Caleb searched for the trap, the angle Hatch was working. A few minutes of personal anecdotes didn't mean the captain was trustworthy, even if Caleb's gut wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wasn't feeling all warm and fuzzy considering the threats of conscription, insinuations about his village life ending, and now this… this what? Better alternative?
There was no such thing as a free lunch.
"I've never heard of it," Caleb said.
"Of course you haven't." The captain's tone held no judgment. "The Sovereign Path isn't discussed in taverns or taught to kitchen workers. It's a philosophy that exists at the apex of power. But it's also one of the oldest traditions in the world."
Hatch settled back into his chair, his fingers steepled.
"The Sovereign Path predates the Dominion by untold millennia. Older than written records, some say older than the rune gates. Perhaps as old as civilization itself." His voice took on a rhythmic quality. "Every culture across Veraxus has some version of it—different names, different rituals, but the same core philosophy: that true power demands absolute perfection, refusing shortcuts and compromises."
Caleb shifted to the edge of his seat, drawn in by the history.
"The basic concept is straightforward." Hatch's dark eyes shone with intensity. "Most practitioners advance to the next tier the moment they reach the minimum threshold in one Triad. They hit ninety-four percent attunement at F-tier and immediately attempt the breakthrough trial. It's practical, and accepted as the standard path of progression."
He paused.
"A Sovereign refuses that compromise. They commit to reaching one hundred percent attunement in every attribute before attempting advancement. Flawless foundation. No shortcuts, no exceptions, no matter the cost."
"Why?" Caleb shrugged a shoulder. "What's the point?"
"Because the foundation matters. A breakthrough is violent, soul-altering. It reshapes your entire spiritual structure, builds the framework for all future power." Hatch rested his elbows on the desk, bridging the distance between them. "An attribute at one hundred percent attunement is perfectly saturated and spiritually stable. It makes the breakthrough trial more difficult, but it also creates a flawless foundation and increases the quality of the transformation."
The captain leaned back and stood, pacing to the window.
"But more importantly, it permanently affects every subsequent tier by limiting one's growth potential. Those who advance too quickly are penalized—their maximum attunement capacity decreases with each tier they fail to achieve the True Peak. Someone who breaks through with anything less than one hundred percent in F-tier will only be able to achieve ninety-nine percent attunement in E-tier." He turned back, staring intensely at Caleb. "You may not know this yet, but the minimum breakthrough threshold increases for each new tier. When you get to E-tier, you will need ninety-five percent. At D-tier, you will need ninety-six. Do you see the issue?"
Caleb nodded slowly. He did. "If you chose to only breakthrough at the minimum threshold each time, you wouldn't be able to grow beyond C-tier, right?"
"Correct, and most don't. Not that C-tier is easily achievable around here. But in the wider world? C-tiers are a copper a dozen. The Sovereign Path avoids that penalty. By achieving perfection at each stage, you ensure you can reach the highest echelons of power." Hatch frowned slightly. "Which, as far as anyone knows, is A-tier."
Caleb pursed his lips, trying to reconcile the math. "But A-tier would only require ninety-nine percent. Surely, if this Sovereign Path has been pursued for longer than the Dominion has existed, someone would have reached one hundred percent attunement at A-tier. Is there not something above it?"
"So the legends say." Hatch smiled slightly. "But knowing the answers to questions like that is outside my pay grade."
Caleb sat in silence for a minute. There was a lot to absorb, yet his mind cataloged each detail.
"Who would even want to attempt it? Seems most folks around here are doing just fine."
"Two types of people." Hatch held up a finger. "First, the imperial elite. The highest ranks of the Illuminet, noble families with resources that make a village like Deadfall's entire annual tax revenue look like pocket change." He raised a second. "Second, the obsessed. Individuals with such fanatical dedication to perfection that they sacrifice everything—relationships, comfort, sometimes their own sanity—in pursuit of absolute perfection."
The captain's expression darkened.
"It's a path that breaks most who attempt it. The resource cost is crushing. The time investment is measured in centuries, if not longer. And the temptation to compromise, to take the 'good enough' option when your peers are advancing and you're still grinding away..." Hatch dismissed the thought with a gesture. "Very few have the will to see it through."
Silence settled over the office.
Caleb's exhaustion warred with hope as he looked at his hands. The path Hatch described was insane, a commitment that could consume his entire existence. But it also sounded like the only way to maintain some of his autonomy. To not get turned into some weapon that had to go where the Legion pointed.
He glanced up.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because the Dominion, for all its flaws, was wise enough to recognize that some traditions are too deeply ingrained to stamp out." Hatch returned to the desk, sitting on its edge. "When Emperor Caelverax unified the world and established the current system, his scholars found references to The Sovereign Path in every culture they conquered. It was treated with an almost religious reverence—a sacred journey undertaken by legendary heroes."
Hatch's voice dropped.
"The Emperor chose not to fight it. Instead, he formalized it. The Dominion officially recognizes The Sovereign Path as a legitimate progression philosophy." Hatch held up a cautionary hand. "The Legion restricts this path to the exceptional, however. Only those verified as worthy may declare. These individuals become Sovereign Aspirants, and become exempt from all sorts of coercion, including full Legion conscription."
Caleb's breath caught, eyes going wide.
"Indeed, son. It makes sense when you think about it. A True Sovereign—if they actually complete the path—becomes an asset of immeasurable value. Someone with a perfect foundation who reaches A-tier is worth more than most provinces' standing armies." The captain's eyes gleamed. "The Dominion gambles that the handful who succeed will more than compensate for the multitude who fail and fall short."
The pieces clicked together.
This was the way out. The only way out.
"What's the catch?"
Hatch smiled grimly.
"The catch is that declaring for the Sovereign Path isn't a free pass to do whatever you want. You'll be recognized as a Sovereign Aspirant, yes, but your functional title within the military structure will be 'Legion Adjunct.'" He ticked off points on his fingers. "You're free to pursue your own training regimen. You won't be assigned to a standard cohort or subjected to the typical Legion grind. But you can and will be called upon for specific missions when the garrison needs your talents."
Caleb's jaw tightened.
"You will have access to training at the main garrison with the local soldiers and delvers. You'll have access to superior resources with the Legion quartermaster." Hatch's voice went flat. "In exchange, you'll be under direct Legion oversight. Your progress will be monitored. And if you fail to demonstrate adequate advancement..."
The unspoken threat hung in the air.
"How long do I have?"
"That depends entirely on you." Hatch stood, moving to a cabinet against the wall. "The standard expectation is that a Sovereign Aspirant should advance from F-tier to E-tier within a few years. That's challenging considering the immense resource requirements." He produced a leather-bound ledger. "But the real test is continuous progress. If the Legion sees you stagnating, making excuses, or treating the designation as a way to avoid service without pursuing the Path, you will lose your status and be conscripted into active duty."
Caleb frowned. "I understand. It's not like I have much of a choice, but it's better than the alternative. Thank you, Captain."
Hatch nodded to Caleb. "You're welcome, son, but you earned the opportunity yourself." He returned to the desk, opening the ledger.
"Before we formalize anything, I need to assess your current Status and calculate your tournament reward." He pulled out a quill and inkwell. "Project your attributes for me."
Caleb hesitated. Showing someone his Status on command felt invasive, a violation he couldn't quite articulate. But he realized it was the only way they could audit his attunement for the tournament payout.
He pulled up the screen and willed it visible to Hatch.
The captain's eyes moved across the display, his expression carefully neutral. But Caleb saw the micro-expressions—the slight widening of his eyes, the fractional tightening around his mouth, the way his quill paused mid-scratch.
Hatch looked up.
"You performed all of that with only Agility half attuned?"
Caleb nodded.
"And your Spiritual Contamination is at nine percent?"
Another nod.
Hatch set down his quill. For a long moment, he simply stared, his expression cycling through surprise, calculation, and something that looked almost like respect.
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"You're either the luckiest bastard I've ever met or the most naturally talented." He shook his head slowly. "Probably both."
The captain returned his attention to the ledger, making quick notations.
Finally, he raised his head and pulled open a drawer, producing a small wooden chest. He set it on the desk between them.
"The second-place prize provides enough stones to bring your chosen triad and Vitality to the breakthrough threshold," Hatch said, opening the box. Neat rows of crimson and violet essence stones glowed with inner fire. "Am I correct in assuming you'll attune the Body Triad first?"
Caleb considered the question before meeting the captain's direct gaze. "What would you recommend, sir?"
Hatch gave a slight nod of approval. "Build on your strengths. You fought as a warrior, and a damned effective one, so pouring these resources into your Mind triad would be a waste until you can actually wield Mana." He gestured to the open box. "There's no point building a reservoir if you don't have a river to fill it."
The captain counted out stones and set them in separate piles on the desk.
"For your Strength, ten red essence stones will take you to the threshold." A small heap of red stones formed on the left.
"For Endurance, another ten," he continued, creating a second pile.
"For Agility, five to get you the rest of the way there." A third stack.
"And for Vitality, ten more." The fourth mound of violet stones completed the set.
Caleb stared at the thirty-five essence stones, a dizzying amount of wealth representing a direct path to power that would have taken him months, if not years, to achieve.
Hatch wasn't finished. "Your fifty percent attunement in Agility represents a prior investment, and the prize accounts for that." He reached back into the box, pulling out three stones that looked shinier than the others, their crimson glow pulsing with a brighter energy. "Three E-tier red spirit stones. Consider it fair compensation for the progress you've already earned."
The captain closed the box and set it aside.
"Consume these now, before you leave this room."
Caleb blinked. "What? Now?"
"Walking around Deadfall with this much portable wealth is a good way to get robbed. Or killed."
Caleb conceded the point, but his mind snagged on a different concern.
"Will this help with the Channel Erosion?"
Hatch's expression became grave.
"No. The damage you've done is structural, not a simple matter to heal." He leaned back in his chair. "There are only three ways to heal Channel Erosion. First, complete rest. If you stop using Stamina-based Abilities entirely, the damage will slowly repair itself over time. Very slowly."
Caleb's heart sank.
"Second, specialized alchemical treatments. Channel-mending baths, spiritual rejuvenation pills, natural treasures. Things like that." Hatch's tone made it clear he didn't expect Caleb to afford such luxuries. "They're expensive and rare, but they can accelerate the healing process significantly."
"And the third way?"
"Complete the D-tier breakthrough." The captain's voice was firm. "The E-to-D trial, the Internal Crucible, is specifically designed to scour and fortify your energy channels. Successfully completing it will completely repair any existing erosion and fundamentally strengthen your spiritual infrastructure."
He leaned forward, his gaze intense.
"Until then, I strongly recommend you avoid using high-intensity Abilities. Every time you channel Stamina, you're putting pressure on damaged pathways. The more power you push through them, the greater the stress, and the higher the risk of making the damage permanent."
Caleb grimaced.
Hatch gestured to the piles of stones. "Let's get started."
Caleb reached for the first pile—Strength. The stones were warm to the touch, each one thrumming with contained power. He picked one up and swallowed it down.
Power surged through him, and willing it into the correct attribute was easy. He felt his muscles tighten, fibers reinforcing and strengthening.
He reached for the second stone. Then the third.
The process became mechanical. Swallow, absorb, integrate. His mind tracked each surge, cataloging the shifts in his internal energy. After the tenth Strength stone, he moved to Endurance.
The purpose of the power changed. Where Strength had felt like tempered steel being woven into his frame, Endurance felt like bedrock settling into his bones. Resilience. Staying power.
Stone after stone disappeared down his throat. He did the Agility next.
Finally, he reached for the Vitality pile. These stones felt different even before he consumed them—warmer, more alive. The first one flooded his system with something that felt less like power and more like… healthiness incarnate. His exhaustion didn't disappear, but it became more manageable, his body's natural healing processes accelerating.
The last stone dissolved on his tongue.
Caleb sat still, feeling the changes settle. His Status screen updated in real-time, the percentages climbing with each absorption until they all passed ninety-four percent.
And then he felt it.
A barrier, internal and undeniable, like an invisible ceiling pressing down on his soul. His body was saturated to the threshold, every spiritual pathway of the Body Triad and Vitality filled with refined power.
Hatch watched him intently.
"Stand up."
Caleb pushed himself out of the chair.
His body responded to the mental command with the potency of his new Strength, though his nervous system remained calibrated for a weaker machine. Muscles fired with improved power, launching him from the seat. His trajectory carried him up and forward in an uncontrolled arc, his torso slamming into the edge of the heavy oak desk.
Crumb!
Papers scattered as he scrambled for purchase. His palm slapped the desktop for leverage, but the movement was too fast. The solid wood groaned, a hairline fracture appearing beneath his fingers. He tried to correct, pulling back, yet his center of gravity remained a wild, bucking thing he couldn't pin down. He collapsed back into his chair, the frame screeching in protest as it slid.
He stilled.
[Savant of the Body] flooded his mind with a torrent of sensory dissonance.
The Impartment shouted warnings. Every micro-movement triggered a cascade of excessive force, highlighting a massive gap between his neural impulse and the resulting kinetic output. He felt like a child trying to steer a runaway train.
Too much. Dial it back.
He tried to rise a second time.
He pushed up from the chair, treating the floorboards as if they were made of spun sugar. He straightened by degrees, fighting the urge to snap into position while his muscles vibrated with the effort of restraint.
He stood there, rigid and unblinking. This was a desperate, manual override of his own autonomy. If he moved naturally, he would destroy the room.
He looked over to find Hatch staring at him.
The captain's expression had shifted from professional observation to open incredulity. His mouth hung slightly open, his eyes tracking the tremors running through Caleb's legs.
"You're standing," Hatch murmured, the sound low and rough. "You swallowed a mountain of power, and you're just... standing there."
Hatch's voice was barely above a whisper. "Prodigy indeed."
Well, that feels ominous.
Caleb forced himself to remain still, to project calm despite the overwhelming newness of sensations still flooding his nervous system. He pulled up his Status, needing to see the concrete proof.
The numbers stared back at him.
PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES
| VIT | 94.06% | F |
| STR | 94.06% | F |
| AGI | 94.06% | F |
| END | 94.06% | F |
| INT | 0.00% | F |
| WIL | 0.00% | F |
| WIS | 0.00% | F |
Four attributes sat at the threshold, ready for advancement. The foundation of his future power, built in the span of minutes with resources that represented more wealth than most villagers could have accrued in years.
He should have felt grateful. Hatch had just handed him a fortune, offered him a way out of conscription, shown him a path forward.
But all Caleb felt was confusion.
Ten stones for Strength. The first nine worked as expected, bringing him to ninety percent. The tenth hit a wall. It pushed him to the ninety-four percent threshold, then efficiency collapsed. The remaining energy provided a mere fraction of a percent.
"Sir," he began, his brow furrowing. "The last stone barely registered."
Hatch’s professional mask remained in place, though a flicker of grim amusement passed through his eyes. He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Correct. You've hit the saturation point."
The captain leaned forward, his voice dropping.
"The journey to ninety-four percent is linear. You add water to the cup until it reaches the brim, and that costs you ten stones. Going beyond that limiter requires a different approach."
He tapped the desk. "You must compress the ocean."
Caleb listened, his mind already racing ahead.
"The rule is simple. To gain a single percentage point past the threshold, you must match the total energy you have already consumed."
Caleb blinked. [Savant of the Mind] seized the variable and ran the sequence.
"I spent ten stones to reach ninety-four," Caleb said slowly. "To reach ninety-five—"
"You need ten more," Hatch confirmed.
"And for ninety-six? Twenty?"
"Indeed." Hatch held up a hand, ticking off the progression. "For ninety-seven, forty. For ninety-eight—"
"Six hundred and forty," Caleb breathed.
Hatch froze, his eyes widening briefly. He studied Caleb. The captain slowly lowered his hand.
"Most recruits need a slate and chalk to get there," Hatch murmured. He gave a single, curt nod. "Correct. Six hundred and forty stones."
Holy. Mackerel.
It was a geometric progression. The cost doubled with every single step.
Caleb stared at the desk, feeling weak in the knees. "Just to finish one attribute."
Hatch reclined in his seat. "That is the price of perfection. That is The Sovereign's Toll."
The phrase hung in the air like a pronouncement of doom.
The numbers were staggering. It represented more wealth than he could easily wrap his head around.
Caleb stared at the captain, his exhaustion forgotten. The Sovereign Path wasn't just difficult. It was designed to be prohibitive, a gauntlet that would break anyone who wasn't obscenely wealthy or inhumanly dedicated.
"Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why would anyone subject themselves to that?"
Hatch's demeanor changed, becoming almost reverent.
"Because of what is said to wait at the end. The Sovereign's Toll isn't just about resources or time. It's about proving your worthiness for what comes after."
Caleb found himself leaning in.
"There's a legend, Caldorn. One that's persisted across every culture, every era, every corner of Veraxus at the peaks of power." A fanatical light entered Hatch's expression. "It's said that a True Sovereign, someone who pays the Toll in full, who achieves perfect attunement and finds a way to whatever is beyond A-tier, doesn't just gain power…"
"…they gain the ability to rewrite reality itself."
Caleb's mind stuttered.
Stopped.
Restarted.
The promise of the path resurrected the possibility of an entire existence. The scent of Saturday morning pancakes, the weight of a sleeping child resting on his chest, the murmur of a bedtime story read in a quiet room. A first bike ride without training wheels, wobbling but triumphant. A walk down the aisle, her hand trembling slightly in his, and the quiet, unspoken promise of a future filled with wrinkles and companionable silence on a porch swing. It was the reality he had lost, the one he would pay any price to reclaim.
Rewrite reality.
What if it wasn't metaphor? What if the legend was literal? What if someone with enough power, enough control, enough fundamental mastery of the world's underlying mysteries could actually—
No, don't think it. Don't even let yourself hope.
But the thought was there now, a seed planted deep in his consciousness. The possibility, however remote, however insane, that he might find a way back. That this nightmare existence in a stolen body might not be permanent.
That he could fix what had been broken.
Hatch was still talking, explaining the practical limitations, the centuries-long commitment, the countless failures for every rumored success. But Caleb barely heard him.
His entire world had narrowed to two words.
Rewrite reality.
The meeting ended. Hatch said something about reporting schedules, about resources and expectations.
Caleb nodded at the appropriate moments, his mouth forming responses he didn't consciously register.
He walked out of the garrison office in a daze, limbs spasming haphazardly. He couldn't care.
The festival's energy met him as he stepped from the building's quiet, a rush of sound and heat. Music from a dozen different sources blended into a joyous, chaotic tune, punctuated by cheers and drunken singing from the crowded streets. The air was filled with the smells of roasting boar and spiced cider, and torchlight and rune light painted the swirling mist in shades of orange and gold.
Caleb moved through it all like a spectre.
His Status screen hovered at the edge of his vision, the numbers a constant reminder of what he'd just been given. Power. Purpose. A path forward that made sense within the insane logic of this world.
But more than that—hope.
Terrible, desperate hope.
He thought about the cost. The centuries of grinding, the fanatical dedication. The sacrifice of everything normal people valued.
The path to rewriting reality wasn't just difficult.
It was meant to be impossible.
For anyone else, it might have been the end. But for a man who had already lost one reality, the rules of ‘impossible’ no longer seemed to apply.
I'll pay the Toll. Every stone, every sacrifice, every impossible demand.
His hands clenched into fists, his new strength making the gesture almost painful.
Whatever it takes.
Fog wrapped around him as he walked, the village dissolving into shadow and suggestion. Somewhere ahead lay the Hearthsong Inn. Beyond that, a world full of dangers he was only beginning to understand.
But beneath it all, buried under mountains of accumulated power and ancient legends, there might be a way.
A way home.
Caleb disappeared into the night, his future irrevocably changed, his quest just beginning.
Obligatory Title-Chapter Fist Pump