Chapter 130: Chosen one
Just for peace of mind, I write the answer I found on a piece of leather using OXI runes.
To Boris,
The passcode for the entrance.
"The Hunger stays Open Below The Tongue, as we Wait for the Chosen Void to Control what lies Beyond the Hope."
But it’s likely useless...
Someone without a system won’t be able to enter the tower due to the proximity drain.
My last gift, Boris...
I call everyone close, whistle twice, and clap once.
All four Ferredons bolt into a run, heading back toward the desert without looking behind them.
They really know the way home...
"Congratulations," Rhayne says. Her voice is almost inaudible. The word surprises me more than the puzzle did.
"Boss being the boss." Oliver gives a thumbs up and slings his hammer onto his shoulder.
Lola pouts. Arms crossed. She’s genuinely upset I solved the puzzle before she did. I file that under "problems I’m happy to have."
Before we go in, I need to be ready. I pull up my inventory.
[Scales: 120,320]
I stare at the number for a full second. I’ve never seen anything close to this. Sixty thousand was the most I ever held—during the first timeline, after a full season of years grinding. This is double, and I got it from Boris’s stockpile in a single handshake.
I place one hand on the Horizon chestguard and select the Scales in my inventory with the other. Piece by piece. Chestguard. Treads. Gauntlets. Cowl. Twenty-five thousand each. A hundred thousand total.
[Scales: 120,320 → 70,320]
Second cycle. Same thing. Fifty thousand more.
[Scales: 70,320 → 20,320]
[Horizon is ready to evolve.]
[Accept? Y / N]
Yes.
The armor pulses in dark crimson and settles. Scales shift position, tighten in some places, loosen in others—searching for the best fit against my frame and my abilities.
Three seconds. Then it stops.
[Name: Horizon] — UPDATED
[Rank: B — Modular / Growth]
[Type: Armor Set (Dark Leather Blood Alloy)]
[Durability: User’s OXI]
[Absorbs 20% of impact, slashing, and piercing damage.]
I’d like to see Veric show off his Tidebreaker now.
The next evolution threshold for each part:
[0 / 125,000] — Attribute Rank: C → B.
A hundred and twenty-five thousand per piece. Half a million for the full set. I need to build a business. Fast.
Name: Dryden Sands
Rank: E (Shallow) — ★★☆☆☆☆
Class: Drifter — Order [SSS]
Class Type: Unique
[OXI: 1,427 / 1,600]
[ATTRIBUTES]
Strength: C (1★) [Horizon Set]
Agility: C (1★) [Horizon Set]
Vitality: C (1★) [Horizon Set]
Spirit: C (1★) [Horizon Set]
Wisdom: B (3★) [Retained from Memory]
I clench my fist and the response is immediate—faster than my brain sent the signal. I roll my neck. Squat once. Everything tighter, quicker. The armor isn’t just protecting me. It’s rewriting what my body can do.
"Ready?"
Everyone nods.
"Let’s go."
I walk toward the open door. My squad beside me.
A cool breeze hits my face. Familiar. An aroma I recognize but can’t place—something old, something I’ve encountered before in a life I can’t fully access.
I look at my team. One by one, they nod.
I step into the light.
My heart hammers out of rhythm. I try to control my nerves and fail.
Lola’s small hand, trembling, grabs mine. I look down to find her but the light is so bright I can’t see my own fingers. I squeeze back. She squeezes harder.
I keep walking. One foot in front of the other into nothing.
Sound disappears. The light has eaten everything—footsteps, breathing, wind.
Gone.
The warmth wraps around me. It feels like being home and hearing my mother’s voice from the kitchen. Like waking up and finding out the Black Thirst was a dream.
For three seconds, everything I carry disappears.
I’m just warm.
Then everything collapses.
I’m standing inside an immense sanctuary.
It is an Aion sanctuary, but another one. The runes, the lightning energy in the dome, and the architecture. It’s unmistakable to me.
Eight years on Earth chasing rumors of it. Twenty-four years in this hell, following breadcrumbs.
And here it is, just appearing in front of me when I wasn’t looking for it. Real. Solid. It’s bigger than the first one I found and has a different atmosphere as well.
The smell. That’s what was familiar. Of course.
I spin around, searching for my squad. The relief when I see them crossing through the light behind me is bigger than I want it to be. Lola is still holding my hand. She hasn’t let go.
"Uncle. This place smells like church but cold."
"Close enough, little bear."
I turn back to the room.
Under a colossal white dome, the air crackles with pale lightning that branches down from the open cupola like electric roots. The marble floor is pristine—untouched by anything that has ever bled or burned. Long pillars line the sides, forming an angelic walkway that leads to the center. An altar of glacial crystals emanates a blue, hypnotic glow, surrounded by kinetic sculptures that turn without wind and hum without sound.
A cathedral of frozen power. The architecture bowing before a storm that never ends and never moves. Time doesn’t pass here. The dust doesn’t settle because there is no dust.
The interior is infinitely larger than the outside. Another dimension folded inside the coral tower.
But what sits between us and the altar stops everything.
A Tide Turtarex. Crouched low. Head down. Eyes closed. Wounds visible across the shell—deep gouges, cracked plates, dried blood in the seams. One rear leg held at a wrong angle.
The same one that hit Lost Ark. It crawled in here before us.
"Top off. Now," I whisper.
[OXI: 1,425 / 1,600]
[Scales: 20,320 -> 20,313]
[OXI: 1,600 / 1,600]
Oliver is reaching for his hammer when an unknown voice comes.
It doesn’t come from a direction. It comes from everywhere—from the dome, from the pillars, from the marble under our feet, from the air between our teeth. Ancient. Velvet. Female. The same language as the runes, but spoken instead of carved.
"Welcome to the Sanctuary of Aion, Chosen One."
The words settle on my skin. I don’t understand the language, but somehow I understand every word.
Lola’s grip on my hand tightens.
A second phrase. Shorter. The voice sounds almost gentle.
"Full restoration. Completed..."
Something passes through the chamber. A pulse—deep, subsonic, blue at the edges of my vision. It sweeps over us. It sweeps over the altar. It sweeps over the Turtarex.
The gouges in the Turtarex’s shell close. The cracked plates fuse. The rear leg straightens. Dried blood evaporates off the surface in thin wisps of crimson vapor.
No. No no no—
The voice speaks a third time.
"Prepare for your trial."
The Turtarex opens its eyes.
It rises. Slowly. Calmly. Eight tons of restored muscle and sealed armor, standing between us and the altar.
Beyond it all, an adorned, sealed door shows me the exit.
But this big guy here is fully healed.
And looking right at us.