Tom's body trembled slightly as a floating sensation overtook him. Unlike before, there was no pain, no suffocation; and by the time he became aware of himself, he was already there, inside a vast hall shrouded in luminous mist, filled with a cold, ethereal, distant air.
There were no outer walls.
Along the ground, faint green and blue lights pulsed beneath the stone like veins.
At the center stood the only point of reference: a floating table, with a map resting upon it.
This time, the map held only a single inscription — a name for the entire land.
Yunoahr.
Yeah… not a bad name for a world.
Tom glanced around once more and then realized something that bothered him slightly.
Why is there just a floating table in the middle of nowhere? Couldn't there at least be a cha—
He didn't even finish the sentence.
Right in front of him, the mist stirred, twisting and gathering until it took the shape of a chair. In less than five seconds, it solidified, shifting from a blurred gray mass into the vivid, brown appearance of wood.
"Whoa… That—" His voice echoed several times before fading completely.
After touching the chair and confirming it was solid, Tom pulled it toward the table and sat down.
"Okay… that's actually pretty cool."
What if I wanted a… tank…?
The thought came out of nowhere.
A massive amount of mist surged and gathered, forming a large shape and gradually molding itself into something resembling a war tank.
Before it could finish—
A gust of wind swept through, scattering the mist and undoing the formation entirely.
From within it, a figure emerged.
He was different… but not unfamiliar.
A tall man with short, tousled silver hair.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself."
"Ah… terrible timing," Tom scratched his head as Veyrael appeared.
"Focus on what you desire, and it will take shape."
Veyrael extended one hand.
Instantly, the floating table expanded. A new section formed, displaying a highly detailed miniature of an entire city.
"It's based on your will. Just be mindful of the limitations of this power. You can't create living things, for example. And of course… everything here consumes hods."
So this is the real meaning of "Á la volonté"… interesting.
Almost impulsively, Tom felt the urge to return home.
The mist stirred, swirling around him.
But nothing happened.
Soon, it settled again.
"I don't know what you expected," Veyrael said calmly, "but that likely exceeds the mist's limits. And I don't need to tell you that anything created here can't be taken into the mortal world, right?"
"Yeah… makes sense. That'd be the ultimate definition of overpowered," Tom shrugged.
Veyrael looked at him without fully understanding the expression, then casually dismissed the city model and the table's extension.
Mimicking Tom, he conjured a chair identical to the first and took a seat beside him.
"Veyrael. How do I get to the key—"
"No. Tom, no."
He cut him off immediately.
"You're trying to skip straight to the reward. What you're asking for is the prize given to whoever wins tsay. You haven't even begun climbing the steps yet. If not for the Will preserving your body, you shouldn't have even made it here."
Tom fell completely silent.
He couldn't tell whether Veyrael was scolding him or if that was simply how he spoke. But one thing was clear—
He had done something wrong.
"Right… okay. So what do I do?"
"The truth is, you're very weak. You couldn't even face an Astral or a Transcendent. Let alone demons or gods…"
As he spoke, Veyrael created a small staircase out of mist, like a floating 3D projection above the table.
"Tom, you are here."
He pointed to a spot before the first step.
"You need to be at least here to have any chance of winning tsay."
He indicated the third step from the top.
Tom blinked in confusion.
…Huh?
"Wait. Explain that, because I'm not getting it."
With a gesture, names appeared on each step.
"There are six steps. Or since you seem to like games — six levels of Ascendants."
"You've just begun the first: the Natural level."
"The next ones are Supernatural, Metaphysical, Astral, Radiant, and Transcendent."
The names appeared from bottom to top.
"Don't lose your head over this right now. You're still far from the others."
With the explanation complete, the staircase vanished.
Veyrael watched Tom for a moment, considering his condition.
Meanwhile, Tom felt slightly discouraged.
His return home had just been pushed back with no clear timeline.
Using the mist, Tom recreated his notebook and pen and began writing down everything Veyrael had said.
"Better to write it before I forget."
With a wave of his hand, two glowing points appeared above the map — one cyan-green, the other red and purple.
"This one, Tom, is you."
He pointed at the green one.
"I don't know who this is, but it's another Ascendant you fought."
Malivor… Tom thought silently, nodding.
"Be careful when fighting other Ascendants. In that fight, it seems his Superior let things slide."
Veyrael's tone shifted slightly.
"But Superiors can interfere in these fights. And Tom… I will not intervene."
The warning felt genuine, though oddly detached.
"Got it."
With that, Veyrael stood up. His chair vanished as he stepped away from the table. Midway, he stopped and glanced back.
"Tom."
Their eyes met.
"I'll repeat this. If I were you, I wouldn't tell anyone about this place. Or about me. And never… never, tell anyone the phrase that brings you here."
This warning was more serious than the others.
And this only made Tom reaffirm in his heart that he should keep Veyrael and the hall with the floating table a secret.
"I still can't tell if you're lucky… or incredibly unlucky," Veyrael said with a faint smirk.
Maybe both.
With that, he walked into the darkness and disappeared.
"…Whew."
Tom let out a relieved breath.
Even though he hadn't done anything particularly remarkable, Veyrael still had a somewhat intimidating presence in Tom's eyes. But it made sense, after all, he was a divine entity.
Still, thinking rationally, Veyrael didn't seem like a threat — not that he felt capable of doing anything if the situation were otherwise — so Tom decided to treat him like an ally… or maybe a strange coworker. If you can put it that way.
He didn't even explain how I'm supposed to climb the steps… great.
Tom sighed. Obviously, he wasn't going to try to charge something to a divine being.
There were still many questions he wanted to ask but pushing a divine being too far didn't sound like a good idea.
Just thinking about it brought back the image of being lifted by the throat like it was nothing.
What a first impression, he thought, smiling wryly.
With nothing left to do, Tom prepared to leave.
"Inrud—" He stopped midway.
Wait… will the chair and notebook I created disappear when I leave?
"…Keep what I created." It sounded ridiculous.
Thankfully, he was alone.
Nothing changed. No reaction from the mist.
He shrugged it off.
He'd find out next time.
"Inrud Zelah!"
The mist stirred, and his body vanished.
…
Mercenary Base – SYNC Squad
Two young women were casually talking — about weapons, stories, politics, and royalty — when the library door opened.
"Niora. Emily. The commander sent a mission for us."
It was Reivan, the squad's vice commander.
"Me too?" Emily asked.
"Yes."
She crossed her arms in defeat.
"…Fine. And my letter? Any reply?"
Reivan slipped his hands into his uniform pockets before answering.
"…No. By now, it should've arrived. Either the reply is still on its way… or worst case, your letter was dismissed as unimportant or as someone impersonating you."
The blonde girl shook her head silently.
"If that's all, get ready. We leave tomorrow morning. Yan is coming too."
Niora frowned at that.
…
Back at the Moonlight HQ
Tom finished organizing his room and felt a bit better seeing everything in order.
Snow wasn't around at lunchtime, but food had been prepared. Since no one else was there, Tom ate alone.
The afternoon flew by as he finished reading the introductory book on magic and hods.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, he headed to the dining hall again—
Empty.
"Man… this place feels like a ghost town today."
So he went back, grabbed some money, and headed out.
He decided to eat at the Bell Tavern that night.
On the way, he passed a pointed gothic cathedral. Its doors were open, and a fervent voice echoed outward.
"Good and evil. Both are witnesses and consequences of the choices of those who live. Therefore, neither absolute good nor absolute evil should govern our actions, but balance between the two."
A robust man with brown hair preached from the pulpit.
"Balance is the key, the path, and the truth. Walk in its righteousness—and do not forget the one who guides all who follow it. The Blind One, the Justice Lord!"
A chill ran down Tom's spine.
Could that priest know something that could help me?
Still, a sense of reluctance washed over him.
He walked past the cathedral.
A few minutes later, he spotted a bright scarlet sign:
"Vein No. 18, Borges Street."
Tom had arrived at the right place.