NOVPUBThe golden dust of the Singularity had dissolved back into his core, but the ripple it left inside Ethan had not faded.
He sat cross-legged again, this time with slower breath, eyes half-lidded. The world around him—no, the feel of the world—had changed. The garden still shimmered with moonlight, but now he could sense its rhythm. The beat of stillness. The pause between falling petals.
He didn't command his power now.
He listened to it.
The Grimoire hovered silently. No more instructions. No more analysis. This was something it couldn't guide him through — only witness.
Cultivation in the Saint Realm wasn't about increasing power. It was about understanding that power was already there. All of it. Sleeping inside him.
He reached inward.
There — the seal. Barki's restraint still lingered, glowing softly over his heart, keeping most of his Primogenitor essence locked. But the Saint Realm… it wasn't about unlocking everything at once.
It was about alignment.
He slowed his breath further, and something opened.
Not a gate. Not a pulse.
A resonance.
Each of his affinities — blood, sound, earth, curse, necromancy, alchemy, psychic, creation — stirred faintly. Not wildly. Not in conflict. But like echoes returning from different directions.
And then, his aura moved.
Not outward — inward.
Curling around his soul like mist condensing into dew.
The first step of cultivation: Formation of the Core Pulse.
It wasn't a physical core. It wasn't even a traditional energy center. It was more abstract — a frequency of being. His aura tuned itself to a new rhythm, one not based on will or need, but identity.
His heartbeat slowed.
And in that slowness, clarity arrived.
He remembered Barki's words:
"Power is the shadow of realization. You don't chase it. You remember that it was always yours."
Ethan opened his hand slowly.
A faint glow hovered above his palm — not a spell, not a technique.
Just his Saint Realm aura, gathering in stillness. Not shaped, not commanded.
Simply there.
He focused on holding it steady — no distractions, no interference. Every time his thoughts drifted, the light flickered. Every emotion rippled the flow.
It was exhausting in a way no battle ever was.
But it was honest.
He remained like that for hours. Letting the aura drift. Return. Drift again. Honing the discipline of presence.
The art of Saint Cultivation.
The Grimoire finally spoke, a whisper on the breeze:
"Your Core Pulse has begun. With time, it will stabilize into your Saint Foundation. But only if you stay honest with yourself."
Ethan didn't respond.
He was still listening to the light.
Time lost all meaning.
Whether it was minutes or days, Ethan couldn't tell. He was no longer seated in a garden — not entirely. He was between breaths, inside a pocket of awareness where thought and energy blurred.
His aura pulsed gently now.
Not violently, not with the arrogance of raw power.
It moved in patterns. Swirls of gold, violet, and faint black-red hues curled through his body. Each color represented something ancient within him.
Gold: The Path of Order, the foundation of his Grimoire.
Violet: The shimmer of mysticism and will, of psyche and sound.
Red-black: The bloodline, necrotic truths, curses buried deep.
They moved around the seal on his chest like dancers circling a throne — unable to enter, but deeply aware of what slumbered inside.
This was cultivation in the Saint Realm.Not pushing. Not breaking. But listening and becoming.
Slowly, Ethan's awareness sank deeper — past his body, past even his soul.
Into the Field of Echoes.
A space known only to Saint cultivators.
Here, truths echoed louder than thought.
He stood once more. Not in the garden, not in the stars — but in a still, grey space filled with shadows of himself.
Each one held a different expression.
Grief. Rage. Arrogance. Doubt. Triumph. Love.
Each a part of him. Each a piece from the mirror that had shattered before.
They didn't speak.
They simply watched.
The air between them vibrated softly, like a tuning string waiting to be plucked. And then—without a word—one of them stepped forward.
The one shaped by Fear.
It placed a hand on Ethan's chest. No violence. Just contact.
And Ethan flinched.
Because it wasn't fear of death. Or loss. Or pain.
It was the fear of truth.
That even with all his power…
He might fail again.
He might lose them. His family. The Kingdom. Himself.
The shadow didn't accuse. It acknowledged.
"You don't transcend your fear by killing it," a voice in his mind murmured."You become strong enough to carry it."
Ethan took a breath.
His aura flared — then bent gently around the fear. Embraced it. Accepted it as part of him.
And the shadow of Fear vanished.
Not destroyed.
Absorbed.
His Core Pulse brightened within.
Another ripple passed through the Field of Echoes.
Another shadow stepped forward.
Pride.This one smiled faintly, as if amused.
Ethan lowered his eyes. "I've always tried to control everything."
The pride-shadow nodded. No judgment.
"Saints don't control," Ethan whispered to himself."They harmonize."
And slowly, one by one, the shadows of himself approached.
Allies.
Not adversaries.
He wasn't purging himself. He was becoming whole.
The moment the final shadow touched him — Hope — the Field of Echoes dissolved.
He was seated once more in the garden, body warm, aura serene, soul steady.
The Grimoire's voice returned, quiet, reverent:
"Your aura has stabilized. The Core Pulse has accepted its host. You walk the Saint Path."
Ethan opened his eyes.
They glowed faintly — not from power, but from depth.
He hadn't ascended.
He had remembered himself.
And it was only the beginning.
The garden had returned to silence. Moonlight flowed like liquid silver across the stone floor, and the wind carried only the breath of distant leaves.
Ethan sat perfectly still.
His breathing was steady. His aura, calm. The Field of Echoes had faded, the shadows of his soul embraced.
But then—
A flicker.
A breath beneath the breath.
It was faint — a tremor in the spine, a hiccup in the pulse of his Core.
He ignored it at first. Such things were common in early Saint stabilization. Lingering echoes, passing waves. But then it came again.
Stronger.
A low vibration coiled through his bloodstream — cold and ancient, like a voice speaking from beneath a frozen lake.
His eyes snapped open.
The garden hadn't changed, but it felt different.
Something inside him had stirred.
Not hostile. Not entirely.
But wrong.
The Grimoire of Order floated nearby, pages fluttering softly.
"…you felt that," Ethan said quietly.
"Yes," the Grimoire answered. "It originates within your blood. A resonance. Unaligned."
Ethan clenched his hand. "Is it… the Primogenitor seal?"
"No. This is subtler. Probably your Spirit Beasts finally waking up."
A single leaf twisted unnaturally in the wind, then stilled.
Ethan's aura shimmered — just faintly, as if reacting to something it couldn't yet define.
He closed his eyes again.
And descended inward once more.
To find out what part of him had just called out.
