The aftermath of the trial at the forest was overshadowed by intense scrutiny and mounting scorn. Whispers followed Aldomite everywhere: he was a raw, lucky talent, too weak to handle real pressure, relying solely on uncontrolled bursts of power rather than skill. The initial high praise he had received quickly curdled into dismissive mockery among older cadets.
But where contempt sought to break him, his friends provided an unshakeable foundation. Lipton and Calvin stood firm, their encouragement a steady counterpoint to the poisonous rumors. They didn't offer pity; they reminded him of the urgency of the demonic threat and the purpose of his dangerous path.
Aldomite took the sting of the ridicule and transformed it into a rigid, cold fuel. He used the opportunity to train relentlessly, attacking every lesson and drill with a singular focus on achieving control. His growth was so rapid that instructors, initially skeptical, soon began to exchange surprised murmurs of praise.
Even the usually reserved Commander Graven was stunned by the accelerated progress reports. The turning point came when Commander Flick, observing the cadets' relentless derision, stepped forward to challenge the toxic atmosphere.
"How long have we seen a young cadet so willing to embrace the risk in this generation?" Commander Flick challenged the instructors. "He fell, yes. But he got back up and now he works twice as hard. Let him be the example. We should be hoping to see this kind of growth."
Flick's words turned the tide. Suddenly, Aldomite wasn't just a subject of gossip, but a testament to persistence. More encouraging words came from other instructors, reinforcing his motivation to not give up.
This external validation only reinforced the internal wall Aldomite was building. He had allies, and he had a clear, deadly purpose. Yet, the malevolent presence of Zechtron continued its low, insidious assault, whispering words of chaos and vengeance into his mind. But thanks to the grounding reality provided by Lipton and Calvin, Aldomite found the strength to keep the core essence in check—for now.
He knew, however, that the support of his friends could not solve the problem inside him. To truly tame the God of Hatred's seed, he needed genuine mastery.
Driven to the brink by exhaustion and the terror of Zechtron's whispers, Aldomite studied more and more, to learn about a spirit that lives among humans, knowing how knowledgeable this ancient beings are hoping he could get help from them, Aldomite risked everything. Leaving the Academy grounds in secret, he sought out the only being he thought could help: an ancient entity known as Salvot, a spirit guide rumored to exist at a temple called "Derezza".
Aldomite found Salvot, a translucent figure wreathed in ancient, silver light.
"I can't rest," Aldomite confessed, his voice raw. "My memories... my pain... the voice. I need you to take it. Free me from it."
Salvot fixed his ancient, unblinking eyes on Aldomite, but his words were clearly addressed to the consciousness Salvot sensed beneath the boy's skin.
"Aldomite asks for freedom, but freedom is not the answer," Salvot said, his voice echoing with the grief of his destroyed realm. "I know you, Zechtron. I know the Core Essence. You are the vengeance of a God, trapped by a human fear you despise."
Aldomite staggered. "You know...?"
Salvot ignored the host, continuing to address the God: "Your death was plotted to stop a second Galaxoius from rising. Now, Galaxoius's resurrection is threatened by more than just your essence. The Demon God can be revived by gathering enough negative energy from all races. Every death, every tear, every single act of hatred draws him closer. Your eternal vengeance is meaningless if Galaxoius claims the world first."
The truth hit Zechtron with the force of a hammer blow. Galaxoius—the one who had indirectly caused Zechtron's betrayal—was now a threat to Zechtron's ultimate revenge.
Salvot (Firmly, to both): "Accept your past, Zechtron. Accept the betrayal that killed you. Only by resting in that truth can you find the control this boy needs. Only by setting your goals together—vengeance for you, protection for him—can you secure the existence of this realm and fight Galaxoius."
Zechtron, seeing the logic, recoiled from the idea of sharing power but yielded to the strategic necessity. The alliance was silent, tense, and forced. Aldomite, understanding only that he had been granted a temporary, fragile truce with the God inside him, felt a brief, profound exhaustion wash over him. The Seed of Hatred settled slightly, granting him a desperately needed moment of mental peace.
The temporary peace was the calm before the storm. That very night, a demon scout of considerable power, Vakok, arrived. Drawn to Astoria by the strong, cultivated mana signature of the maturing Core Essence, Vakok saw a chance to secure the fastest key to Galaxoius's revival.
The sky turned a bruised, unsettling red, and a thick, unnatural white fog began to creep over the kingdom. Vakok, a master of psychological warfare, had unleashed the Fog of Memories—a powerful demonic magic that trapped anyone inside in their deepest, most painful past, rendering them helpless to attack in the real world.
The Academy fell silent. The entire city of Astoria was plunged into chaos. Students and knights alike stumbled, their eyes vacant, lost in their own personalized nightmares. Aldomite, despite his recent respite, was caught instantly.
The mages in the kingdom's central spire frantically began a powerful ritual to change the weather—a desperate attempt to clear the demonic magic. They failed five times, each attempt draining their collective strength.
Inside the Fog, Aldomite found himself back in the small cabin. His parents were there, laughing, alive. He experienced the quiet, ordinary happiness he had completely forgotten in his journey of hatred. Tears, the first he had shed in years, streamed down his face. I don't want to leave, he thought, I want to stay in this perfect, innocent past.
But the Core Essence, though subdued, would not allow it. The God of Hatred's Mana pulsed, tearing at the illusion of joy. The walls of the cabin dissolved into flames, and the terrifying illusion of Arabatogon, created by the Fog to represent Aldomite's deepest fear, stood before him.
The illusion of Arabatogon mocked his tears. "Still a crying child, little host? Your hatred is strong, but your heart is weak."
Rage flared. Aldomite lunged, his fists fueled by instinct and the brief, desperate surge of Zechtron's power. He fought, raw and brutal, but the Fog's illusion was perfect—Arabatogon moved with the devastating power of the memory, utterly overwhelming him. He was losing, defeated by his own past.
Just as the illusionary demon prepared the final, killing blow, the ritual succeeded. On their sixth, desperate attempt, the mages' chant broke through.
The Fog vanished in an instant. Aldomite gasped, collapsing to the muddy ground of the training yard. He was shaking, battered, but awake. Around him, knights blinked, confused, waking from their personal terrors.
Vakok, his plans foiled, sensed the clearing magic. He had located the boy and found the immense strength of the Core Essence, but he couldn't extract it now. He fled quickly, but not before leaving a single, scorched message carved into the Academy's main gate.
"We Will Always Meet. You Won't Escape Me."
Two days later, the incident was reported to the Federation. Aldomite, however, was fundamentally changed. He was depressed, haunted by the clarity of the illusionary defeat, and the pain of seeing his parents again. Lipton and Calvin immediately saw the change—the renewed emptiness in his eyes. They knew the Fog had shown him something painful.
Aldomite now realized the cruel truth: he was not strong enough. The alliance with Zechtron was essential, and Salvot's words were the only path forward. He had to stop fighting his past, and instead, weaponize it.
He walked a hard, deliberate path, refusing to push the memories away. Every night, the nightmares came, but instead of resisting, he stared into the pain. His anxiety remained, but it was now tightly contained, transformed into a constant, cold pressure. Aldomite Continue to train and get better in the Academy's grim silence, fully committing to the Journey of Abyss.
He was walking a path where his suffering, his memories, and the hatred of a fallen God were his only tools. He would not escape this path, but he would use it to protect the shallow world he still desperately wished to save.
Chapter 5: ALPOBIC: THE CAVE OF REVEALS.