A cool hush wrapped around him—crisp, refined, almost clinical. It wasn't just air-conditioning. The air felt engineered, purified, as though filtered through layers of alien technology until every impurity had been stripped away. It lacked the grit and tang of home. It was sterile… foreign.
This wasn't his planet.
He opened his eyes to a dimly lit chamber, its surfaces sleek and metallic, glowing faintly with soft-blue runes pulsing like a heartbeat. The curved walls of the spaceship seemed to hum around him, alive with quiet machinery. A low-frequency vibration tickled his bones.
Around him, the uniformed men from earlier were strewn like fallen statues—some slumped against control panels, others sprawled on the floor, their bodies etched with brutal, precise wounds. Blood—darker than it should be—glimmered in pools beneath them. The air held the scent of sterilized violence: ozone, steel, and scorched cloth.
Dan blinked, trying to process the scene. Who—or what—could have done this? These men were no common grunts; they had moved earlier with the precision of seasoned warriors.
The cockpit was cramped with tension. Cries of pain echoed softly as automated med-units—spherical drones with multi-jointed arms—drifted between bodies, patching wounds, injecting pain suppressors. Near the helm stood their leader, silent and still, eyes scanning the carnage with an eerie calm. His presence radiated command, like a mountain unmoved by a storm.
Then, without warning—
"You are really something."
The voice came not from the room, but within. It rippled through Dan's mind like a whisper made of static and silk. He jerked upright, eyes darting. No mouths moved. No one looked his way. The voice was real, inside him, yet bodiless.
He tried to dismiss it. A concussion? Psychic residue? Hallucination?
"You made the Warnack protect you while you were breaking through."
"You fought eight arcade experts. You didn't just win. You toyed with them."
"You were kidnapped by the Warnack... and you sit here like it's just another Tuesday."
Dan's pulse quickened. This wasn't some trauma-fueled echo. It knew things—intimate things—about him. Its words dug into memories buried only hours ago.
He steadied his breath and pushed back mentally. "I had no idea the Warnack were targeting the Central Collection of Arts. I was doing my job. I didn't even know who they were until now."
"I'm just a normal guy caught in a bad situation. I acted on impulse."
It was half-true, just enough to bait the voice. He needed information before he exposed his hand.
"And you?" he continued, weaving sharp thought into words. "Crawling into someone's mind, peering through their eyes, rifling through their thoughts... that's far from normal. And you're not even flinching at the name Warnack. That tells me a lot. So tell me—who's the real anomaly here?"
Silence. The kind that felt almost deliberate.
Then, the voice returned—smoother now, almost amused.
"I'm just the soul of the Library. When you shattered its protective matrices, I slipped free. Out of everyone... you intrigued me, Dan. You still do."
Dan's mind reeled. A soul? From the Library?
That was more than rare—it was forbidden. Souls bound to ancient archives were powerful, enigmatic entities. If discovered, they were enslaved—trapped inside relic-machines, used to power weapons or fuel forbidden arts.
But this one had chosen him.
That was dangerous. Or invaluable.
The soul's tone softened into wonder.
"You copied an esoteric art in minutes. Broke through while reading it. I've never witnessed that. Arts aren't just words; they're living structures. And you absorbed them like breathing."
A pause. Then something colder:
"For the first time in my long existence... I've met an art I cannot decipher. Your 'Knowing Path'... it rejects me. It lashes out when I approach it. Even a whisper of it could unmake me."
Dan's breath hitched. A soul—something that fed on arts—was repelled?
His voice cracked as he half-shouted, "You can go through my arts?" His hands clenched against his restraints.
The soul chuckled, unbothered.
"Of course. I am a soul of the Library—I consume arts. That's what I exist for. That's what pulled me to you. But the Knowing Path? It's not an art. It's something else. A riddle with teeth. Even your Golden Break... I see only fragments."
"Your body is a vault of rare treasures. I must ask: what's your secret, Dan? How did you come by these legacies?"
Dan didn't answer. He couldn't. Not yet.
He turned inward. Chains wrapped around his limbs—thick metal links embedded with suppressive glyphs, humming with anti-energy fields. His hands trembled with muted power. On his neck, the rune—he could feel it, even if he couldn't see it—like cold fire seared into his flesh. His strength, his core—sealed.
His mind raced.
He needed freedom. He needed clarity. And he needed to know whether the voice in his head was a hidden ally... or a predator stalking from the shadows of his soul.
He braced himself.
The Knowing Path stirred within him—an art unlike any other. It wasn't energy. It was insight. A shape of thought wrapped in philosophy and instinct. He reached for it, preparing to unravel the seal.
Then—he froze.
The ship tilted. Engines hummed louder. A soft chime echoed through the walls. Outside, shadows swallowed the starlight.
They were descending—into the heart of the Warnack's domain.
________________________________
No matter how composed he appeared on the surface, Dan couldn't shake the cold, coiling weight in his chest. The tension gnawed at the edges of his calm. These weren't just soldiers—they were Warnack, the ones he'd already faced, wounded, and left humiliated. And now he was being delivered to their stronghold. He could only hope their leader wasn't one to savor vengeance.
The ship descended with a grating metallic groan before landing in a heavy thud that echoed like a war drum. The silence among the passengers was thick, almost reverent. Dan's gaze swept across them. He was the only outsider. The only one taken. No other prisoners.
That detail struck deeper than any chain.
They had landed on an industrial wasteland—or at least, that's what the sky suggested. Ash-colored clouds drifted over a choked horizon. Only one region pulsed with life: the Warnack base. Steel towers jutted out like broken teeth, surrounded by high walls and electric gates. Cranes groaned overhead as shipments moved like clockwork. The air buzzed with mechanical hums and sharp barked orders. Beneath the structure's massive presence, the rest of the planet looked abandoned—like a corpse long stripped of purpose.
Two guards flanked Dan, gripping his arms with unnecessary force. He was shackled, drained, and marked—but their grip told another story: they were afraid. They'd seen what he could do. He had danced on the edge of death with eight of their elite and walked away.
And now he was in the throat of the beast.
One guard muttered, "The leader's occupied. You won't be seeing him yet."
They led Dan into a massive hall veiled in dim red lighting. The scent hit him first—a foul blend of oxidized metal, sweat, and old blood. Rust stained the grates underfoot. Shadows clung to the ceiling like silent watchers.
This was no ordinary prison. This was a holding place for the dangerous.
The sealing rune etched into his neck shimmered faintly—a mark of containment, alive and hungry.
Across the hall, Dan noticed another prisoner. A teenage boy with the bearing of someone too important to be here. He wore torn, gilded robes—once rich, now dulled by dust and time. Shackles bound his limbs, but the sealing rune around his neck glowed with the same eerie intensity.
The guards secured the exit with a deafening clang and left.
Dan crossed the room and settled beside the boy, curiosity stirring beneath the surface.
He activated the Knowing Path in silence. Threads of ethereal light spiraled from his irises, dancing in the air as the rune's structure unraveled before him. Even as he studied it, he turned casually to the boy.
"How did you end up here?"
The teen's tone was flat, but pride lingered behind it. "I'm Brent Leion. Son of Duke Leion."
Dan blinked. The Duke of Leion? The man who ruled his homeworld with a velvet blade? This guy owns my planet and my galaxy.
Thoughts churned. What kind of arts does this heir carry?
Brent continued, "I led a covert strike to wipe out this base. Wanted to earn merit, impress my father. Get into the King's Academy. But their leader's a sacred-level combatant. I didn't even see the first blow."
Dan smirked, slow and calculating. "What happened to me?" he repeated aloud, feigning confusion. He couldn't admit to stealing from the Central Collection of Arts.
Just then, the Knowing Path pulsed within. The rune's pattern disassembled in his mind like a complex puzzle solved in an instant.
The sealing rune has been learned and erased.
Inside his soul, something ancient stirred.
The Knowing Path can learn new arts now!? a voice exclaimed.
Dan pushed it aside.
He reached for the boy's glowing rune, voice steady. "I'm going to break the seal on your neck."
Every movement was precise. The Art of Disguise flowed through his fingertips, unshackling his wrists without disturbing the chains—a masterstroke of sleight, blending illusion with truth.
But he wasn't rushing. Dan let time stretch, allowing the Knowing Path to do what it did best—absorb.
Energy surged inside him as Brent's essence opened like a floodgate.
You have acquired two new esoteric ways:
→ Voidpulse Rend
→ Heavenpierce Thread
Dan's pupils shimmered.
Not sacred-level... but still a fortune.
Just one of these techniques could buy him a kingdom. Or conquer one.
As he removed the sealing rune from Brent's neck, the boy drew in a long breath. Chains shattered like brittle glass. Brent's presence changed instantly—energy rippled from him, wild and unshackled.
Dan knew then: the Duke would retaliate. His son was captured. It was only a matter of time.
Within his soul, the Library stirred.
"I have a question," Dan whispered inward. "How many sacred arts do you know?"
The response was blunt. "None."
Disappointment flickered—but Dan suppressed it. Now wasn't the time. He'd test his new powers when the moment was right.
Brent marched to the iron door, hand raised to strike.
Dan stepped forward sharply. "Stop."
Brent froze, turning.
"If you break that door, every guard will descend on us. We won't make it five steps. We need another path—one that leads to the spaceport. A clean escape. Silent. Swift."
Brent hesitated... then nodded. Respect crept into his eyes.
He's no ordinary prisoner, he thought. He's a tactician. A master.
Moments passed in silence.
Then, the heavy door groaned open.
Dan's reflexes snapped into place—chains rewound around him, cuffs snapped shut. He looked untouched. Brent, less so—his broken shackles betrayed the truth.
Too late.
The guards entered, weapons drawn—but Brent simply raised his hands and surrendered. It worked. No fight, no alarm.
They were marched through cold, iron-veined corridors until at last, the fortress opened to the sky.
The air changed.
Outside, cliffs towered like forgotten gods. A waterfall shimmered down obsidian rock, framed by mist and morning sun. The sound was distant, like a whisper of peace in a world of iron and war.
Amid the scene, a boulder sat like a throne. Around it—seven figures Dan knew all too well.
The elite Warnack.
And among them stood the High Warnack. At the center, seated calmly, the Base Leader.
Dan tensed.
The leader's gaze passed over the prisoners, unreadable.
Then he turned to the High Warnack. "If you meant to kill him," he said coolly, "you shouldn't have brought him here. What do you want me to do with the boy?"
The High Warnack stepped forward. "Fight him," he said simply. "You've seen what he's capable of. He copied scrolls without burning them. Broke into an esoteric path. Faced eight of ours—and played with them."
The Base Leader's eyes shifted to the eight. Their posture told the truth. They'd been tested—and broken.
Interest gleamed in the Leader's expression.
He stood.
His steps carried the weight of a mountain. Each one echoed with layered strength, as if the very air bent around him.
He stopped before Dan.
"Remove the chains," he said. "And the rune.