Chapter 3: The Book of Oneself

The Book of Oneself was neither a scripture nor a guide for the ambitious. It was a record—an unfiltered truth inscribed by the hands of men who had walked the path themselves. It contained no shortcuts, no promises of instant power. Only the brutal, unrelenting laws of self-mastery.

And for centuries, it remained untouched.

No one could destroy it. No one could replicate it. The knowledge was preserved—not by ink, but by the very essence of Auron, the First Breaker. His blood had crystallized the pages, binding the words in a way that time itself could not erode. The more the world forgot, the more the book remained, unyielding, unchanged.

Yet no one dared claim it.

Not because it was hidden in some unreachable place, nor because it was guarded by an army of zealots. The Book of Oneself was out in the open—its resting place known to those who sought it. And still, it remained untouched.

Because to read it was to face oneself entirely.

It was not a relic to be deciphered but a challenge to be overcome. The words, inscribed with Auron's absolute self-awareness, did not simply lie dormant on the pages. They reflected.

And in that reflection, most shattered.

The Path to the Book

There was no barrier to reaching the Book of Oneself—no enchanted seals, no supernatural trials. Only a single truth: to see the Book was to be seen by it.

Many sought its wisdom. Kings, warlords, scholars—each believing that they could claim its power, that they could mold its teachings to their will. Yet none of them made it past the first page.

Some collapsed where they stood, their bodies breaking under the weight of realization. Some screamed in terror, their minds unraveling as they saw themselves in ways they never wished to. Others simply walked away, hollow and silent, forever haunted by the truth they had glimpsed.

It was said that the Book did not teach—it merely revealed.

What are you truly capable of?

The answer was not one people wanted to hear. The weak saw their limits laid bare, stripped of excuses and illusions. The strong saw the abyss of what lay beyond their power, a chasm that could either be crossed—or consume them entirely.

And so, the Book remained untouched.

Saevin, the Archivist

The last man to understand the Book of Oneself was the one who had written it.

Saevin, the Archivist, had been the only one to stand alongside Auron in his journey. He had never sought strength for himself, nor had he wished to break his own limits. His strength lay in preservation, in ensuring that what Auron discovered would not be lost.

He had written every page, every principle, every failure and triumph of the First Breaker. But when Auron crystallized the book with his own being, he ensured that even Saevin would not be able to wield its knowledge so easily.

And so, Saevin made a choice.

He dedicated the remainder of his life to watching, observing from the shadows as generations came and went. He witnessed countless men and women attempt to claim the Book, only to leave in defeat—or be broken beyond repair.

Some sought to steal it, hoping to force its power upon themselves. They met their own reflections and perished, their bodies rejecting the truth they refused to accept.

Others tried to rewrite it, believing they could bend the teachings to suit their own desires. But the pages remained unreadable to them—no ink, no script, only blank surfaces that mirrored their own lack of understanding.

And so, for years, Saevin waited.

He watched the world shift and change. He watched kingdoms rise and fall, wars fought and forgotten, ambitions burn and fade. The Book remained, untouched and unclaimed, while the world around it crumbled.

Until one day, Saevin was no more.

His body withered, his purpose fulfilled. He had recorded everything, had seen what he needed to see. As the last page of his own life closed, he left behind nothing but a single note, written not in the Book of Oneself but in his own fragile script:

"The Book is not an answer. It is a mirror."

The Forgotten Era

Time passed.

The world continued its descent into chaos, greed, and conflict. The resonance of the First Echo was long forgotten, the legacy of the First Breaker reduced to myth. The Book of Oneself faded from history—not because it had been lost, but because no one dared claim it.

And so, it remained.

Waiting.

Watching.

And somewhere, far from the eyes of kings and conquerors, a child was born.

A child who, one day, would not fear the reflection.