Core Concepts

The workshop buzzed with low, ambient noise—the soft hiss of cooling pipes, the muted groan of settling metal, and the ever-present hum of equipment in standby. Donte sat near the forge, his posture rigid, shoulders still slick with sweat from the early morning run Markus had forced him into. His legs ached, his fingers bore fresh scrapes from disassembling a rusted sidearm, and his shirt clung uncomfortably to his back.

But none of that mattered now.

Markus stood at the edge of the workshop's center table, one hand resting casually on a blackened support beam. His expression was unreadable, the faint glow of the nearby forge casting lines of shadow across his weathered features.

"You did good this morning," he said, voice steady. "Which means it's time I finally start explaining the piece that matters most."

Donte looked up from the sidearm he'd been reassembling. "You mean my class?"

"No," Markus replied. "I mean your Spirit Matrix."

Donte frowned slightly. He remembered the term from the ceremony. The priest had spoken about "active matrices" and "alignment," but none of it had meant anything at the time. Even now, it sounded more like mysticism than mechanics.

Markus didn't wait for a response. He stepped around the table, grabbing a long piece of chalk and dragging over a freestanding steel slate board. With a practiced hand, he sketched three concentric circles. A dot in the center. Four branching lines.

"Everyone who awakens is given a Spirit Matrix," he began, tapping the dot at the center. "It's not physical—not something you can touch—but it's real. Think of it as the interface between who you are and what your class is capable of becoming."

Donte narrowed his eyes. "So it's internal?"

"Yes. Deeply. The Spirit Matrix is tied to everything—your class, your potential, your energy output. It governs how you develop, how you refine your skills, and how you grow stronger over time."

He stepped back, letting Donte absorb the sketch. "But unlike what the Church preaches, it isn't passive. You don't just wait and hope your class evolves. You shape it. And that shaping begins with a process called Spirit Resonance."

Donte leaned forward slightly. "I've heard the term."

"You've probably felt it too," Markus said. "Most people do without realizing it. Resonance is when you interact with the mental world that reflects your class. It's a private realm, made up of symbols and functions unique to who you are."

He pointed to the center dot again. "At the core of that world is your Class Core. It's not always obvious at first—some people see a sword in a field, others a forge, or a construct, or even something more abstract. But that core represents the heart of your power."

Donte felt a chill run down his spine.

He had seen his core. In that strange, flickering space during the ceremony. It hadn't looked like anything solid. Not at first. Only light, movement, and the eerie sensation of mechanical purpose. Like gears waiting to spin. He hadn't known what it meant.

Not yet.

Markus continued. "Let me give you an example. A spearman might see a training ground in their mindscape. Their core might begin as a practice dummy. When they resonate, they train—over and over. Until the dummy becomes something greater. A sparring partner. A memory. A legend."

He turned to face Donte directly. "What you see—and how you engage with it—determines your growth."

Donte remained silent, but his mind churned. The place he'd seen… it had been dim. Half-formed. A broken workshop suspended in void, with pieces floating like scattered blueprints. In the center, something beat like a pulse—metal and heat and lines he couldn't yet read. It had looked unstable, yet alive.

Markus's voice lowered slightly. "That mental world? That's where you'll perform Spirit Resonance. It's not meditation, not really. It's interaction. Alignment. The more you work with your Core, the more you refine your Spirit Matrix. That's how your strength builds. Not just physically—but internally."

He crossed his arms. "You'll do that on your own. I won't guide you through it. That's not something anyone else can do."

Donte looked back at the board. "Why not?"

"Because if you're told what to see, you'll miss what's actually there."

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the forge's faint ticking. Then Markus continued.

"There's another piece of this puzzle. Energy."

Donte perked up. "Energy?"

Markus gave a faint nod. "The Church calls it Neurys. It's the current that flows through you—the fuel that powers your Matrix, your skills, and your constructs. But don't get caught up thinking it's magic. It's not divine."

He tapped his chest. "It's yours. Tied to your body, your class, your will."

Donte's brow furrowed. "How do I know how much I have?"

"You can't measure it with numbers," Markus said. "Not directly. But it can be felt. Trained. Strengthened. There are external tells—subtle signs."

He walked across the workshop and retrieved a small brass plate from one of the cluttered drawers. It was octagonal, with strange symbols engraved along its edges. A soft hum pulsed from its center when he held it up.

"This is a Neurys Plate," he explained. "Church-approved. It measures your alignment and output through Thalics."

Donte stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the engraved markings. He couldn't read them, but something about their structure felt deliberate. Symbolic. As if they formed words too complex to decipher.

"These inscriptions?" Markus said, noticing his gaze. "That's Thalics. It's an ancient script used to encode and read Neurys. Most enhancement-based gear uses it—especially in Ascension tech."

Donte reached out and touched the edge of the plate. It vibrated faintly.

Markus placed it on the table. "Don't worry about interpreting it yet. That'll come later. What matters now is this—Thalics allows us to understand our connection to Neurys. Eventually, you'll learn to read it and write it."

Donte nodded slowly.

"And your Neurys capacity?" Markus continued. "It'll grow with Spirit Resonance. With practice. But it won't just expand. It'll evolve."

He held up two fingers. "That's where Flow Techniques come in."

Donte raised an eyebrow. "What are those?"

"They're structured methods for channeling Neurys efficiently," Markus said. "There are basic Flow Techniques taught in institutions or passed down by mentors, but they're just the beginning."

He returned to the board and began sketching again. A humanoid figure. Lines snaking through arms, chest, legs. A web of invisible currents.

"A Flow Technique has three parts," he said. "One: the Initiation Pattern. That's the physical or mental trigger—could be breathing, stance, posture. Two: the Circulation Route. How Neurys moves through your body. Three: the Application Cycle—how that energy is used."

He circled each section with chalk. "A brawler might breathe deep and brace their stance to initiate. A marksman might narrow their focus and control their heartbeat. The technique amplifies what's already there."

Donte leaned in. "But not every technique works for every class."

"Exactly," Markus said. "You can borrow from others. Mimic. But it won't be efficient. You're wasting energy if your flow doesn't match your form."

Donte was already thinking ahead. He could feel something inside him. It was potent—hot, coiled like a loaded spring. But he had no technique. No structure. That was why some of his skill expressions felt so volatile. So draining.

Markus stepped away from the board. "Soon, I'll teach you a basic Flow Technique. We'll start with one tied to your construction work. Another for combat. You'll have to shape them as you go. Mold them to your class."

He gave Donte a long look. "And make no mistake, your class is rare. You'll need to shape your entire development differently. But you'll get there."

The silence returned.

Donte stared at the Neurys Plate.

He wasn't ready to read it. Not yet. But he would be.

Markus turned to leave, muttering something about tea and grease stains. Donte didn't hear him. Not really.

Because something was stirring.

Not in the workshop—but inside.

Donte stood slowly, walked toward the back corner, and sat cross-legged on the floor.

He closed his eyes.

And fell inward.

———

Darkness blinked.

Metal groaned.

His mindscape unfolded before him.

It was still broken. Still scattered.

A vast, ruined workshop stretched across an endless void. Tools floated in space like forgotten relics. Gears the size of wagon wheels hovered with slow, uncertain turns. Loose cables swayed like seaweed.

And in the center, suspended above a half-built workbench, it pulsed.

His Class Core.

A strange engine, faintly glowing. Its surface was etched with unfamiliar lines. Parts of it flickered in and out—solid, then transparent, then solid again. Dim script glimmered faintly along its surface.

Donte stepped closer, his breath catching.

He didn't know what it was.

But it knew him.

A flicker of light shimmered across the Forge-Heart. A pulse. Like a heartbeat made of steam and wire.

Then the voice returned.

Cold.

Familiar.

"Initial alignment stabilized.

Awaiting resonance input."

Donte stared upward, eyes wide.

And smiled.