I pick things up so quickly… all those strange memories, strategies, even ancient Greek phrases." He chuckled softly. "A built-in cheat code."
But then his amusement faded. A faint note pulsed at the bottom of the window.
[Note to Host:]
To the one who now bears this prototype system, greetings.
You were not chosen by chance — nor by design — but by resonance.
Your will, your mind, and your soul aligned with the frequencies that few can endure.
Understand this well:
This construct is not a guide, nor a master, nor a servant.
It does not speak, it does not command, and it will not reward.
It merely reflects what already lies within you.
Through it, you will see your limits — and the power hidden beyond them.
But take heed: every revelation demands its price.
Knowledge carves deep; ability consumes; and the road between worlds is not walked without cost.
You are granted one Talent and one Ability.
Use them as tools, not crutches.
The System grows as you do — for it is born from your own soul's echo.
"To know yourself is to wield the universe.
To lose yourself is to be devoured by it."
Remember this, Traveler —
the System does not shape the host.
The Host shapes the System.
— Creator Unknown
"Unknown Creator," Atlas murmured under his breath. "Who the hell are you?"
His thoughts raced. A mirror of the soul… No AI, no voice, no control. It reacts to me.
That meant it wasn't guiding him — it was responding. Adapting.
He felt a strange thrill crawl up his spine. "So you're not here to hold my hand," he said quietly, half to the System, half to himself. "You're here to see what I'll do."
Atlas smirked faintly, though the awe in his eyes didn't fade. "So, no guidance, no instructions, and no rewards. Just potential."
He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "A mirror that shows what I already am. How poetic."
He closed his eyes for a moment and let the silence of the forest seep back in — the distant crackle of dying embers, the smell of pine and ash, the whisper of the morning wind.
Then he whispered, almost like a vow:
"Alright, then. Let's see just how far this mirror can go."
He smiled faintly. "Still, even a cheap miracle is better than none."
His gaze drifted down to the Ability section — and the word that stood out like a riddle: Traveler (+).
"Traveler…?" he murmured. "That's vague."
He tapped the sign.
Ability — Traveler (–)
The Traveler is one who moves beyond the boundaries of a single reality.
You may journey across Worlds and Dimensions, through space, time, and existence itself.
The flow of fate does not chain you to one realm.
Each world holds its own truth, its own laws, its own destiny — yet all are connected by the thread you now carry.
Current Log:
Origin: Earth 223-RHT (Available to Travel)
Current World: AC World 324-HGF (Current World)
New World: Random World (Available to Travel)
Warning: The greater the distance between worlds, the more unstable the passage becomes. Time flows differently across realms. Choose wisely — for every journey leaves echoes behind.
Atlas froze. His heart skipped a beat, then another. Slowly, he stood, his mind spinning faster than his pulse.
Nearby, Lukas stirred and mumbled, "Atlas…? Are you good?"
But Atlas didn't answer. He couldn't.
Origin: Earth 223-RHT—that's my home. My Earth.
Current World: AC World 324-HGF—this one.
And 'Random World'… that means… I can go anywhere.
His breath came out unsteady, half-laughter, half-awe. "This… this is insane."
For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the floating words.
Then a flicker at the edge of the window caught his eye — a tiny line of text so faint it almost vanished in the light.
Note:
Time flow between worlds differs
One year in the current world = one minute in another world.
He blinked. "One year here… only one minute there?"
A quick calculation ran through his head — twenty years here, less than twenty minutes back on Earth.
He let out a shaky laugh. "So I could… I could travel freely. Learn across worlds. Explore without losing time."
The realization was staggering. For the first time since his reincarnation, he felt free.
No longer trapped by fate, no longer just a piece in this world's game — he could move between realities themselves.
But the thrill quickly faded into thought. He looked back toward the camp.
Lukas was snoring again. Alexios and Kassandra slept close, their faces peaceful at last.
A faint smile crossed Atlas's lips. They've bled for me, trusted me, followed me.
He looked back at the words floating before him — Origin: Earth 223-RHT (Available to Travel).
He could go back. Back to the world of light, skyscrapers, music, and rain. Back to a place where gods were myths and life was ordinary. He could sit in a café again, feel pavement under his shoes, see stars through glass instead of from a battlefield.
His hands trembled slightly. "If I go back…" he whispered, "what happens to this world? To them?"
He'd spent so long surviving here that the lines between life and duty had blurred.
He had found purpose — not just in fighting, but in guiding others, in saving lives.
Could he abandon that for comfort?
Could he face his reflection on Earth knowing he left his friends to the Cult's blades?
His eyes dimmed. "No… not yet."
The power to leave was a gift — but also a test. He felt it deep in his bones.
If he used it now, he might lose everything he'd built here.
But someday… someday, he could return home, even if only for a day, a heartbeat, a breath of the past.
The galaxy inside him pulsed once, as if responding.
Atlas straightened slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Guess the universe finally decided to pay me back," he murmured.
But in truth, he wasn't sure if it was a blessing… or a promise waiting to demand its price.
Footsteps crunched softly against the dew-damp earth behind him.
The faint rustle of leaves and shifting armor broke the quiet rhythm of dawn.
"Atlas," a familiar voice called, gentle but carrying that Spartan edge of discipline.
It was Kassandra.
Atlas turned, the golden morning light spilling over her and Alexios as they approached. The two walked side by side, close enough to show connection but still keeping that small, uncertain distance — the kind siblings have when they've only just rediscovered each other.
Kassandra's arms were folded across her chest, her expression somewhere between pride and discomfort. "Couldn't sleep either?" she asked.
Alexios rubbed the back of his neck, his hair catching the sunlight. "She kept pacing," he said, smirking faintly. "Said the night felt… different."
"Don't blame me," Kassandra shot back, eyes narrowing slightly though her lips curved upward. "I'm still figuring out how to have a brother. That's a lot to process after finding out I have one."
Atlas couldn't help but chuckle, lowering his head slightly. "Then treat him like we have before, it's not like anything changes between the two of you, the only change I see is the status between the two of you."
He turned to Alexios, his tone shifting from playful to steady, that calm authority seeping through. "And you—don't overthink it, and treat it like the brother and sisters in the camp—argue half the time, save each other the rest."
He smirked. "And surviving each other's nonsense."
Alexios tilted his head, amused. "So that's how you see us, huh? A bunch of idiots who won't die quietly?"
Atlas shrugged. "If the shoe fits."
A low groan came from nearby as Lukas stirred awake, sitting up and stretching his arms. His hair was a mess, his tunic half-slipped off his shoulder. "Ha!" he grinned, voice still rough from sleep. "Spoken like a man who's refereed too many sibling fights. Family reunions are exhausting, huh?"
Even Kassandra laughed at that, shaking her head. The tension dissolved.
The tension cracked open like glass, replaced by easy laughter. Even Alexios smiled — a real one this time, not the sharp, battle-worn grin he usually wore. For the first time since the temple, they looked like people, not weapons.
After a moment, Kassandra turned to her brother again, her curiosity piqued. "So… this camp you keep mentioning," she said. "I saw flashes of it in the spear's vision, but it was hazy. It felt… warm. Like home."
Alexios's entire face softened, eyes brightening with pride. "The camp," he began, "isn't just a base. It's ours. We built it out of nothing—the camp has someone good in fighting, healing, even thieves who decided they'd rather fight for something than against it."
He paused, smiling faintly at the memory. "Of course some brothers and sisters stay, some wander. But no one's ever turned away. When they return, there's always a fire waiting."
Atlas listened quietly, his gaze thoughtful. He's grown, he thought. The reckless boy who charged at enemies now speaks like a leader.
Kassandra tilted her head, her tone soft but genuine. "Sounds like chaos. My kind of place."
Alexios laughed. "It is chaos. But it's home. A place where no one asks who you were — only who you are now."
Alexios crouched down, drawing rough shapes in the dirt with a stick as he talked. "Here's the forge — you'd love the smith, Damaris. Big as a bull, but he can forge a blade so balanced it feels like air. And here," he drew another circle, "that's the tavern tent. The twins run it — they make mead so strong it could wake the dead."
Kassandra laughed openly, leaning against a fallen pillar. "Twins? Mead? You're definitely tempting me now."
Lukas, now fully awake and chewing on a piece of dried meat, raised his hand like a warning. "Careful, Kassandra. If you drink with them, you'll wake up on the roof. Happened to Alexios once."
He smirked. "It took three men and a rope to get him down."
Alexios rolled his eyes. "One time, Lukas. One time."
"Uh-huh," Lukas said, grinning wide. "And how about the time you challenged a goat to a staring contest and lost?"
Kassandra nearly choked laughing. "By the gods—he what?"
Atlas crossed his arms, trying to look serious but failing as his lips twitched. "You should've seen it. The goat won. Proudly."
"Don't start, Atlas," Alexios warned, though even he was laughing now. "I was drunk and it was a very intimidating goat."
The laughter echoed softly in the morning air.
It wasn't loud or wild — just human. The kind of laughter that meant they were still alive, still capable of feeling something lighter than war.
Atlas looked at them — Kassandra's bright eyes, Alexios's sheepish grin, Lukas's loud humor — and felt that familiar warmth in his chest. This, he thought, is why I stayed.
He turned his gaze toward the rising sun. The light glinted off his bracer, reflecting a faint pulse of gold — the hidden mark of the Traveler humming quietly beneath his skin.
Two worlds, two paths, and one heart that didn't yet know which it belonged to.
For now, though, he chose this moment — the laughter, the warmth, and the fragile peace of a dawn unbroken by war.
The night had begun to fade into the soft gray of early morning, the campfire's glow fighting against the dawn. Sparks hissed and drifted upward like fleeting stars.
While the siblings laughed quietly near the edge of camp, Atlas sat cross-legged by the fire, a rolled parchment resting on his knee. Beside him, the Cult of Kosmos mask and robe lay folded — relics of something foul. The mask's bronze face glimmered faintly in the light, cold and soulless, its hollow eyes staring back as if remembering the secrets it once kept.
Atlas unrolled the scroll slowly. The parchment crackled under his gloved fingers, stained with faint smears of wax and what looked suspiciously like dried blood. His expression shifted as his eyes moved line by line — sharp, analytical, each word sinking deep into his mind.
A shadow fell beside him.
"Creepy thing, isn't it?" Lukas muttered, crouching and picking up the mask. He turned it in his hands, squinting through one of the empty eyeholes. "Feels like it's watching me. What do you even need this for, Atlas?"
Atlas didn't look up, his voice low but clear. "Disguise, maybe. Or bait. Cults recognize symbols before faces — sometimes that's enough to walk into their den before they smell blood."
Lukas whistled softly. "You and your plans. I swear, you think ten steps ahead while I'm still putting my boots on."
Atlas's mouth twitched — half a smirk, half a grim line — as he continued reading. The flickering firelight danced across his face, catching the tension tightening around his eyes.
Then he spoke, tone steady but edged with weight.
"It says here…" He lifted the scroll slightly, eyes scanning fast. "'A Cult of Kosmos gathering will be held beneath the Sanctuary of Delphi in a few weeks. Attendance mandatory for all inner members.'"
He paused, flipping the parchment over, brow furrowing. "And another note — the war in Megaris has begun. Their spy confirms that the Spartan general, Nikolaos, is stationed there."
Lukas's joking mood faded instantly. He leaned closer, watching Atlas's expression. "That's the Wolf of Sparta, right? The one they—" He stopped himself, glancing toward Alexios and Kassandra, who were still talking nearby. "…The one tied to them."
Atlas exhaled slowly through his nose, folding the scroll with deliberate care. The sound of crackling parchment was the only noise between them for a moment.
"So it begins," he murmured.
He stood, brushing the dust from his coat, then called out, "Everyone—over here. We've got things to discuss."
The fire snapped and popped as Alexios and Kassandra approached. They were still mid-conversation, their expressions relaxed but wary. Lukas tossed the mask back onto the ground beside the robe with a dull clink and stood beside Atlas.
"Alright," Atlas began, scanning each face. "I'll make it simple. We've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"
Lukas raised his hand immediately, grinning. "Bad news. Always start with the kick before the comfort."
Atlas smirked faintly. "Fine then." He tapped the scroll against his palm. "Our next destination is Megaris. Straight into a war zone. We can't stop the fighting, but we might end it faster by helping one side win."
Kassandra's expression hardened. "Whose side?"
"Whichever brings us closer to the truth," Atlas replied evenly. His gaze flicked toward her and Alexios. "…and possibly, your father. Nikolaos is commanding Spartan forces there."
The moment he spoke the name, the air shifted. Alexios froze mid-breath. Kassandra's jaw tightened, her hand unconsciously brushing against the broken spear at her hip.
Emotion flickered across their faces — anger, confusion, longing — a storm that had no clear name.
Atlas's tone softened slightly. "On the bright side, you could finally ask him about your mother — about Myrrine."
The name hung in the air, heavy and hopeful.
Alexios's gaze fell to the ground, his fingers flexing restlessly. "If he does not want to see us," he muttered.
Kassandra looked away, her voice quieter but steadier. "We'll make him see us and listen."
Atlas nodded. "Then we'll make sure he does."
Lukas, ever the one to ease tension, crossed his arms and shrugged. "Well, that's the bad news out of the way. What's the good one? Please tell me it's not more war."
Atlas gave a thin smile and lifted the scroll again. "Good news — we have a lead on the Cult itself. There's going to be a meeting beneath the Sanctuary of Delphi in a few weeks. If we play this right, we could learn who leads them… maybe even cut off their head before the serpent strikes again."
Kassandra's brow furrowed. "Delphi… The Oracle's city."
Alexios's tone darkened. "The Pythia. It was her prophecy that started all this. She's the reason we were thrown from that mountain."
He stepped forward, voice rising with anger. "Then I'll—"
Atlas's voice cut through like steel. "No."
The command in his tone froze even Alexios mid-step.
Atlas's eyes held his, calm but unyielding. "You can't touch her. To Greece, she's the voice of Apollo himself. Lay a hand on her, and we'll have the entire Greek world chasing us to the ends of the earth."
The fire crackled between them, throwing long shadows across the ground.
Alexios's fists clenched, his breathing heavy. "Then what? We just let her get away with it?"
Kassandra laid a hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle. "He's right. We can't fight gods with swords. Not yet."
Her tone softened, but there was iron underneath. "We'll play the long game. Find the truth first. Then we decide how to act."
Alexios's anger faltered, replaced by reluctant acceptance. He exhaled slowly, nodding once. "Fine. But when the time comes, I want to face her myself."
Atlas met his gaze and gave a small nod. "You will. When the time is right."
The fire burned lower as silence settled over them again. The weight of the coming days pressed heavy — war in Megaris, secrets in Delphi, and a father lost between them.
Above, the sun climbed higher, cutting through the last of the night mist. The smell of smoke and sea carried through the wind, mingling with the faint metallic scent of the Cult mask still lying by the fire.
Atlas looked at it one last time, its hollow eyes glinting faintly in the light.
"Looks like our next chapter's already written," he murmured.
Lukas kicked a pebble into the flames. "Then let's make sure we're the ones holding the quill."
By midday, the group had broken camp. The ashes of the fire had cooled to gray dust, and the morning mist had begun to lift, revealing a sky of bright, endless blue.
They moved quietly through the forest path toward Sami, the rhythmic crunch of boots mixing with the whisper of leaves and the distant cry of gulls. The air was sharp with pine and salt, the smell of the nearby sea carried on a soft wind. Sunlight filtered through the branches, dappling their armor and faces in flashes of gold.
Alexios led with easy strides, whistling tunelessly. Kassandra walked beside him, her pace casual but eyes alert — a habit she'd never unlearned. Lukas trailed a few steps behind, occasionally tossing pebbles at tree trunks and pretending to aim for birds. Atlas walked last, quiet and thoughtful, his mind half on the road, half still lingering on the Traveler's glow pulsing faintly beneath his skin.
Two worlds, he mused, and I'm the thread between them.
They emerged from the last line of trees and found the dirt road that curved toward the coastal village. The sea came into view — calm and glittering beneath the midday sun. Fishing nets hung from posts, and smoke from cookfires drifted lazily over the rooftops.
"Back already?" a familiar, gruff voice called from ahead.
Dimitri the burly old blacksmith, now doing a fisherman work with shoulders like barrels and a beard streaked with silver, stood on the road with a basket of freshly caught fish. His grin split wide as he waved. "Done with your… 'hunting trip' already?"
Atlas smiled faintly, his tone light but weary. "Yes. Very successful."
Dimitri squinted at the weapons and faint bruises marking their armor. "Successful, huh? Judging by the scratches, I'd say your prey fought back."
Lukas barked a laugh. "You know us, old man. Our prey always bites."
Dimitri chuckled, then gestured down the road with one hand. "Then you're coming to my house tonight. No arguments. We celebrate success — whatever kind it is."
Alexios grinned. "Wouldn't dream of saying no."
"Good," Dimitri said firmly. "My wife's already roasting lamb. And she'll be twice as angry if there's leftovers."
They didn't argue.
By nightfall, Dimitri's home was alive with warmth and noise.
The stone walls flickered with firelight, the smell of roasted lamb and fresh bread filling the room. Clay cups clinked together, laughter spilled freely, and for once, no one kept a hand near their weapon.
Kassandra sat near the hearth, her armor shed, her hair loose over her shoulders. She looked at ease for the first time in what felt like years. Atlas sat beside Dimitri, accepting a cup of wine while Lukas and Alexios argued about who killed more bandits on their "hunt."
Dimitri leaned back in his chair, watching them all with amusement. "You lads remind me of my fishing crew here. Loud, reckless, always coming home with scars instead of fish."
Alexios raised his cup. "Scars are proof we lived."
Dimitri snorted. "Scars are proof you were bad at dodging."
Laughter erupted around the table.
Then Alexios stood, tapping his cup for silence. "Old man Dimitri—" he announced, grinning proudly, "—I'd like you to meet someone." He placed a hand on Kassandra's shoulder. "My sister — by blood, by fate, and by the gods' twisted sense of humor."
The table fell silent for half a heartbeat. Then Dimitri blinked, his eyes widening.
"By the gods!" he burst out, slapping the table so hard the cups jumped. "The Eagle Bearer of Kephallonia! Markos's savior!"
Kassandra groaned, hiding her face in one hand. "So even here, that fool's name haunts me."
Lukas nearly spat out his wine. "Markos? Oh,I heard that man leaves a trail bigger than his debts."
Atlas smirked. "And that's saying something."
Dimitri chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, Markos… I met him once. Tried to sell me a boat that already belonged to me. Said he was doing me a favor."
Kassandra muttered under her breath, "That sounds exactly like him."
As the laughter died down, Dimitri's young wife entered — a woman with kind eyes and hair tied in a loose braid. She carried a tray of olives and bread, setting it down with a tired smile. "You'll drink all the wine before eating if I let you," she scolded gently.
Behind her came two small figures — a boy no older than four, bright-eyed and curious, and a little girl barely walking, clutching a wooden dolphin.
Dimitri's face softened immediately. "And these," he said proudly, scooping the children into his arms, "are my troublemakers."
Kassandra smiled warmly, reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair. "Strong little soldiers, huh?"
"Ha! They'll be sailors before soldiers," Dimitri said. "The sea's in their blood."
Atlas raised his cup, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Tsk, tsk, old man. You really didn't lose that charm of yours, huh?"
Dimitri winked, raising his own cup in reply. "The sea may take my teeth, Atlas, but never my charm!"
Everyone laughed again. Even Atlas — the one who rarely allowed himself to.
The night carried on like that: wine refilled, stories retold, songs hummed off-key. Kassandra shared tales of Kephallonia's mischief, of runaway goats and Markos's failed "businesses," while Lukas countered with stories from the camp — of Alexios drunkenly challenging a goat to a duel (again), and the legendary prank war that once divided their ranks for a week.
Even Atlas shared a few stories — quietly, but each one drew laughter. His usual composure softened, the flicker of the hearthlight reflecting in his eyes as he allowed himself to simply be part of them.
For those few hours, war and prophecy did not exist. No gods, no cults, no destinies — only warmth, wine, and the sound of people who had earned their laughter the hard way.
When the fire burned low and the songs turned soft, Atlas slipped outside for a breath of cool air.
The village was quiet now, stars scattered across the velvet sky. The sea murmured against the shore, and the faint scent of salt mixed with woodsmoke.
He looked down at his palm. Beneath his skin, faint golden light pulsed again — the mark of the Traveler, hidden but alive.
He closed his hand slowly, feeling the hum fade into silence.
Two worlds, he thought. One calling me forward, one holding me still.
Inside, laughter broke through the window — Kassandra's bright and bold, Alexios's loud and carefree, Lukas's rough and familiar.
Atlas smiled faintly. "I'll stay a little longer," he whispered. "There's still something worth protecting here."
The stars shimmered above him, and the Traveler's light glowed once more — quiet, patient, waiting for the day it would awaken again.
END
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