Beyond the Threshold
Kael's nights grew darker, heavier.
No longer content with the mere manifestation of his essence echoes, he pushed himself toward a terrifying precipice — something whispered of only in forgotten tomes, legends older than the guilds themselves.
A realm beyond Origin.
Each session inside his elemental sphere was a battle against himself — a brutal war waged in fragments of flame, storm, lightning, and kinetic force.
God Essence: Multiplicity had evolved. Now, shards of his soul flickered with bursts of unfamiliar power — a latent vibration beyond his control. The clones moved faster, thought sharper, but his mind strained under the weight of so many selves.
Sometimes, he felt like he was fracturing — becoming less whole even as he multiplied.
One night, as he summoned an army of echoes that shimmered like a storm on the verge of breaking, a new phenomenon happened. A single Echo — a perfect reflection — hesitated.
It wasn't an error.
It was something else.
A whisper from the void inside him.
Kael's eyes locked with that clone's gaze — and in that moment, he glimpsed the terrifying possibility: transcendence. Not just multiplying his being, but becoming a new kind of existence. Something beyond Origin.
But with such power, what would remain of the man?
The question haunted him long after the echoes faded and his body collapsed, trembling, drained to the marrow.
Far from Elandor, beyond the reach of mortal eyes and Essence detection, the ancient Varnok entity stirred again.
Its form still flickered — a monstrous symphony of bone wings and endless eyes, a halo of screaming mouths ringing its head like a dreadful crown.
The void whispered around it, shifting like a tide of shadows.
A voice, deep and vast as mountains grinding, spoke in a language older than time.
"Balance shifts… the boy ascends… but the gate is not yet open. Patience, Arkzen. The reckoning approaches."
The entity's countless eyes turned toward a distant shimmer — a fracture in the world itself — faint but pulsing with raw Origin Essence.
Back in Elandor, under the warm glow of the city's morning, a new figure appeared in the bustling guild plaza.
Arkzen.
Draped in his usual shadowed cloak, calm and composed as ever, he moved through the crowd like a shadow drifting between sunlight.
The guildmasters, adventurers, and onlookers greeted him warmly, voices lifting with respect and relief.
"Arkzen, you returned."
"Your presence brings hope."
"Is the prophecy still true? Will the world heal?"
Arkzen's smile was slight, almost imperceptible.
Kael watched from the sidelines.
"Didn't he say he was dying within a year?" Kael thought, narrowing his eyes. "Why didn't he help during the last surge? Why is no one questioning him? Why didn't I question him?"
His gaze lingered, sharp and suspicious.
Arkzen noticed, but said nothing.
Around them, whispers swirled.
Some debated who would win in a fight — Kael or Arkzen.
Others argued Arkzen's wisdom was unmatched.
When the topic shifted to a hypothetical duel, both men laughed — light, casual chuckles — but beneath the mirth lay a cold calculus.
Arkzen's mind:
"The boy is watching. Growing. But still naive. Let him believe the peace is real."
Kael's mind:
"There's more to him. Something hidden. I won't be fooled."
They stood, two warriors on the cusp of a new era — each masking suspicion beneath familiar smiles.
That night, Kael returned to his sphere, the weight of Arkzen's presence lingering in his thoughts.
He summoned his echoes once more, pushing them harder, testing their limits.
He reached deeper into the void within himself, seeking answers no one else dared ask.
And somewhere, buried beneath layers of flame, storm, lightning, and kinetic force, Kael knew the real war was only just beginning.