The world felt…loud.
Even with his eyes closed, Cirel could feel it.
The tremor of footsteps in the corridor.
The vibration of air molecules when someone whispered his name outside the door.
The hum of metal woven into the chamber's walls.
Everything was physics. Everything was movement. Everything was a formula waiting to be read.
He lay on a diagnostic cot now, no longer floating in resonance fluid, clothed in a plain white tunic. The Blooming chamber was behind him, sealed. The memory of the Titans, the collapsing equations, the voice of the ritual — all of it — settled in the back of his mind like a completed calculation.
But the world had not settled.
It had gotten sharper.
Before, Lojun had shown him physics as an endless field of motion and energy.
Now, after the Double Bloom…He could feel where to touch it.
Outside the glass partition, elders spoke in low tones. They thought the soundproofing screens hid their words.
It didn't.
Cirel's sight swept through the room without needing light. Pressure waves traced their silhouettes. Heat signatures painted their outlines. He didn't see their faces — he saw the physics that made them real.
"…two resonance spikes," one elder muttered, fingers digging into the edge of a tablet. "The Sensariel system fully bloomed…and something else bloomed with it."
"A Divine Technique," another answered, older, voice rough. "In the same breath. A Double Bloom."
"That hasn't happened since—"
"Since before Divine Techniques even existed," the Matriarch cut in. Her presence was easy to identify — the calm, steady heartbeat in the middle of all the anxious rhythms. "The old records speak of hybrids with two Biological Systems. But this…"
Her gaze shifted through the glass, landing on Cirel.
"…this is different."
Cirel turned his head slightly.
He knew they were watching for fear, instability, crying, shock — all the things children usually displayed after Blooming.
He felt none of them.
The ritual had not broken him. It had clarified him.
Desire. Will. Talent.Those three had aligned once and refused to drift apart again.
Gravity pulled on his body.He felt its formula tugging at him, a constant equation.
Out of curiosity — not defiance — he lifted his hand.
For a moment, he simply watched the numbers behind reality.
Then, quietly, he touched them.
Just a small transfiguration.
Just enough.
The gravity acting on his arm dropped to nearly zero.
His hand became weightless, floating upward like it had been released underwater. Muscles relaxed. Tendons adjusted. The air around his fingers shifted in slow, syrupy arcs.
On the other side of the glass, a younger elder flinched.
"The field…did you see that?" he whispered. "Local gravity just flickered."
"Idle Rewrite," the Matriarch murmured. "He's already using it unconsciously."
Cirel lowered his hand again and let gravity return to normal.
He hadn't done it to show off.He'd done it because the question had risen in his mind—
If I can see the rule…how easily can I rewrite it?
The answer, apparently, was: very.
His parents entered a moment later.
His mother's steps were light but uneven — she was trying to walk calmly, but her body betrayed the rush. His father's gait was controlled, measured, but Cirel could feel the strain in the tiny tremors in his calves.
"Cirel," his mother whispered, coming to his side.
He turned toward her voice.
He couldn't see her eyes. He had never seen them. Not once.
Instead, he saw the soft convection of heat around her face. The micro-movements of her breathing. The slight vibrations of her vocal cords when she swallowed back tears.
"I'm here," he said quietly.
He meant it both ways — present in body, and present in understanding.
His father placed a hand on his shoulder. The pressure pattern was familiar. Always careful. Always steady.
"You passed the Blooming," his father said. "You did more than that."
There was pride in his tone. Also, a thin, sharp line of fear.
Cirel analyzed it without judgment.
They're afraid I'm too much.
Not "broken." Not "crippled."Too much.
The thought eased something inside him.
Good, he thought.Then you see it too.
The Matriarch entered last.
When she stepped into the diagnostic chamber, every elder fell silent. Even the instruments seemed to be quiet, as if the room itself knew too listen.
"Cirel Nazrawre," she said, her voice clear. "Heir of the Sensariel High Lineage. Child of Sight."
Her presence filled the air.
Cirel sat up.
"Your Biological System has bloomed," she continued. "Sensory — primary pathway: sight. Your perception has evolved beyond anything recorded in our clan registry."
She paused.
"And you have awakened a Divine Technique. A Double Bloom. In this generation, that makes you the first."
He waited. He already knew this. He had felt the two awakenings sync — biology and will — in the mindscape.
What he wanted to know was:What did the world intend to do with that fact?
The Matriarch raised her hand. A small, obsidian device unfolded from her wrist band — a Sovereign Chip initializer.
"Extend your palm," she said.
He did.
The device lowered, resting above his skin. Tiny fields probed his body — mapping pathways, cataloging resonance, reading signatures in silence.
Numbers and glyphs scrolled across the holographic screen.
The elders leaned in.
—
[SOVEREIGN RECORD – INITIALIZATION]
Name: Cirel Nazrawre
Clan: Sensariel (Sensory System Lineage)
Biological System: Sensory
Primary Pathway: Sight (Class: Deep Variant – Unclassified)
Secondary Pathways: [Locked]
Divine Technique: Idle Rewrite
Type: Full-Spectrum Physics Transfiguration
Innate Talent: SS (Provisional)
Will Index: Unknown (Calibration Failed)
Status: Hybrid – Biological System + Divine Technique
Phenomenon Tag: DOUBLE BLOOM (FIRST OF ERA)
—
The device flickered at the "Will Index" line.
"Again," the Matriarch said.
The chip re-scan.
"Will Index:… cannot resolve," the system repeated. "Error: Scale Insufficient."
The room went very still.
A system that measured the greatest monsters on the planet…had no number for him.
Cirel watched the text, not with excitement, but with quiet interest.
So the world's tools are limited too, he thought.
Good to know.
The Matriarch closed the projection and looked directly into what everyone else called his eyes.
She did not flinch at the way they burned — pale irises laced with impossible geometric reflections, Lojun quietly analyzing the physics of her presence.
"You will not leave the capital for some time," she said. "Your existence will be…contained. For your protection, and for ours."
"You're afraid the other clans will move," Cirel replied.
There was a flicker in the room. Surprise. Discomfort.
He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't been disrespectful.
He had simply named the obvious.
"Some will want to study you," one elder said. "Some will want to claim you. And some…"
"…will want to erase the anomaly before it matures," the Matriarch finished.
Cirel tilted his head.
Erase.
An interesting word.
"Can they?" he asked.
His father's hand tightened, just a fraction, on his shoulder.
The Matriarch held his gaze.
"If we are careless," she said, "yes. Even the strongest children die if the right monster reaches them at the wrong time."
Cirel thought of the Titans in his mindscape.The laws that had tried to crush him.
He had not crushed them back. He had rewritten them.
"What if," he asked slowly, "the monster they send…is built on physics too?"
The Matriarch's lips twitched.
"Then," she said, voice low, "you will live long enough to answer that question yourself."
That night, when the chamber lights dimmed and his parents finally left to argue in whispers outside, Cirel lay awake.
He didn't look at the ceiling.
He looked through it.
Through stone and steel.Through air and atmosphere.Up, into the cold, distant sky, where Veirra's upper winds howled.
He saw pressure gradients. Temperature differentials. Microscopic particles drifting.
He wondered how long it would take, with enough focus, to tilt an entire cloud bank. To quiet a storm. To shift the path of winds no one knew had been altered.
Not as a weapon.
As practice.
He raised his hand again.
This time, he didn't touch gravity around his arm.
He brushed the edge of a current high above the capital — a thin, invisible river of air.
Just a minor transfiguration. A fractional adjustment to its flow.
Far away, unnoticed by anyone else, the wind changed direction.
Cirel let his hand fall and closed his eyes.
This world is built on rules, he thought, tired but awake, mind quietly turning.
And everyone believes those rules are the limit.
But I was born on Eve.
Limits are just things that haven't been rewritten yet.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside, a child who saw too much lay still and waited — not for power.
For the moment, the world would finally provoke him enough to use it.