The revived core hovered above the pedestal, floating like a reborn star. Its glow wasn't blinding now—just steady, warm, pulsing like a living heart. Arien felt each pulse inside his own chest, syncing with his heartbeat until the rhythm became one.
Lyris stepped back slowly, her hand drifting toward her dagger even though she knew a blade meant nothing in a place like this.
"Arien," she whispered, "do not move."
He didn't.
But the core did.
It drifted toward him—not fast, not aggressive.
Almost respectfully.
As if studying him in the same way Lyris had earlier, except with a much older intelligence.
"Arien…" Lyris warned again, swallowing thickly. "Step away from it."
"I… I can't."
Not physically.
Not mentally.
The golden pulse inside him felt like invisible threads pulling him forward. Not forcing—inviting.
The core stopped directly in front of him.
Only a hand's length away.
And then—
A sound like a bell ringing underwater echoed through the shrine.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
But heavy.
Cosmic.
The entire chamber vibrated.
Stones dusted with age trembled.
Ancient carvings lit up like fire coursing through veins.
The air thickened, bending, stretching—
And the core began to change.
White flame blossomed inside it, streaks of gold swirling through its crystalline structure. The shape elongated, then compressed, then spun, splitting into symbols Arien couldn't comprehend—symbols that reassembled into something entirely new.
Something meant only for him.
A crystalline shard hovered before his face, glowing softly.
Lyris blurted, "Arien, don't—!"
Too late.
The shard shot forward and embedded itself into his chest.
The world didn't explode.
It didn't burn.
He didn't scream.
Instead—
A rush of warmth spread through him, gentle but overwhelming.
Like dipping into water heated by sunlight.
Like mana turning liquid and flowing through his veins.
His vision blurred into streaks of white and gold.
Something ancient spoke inside him—not in a voice of words, but in impressions, memories older than humanity.
A battlefield.
A lone summoner standing before a tear in the sky.
A shining core held high like a torch in the darkness.
A whisper: "This world needs a door."
Then darkness swallowed the vision.
Arien gasped, clutching his chest as the warmth settled deep within him.
Something inside him had changed.
Irreversibly.
Lyris grabbed him by the shoulders. "Arien! Are you alive?"
"I… I think so."
"Then what happened?"
He opened his mouth—
but before he could speak, new golden text surged into his mind:
[PRIMAL LUCK ARCHITECT: INITIALIZED]
Path Rank: Undefined
Restrictions: Unknown
Compatibility: Absolute
Potential: Catastrophic
Arien's lips parted.
Catastrophic?
Before he could process the word, another panel appeared:
New Ability Unlocked:
FATE-HINGE SUMMON
(A summoner's call that does not require stored mana, rituals, or contracts.
Consumes possibility.)
Usage Risk: Extreme
World Reaction: Pending
Divine Response: Logged
Arien's breath caught.
Possibility? Divine Response? Logged?
He wasn't just bending mana anymore.
He was bending probability… and the world itself had noticed.
Lyris shook him again. "Arien, tell me what happened! You're turning pale."
He tried to answer—he really did—but another wave of warmth pulsed outward, knocking him to one knee.
The revived core—now inside him—flared briefly beneath his skin like molten gold.
Lyris recoiled. "What… what did it do to you?"
Arien forced himself up, gripping the pedestal for support.
"I think…" he said, breath shaky,
"…it chose me."
Lyris stared at him as if he'd announced the sun had died.
"No," she whispered. "That's impossible. The First Core doesn't choose. It can't choose. It's supposed to be dead—"
Arien didn't blame her confusion.
Because he didn't understand it either.
The shrine trembled.
Very faint. Very slow.
But unmistakably alive.
Dust trickled from the ceiling. Symbols beneath their feet lit up one by one, forming a spiral that pointed directly toward Arien. Lyris took several steps back, eyes widening with something more than fear—reverence.
"Arien…" she whispered, voice barely audible. "I've trained under Grandmasters. I've traveled through ruins most scholars only dream about. But I've never—ever—seen a relic react like this."
Arien steadied himself.
The floor's light intensified.
Then everything went still.
Perfectly still.
And the core inside his chest pulsed once more.
Harder.
Brighter.
Then a smaller panel appeared—one that wasn't gold, but white:
— SYSTEM INTERFERENCE DETECTED —
A higher authority is observing your path.
Arien froze.
Lyris tensed. "What's wrong now?"
He didn't answer.
Another line of text appeared:
Stop bending the script, Child of Luck.
You were not meant to awaken this early.
Arien's eyes widened.
Script?
Awaken early?
Who was talking to him?
A soft vibration spread through the shrine again—a warning hum, like a stone being struck far beneath the earth.
Then—
new text burned its way across the panel:
Entity '???' is attempting to restrict your Luck Path.
**Countering…
Countering…
Counter failed.**
Arien staggered.
Something was fighting him—fighting the path itself—as if trying to force fate back into its original shape.
The next message shook him:
Warning: A Primal Entity has noticed your existence.
**Result:
You are no longer hidden.**
The panel shattered.
The shrine went silent.
Arien's pulse hammered in his ears.
"I think…" he whispered,
"…I just made enemies with something I can't even name."
Lyris stared at him for a long, long time—too long—and then finally said:
"Arien… you're either blessed, cursed… or you're about to change the world in a way it doesn't want to be changed."
He didn't know which answer was worse.
They left the shrine slowly, cautiously.
Snow crunched under their boots as fresh wind replaced the heavy ancient air. The sun had risen higher, casting bright light over the mountain valley.
But the world felt… different.
Like something huge had shifted beneath the surface.
As they descended the path, Lyris walked ahead—her expression serious, conflicted, calculating.
"Arien," she finally said without turning back, "I'm reporting what happened."
Arien nodded.
"I know."
"But I'm not reporting everything," she added. "If they find out a relic like that bonded to you? They'll dissect you."
Arien forced a weak smile. "Thanks for that comforting visual."
Lyris didn't smile back.
"I'm not joking."
Arien believed her.
The Summoner's Guild was powerful—feared, respected, absolute.
If they heard a dead relic revived… and chose…
a nobody like him?
He wouldn't be treated as a miracle.
He would be treated as a problem.
Or worse—
as a weapon.
But Arien wasn't thinking about the Guild.
He was thinking about the panels.
The entity.
The warning.
The whisper that fate wasn't meant to unfold this way.
Something had noticed him.
Something big.
And it wasn't happy.
Lyris broke his thoughts. "We'll reach the guild outpost by sunset. When we do… keep your mouth shut."
"What do I say?"
"Nothing. I'll talk. You nod."
Arien nodded.
"Like that," she muttered. "Exactly like that."
Despite everything, he chuckled.
But the moment didn't last.
Because deep in his chest, the revived core pulsed again.
Once.
Twice.
Then formed a single, silent message in his mind—a whisper only he could hear.
"The first door has opened, Luckbound Summoner.
Three more remain."
Arien inhaled cold mountain air.
He had no idea what waited behind those doors.
Power?
Ruin?
Enemies?
Answers?
But one thing he knew for certain—
There was no turning back now.