Chapter 363

Nick paused in front of the rocking chair, taking a moment to consider the scene.The void had no wind, no warmth, no stink of sweat, blood, or smoke as the real world did, and there was no emotion for him to sense in the ether. It was clean in a way that made his skin crawl, and even though everything felt so real, it also seemed detached because the senses he relied on weren’t getting any feedback.

The old man lounging in the chair looked a lot like his memory of his grandfather, with messy hair, sharp eyes, and a slight twist to his mouth that hinted at a joke at someone else’s expense. But Nick had learned the hard way that he couldn’t trust everything, and despite the strong desire in his chest for it to be real, he chose to treat this experience as if it weren’t.

Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t talk. The next phase of the trial seemed out of reach for now, and even if this was just an echo created by his subconscious—which was very possible since his mind helped build this place—he could still enjoy the break.

He lowered himself into the second chair with some wariness, watching for sudden changes, but nothing happened. In fact, the wood didn’t even creak as he started rocking back and forth.

The old man joined him, eyeing him as if he truly were his grandfather, just happy to see him after so long. It made a naive part of Nick’s heart ache.

“You look at me like you expect me to attack you,” Aleister said, smiling.

Nick wrinkled his nose. That was way too direct for his grandfather, who delighted in complications and long-winded speeches. “You are not him.”

“Ah.” The old man’s eyes crinkled. “And here I thought I’d done my hair properly for once.”

Nick did not laugh. “What do you want? I’ll have you know that I’m used to dealing with all kinds of demons, so an Id born from my subconscious mind and given purpose by the Sephirot doesn’t really scare me.”

“Yes, you’ve been through a lot. Been hunted by your own hunger too.” Aleister leaned back, rocking. “That one’s harder to ward off, isn’t it?”

Nick grunted, not seeing where his grandfather's shadow was headed and not particularly interested in playing his word games. “Answer the question,” he said.

The old man made a vague gesture at the emptiness. “Why does the dream take the mask you’ll listen to? Because it wants you to listen, boy. And because you will listen, even when you don’t mean to.”

He rocked a little faster. “So. Have you been enjoying your new life?”

“I’m alive,” Nick said at last.

Aleister’s smile softened at the edges, again looking painfully like the real man. “That wasn’t the question. We’ll get to everything else once we’ve had a little chat, so humor me for now, will you?”

Nick exhaled slowly, deciding that he might as well go along with it for now. “It’s different. Very different. Magic seems to have no limit, but people remain the same, regardless of the power they hold.”

“Different,” the old man echoed, savoring the word. “Yes, I can see that. Living on a planet that isn’t doomed alone would open your horizons a lot. It was always a regret of mine that you couldn’t use your talent to its fullest extent.”

Nick looked down and nodded. It was something he’d been thinking about too. “Talent matters a lot here,” he said. “Hard work matters. If you have the gift and the will, you can make something of any Path.”

Aleister’s eyes gleamed. “Second chances are already quite rare in a mage's life. Our mistakes tend to be very hard to fix. You should make the most of it.”

Nick’s jaw tightened. “You sound like you disapprove of my behavior so far.” Of course, he didn’t think the spiritual impression, the Id, could reveal his grandfather’s true opinion, but it still wasn’t pleasant to hear.

“Forgive me, but I can’t help but think you're getting lost in the novelty of it.” Aleister tapped the arm of his chair, and the sound echoed loudly in the void. “Gaining power is like a drug, and like all drugs, it must be handled with care. Foundation, Nicholas. Everything worth building starts with a strong base.”

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Nick’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to slow down.”

“Not necessarily,” Aleister said, his smile turning fond. “I know you. If I told you to slow down, you’d sprint out of spite. But you need to find a balance.”

“Then what do you mean?” Nick bristled.

Aleister opened his mouth, and the void trembled.

Unlike an earthquake, there was no ground movement. Instead, it felt like a trembling thought, similar to a prey animal suddenly aware of being watched. A ripple spread through the emptiness, and for a moment, Nick expected something to emerge from its depths, but it subsided shortly after.

Aleister sighed. The sound was too human for a dream. “There,” he said softly. “That’s our hourglass coming to an end.”

Nick leaned forward. “End? What end?”

“The end of this conversation.” Aleister’s gaze sharpened. “And the end of your little pocket of peace. You’re in Yesod, boy. This is the pit beneath the floorboards where men hide what they cannot bear to look at.”

Nick felt the pull of the mirrors behind him, the whispering shards of other lives and choices. “I’m here to fix them,” he said, suddenly recalling why he even started the process. “Malik and Yvonne are still waiting, but I couldn’t find the source of the corruption.”

Aleister’s eyes flicked, amused. “Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”

Nick mulled that over. “I looked,” he said, but he knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

“You looked with a scholar’s eye,” Aleister replied. “You were too interested in the process, trying to figure out the trick to this test, and let its true purpose fall out of your periphery.”

Nick felt heat rise in his chest. “There was nothing there, even when I broke the mirrors or affected their memories.”

“There’s always something lurking beneath the surface.” Aleister leaned in and patted Nick’s hand. It was warm, and to his regret, comforting. “Deal with this mystery as I taught you.”

Nick went still. His grandfather lacked powerful sensory spells in his repertoire, being as limited as any other mage living on Earth. Still, he had always been able to figure out any piece of magic with just a little examination.

had provided him with too much detail and clarity. It made him lazy and complacent.

Nick’s eyes narrowed. He extended his awareness outward and broke through the smoothness that had felt like emptiness, stretching his senses farther than he had in a long time, and finally felt something give, like ice cracking underfoot.

Aleister’s chair creaked, finally obeying the laws of sound.

“Good,” the old man murmured, already fading. “Now hurry. Your little friends aren’t as resilient as you.”

Nick turned back to him, opening his mouth to ask something, only to find that Aleister was gone. The void around him started to change, losing its pale emptiness and beginning to boil, as if responding to his touch.

Darkness surged from every direction, thick as tar and alive with movement. It reeked of self-hatred, old fear, and rage with nowhere to go. It whispered in half-formed voices, some Malik’s, some Yvonne’s, some neither, all a chorus of doubt, spite, and hunger.

The darkness closed in on him, aiming to consume him entirely.

Nick felt the urge to brace himself, ward off the shadows, and flee deeper into the mindspace where it couldn’t reach him through the protection that granted him.

That would have been the prudent thing to do, but it would have left Malik and Yvonne to their fate.

He smirked instead, slow and mean, as an idea crossed his mind. “Oh,” he murmured. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Raising his hand, he shaped the spell that most differed from his grandfather’s teachings, yet simultaneously fulfilled them all. It was a monstrous creation that could never have been conceived back on Earth, but it would serve him perfectly here, where a surge of negative emotions threatened to overwhelm him. “”

Silence bloomed as the unnatural hunger of his soul was called forth, its gravitational pull beginning to influence the void around him. The bubbling mass slammed into his flesh, ready to consume it, only to vanish on contact, absorbed and disintegrated as the difference in density and resilience ground it to nothing.

The darkness kept pouring in, fueled by three people’s negativity, and Nick let it, absorbing it all; the rot, the bile, and the last shreds of the Guardian’s scream.

For a while, he felt the weight of it, the pressure of all those buried thoughts, the urge to turn them into claws and lash out at the world, but his sapling acted as a strong anchor to his self, and everything he couldn’t handle immediately, could take on.

Nick laughed under his breath, sure he wasn't following the proper steps of the ritual. Considering there had been an Id waiting for him, and all the negativity surrounding them, he suspected he might have had to fight his grandfather’s mimicry, but his unconventional approach ensured that couldn’t happen.

The darkness grew thinner, cracked, and ultimately shattered like glass.

Nick blinked and found himself back in the camp, sitting cross-legged in the dust where he had closed his eyes, undisturbed by everything that must have been happening around him.

The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and goblin blood, which told him he hadn’t imagined the approaching horde.

Malik and Yvonne lay slumped, still bound in his wind cords, with their heads drooping. Dark blood trickled from their noses and the corners of their ears, but their breathing was steady, and he could tell that their emotions had returned to their baseline.

Nick hummed to himself, feeling anxious about how much damage they might have suffered from the ritual. He reached into his ring, took out two restorative vials, and carefully poured one into Malik’s mouth, then Yvonne’s. He tilted each vial slightly, watching their throats move as they swallowed.

Color gradually returned to their faces, but it was enough for him.

“They’ll live,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone.

Shouts rose beyond the barricade, and he stood up, only to find goblin corpses scattered in ugly heaps, a few hobgoblins sprawled among them.

Cores were being cut free, which told him it had been a while since the battle had ended. Given how smoothly everyone moved around, he was confident that there hadn’t been much trouble handling the horde, which made him feel better about leaving them so suddenly.

Nick started to rise, and a shadow fell across him.

Monte stood there, pale beneath the grime, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. Blood stained his sleeve, but it wasn’t his, given its greenish and purple hue. His eyes briefly flicked to Malik and Yvonne, who were sprawled on the ground, but he looked back at Nick once he saw them breathing.

“Hey,” he murmured quietly so the others wouldn’t overhear. “Can we talk for a moment?”