Chapter 2: Awakening
It was peaceful here, away from people, their games, away from life.
Aeor found a strange solace in the darkness. Once again, he wasn't sure how much time had passed.
Once again? The thought surfaced, unbidden. Have I been here before?
It vanished as quickly as it came.
It doesn’t matter either way... right? His consciousness tugged at something distant. It wanted to remember. It wanted him to act.
Then came a jolt.
A rush of emotions tore through him, and with them, the memories returned. The ancient ruin. The shattered barrier. The awakening and... his father.
The stillness fractured.
Aeor gasped, heart racing as he tried to process it all. What was Father doing there? Embrace what? Where was Mother? Did his father kill those guards? The thoughts surged through his mind and collided into a single, haunting question:
Who am I?
A chill slid down his spine, followed by a deep and wordless dread. Whatever lay beyond that question, he wasn’t ready for it. Not yet. He shoved it away. Slowly, the feeling faded.
Aeor awoke, coughing.
Ash clung to his throat and tongue, dry and acrid, forcing him into a fit as he rolled onto his side. Each breath scraped like gravel through his lungs. The pain wasn’t just physical, but something about it felt wrong.
This wasn’t the ancient ruin.
He gasped, blinking through stinging tears as he clawed at the rough ground beneath him. The air was thick with sulfur and heat, tinged with a bitter metallic tang that coated his tongue. Every inhale burned.
He shoved himself upright, wincing as pain lanced through his ribs. His limbs felt heavy, slow. Ash coated his arms, his neck, and the black linen shirt he wore had a tear, but there was no wound.
His heart should have been pierced. Crushed. Yet when he touched his chest with trembling fingers, he felt only unbroken skin. No scar. Not even a bruise.
Questions pressed at the edge of his thoughts. Hadn't he died? Panic started creeping, but he pushed the questions away. There will be time later to go over things, not now.
He steadied his breath, forcing stillness, then finally looked around.
Dying embers lit the sky, streaking through thick clouds that churned with sluggish pulses of crimson light. A dull red sun hung low behind a wall of cloud, bleeding warmth but no comfort. The air shimmered with drifting motes of deep orange and gold, as if the world had been scorched and was still smoldering.
The land before him was blackened and broken, scarred with jagged ridges that jutted from the ground like spears. Beneath the ash-covered ground, faint lines of molten orange pulsed in rhythm, breathing heat through the bones of the world.
Despite his current situation. His mind was blank. This wasn't natural. There was an unusual calm. He knew something was off, but still chose to hold on to that calm. For a moment, he simply stood there, gazing at the embers slowly drifting down, blending into the darkening sky.
Eventually, letting the panic subside, a thought surfaced. Am I dead? The question lingered. There was no answer. He wasn’t sure he needed one.
This does look different from the depictions made of the Nifelheim. It thought it was going to be more cold, but then suddenly a memory surfaced towards the end. His father said that 'The Initiation is coming'
The thought of this being Véurr Hel's domain quickly faded. Where am I then? shouldn't I be in my homeworld for the initiation?
He just stared, wordless, for several long minutes.
When his attention returned to the present, he glanced around and spotted his spear nearby. Picking it up, he ran a finger along its edge. The blade was chipped and dulled in places, the metal bent ever so slightly where it had struck something hard. Blood, long dried and flaking, coated the haft.
I don’t recall fighting. Whose blood is this? Aeor turned the weapon slowly, then sighed. As he moved to set it aside, something else caught his eye.
A parchment, folded neatly, half-buried in the ash.
Curious, he bent down and picked it up.
Name: Aeor Calder
Race: Human
World of Origin: Khorvalen
Essence Tier: Awakened (E)
Essence Stability: Flickering
Affinity: Death
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Class: Unclassified (Thread Forming)
Traits:
Scion of Death
Tier: Woven (S)
Effect: Unknown.
Archive Note: "Some names cannot be erased, even in silence."
Flame-Eclipsed Heart
Tier: Threaded (C)
Effect: Unknown.
Archive Note: "The flame is not yours. It waits to see what you’ll become."
Abilities:
Deathbind Edge
Tier: Flicker (E)
Effect: Grants limited manipulation of death-aspected Essence.
Archive Note: "Death shall be the arbiter of your will."
Threads in Progress:
???
Type: Forbidden Thread
Status: Dormant / Unknown
Huh? What is all of this? Essence tier, traits, abilities?
Is this some kind of identification? For what, though? He frowned and looked at the parchment again.
Name, race, world of origin... all checks out.
Essence Tier: Awakened (E)
Essence Stability: Flickering
What is Essence supposed to be? Mana? Or something else entirely?
So, I'm Awakened. Kaeric and Lyra had assumed I was, and they were right. But then, what's this 'E' next to it? Essence Tier... so the letter must represent power level? E for Awakened? It makes sense in structure, but E is low. Very low. Some scholars whispered about tiers beyond, but to rank it this low...
Then Stability... Flickering. Does that mean my control over it? Or is it the quality of this essence? He sighed again. Too many assumptions.
Affinity: Death
Class: Unclassified (Thread Forming)
Affinity is at least familiar. Lyra had a nature affinity. Mirelle's was ice. But death? Aren’t the undead usually aligned with that? Could this be related to what that voice referred to me as?
Did I really die back there...?
The thought lingered, but he pushed it down and focused again.
Class is unclassified. Thread forming. I guess that means I haven’t been assigned one yet? That makes sense, I suppose.
Then came the traits.
Scion of Death
Tier: Woven (S)
Effect: Unknown.
Archive Note: "Some names cannot be erased, even in silence."
Flame-Eclipsed Heart
Tier: Threaded (C)
Effect: Unknown.
Archive Note: "The flame is not yours. It waits to see what you’ll become."
Scion of Death... that voice called me that, didn’t it? And it’s S-Tier. Is that common? Do people have S-tier traits normally? He paused. Effect unknown. Great. And these Archive Notes? What are they supposed to mean?
Why even give me this if everything is so cryptic? Flame-Eclipsed Heart tells me nothing either. 'Waits to see what I’ll become'... is this some sort of magical prophecy or poetry? He frowned. Maybe something to do with my heart?
Another sigh escaped him.
Abilities:
Deathbind Edge
Tier: Flicker (E)
Effect: Grants limited manipulation of death-aspected Essence.
Archive Note: "Death shall be the arbiter of your will."
At least this one is clear. So I can control death essence. It matches the affinity.
Folding the parchment, Aeor looked down at his hands.
He thought of death, gathering it into his palm. At first, nothing happened. But as he closed his eyes and focused, something subtle shifted. A faint nudge stirred in his awareness, guiding his attention in a direction he couldn’t quite name. He followed the feeling.
Then, something clicked.
When Aeor opened his eyes, a dark mist had begun to swirl around his hand. Black and formless, it clung to him like smoke, weightless yet clearly tethered to his will. He moved his hand. The mist followed. He threw a slow punch, and the haze trailed with the motion.
Curious, he set down his spear and focused on his other hand. It took more effort, but soon enough, a second stream of death essence formed, coalescing in slow ribbons of shadow. The strain of maintaining both was immediate and sharp, as if tugging at something inside him.
With a thought, he released the energy. The mist faded into nothing.
Still driven by curiosity, Aeor lifted his spear once again and focused on its tip. The death essence obeyed. It wrapped around the weapon like a second edge, flickering faintly in the dull red glow of the sun. A flicker of elation rose in him.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Aeor tested the limits of his ability.
He quickly discovered a few things. First, there was a limit to how much essence he could call upon, a well within him that drained with use. The more he summoned, the faster it emptied. Conjuring the mist costed more than maintaining it.
When he pushed himself, he was able to coat his torso entirely in death essence. It held for less than a minute, even though he still felt more essence remaining in his well. The strain, however, was too great to maintain.
Finally, he gathered essence around the butt of his spear and struck a nearby stone. Then he repeated the strike without it. The first left a faint crater. The second, just a scuff.
The difference was small, but it was there.
Maybe it would affect living things more, he thought. It is death, after all.
Feeling satisfied, Aeor retrieved the parchment and turned to the final entry.
Threads in Progress:
???
Type: Forbidden Thread
Status: Dormant / Unknown
His earlier excitement faded. The secrecy grated on him. Everything important was withheld or locked behind riddles.
He looked back to the class entry.
Class: Unclassified (Thread Forming)
Whatever this thread is, it's dormant, Aeor thought. Does that mean I need to awaken it? And if so, is it tied to my class?
He looked out over the land once more.
Whatever this is, I need to find civilization. Someone, anyone who can tell me what’s going on.
He looked down at his amulet still hanging from his neck. The violet glow in the gem had faded. He clutched it tight. Offering a quick prayer to the Véurr.
With his spear in one hand, Aeor descended the cliff and started walking.
There was no destination. No direction. Just the dull instinct to keep moving. The sky above shifted slowly, passing from ember to ash as the hours crawled by. Heat shimmered off the fractured ground.
The plateau stretched on, jagged and lifeless. Blackened stone cracked underfoot, sharp and dry. Occasionally, a faint orange glow pulsed beneath the earth like the world still smoldered beneath its skin. Aeor kept his distance from those places.
Time felt uncertain. His throat burned, his legs ached, and his body moved on despite it all. Some part of him still felt muted, as though the storm inside had been smothered. Aeor could tell it wasn’t natural. He suspected it was one of his traits at work, deadening his emotions just enough to keep him moving.
The land began to cool as the sky deepened to violet. The dull sun dipped low behind the horizon, and ash continued to fall, slower now. The wind picked up instead, sharp and bitter, carrying grit and slivers of obsidian that scraped at his arms and face.
He glanced upward.
Massive storm clouds, streaked with deep red veins, rolled toward him. It didn’t take much to put the pieces together. The wind, the ash, the pressure building in the air.
A storm was coming.
Aeor broke into a run, scanning the cliffs nearby. If he could reach one before the storm hit, he might find shelter. The wall of stone loomed ahead, and he made for its base, letting the cliff shield him from the worst of the wind. But it wouldn’t be enough.
He needed a crevice. A cave. Something.
The storm struck with a scream of wind and the crack of red lightning. Rain poured in sheets, thick and hot, the sky fully swallowed by cloud. The land darkened to pitch, broken only by flashes of crimson that split the sky like broken veins.
Then, by luck, he found it.
A narrow break in the cliff face, a gash just wide enough to slip through. He pressed into it, shoulder first. The air inside was cool, stale, and still. Shelter.
Inside, faint light clung to the stone. Strands of bioluminescent moss crept along the walls, casting a reddish hue that pulsed with the rhythm of the storm outside. The cave stretched deeper than he expected. The first few meters were dim, but navigable.
He moved cautiously, spear in hand. But there was nothing here.
Only moss. Only silence.
I think I can spend the night here.
He returned briefly to the mouth of the cave, carefully collecting stormwater in his palms. He sifted out the obsidian flecks as best he could. The water was bitter and faintly warm, but he drank. Sip by sip, until the burn in his throat faded.
Then he made his way deeper, settling against the stone wall. He let out a long breath and closed his eyes.
Only now did the weight of everything begin to settle.
His father. The shattering of the barrier. His death.
The storm outside raged on. It mirrored the chaos within.
He didn’t cry.
There was no strength left for that.
Only silence.
Under the soft glow of the moss, Aeor finally slept.
