The silence that followed his resurrection was a heavy, suffocating blanket. Astraeus sat on the cold stone floor, his back pressed against a pillar, and stared at his own shadow. It was wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong. Every time he shifted, the pale moonlight filtering through the collapsed ceiling would catch the movement, and his shadow would writhe. Horns, sharp and cruel, would flicker into existence from the silhouette of his head. The shadow of his hand would elongate into wicked claws. And if he stared too long—which he was trying desperately not to do—he could see two points of malevolent, golden light burning within the darkness.
That, and the screen.
A translucent blue-white window hovered at the edge of his vision, patient and implacable. Text scrolled across it, offering tutorials and system information that his overwhelmed brain refused to process. He'd tried willing it away, and it had simply minimized to a small, glowing icon in the corner of his sight, a constant, undeniable reminder that his life was no longer his own.
His throat ached with a phantom pain. He reached up, fingers tracing the skin of his neck. Kha'Zul had crushed his windpipe. He'd felt the cartilage give way, heard the wet, tearing sound. But now… nothing. The skin was smooth, unbroken. The God System hadn't just brought him back; it had rebuilt him from the ground up.
"This is real," he whispered, the sound raw and hoarse in the dead air. "This is actually happening."
Of course it's real, you fool. The voice wasn't a sound; it was an intrusion, a thought planted directly into his mind with the chilling intimacy of a parasite. Kha'Zul. Did you think this was some fever dream? A final hallucination brought on by the sweet release of death?
"I was hoping," Astraeus admitted, the words barely a breath.
Hope is a luxury for those who haven't been strangled by a Demon King. You should have learned that when I killed you.
"You did kill me." Astraeus forced himself to look directly at his shadow, at the demon seething within it. "And yet, here I am. Which means the binding worked. Which means you're stuck with me."
The shadow surged, erupting from the floor. It wasn't a physical form, not quite, but a three-dimensional silhouette of pure darkness that towered over him, horns scraping against the stone ceiling, its burning eyes filled with a fury that could melt steel.
Stuck with you, the demon's mental voice dripped with a venom that felt like acid in Astraeus's mind. Yes. Bound to a pathetic whelp who died without even attempting to defend himself. Chained to a weakling who accepted a power he cannot possibly comprehend, let alone control. This is my reward for three thousand years of imprisonment? To be enslaved by an insect?
Astraeus's first instinct was to shrink back, to apologize, to do anything to placate the ancient being of rage and fire. But something else, something new and hard, had taken root in the space where his fear used to be. He'd already died once today. What more could he lose?
"I didn't ask for this either," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. He pushed himself to his feet, his legs shaking but holding. "I didn't ask to die. I didn't ask to be resurrected. And I sure as hell didn't ask to have a genocidal maniac bound to my soul." He met the burning eyes in the shadow. "But here we are. Both of us trapped in a situation neither of us wanted. So we can either spend the rest of our existence making each other miserable, or we can figure out how to make this work."
The shadow loomed closer, and Astraeus could feel the heat radiating from it, could smell sulfur and ash and something ancient and terrible.
Make this work? Kha'Zul's laugh was the sound of grinding stone. You think there's a version of this where we become friends? Where I accept these chains and serve you faithfully?
"No," Astraeus said honestly. "I think there's a version where we both survive. Where we both get what we want, eventually. But that requires not trying to kill each other in the meantime."
The shadow held its position for a long, tense moment. Astraeus felt Kha'Zul's consciousness pressing against his own, a vast and terrible pressure testing the boundaries of the binding, searching for any weakness. It felt like being examined by a predator deciding if he was worth the effort to eat.
Then, abruptly, the shadow collapsed, flowing back into the simple, two-dimensional shape at his feet.
You have more spine than I gave you credit for, Kha'Zul conceded, and the faintest hint of something that might have been respect colored his mental voice. Not much more. But some.
Astraeus let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His hands were trembling, and he clenched them into fists.
We have a temporary cessation of hostilities. Do not mistake it for trust.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Good. Now stop ignoring the system interface. It's trying to explain how to keep us both alive, and I'd rather not be dragged back to the void because you're too stupid to read instructions.
Astraeus focused on the icon in his vision. The blue-white screen expanded, text reorganizing itself into something his brain could parse.
[WELCOME, REALITY ANCHOR]
[PRIMARY FUNCTION: STABILIZE DIMENSIONAL BOUNDARIES]
[SECONDARY FUNCTION: ELIMINATE EXISTENTIAL THREATS]
[CURRENT LEVEL: 1]
Below the stark, clinical text, a series of categories appeared: [STATUS], [SKILLS], [QUESTS], [INVENTORY], [COMPANIONS]. He focused on [STATUS].
[STATUS]
Name: Astraeus Ren
Level: 1
Class: Reality Anchor (Unique)
Health: 100/100
Ethereal Essence: 50/50Attributes:
Strength: 8
Agility: 10
Constitution: 9
Intelligence: 14
Wisdom: 11
Charisma: 7
Luck: 3
"Are these… good?"
Pathetic, Kha'Zul supplied instantly. A trained city guardsman would have a Strength of fifteen. A proper combat mage would have an Intelligence over twenty. You're barely above the baseline for a civilian who has never held a sword or cast a spell.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
I'm not here to coddle you. I'm here because I have no choice. The sooner you accept how utterly weak you are, the sooner you can begin to fix it.
Astraeus ignored the insult and focused on [SKILLS]. The list was depressingly short.
[SKILLS]
Active:
•Basic Ethereal Manipulation (Lv. 1)
•Shadow Bind (Lv. 1) [COMPANION]
Passive:
•Demon Resistance (Lv. 1)
•Ethereal Sensitivity (Lv. 1)
"I have two active skills," Astraeus said flatly.
Two more than you had when you died, Kha'Zul pointed out. Focus on what you can do. What does the first one do?
Astraeus focused on the skill, and a description bloomed in his mind.
[BASIC ETHEREAL MANIPULATION (LV. 1)]
Allows the user to sense and manipulate Ethereal Essence, the fundamental energy of reality. At this level, manipulation is crude and limited to small-scale effects.
"It's vague. What counts as 'small-scale'?"
Try it and find out.
"Try it? I don't even know how—"
Close your eyes. Stop thinking so loudly. And feel.
Gritting his teeth, Astraeus closed his eyes. He tried to quiet his racing thoughts, to focus on the silence of the ruins. At first, there was nothing. Then, gradually, he began to sense it. A subtle presence beneath the silence, flowing through everything like an invisible current. It felt cool and warm at the same time, a gentle, humming energy that was everywhere and nowhere.
"I feel it," he whispered.
That's Ethereal Essence. The raw material of existence. Gods use it to create worlds. Mages use it to cast spells. You're going to use it to not die. Now, reach out. Not with your hand—with your will. Imagine it gathering.
Astraeus extended his awareness, trying to grasp the flowing essence. It was like trying to catch water in a fist. But he persisted, focusing his intent, imagining the energy coalescing in front of him.
Something shifted.
He opened his eyes and gasped. Floating above his outstretched palm was a small, pulsing sphere of silver-blue light, no larger than a marble. It cast dancing shadows across the chamber walls, a clean, cool light that was the antithesis of Kha'Zul's oppressive darkness.
[SKILL USED: BASIC ETHEREAL MANIPULATION (-5 ESSENCE)]
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 45/50]
"I did it," he breathed, a flicker of wonder cutting through the fear.
Don't celebrate yet. You made a light. A child with a candle could do the same.
"But I've never been able to do this before. At the academy, casting spells always felt… forced. This feels natural."
That's because you're no longer just a mage trying to impose your will on reality. You're a Reality Anchor. The essence responds to you differently now. It's a gift. And a curse.
The sphere of light flickered and died as his concentration wavered.
"What do you mean, a curse?"
You're a beacon now. Every being that can sense Ethereal Essence will be drawn to you. Some will want to study you. Some will want to use you. Most will want to kill you before you become a threat. Your life just became exponentially more complicated.
As if on cue, the chamber shook violently. Dust rained from the ceiling, and a deep, groaning crack echoed from somewhere in the distance.
"What was that?" Astraeus scrambled to his feet.
The seal that held me wasn't just a prison. It was a ward. Now that it's broken, this place is going to attract every scavenger, treasure hunter, and monster within a hundred miles. We need to move. Now.
Another tremor, stronger this time. From somewhere above, a guttural howl echoed through the ruins—a sound that was definitely not human.
"I don't know the way out! The passage collapsed!"
I've been imprisoned here for three thousand years. Do you think I don't know every crack and crevice of this cursed place? Follow my directions, and I'll get you out. Assuming you can manage not to die again in the next five minutes.
"Okay," Astraeus said, forcing the panic down. "Okay. Which way?"
North corridor. Third pillar from the entrance. There's a hidden passage behind it. Run.
Astraeus ran. Behind him, he heard the sickening scrape of claws on stone as something large and hungry entered the chamber.
Don't look back. Just run.