The Allbright System - A Sci-Fi Progression LitRPG Story

With a simple flick of his wrist, the Runepriest seemed to pluck the star from the holographic display between them, as though it were a tangible object, and bring it into reality.

It hovered above his right hand, spinning faintly, as he began to alter its size, making it grow larger with each subtle movement of his fingers.

“This Star,” he began, “is merely a representation of the Inheritances and their Polarities, crafted specifically for teaching new Psykers.”

As he spoke, his fingers danced around the star, shaping it like a sculptor with clay. “There are some flaws I take issue with—its depiction of the Inheritances order within the Void is wrong, and it doesn’t quite capture the interplay of the Inheritances as well as I’d like—but it serves its purpose well enough. It’s not perfect, but for our purposes, it’ll do.”

Satisfied with his adjustments, he gave the star a slight nudge, sending it gliding gently toward Thea.

She watched, transfixed, as the now-larger object floated towards her, its size previously around the area of her palm, but now comparable to one of the pancakes she had eaten that morning.

It was a stunning 12-pointed star, gleaming as though it were crafted from polished silver or some other similarly gray-coloured, shiny metallic substance. Each point housed a gem, each one a different, vibrant color that seemed to pulse faintly, like the rhythmic beating of a heart.

Thea’s eyes followed the gems, captivated by their shifting hues, until her gaze rested on the center of the star.

At its heart was what looked like a motionless, swirling spiral, placed within a perfectly circular frame. The spiral was crafted from twelve sleek, interlocking blades, each angled in a precise counterclockwise arrangement that converged at a singular point in the very center.

The intricate, iris-like design reminded Thea of the security hatches she had seen aboard the UHF space station and aboard the Sovereign as well, the kind used to seal ventilation and maintenance tunnels—functional, yet strangely elegant in their construction.

“That…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was something about it—something familiar yet utterly alien.

The Runepriest caught the whisper and smiled knowingly. “Yes... That is the representation of the Gate, as all Psykers perceive it. It is one of the very few constants in the Psychic world. No matter your Inheritance, your unlocked Powers, or your investment in Perception, Resolve, Psychic, or Presence, the Gate always appears just like this.”

Thea nodded slightly, unable to look away from the center of the star.

It looked exactly as it should—yet she had no idea why she felt that way.

After all, she had never seen her Gate up close before… orhad she?

A sudden, sharp pain pierced her head, like a bolt of lightning.

She winced, instinctively pressing her fingertips to her temples to ease the ache.

“Are you alright, Thea?” the Runepriest asked, his tone shifting from calm authority to genuine concern. “If this is too overwhelming, tell me, and we can pause. The Psychic world is vast and complex, and we’ll spend countless hours exploring it together. There’s no need to push through discomfort right away.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her words sharper than she intended. She dropped her hands from her temples and straightened up, forcing her expression to remain neutral.

Inside, though, her mind raced.

The last thing she wanted was for him to think she wasn’t cut out for this—she could not afford to be cast aside, not now, not when she was finally beginning to understand what the fuck was happening to her and her strange Psychic Powers.

The Runepriest’s gaze lingered on her, as though weighing her words, but he said nothing.

Taking a steadying breath, Thea glanced back at the star, letting its silvery light and shifting colors refocus her thoughts.

After a moment, she spoke, more carefully this time. “It’s just… the Gate,” she began hesitantly. “It feels familiar somehow, even though I’m positive I’ve never seen it up close before—not like this, with all these details. I don’t know why, but it’s like it feels like I have seen it up close before, despite knowing I never have...”

The Runepriest tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he absorbed her words.

For a long moment, he appeared to sink into deep thought, his brow furrowing faintly. Then he offered, almost as though thinking aloud, “It could be a remnant from your Awakening visions. Many Psykers catch glimpses of the Gate during that process, even if they don’t necessarily recognize it as such at the time.”

“No,” Thea said immediately, her voice sharper than she’d intended, surprising even herself.

She took a steadying breath, forcing the tension from her shoulders as she continued, her tone quieter but no less firm. “It wasn’t that. I’d remember if it was. There’s no way I’d forget anything about that nightmare.”

She paused, her jaw tightening as the spectre of those memories loomed at the edges of her mind, threatening to push their way in.

Her voice dropped to a murmur, almost as if speaking aloud might make the memories more real. “That… horror-show is burned into my mind. Which, by the way, I definitely have a lot of questions about.” She swallowed, shaking her head slightly. “But this—this is different.”

The Runepriest’s eyes lit up with something between amusement and approval, and a booming laugh burst from him, echoing in the vast training hall.

“Good! Very good,” he said, his tone suddenly warm, like a proud mentor praising a pupil. “I’d hope you do have questions about it, Thea. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be worth teaching. Curiosity, even when it stirs up the deepest, most primal kind of terror within you, is the mark of a true learner—a worthy pupil, indeed!”

His laughter faded, and his expression turned serious as he leaned slightly closer, his sharp gaze fixed on her. “That said, it is puzzling why you might not remember the Gate… Much like the Gate’s appearance is immutable among Psykers, so is the memory of it. Everyone remembers their first time seeing their own Gate up close, whether they realize it’s the Gate at the time or not…”

He cupped his chin as he sank into thought, a low, resonant hum escaping him—a sound Thea had already grown familiar with during her time in the training hall so far.

Thea’s eyes drifted once more to the center of the star, unable to look away from the spiral’s intricate design. Her thoughts churned, searching for answers she couldn’t quite grasp.

‘The Gate… Why is it so familiar…?’

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the Runepriest’s steady hum, which filled the air like a strange, rhythmic background noise. It was almost comforting in its familiarity, even as her own unease refused to dissipate.

Half a minute passed in near silence, with Thea staring intently at the center of the star, her thoughts a tangled knot of questions, and the Runepriest stroking his chin, lost in his own musings.

Finally, the Runepriest broke the quiet, his deep voice gently resonating through the training hall.

“That is a very puzzling thing indeed,” he began. “But it seems we won’t come to any real conclusions about it right now. I do have a few ideas on how we might jog your memory, but honestly, it’s not a pressing matter. There’s no inherent benefit to recalling the details of your Gate—as long as you’re already able to open and close it at will. And according to the Assessment reports I reviewed about you, that’s something you’re capable of doing.”

Thea nodded confidently at the implied question.

If there was one thing she was sure of in her Psychic abilities, it was this.

Opening and closing her Gate had been the first thing she’d focused on learning after the nightmare that had been her Awakening, to make sure it had no chance of happening again—since, at the time, she hadn’t realised the Awakening was a one-time thing.

“Very well,” the Runepriest said, giving a firm nod of approval. “Then let’s move forward with the Inheritance Polarities for now. We’ll circle back to your Awakening questions and memory exercises later in the session, if that works for you. The two are closely connected, you see—jogging your memory will be much easier when we are already having you dive deep into your memories to recall something else.”

“That is fine with me, Runepriest. Thank you for your consideration,” Thea replied, inclining her head in a polite bow.

The Runepriest waved a hand dismissively, as though brushing away an errant fly. “No need for that, child. We’ve much to cover, and formality like that wastes time. Now, let us continue with this," he gestured toward the holographic display.

“There are twelve Inheritances that exist,” the Runepriest began, gesturing toward the glowing star before them. “Each one is represented by a point of the star and a colored gem. Every Inheritance has its own unique color, and that, as far as we can tell, is a hard-set fact of the universe. These colors are immutable—unchanging—just like the appearance of the Gate, no matter how someone tries to interpret them.”

He paused, a faint chuckle escaping him as if amused by a memory. “As a matter of fact, this was tested extensively: When Psykers first became a studied subject, scholars were utterly baffled. Every single Psyker who could perceive the colors described them exactly the same way, regardless of their cultural, societal, or planetary backgrounds.”

Thea’s brow furrowed slightly, a question forming in her mind, but she chose not to interrupt, her curiosity held in check by the Runepriest’s storytelling.

“They even tried to see if color-blind individuals would perceive the colors differently,” he continued, his voice tinged with amusement. “You can imagine how tricky that was—asking someone to describe a color they’ve literally never seen before or even have the capacity to perceive. It was… well, a fascinating mess.”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing some grand, forbidden secret. “But the real intrigue came with the later trials. The scholars asked themselves, ‘What about people who were born completely blind? People who have never had a single photon of light touch their retinas—could they perceive the same colors?’”

Thea found herself leaning in without realizing it, drawn by the quiet intensity of his words.

Her eyes widened as the implications began to sink in. The idea of conducting an experiment like that was downright mind-boggling. ‘How would you even begin to…?’ she wondered. ‘How could someone who’s never seen light begin to perceive colors, and how could they describe them in any meaningful way?’

“They struggled with that very question for decades,” the Runepriest continued. “Progress was painfully slow, and for the longest time, it seemed impossible to make any real breakthroughs… that is, until the Allbright System appeared.”

Thea straightened slightly at that, her curiosity piqued even further.

She knew, intrinsically, that the System was an unfathomable entity of unimaginable power, of course, but she hadn’t heard much about the advent of the System. Of the early years after it suddenly appeared, much less about how it impacted humanity as a whole.

“With the advent of the System,” the Runepriest explained, “humanity was granted tools that would have been otherwise deemed impossible—not just tools of war, but tools that revolutionized science as well. You see, not every Ability granted by the System is designed purely for combat. Most have applications that reach far beyond the battlefield.”

He waved his hand over the holographic datascreen, and a new display materialized in the air before him. A shortened System Ability description flickered into view, its format instantly recognizable to Thea from her own Abilities and the ones she’d reviewed together with the rest of Alpha Squad.

The Runepriest turned the screen toward her, waiting patiently as her eyes scanned the text.