An absolute cryogenic state of this grade was a death sentence for a Hegemon, and Zac was no exception. The only reason he was able to hold on was the two treasures he’d swallowed just prior. Their Law-imbued energies were fighting back, like candles keeping him just warm enough to stay alive. Even that was only possible thanks to his deep foundations and Sindris Heritage.
Zac wanted to assure those around him he was fine, but the cold had isolated him from his surroundings. Eyes frozen shut, he couldn’t see, and his Soul Sense barely extended beyond his bodies with his soul locked down. They’d have to make do with the weak flicker of spirituality emanating from him and the fact that the motes of destiny around him hadn’t disappeared.
Keeping track of his internal state was still possible, even if his thoughts moved so slowly it was difficult to hold onto a thread. Ichor and blood had become ice, and his withered muscles had hardened into glistening rubies. His soul, which had been in a constant state of movement since he began cultivating [Nine Reincarnations Manual], had fully stopped, looking like a still picture.
Their plan had come from a place of desperation and was partly based on assumptions and pure guesswork. Still, there was precedent. Back in the E-grade, Zac had used various means to get through the deadly hurdle of breaking open nodes. One of them was relying on Spiritual Ice to freeze the node, lessening the damage from the breakthrough.
Zac’s current situation was based on the same concept, except infinitely more complex and dangerous. Their main goal was to press the pause button on his breakthrough, stopping the inflow of energy and ensuring his quantum space would survive the teleportation into the trial. He’d thaw out after things had stabilized and finish the job afterward.
Catheya’s scale was the only thing in their possession that could accomplish such a feat, except it was too powerful. Zac needed a safety net to survive being frozen for so long. The problem had made Zac think of the microscopic suns still burning in the depths of his cells. During the tribulation, they had showcased a hint of the amazing resilience that allowed the Stellar Wanderers to even travel the great beyond. Not even the Four Desolates could faze them.
The suns were much too weak to resist a Supremacy’s Dao, even after they’d marginally grown from feeding on Ultom’s light. The treasure he’d gotten from Esmeralda was the closest thing since its origins were clearly related to the Stellar Wanderers and the Lost Plane. They’d either strengthen the suns or provide a similar effect on their own. Observing the results, it was the latter.
With one treasure covering his bodies, he also needed something for his soul. His companions had pursued every avenue, even browbeating the Ship Spirit into hacking into a few of the Centurion Base’s restricted terminals. Finally, they found a lead on a Soul Nurturing treasure and where it was stored—the carafe that Catheya and Ogras had managed to bring back at the eleventh hour.
Any of the three treasures would have killed Zac outright if used on their own. Together, they formed a system of mutual restraint, just like [Void Emperor Apoteosis] brought mutual promotion between heart, soul, and body. Starting up the method before freezing also allowed him to slowly siphon some of the medicinal energy.
Keeping the right pace was the key. Take too much, and he wouldn’t have enough to resist the cold. Too little, and he risked thawing out prematurely. If things worked out, Zac would not only have recovered most of his energy upon awakening, but he would have strengthened his body and soul.
Furthermore, his whole crew had come together to lessen the dangers. The Core Formation Platforms were surrounded by multiple arrays that contained and kept the cold stable. Vilari was monitoring his soul’s state, and Kruta was ready to use his flames to temporarily weaken the chill if Zac’s state worsened. Zac forgot all else, sinking into the depths of the Void.
The next time he opened his eyes, he’d already be inside the trial.
————-
“You’re going to burn a hole through his chest if you keep that up.”
Catheya ignored the comment, once more inspecting Zac’s state. There was still no change. It should be a good thing, yet Catheya found it impossible to relax. It had been an hour. Shouldn’t she have been able to see some form of improvement by now? Had they miscalculated? Were the treasures keeping him alive but too weak to also nourish him? If so, they needed—
“It’s minute, but his soul is growing stronger,” Vilari assured before Catheya’s mind could run amok.
“See? He’s fine,” Ogras said. “Better focus on what you can control.”
“You’re right,” Catheya sighed. Her part of the plan was over the moment she released her master’s blessing. Catheya had no way of controlling the glacial domain now that it was out there. Instead, she turned her attention to the shimmering lights around her.
“Have you discovered anything?” Catheya asked.
“What Janos said should be true. The one I touched the other day is still with me. The others have been swapped out,” Ogras said. “Do they want us to build a squad? Or is it winner takes all?”
“Isn’t this what the trial is about?” Kruta said. “Seizing fate. So if you seize a strong one, your opportunities will be better?”
“I’d prefer to seize whatever spark that puts me next to the boss,” Ogras grinned. “The opportunities would come on their own that way.”
“Seizing fate,” Catheya slowly said, glancing at the dense swirls around the two men encased in ice. “I’m going in.”
Catheya extended her will, touching a particular light that had tried to harmonize with her for a while. It was like she’d fallen into a whirlpool of foreign impressions, and Catheya had to hold on for dear life not to be dragged under. And yet, it was impossible to get anything tangible that could help with the trial. The memories were too blurry, only giving off a vague sensation. ℝά
She felt a closeness to the unnamed stranger the mote represented, but there was ultimately an unbridgeable gap. There was something about its destiny that didn’t align with Catheya’s path, so she began pushing back. She shuddered and opened her eyes soon after. It felt like weeks had gone by, but a quick check confirmed three hours had passed.
Ogras had a vacant look in his eyes, indicating he was in the middle of seeking his fortune. Catheya turned to Joanna instead, who showed no interest in the lights surrounding her. The spearmaiden only had eyes for her Lord, her eyes giving off a sparkle that filled Catheya with as much pressure as Iz Tayn’s celestial beauty. “Anything new?”
“They had to add some flames an hour ago. He’s stable since,” Joanna said. “The last crew is about to return.”
“Is everything prepared on that end?”
“The ship is ready to be packed up at any time, and we’ve found a safe spot to park,” Joanna confirmed. “We’re setting out the moment they’re aboard.”
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“Not a moment too soon. I can feel the heat through the walls,” Catheya grinned. “It’s finally happening, isn’t it?”
Joanna slowly nodded. “Fate’s culmination.”
————-
‘It’s time.’
The Flameguard exhaled and stood up. Her movement broke the silence that held the chamber in its grip.
“Are you going ahead?”
She glanced at the Tobrial prince, who was barely visible inside the gentle swirl of building blocks. The ancient thread was still in his hands. Its aura was weakened, but it was clear he’d only managed to pierce its surface. The real prize was still deeply embedded in the fabric. Only time could tell whether he’d become another link in the chain or if his preparations would benefit someone else.
“It’s time,” the Flameguard confirmed as a flame ignited on her finger.
Her hand danced through the air, following the inherited rites. The Flameguard felt a weak rejection, but the conviction in her heart burned it away. It didn’t take long for the complex sigil to be filled in. It collapsed onto itself, becoming a radiant mote resembling those surrounding the sealbearers. Except, its luster was slightly different, as was its color.
The flame flickered, casting a shadow in the form of a veiled nun. They bowed toward each other in a greeting that crossed time, and the mote expanded into a gate.
“Safe travels,” the prince smiled from his dais. “I hope we’ll get to work together again.”
“If fate wills it.”
Leyara found herself standing on a trail of burning footprints. The path prepared by her predecessors—the other her. The path stretched into the darkness like a chain made from responsibility. It would take her where she needed to go, avoiding most of the pitfalls the candidates would have to face. The flames urged her to go ahead, to perform her duty.
For years, she’d followed its will without question and without injecting personal beliefs. Today, she would not. The reluctance and anger she’d held onto so long burst forth from a hidden corner, shrouding the burning radiance that held her captive. Leyara felt like she’d woken up from a dream, and a rush of emotions came bursting forth. Anger, fear, and determination.
Leyara turned around, facing a river of lights that flowed through the darkness. A few of the weaker wisps were lost to the cosmos, the destinies reclaimed by the wheel of Samsara. Only a shadow remained of what once had been a mighty stream so vast it could have been mistaken for an ocean. Leyara felt a pang of sorrow at the scene, even if she knew the sentiment was inherited.
“So few of your followers remain, Emperor Evrodok,” Leyara mumbled as she scoured the river.
Leyara felt her thoughts grow hazy. Willpower alone was not enough to suppress the Flame of Destiny. She desperately fought back against the inevitable, buying as much time as she could. So long as she could see him.
And there he was.
“Always up to something,” Leyara smiled, using her last strength to nudge one of the lights.
Grunting in pain, the Flameguard formed a calming mudra. Confusion was washed away and replaced with purpose. She began walking down the path of flames, each step perfectly aligned with an identical footprint. The river soon faded into the darkness, and its matters were already forgotten. Her heart was blank like a mirror. Reflected on its surface was the destiny that had to be.
————
Blessed Fate clasped his hands and the ocean stilled. It was done. Order was restored, and the trajectories followed the will of the Cosmos. The weave had grown too complicated to interfere any further, with ancient threads obscuring the path to the future. What would be, would be.
“Will you step in?”
‘…’
The silence was expected. The Supreme Seal hadn’t left their Lord’s side for the previous pillars, and they wouldn’t now that he’d stirred in his slumber. The unknown variables resisting their efforts weren’t enough to draw the Seal’s attention. Looking at the pages of history would say it was the right decision. A river was a living thing, and it was natural for it to occasionally shift in unexpected ways.
Over time, balance would be restored. Not even Laondio Evrodok could overcome the course of nature, and the Sangha would face the winds no matter which way it blew. As they always had.
And yet, Blessed Fate felt a shadow on his heart. He couldn’t shake the feeling of a larger plot eluding his gaze, masquerading as randomness within the flux of fate. He shook his head, drawing comfort from the endless waters. Imperfection was natural and expected in an imperfect world. Where he lacked, the Dharma would intercede.
A great Buddha was born with a thought. Blessed Fate’s deified form sank into the waters and their Lord’s embrace. It took the last of his apprehensions to be washed away by the eternal dream. Blessed Fate’s empty vessel remained on the surface, his form not reflected on the waters. The monk set out when he couldn’t feel his true spirit any longer, each step spanning an equal distance to the boundlessness of his heart.
Blessed Fate crossed the four seas, his immovable Dharma resisting Samsara’s call. The ocean’s end drew closer, and reality inverted when he reached its edge. Water became land, and the boundless nothingness beyond became a mighty river without beginning or end. The past was like the trunk of a mighty oak. The future was its crown, with rivulets branching out in every direction.
He stopped at its shore, unmoved by the beckoning call of the possible futures. Their truths were illusions when the trajectories remained uncertain. Drawing conclusions from what could be gleaned within was bound to lead one astray. Blessed Fate was here for the present, though the thick stream of history held its allure.
If his blemish had remained, Blessed Fate might have been tempted to pry into the hidden streams. The frothing waters were just passing clouds to him now. He turned away, cupping his hands toward a nearby spot.
“Amitabha, benefactor. It’s a rare blessing to see you, old friend.”
Time twisted, revealing an old man almost completely covered in a worn and faded robe. What had once been the deep azure of the bottomless depths had become the pastel blue of a summer sky. The only feature discernible within the deep hood was the long beard that looked a lot like the river he usually guarded.
Two hands knotted by age yet blessed with impeccably smooth skin peeked out from the wide sleeves. Blessed Fate smiled and shook his head upon seeing the wooden rod in the old man’s grip. How many among the current generations knew that no less than five Primordials had been impaled upon that humble fishing pole after failing to escape its unbreakable line?
Of course, balance was always restored. Old Man River could only leave his prison for short durations. It was the price for abusing causality to hunt in the river of time’s headwaters.
“This poor monk can only admit his inferiority. I would not dare to fish in these muddy waters.”
“I don’t know about that,” the old man grunted as he threw out the line. It sank into the river of destiny without causing so much as a ripple. “You’re still alive, huh?”
Blessed Fate’s gaze curiously followed the String of Time as it sank into the depths. Pinching his fingers confirmed nothing. It was impossible to uncover who the string sought without offending.
“I see no future in you,” the fisherman commented. “Still trapped in that nightmare of yours?”
“It is the path we chose,” Blessed Fate smiled. “May this one inquire what brought benefactor to this gathering? I see no fate between you and the Fifth Pillar, nor any desire for Ultom in your Heart.”
“Just bored,” the old man shrugged. “Figured I’d catch the show.”
“Benefactor is always welcome to try his luck in our waters. Perhaps the remedy you’ve been seeking is waiting for you there,” Blessed Fate offered as a prayer mat appeared by the fisherman’s side.
“Not interested in getting scammed by you people. I’ll watch the show and go home,” the old man said. “Something interesting is bound to happen with so many lunatics coming this way.”
Blessed Fate smiled as he followed the threads of Karma. The old fisherman was absolutely right. The shores were about to become quite crowded. And with some of the oldest existences making an appearance, there was no lack of bad blood.
“Before that, perhaps a trade?” Blessed Fate said, nodding at the glistening string.
“I think she’d take offense,” the old man said and pointed to the sky.
Blessed Fate sighed at the enormous crack opening in the sky. “It’s this poor monk’s great honor to finally meet you, Mistress Tayn. I’m delighted to see your merit shining brightly. It should not be long until you can bless us with your presence once more.”
“Delighted, are you, monk?” the sky rumbled as golden flames descended like an apocalyptic rain. Blessed Fate clasped his hands and drew the suffering toward himself. The Empyrean Throne snorted with annoyance and withdrew her flames before they added to her debt. “Shifty old thing, you better not get any ideas. That goes for the rest of you, too. I’ve been good for too long, and I’m itching for a fight.”
“The benefactors gathering today all know the price of interference,” Blessed Fate said.
“If we were reasonable people, we wouldn’t be here,” Kolsara Tayn scoffed.
The sky mended, leaving only her presence as a warning to those who arrived later. One by one, ancient existences stepped onto the shores, appearing from every corner of the cosmos. Some towered toward the sky, their frames straining against the Terminus. Others hid in the folds of reality, their presence only exposed by the river’s pull. All waited in silence, hoping to find answers from the shift.
The river grew increasingly agitated until it split in two to give room for the continent rising from its hiding place beyond reality. The waters frothed, creating a thick mist that obscured the world and the branching futures. The war for the Kalpa’s direction would begin inside, and the outcome would redraw the paths beyond. Blessed Fate smiled and began chanting.
The board was set, and the future had become the present. The game had started anew.