Aedhira's consciousness snapped back with a jolt, like a tethered cord that had been pulled taut. The sensation of being submerged in the cold void of his own mind faded, and in its place, a murky darkness settled behind his eyes. He blinked—though that was more out of habit than necessity. The blackness remained.
[Where am I?] he thought, but no answer came. It wasn't as though he was completely blind; he could sense the space around him, almost feel the way the shadows clung to the edges of his awareness. It was an unsettling sensation, like standing in a room where the walls kept shifting when you weren't looking.
Still, there was something oddly familiar about it, a sense of deja vu that crept along the edges of his thoughts. A heavy, nostalgic weight settled into his limbs, making him feel like he hadn't inhabited his own body in ages. Had he been gone that long?
Or had he simply lost track of what 'being' even felt like?
[I'm back,] he muttered aloud, his voice a strange comfort in the stillness.
A flicker of light danced through the darkness of his sight—then another, like an old machine booting up. Words flashed before him in jagged, glowing letters, each one burning into his mind with sharp clarity:
{USER INTERFACE UPDATED}
{INTEGRATION COMPLETE}
{WELCOME BACK, AEDHIRA VER NOVUS ISRAEJIN}
Aedhira's lips twitched into a frown. That last line gnawed at him, something about it twisting uncomfortably in his chest. When he'd first awakened in this strange existence, the only name he remembered was Aedhira Israejin. Now there were two extra tags—Ver and Novus. He mouthed the words silently, as if saying them might make them make sense.
[Ver? Novus?] he muttered to himself, the confusion tightening his features. [What the hell is this supposed to mean?]
It was a shame no one was around to witness his bewildered expression. If Argos had been here, he probably would've cracked some dry joke at Aedhira's expense, and Aedhira would've had to pretend he wasn't half as annoyed as he really was.
But here, in the solitude of his mind, if it was still his mind, his confusion was his own.
A sudden thumping, rhythmic and deep, echoed in the cavity of his chest.
Badump, badump.
It took him a moment to recognize it for what it was—his heartbeat. An old, almost forgotten sensation, yet now, it felt different. It was less like the stuttered beat of a machine and more like... like he'd grown used to it, somehow.
Or maybe it had grown used to him.
Ether coursed through him with each pulse of the aethercor, suffusing his limbs with a faint, thrumming warmth. He could feel it radiating outward, strengthening his artificial muscles, his woven sinews, in the most subtle of ways. It was a far cry from the clumsy ether surges he'd first experienced.
Badump, badump.
With each beat, his senses sharpened, his thoughts quickening, clarity settling like a mist lifting from a valley.
He couldn't help but marvel at the ingenious design—how the aethercor managed to keep the volatile substance from tearing him apart. Astiron's work, of course, though Aedhira suspected he hadn't been the only one behind it. He could almost picture the meticulous blueprints, the diagrams that would show how the ether was siphoned off into the layers of his synthetic body, saturating it like a dry sponge absorbing water.
The method was crude in its inefficiency but brilliant in its simplicity. It was like the enhancements that organic species sought through rare materials and rituals, except he got his improvements with every heartbeat. Maybe that was the inspiration behind it. Astiron certainly had a taste for poetic irony.
Aedhira's mind buzzed with the implications of it all, connecting dots in rapid succession. He'd known, abstractly, that ether was a volatile power source, more energy-dense than the more mundane mana used across various worlds. But now, it was like someone had pulled back the curtain, revealing just how absurdly dangerous it was to channel ether at all. The Archives had called it 'volatile'—but that word barely scratched the surface.
He ran a mental comparison, one that almost made him smirk. If mana was like wood burning in a hearth, then ether was akin to handling sticks of dynamite with a lighter. The more you had, the exponentially hotter the blaze—if you didn't blow yourself up first.
Yet something nagged at him, a prickling discomfort that he couldn't quite shake off. He wasn't supposed to think this fast. These intricate calculations, this understanding of energy systems, it was... beyond what he'd expected of himself. Was this part of the system update? Did the integration of Nornesh's essence come with a bonus IQ boost?
[Hold on,] he muttered under his breath, as if trying to call a time-out on his own thoughts. [I don't remember being this... sharp.]
He didn't, because letting that train of thought spiral felt like setting himself up for a lose-lose situation. If no boost had occurred, he was basically admitting to having been a fool before this. If there had been some upgrade to his intelligence, then he was calling his former self an idiot. Not really a great place to start. So, he decided to let it go.
Still, the difference was undeniable, wasn't it? It wasn't just about being sharper—it was about how light he felt. There was this weight, something constantly pressing on him before, like he was buried under an avalanche of expectations and responsibilities that kept piling up. Now... that pressure had eased. Things that had once loomed over him like an oppressive storm cloud—Lokir's imminent demise, the fate of the refugees, the damn existential crisis that was Veria herself—those worries were still there, but they weren't smothering him anymore. They were manageable.
He rubbed his temples, a small, ironic smile tugging at his lips. No, that wasn't right, was it? He wasn't about to start dodging the hard stuff. This wasn't some magical epiphany where he could just poof and make everything go away. That would've been a cop-out. Instead, he felt more capable of facing it all head-on.
He paused for a beat, mulling over the odd sense of freedom, this strange clarity. [Weird,] he thought. Before the last dozen hours or so—before Astiron, Nornesh, and all the chaotic layers of knowledge dumped into his skull—he'd been running on autopilot, almost like he was just reacting to the next disaster that came his way.
Save the refugees? Sure.
Lead the Aes? Of course.
Battle unknown cosmic forces? Why not.
Reckless. That was the word for it, right? Reckless, maybe even naïve.
The weight of that hit him, harder than he expected. He'd made so many moves without thinking. He'd thrown himself into every fight, every rescue, every plan, with zero regard for the fallout. He wasn't stupid, not by a long shot. But he was... impulsive. Too much heart, not enough thought. And honestly? It was a miracle they'd made it this far. He didn't have the right—no, the qualifications—to lead all those people. Bearof, Argos, and the others—they had trusted him, and he had barely held it together.
That reckless kid was still in him, Aedhira realized. But something had shifted during the Ignition process. It wasn't just the updates to his system or the painful burns of the rune searing itself within his core. It was like those flashes of pain had forced him to stop. Really stop. And think. To breathe. To look at himself, finally, and see the flaws, the gaps in his planning. He'd been running headfirst into chaos, convinced that sheer willpower was enough.
[Argos was right.] The thought crossed his mind quietly, like admitting it too loudly would summon the Aide to rub it in his face. There was a time when he would've never entertained the idea. Never admit fault, never show the cracks. But... things were different now.
He was different now.
He shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. [Not that I'd ever tell him that.]
Still, the realization gnawed at him. He was reckless. He had made mistakes. But even knowing that, even with all the reflection, the clarity, the sharpness of mind—would he do it differently if given the chance?
No.
Not at all.
He would still charge into the heart of the storm for those refugees. He would still take that plunge, unprepared and barely holding it together, if it meant he could save even one of them. That was just who he was. That was his conviction.
The difference now, though? He'd be smarter about it. More deliberate. He wouldn't just rush in blindly. He'd think, plan, act with precision. He'd learned that much from this whole ordeal. But the core of him—his drive to protect, to do what had to be done—that wasn't changing anytime soon.
It was like his mind had gone through a clean-up, an update not just in the technical sense, but in a way that made everything clearer. The guilt wasn't as heavy. The fear of failure wasn't suffocating him. It was still there, but more like a background hum, a reminder to stay on his toes, rather than the overwhelming dread that used to cling to him like a shadow.
His heart—or rather, his aethercor—pulsed in steady rhythm. The faint trail of ether leaking from it no longer felt erratic. It was there, fueling him with each beat, but not in an overpowering way. More... controlled. Like he had a handle on it now.
Breathe in. Breathe out. He could almost feel the ether syncing with his breath, flowing through his veins, into his limbs, suffusing him with power. Not perfect—he could still sense the inefficiency, the waste—but he knew how to make it work for him now.
[Better? Or not?] he mused, feeling that faint grin creep back. Definitely better.
The upgrades, the shift in his perspective, the newfound clarity—it wasn't just a change in him, but in how he saw everything.
There was something that nagged him again though. What was going on with his name?
More accurately, the newer ones— Ver? Novus?
It was subtle, but the weight of those names lingered, echoing in his thoughts. Israejin, he'd known. That had always been there. But the others... They were new. Freshly stitched onto his identity like an afterthought.
[What the hell is Ver?]
It wasn't something he could shake off, either. He wasn't just Aedhira anymore. That much was clear. There was more to him now, more than he had originally understood. Was this some artifact of Astiron's interference? Nornesh's gamble?
His mind spiraled, that eerie sharpness cutting through his thoughts again.
[Alright. Slow down,] he told himself, pressing his palms to his eyes. [One thing at a time.]