The Evaluator backed away slightly, his gaze darting between me and the glowing results on the Sanctum Lens. His hands twitched at his sides, betraying his attempt to maintain composure. Beside him, his assistant stammered, his face pale as if he'd seen a ghost.
"What's impossible?" I asked, breaking the heavy silence. My voice sounded steadier than I felt, though my heart was pounding like a war drum in my chest.
The Evaluator swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. His expression was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, awe, and something dangerously close to fear. "Your Aether… It's resonating with all twelve Primordial Charisms. That has never happened before."
"Wait, what does that mean?" I pressed, my brow furrowing as unease settled over me like a storm cloud. My pulse roared in my ears, each beat amplifying my impatience.
The assistant finally found his voice. "It means you're… something entirely unprecedented. Every Eternal in history is attuned to one Charism. Just one. But you—" He gestured toward the results on the Lens, the glowing runes shifting in a hypnotic dance of colors. "You're resonating with all of them."
"All twelve." the Evaluator repeated, almost to himself. His hand moved to a crystal tablet hanging at his side, his fingers tapping rapidly as he began logging what he saw. "This defies the laws of divine design. You shouldn't even exist."
"Well, I do." I said, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. A cold defiance laced my tone. "So, what does that make me? Some kind of god? A mistake?"
The assistant shot me a wary look, his eyes darting between me and the Evaluator as if seeking guidance. "It makes you..dangerous."
His words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. My jaw tightened, and I straightened. "Dangerous? To who? The Primordials? Or you guys?"
The Evaluator inhaled deeply, straightening his shoulders in a visible attempt to regain authority. "We don't have those answers yet. But this changes everything. The Ascendant Order will want to monitor you closely. There are rules in place for anomalies—"
"Rules?" I interrupted, my voice rising with the heat of my growing frustration. "Let me guess. 'Rules' like sticking me in a fucking cage and poking me with needles until you figure out how I tick?"
His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping for a fraction of a second. "No one said anything about cages. But the Primordials… they don't tolerate disruptions to their balance. If they learn of your existence—"
"They'll kill me." I finished for him. My voice was flat, emotionless, but inside, my stomach twisted with unease.
The assistant's lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. His silence was answer enough.
The Evaluator stepped forward, his voice lowering as though the walls might overhear him. "Listen carefully, Tyros. This situation is unprecedented, and we don't fully understand what we're dealing with. For now, you need to keep this quiet. Don't tell anyone about your results—not even other Eternals."
"Keep it quiet?" I scoffed, the bitterness in my voice undeniable. My arms uncrossed as I gestured toward the Sanctum Lens, its glow still pulsing faintly. "You've got a giant ass glowing crystal announcing it to the whole room right now. How am I supposed to keep this quiet?"
The assistant flinched before rushing to a nearby console. His hands trembled as he deactivated the Lens. The swirling lights disappeared, plunging the chamber into an unsettling dimness.
"No one outside this room knows." the Evaluator assured me. "And we intend to keep it that way. For your own safety."
I studied his face. He seemed sincere, but that didn't mean I trusted him. "And what happens now? Do I get sent off on some top-secret mission? Or do you just conveniently 'lose track' of me in the chaos of the Rends?"
"You'll undergo the same training and evaluation as any other Eternal." he said firmly. "But we'll assign a Warden to oversee your development. Consider it… insurance."
"Insurance for who? Me or you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and retrieved a metallic badge. "Your Sigil of Ascension." he said, holding it out. "You'll need it to enter the Rends."
For a moment, I just stared at it. The Sigil was proof of an Eternal's alignment—a physical mark of their Charism. Only now, it was a mask for mine.
I snatched it from his hand and clipped it to my shirt. "Thanks." I muttered, the word heavy with sarcasm. Without waiting for a reply, I turned on my heel and strode toward the exit.
As I stepped out of the massive black fortress, the midday sun felt harsh and disorienting after the dim chamber. My thoughts churned, replaying every word the Evaluator had said.
All twelve Charisms.
I clenched my fists, my mind racing. I didn't ask for this. I didn't even know what "this" really was. But if the Primordials had created this world as their playground, and I was their unwitting wildcard, then I had no intention of playing by their rules.
A voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"You're new here, aren't you?"
I turned to see the silver-haired young woman from before—the one with the Darkness Charism. She stood a few feet away, her red eyes sharp and curious.
"What gave it away?" I asked, forcing a smirk.
She tilted her head slightly. "You walked out of there like you've seen a ghost. Most people come out grinning like idiots after finding out their Charism."
"Guess I'm not most people."
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Clearly. I'm Lyria, by the way."
"Tyros." I said, shaking her offered hand.
"Let me guess…" She studied me for a moment. "You're one of those mysterious types who doesn't like talking about themselves."
"Something like that."
"Fair enough." Lyria's gaze lingered on the Ascendant Order building behind me. "Whatever they told you in there, just remember, they're not the only ones watching. The Primordials have their eyes everywhere, and they don't play fair."
Before I could respond, she turned and walked away, her shadow trailing behind her, stretching unnaturally long across the cobblestones. It rippled and twisted as though it had a mind of its own, an unsettling reminder of the weight this world carried.
I watched her leave, my mind spinning with questions I didn't yet have the answers to. With a sigh, I turned and dropped onto a nearby bench, letting my elbows rest on my knees. The air was heavy with the scent of rain, the clouds above threatening to break at any moment.
"So, apparently, I'm the 'Avatar' of this world.." I muttered, shaking my head. "Definitely didn't see that shit coming."
It was almost laughable. Out of all the possibilities, I thought I'd be assigned something straightforward—something manageable. A simple Charism like Life or Peace, maybe. Something noble, yet boring.
A smirk curved my lips, and I couldn't help the chuckle that followed. "But I'm not gonna lie—being the only one with all twelve Primordial Charisms is kinda badass."
The absurdity of the situation hit me, but so did the gravity of it. This wasn't just power; it was an invitation for chaos, the kind that could make or break a world.
Lyria's voice echoed in my mind, sharp and laced with warning: The Primordials have their eyes everywhere.
Her words were meant to scare me, to keep me cautious. But as I thought it over, my smirk widened. Without a God's Mark to bind me to their attention, I was practically invisible. Their omniscience had limits—ones I intended to exploit.
Still, caution was the name of the game. If anyone got even a hint of what I truly was, it would be over. The Evaluator and his assistant? They were already loose threads. Their knowledge of the Sanctum Lens results made them a liability I couldn't afford.
I leaned back against the bench, exhaling slowly. If only I had a way to deal with them permanently… something clean, something precise.
A soft ping echoed in my mind.
[Would you like to use Phantom Rewrite LV.1 (Darkness)?]
I sat up straight, staring at the faint blue prompt that materialized in my vision. My heart quickened.
[Phantom Rewrite]
Allows you to alter or erase specific memories, events, or perceptions of individuals within a radius of influence.
[Duration] Permanent unless undone by the user or an external force of equal or higher power.
[Cost] 5,000 Aether
[Targets] Max of 2 for LV.1
A grin spread across my face. "What a coincidence. You don't know how happy I am to see you, System." I let out a low chuckle. "And yes, I would like to use it."
The world around me blurred, my vision sharpening unnaturally as I focused on the distant forms of the Evaluator and his assistant. Though they were inside the fortress, I could see them as if no walls separated us, their figures outlined in shimmering gray light.
The next prompt appeared, its message as clear as the intentions in my mind.
[Specify the Rewrite]
1. Erase memory of Sanctum Lens results.
2. Alter perception of Tyros as a non-anomaly.
3. Other (Specify).
I didn't hesitate. "Option 1 and 2." I whispered, my voice steady. "Erase the memory of my results and make them believe I'm just another Eternal with a basic Charism."
The response was immediate. A ripple of energy surged through me, faintly cool and thrilling. The gray outlines of the two figures dimmed as reality itself shifted, bending to my will. The fortress walls seemed to shiver before settling into stillness.
-5,000 Aether Points
The hum in my ears faded, replaced by an eerie silence. I leaned back, exhaling deeply as the pressure of the moment passed. My Aether reserves felt lighter, but there was still plenty left. More than enough.
It was done.
The weight of my actions settled in as I looked out at the horizon. The clouds hung low, their oppressive gloom matching the swirling thoughts in my mind. Resonating with all twelve Charisms wasn't just a responsibility—it was a target painted on my back, one that the Primordials and their countless lackeys wouldn't hesitate to aim for.
But not today. Not while I had control. For now, I was a ghost in their perfect system. An anomaly invisible to their watchful eyes.
Lyria's voice rang again in my mind, her words dripping with both caution and inevitability: The Primordials don't play fair.
I let my smirk return, sharp and deliberate, as I muttered to myself. "Good. Neither do I."