The quiet of the secluded study was a balm Nick had not realized he craved. He had done his part to help the Elpens regain their place in Toneburg and would continue to do so, but politics had never been his true interest.
He sank deeper into the armchair, listening to the creak of the old wood and the distant, muffled howl of the northern wind as it rattled the frosted windowpane. The smell of blood had been scrubbed away from his room, but he could still catch a hint of it in the air.
Too much death in one place would always leave a mark. I’ll have to take care of that before leaving. It wouldn’t do to restore House Elpen only to have it haunted as a result.
Yet for the moment, there was no vengeful spirit on the cusp of materializing. No Cultists chanting in the dark, no mercenary warlords demanding their due, no Royal Shadows issuing veiled ultimatums.
During the frantic melee with Ephor Ultimer, he had brushed against the depths of his new existence. He had forced the ether to bend to his will, fighting purely on adrenaline and instinct, yet surviving a brawl was a far cry from mastering a discipline. He needed to understand the architecture of his new self, or he risked becoming a danger to the very people he had fought to protect.
"Traits," Nick whispered into the quiet room.
In his mind’s eye, the glowing blue interface of the System materialized, looking strangely more solid than ever before.
He bypassed the core statistics he had reviewed earlier. The leap there was still staggering, but a Prestige class's true worth was defined by its Traits.
A mortal who rushed to Level 100 relying solely on their base Traits would almost never break through, and for those few who managed it, they’d ascend as a hollow vessel, a blunt instrument with raw power but lacking the nuance to wield it.
As Nick stared at the glowing blue text, vindication washed over him. The grueling years he had spent developing his esoteric knowledge into something useful, fighting everything from monsters to demons to Gods, and forging pacts had built a foundation broad enough to support a mountain.
Core Traits:
[Sovereign’s Parsimony] [Unique]
Evolution of [Parsimonia]. You are the governor of your power. This Trait allows suppression of aura and masking of one’s presence from lesser entities. It grants flawless efficiency in shaping raw mana, ensuring nothing is wasted in the transition from thought to action.
[Formless Conduit] [Unique]
Evolution of [Arcane Circuitry]. The mortal vessel has been unmade and remade. Your mana channels have dissolved, fusing your flesh with your crystallized soul. You are a singular, unbroken conduit. You breathe and live the ether. Spells no longer require internal transit; your intent manifests directly in the World.
Nick read the description of [Formless Conduit] twice.
It certainly explained the jarring emptiness he had felt earlier. Since his earliest days learning how magic worked in this world, he had relied on the internal pathways of his body, visualizing power flowing from his soul through his arms and out into the world.
Those pathways were now gone, but only because he no longer needed them.
He raised his right hand, resting his elbow on the armrest, and pictured the familiar structure of a spellform for fire, settling on an advanced one capable of drawing mana, heating it, and shaping it into a whip.
It came into being with very little effort, its heat fully contained within the construct.
He dismissed it and simply looked at the space above his open palm, willing a flame into existence.
A whip of white fire ignited instantly, waving around the room at his command. He could even use it to lift a piece of parchment without burning it, something that wouldn’t have been possible without complete control over its heat.
More interestingly, there was no delay between his desire and its manifestation.
He could still cast spells through the proper forms and doubted he’d ever abandon them, especially in fields he wasn’t as familiar with as elemental magic, but the fact was, he didn’t need them.
Curious how far he could take it, Nick clamped down with [Sovereign’s Parsimony]. The white fire shuddered, then settled into a calm, steady blue flame.
Next, he willed the fire to cool. It took a couple of tries to find the right mental headspace, but eventually the blue light dimmed, shifting to a pale, crystalline white. Frost spread rapidly across Nick’s knuckles, creeping down the leather armrest.
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The fire still burned, now consuming the ether to sustain itself, but it did so through his memories of winter and snow, of the inevitability of glaciers.
He clenched his fist. The cold fire vanished without a trace of smoke.
A quiet, breathless laugh escaped Nick’s lips. The sheer versatility was staggering. It was almost as if his desires could now translate directly into reality.
Shaking his head, he turned back to the list.
[Blasphemy] [Conceptual]
The purest form of defiance. An anomaly in the flow of reality, signaling that you do not belong to the established hierarchy. You are an ontological rejection of external authority. This Trait protects your mind and soul from divine mandates, infernal corruption, and psychic intrusion. You may impose this rejection on the ether, stripping opposing forces of their conceptual truth.
That was interesting. He’d known the Trait remained, of course, having used it to exorcise the Greater Demon that had been using Ephor, but its description had changed, and it was no longer a Unique Trait but a Conceptual one.
What that meant, he’d have to wait a while longer to figure out, because nothing was presently trying to affect him against his will.
[Tempest’s Eidolon] [Master]
Evolution of [One with the Storm]. Wind, Lightning, and Water are no longer separate disciplines; they are expressions of a single mandate. You may alter weather patterns, summon the storm's destructive fury, and weave the three elements seamlessly without conflicting spellforms.
[Kinetic Dominion] [Master]
Evolution of [Advanced Kinetic Affinity]. You dictate the laws of motion and force. Your kinetic strikes carry immense physical force, capable of shattering stone and steel with minimal effort. You may redirect incoming physical force with a thought.
[Ascendant Flame] [Master]
Evolution of [Intermediate Fire Affinity]. You command the purifying pyre. Your fire magic burns hotter, lasts longer, and consumes ether as readily as physical fuel.
[Spiritual Sovereign] [Unique]
Evolution of [Advanced Spiritual Affinity]. Your awareness of the immaterial plane is absolute. You perceive the emotional currents of the ether, the forms of raw souls, and the lingering echoes of the dead. Spiritual magic becomes an intrinsic extension of your will, granting you vast authority over immaterial constructs and mental domains.
[Harmonic Anchor] [Unique]
Evolution of [Pact of Harmony]. You have bled for the World, and the World recognizes you as its champion. You are now intertwined with the planet's fate. The World will adjust the currents to favor your actions when fighting infernal or alien intrusions. You may draw on the earth’s deep reserves to stabilize your soul.
Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
The elements were his playthings. The spiritual realm was an open book. Yet as he stared at the glowing text, a sense of caution settled over him.
He now understood why Prestige entities often seemed so aloof, so utterly detached from the mundane struggles of the people around them. It was a matter of basic power.
A man holding a lit torch must be careful where he steps in a dry barn. Nick was no longer a man holding a torch. He was a walking sun. If he lost his temper, if he allowed a spike of genuine fury to slip past the tight leash of [Sovereign’s Parsimony], the resulting surge could level the Elpen estate. He could kill Gaelen and Rhea by mere proximity.
He had to watch every thought, every stray emotion. [Eidolon of the Formless] made his intent reality, which meant he could no longer afford the luxury of intrusive, violent whims.
As he sat there, wrestling with the implications of his own existence now being a danger to everyone around him, Nick noticed a persistent pressure against the edges of his mind.
It was not an attack, for it held no malice, no sharp edge of hostile intent, and [Blasphemy] didn’t react. Rather, it felt like a welcoming hand extended for a bit too long, impatient to be grabbed.
Closing his eyes, he extended his awareness outward, pushing past the stone walls and the snow-covered gardens, following the tug until he reached the deep bedrock of Toneburg.
The pressure was coming from the World itself.
It was something he should have expected, he realized. The planet operated under a set of established laws. A mortal mage merely worked within those laws. But a Prestige entity was a distortion in the flow, and Nick, above all, was packed with alien logic and the strange might of [Blasphemy], bending reality simply by existing.
The only reason he wasn’t under attack was [Harmonic Anchor], which presented him as a friend and ally.
The World was scrutinizing him, pressing against his boundaries, trying to decide whether he was a god to be cast out, a demon to be crushed, or a champion to be embraced.
This, Nick realized, was the final hurdle to becoming Prestige. A newly ranked being was volatile not only because they needed time to adjust, but also because they were subconsciously fighting their own environment.
Though he could have, he did not fight back.
Fighting the World was the purview of Cultists, both divine and demonic, and of fools, though perhaps both were the same. Instead, Nick opened up, letting it see him.
He slowed his breathing, matching the rhythm of his lungs to the earth’s slow groan beneath the city, and opened the floodgates of his soul just a fraction, letting the golden lifeblood of the planet wash over him.
He showed the World his scars. He offered up the memory of the dungeon he had broken, the demonic seeds he had eradicated in the dark, and the blinding agony of the divine fragment he had saved from Alexander’s blade. He laid bare his intent, broadcasting an unyielding desire to protect the realm’s fragile order.
It was a risk, he knew. The System had deemed him an Anomaly, after all, and he knew the Royal Court considered reincarnators a scourge to be eradicated.
Yet how could he regain the planet’s trust if he wasn’t open? Perhaps if he’d chosen [World-Bound Arcanist] as his class, he might not have needed to, but he hadn’t.
The friction fought him for a long, tense minute. The ether buzzed, and the hairs on Nick’s arms stood on end.
Then, the pressure eased.
The current, having stopped fighting him, began to flow around him, once again accepting his presence. The subtle feeling of being watched by an impossibly vast intelligence dissipated, replaced by a deep hum of approval.
The World accepted the Eidolon.
The moment the friction vanished, the adrenaline that had sustained Nick for the past week finally collapsed.
The thrill of examining his new stats faded quickly. He felt bone-tired, and though his body was fully healed and reforged by the System, it still carried lingering tension from the grueling gauntlet.
Nick knew he could push himself and ignore it all. He’d done so to keep his full attention on the diplomatic talks, after all.
But was there any need for it now? No.
Dismissing the blue interface with a lazy wave of his hand, he watched the screens fade, leaving the study bathed in the soft, natural light of the moon, reflected off the snow outside.
He leaned his head back against the worn leather of the armchair, resting his hands in his lap.
Finally satisfied, Nick Crowley closed his eyes, let his breathing settle into an even rhythm, and slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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