Chapter 55: Realm Of Immortals
Athena pov
I walked in silence beside the green-robed man, my feet sore, my breath visible in the odd, shimmering air. Around us, the terrain shifted—crystalline plains giving way to fields of obsidian grass and trees that whispered to each other in tones only the wind understood.
I didn’t speak. Not yet. But I listened.
They talked among themselves, these recruiters—about ley lines, ascension orders, the shifting borders of the realms. I caught phrases like "threads of spirit broken" and "veil-thin crossings." Words that only half made sense. But I was good at putting pieces together.
This world wasn’t like mine. No moons here. No sun, not really. Just a sky that breathed with pale color, brighter in some places, darker in others, like the pulse of something alive.
Eventually, I asked. "What is this place?"
The green-robed man—whose name, I’d learned, was Thalen—glanced sideways at me.
"You are in the realm of Syvera," he said. "One of the Nine Cradles of Power. A realm suspended between death and divinity. Here, mortals climb toward the divine not through prayer, but through cultivation—mastery of spirit, body, and soul. Each realm serves as a crucible. Syvera is... the harshest."
I chewed on that. "Cultivation," I echoed. "Like planting seeds?"
He almost smiled. "Something like that. But here, the seeds are your soul. And the harvest is power."
"And the others?" I asked. "The other realms?"