"Is it?" The man's voice was gentle. "Tell me, walker of shadows—when Thomas died, did his grief feel simulated? When his wife screamed, did that pain feel artificial? When his child wept, were those tears merely rendered pixels?"
Max couldn't answer.
"This world," the ancient one continued, "exists on a different plane. Not fully in your realm of real, not fully in the realm of fake. It is something in between. Your technology opened a door, thinking to create a game. But what you actually did was pierce the veil between realities, and in doing so, you gave life to something that had been waiting to exist."
He spread his hands, and the void filled with images—millions of people, both players and NPCs, living their lives in Aetheria.
"These people are not simulations. They are souls given form through the bridge your world created. They think, feel, love, suffer, and die. They are real in every way that matters. Your technology simply provided the framework for them to manifest."
"That's impossible," Max whispered.
The ancient Soulbinder smiled sadly. "Your world taught you that only the physical is real. But consciousness, spirit, and soul—these are the truest realities. You enter this world by projecting your consciousness across the veil. The NPCs you meet are consciousnesses that exist only on this side. But existence is existence. Life is life."
Max felt dizzy. "If that's true, then Thomas didn't just... he actually died. His soul is gone."
"Yes. And his wife and child will grieve as truly as any in your world would."
The ancient one said quietly. "Now you understand. The true nature of the power you wield."
Max was still reeling from the visions, the information flooding his mind. "I... I don't know what to do with this."
The ancient Soulbinder's star-filled eyes studied him. Then something shifted in his expression.
"However, you are not using your power fully," the ancient one said flatly.
Max blinked. "What?"
"You are scared of it." The weathered face showed no judgment. "I can see it clearly. You touch the shadows, then recoil. You embrace corruption, then desperately try to cleanse it. You bind souls, then question whether you should."
"I'm being careful—"
"You are being afraid." The ancient Soulbinder drifted closer. "Tell me, young walker—your corruption. What is it now?"
"Twenty-two," Max said. "Out of a hundred."
"Twenty-two." The old man's voice carried something that might have been pity. "And you see that number rising and immediately seek ways to reduce it. Cleansing potions. Temple purifications. Avoiding abilities that increase corruption. Yes?"
Max felt exposed. "That's... that's just smart gameplay. Managing resources."
"It is fear." The ancient one gestured, and the void showed images of Max—avoiding the Soul Resurrection ability despite its power, hesitating before summoning Shadow Slave, and doing his best to avoid corruption gain.
"You treat corruption as a disease to be cured. But that is not what we are. That is not what you are."
"I don't understand."
The ancient Soulbinder's expression became almost gentle. "Our life—the life of a Soulbinder—revolves around corruption. It is not our weakness. It is our essence. And you, young walker, you carry an even deeper connection." He pointed at Max. "You are Voidborn. Do you understand what that means?"
"The race I chose—"
"The nature you possess," the ancient one corrected. "Voidborn are not simply another race option in your 'game.' They are beings whose existence lies in the void, in nothingness, in the space between realities. Your essence is corruption itself. You are darkness given form."
Max felt a chill. "I didn't know—"
"Of course you didn't. But your soul knew. That is why you chose it. That is why the shadows respond to you so readily." The ancient Soulbinder's voice grew more intense. "And yet you run from it."
"Isn't that better? Isn't corruption dangerous?"
"Corruption is power." The ancient one's words echoed through the void. "The more corruption you embrace, the more powerful you become. And with that corruption, you awaken the true potential of your Voidborn nature. Powers I never possessed, because I was merely a human touching the void. But you? You are the void."
He waved his hand, and visions appeared—possibilities, potential futures.
Max saw himself with high corruption, surrounded by an aura of darkness that made enemies flee in terror. Saw abilities he'd never glimpsed—shadows that could devour matter itself, void rifts that could tear through reality, and corruption so potent it could unmake existence.
"This is what you could become," the ancient one said. "This is what you deny yourself by clinging to fear."
"But at what cost?" Max asked. "You said corruption made you lose your humanity—"
"It did. Because I did not understand balance. Because I had no anchor." The ancient Soulbinder's expression was complex. "But perhaps you are different. Perhaps you can walk the path I could not."
He gestured again, and the void showed more visions. These were darker, more seductive.
"Corruption is the ability to rot everything," the ancient one explained, his voice like a serpent's whisper. "To take what you want. What you desire."
An image appeared: a player wearing mythic-tier armor, radiating power.
"You want items? Legendary equipment? Mythic weapons?" The ancient Soulbinder's voice was hypnotic. "Corrupt the one wielding it. Break their will. Make them give it to you. Or simply take it from their corpse after corruption devours them from within."
The image shifted. Now it showed NPCs—merchants, craftsmen, and nobles.
"You want gold? Resources? Status? Corrupt those who have it. Bend their minds. Make them want to give you everything they possess. They will thank you even as you drain them dry."
Another shift. This image made Max's breath catch.
Elena appeared in the vision. The widow was still grieving, but in this vision, her eyes were blank and worshipful, staring at Max with absolute devotion.