As Reves stared at the notification hovering before him, his breath caught in his throat. Words failed him when the hooded figure emerged once more from the shadows, their movements fluid and purposeful, as if the darkness itself obeyed their will.
"Well done, young one," the figure intoned, their voice rich and resonant, carrying a weight of authority that sent a shiver through Reves.
"You have shown resilience and a keen understanding of your path. Such traits are rare, and rarer still is the courage to embrace them fully. As my chosen Walker, let my gift guide you to the wish your heart desires most."
Reves opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a single word, a new notification appeared, glowing with an ethereal brilliance that commanded his attention.
[Would you like to become a Reality Walker under the Spirit with Good Luck?]
The question hung in the air, pulsing with silent energy. Reves's mind raced, but his decision was already made. How could he refuse? With a deep breath, he selected Yes.
The moment he accepted, the world around him shifted violently. The air seemed to ripple like water disturbed by a pebble, and the darkness thickened, swirling into vibrant hues of gold and emerald. His surroundings bled into a cacophony of colors and sensations before fading into sharp clarity.
Suddenly, he was back in his room. The faint hum of the overhead light greeted him, grounding him in the familiar reality he had momentarily left behind. The transition was jarring, and it took a moment for him to realize what had happened. Then, another notification blinked into existence before his eyes.
[You have been forced out of the Fractured Reality.]
Reves slumped into his chair, staring at the glowing panel now floating in front of him. The words etched onto the screen were surreal, their presence solidifying the magnitude of what had just occurred.
[User Profile]
Name: Reves Tereque
Occupation: Reality Walker
Reality Master: The Spirit with Good Luck
Rank: Supporter
Abilities :
[Lucky Leap Accumulation] (Memory lower-tier)
By performing good deeds, one accumulates "Lucky Leaps," bursts of fortune capable of defying the natural laws of physics. These can manifest as miraculous escapes from traps or the ability to narrowly avoid imminent danger
Reves remained silent, a faint flush of embarrassment creeping over him as he reflected on the emotional outburst he'd had moments ago. The illusion of his father had stirred something deep within him, exposing a vulnerability he wasn't ready to face.
...
'Phew... Finally, another believer'
Ivaim thought, exhaling a breath of relief as he glanced at his status. His eyes scanned the glowing panel before him, the faint numbers and titles reflecting a much-needed sense of progress.
Though his expression remained composed, a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face—each new follower brought him one step closer to his ultimate goal.
[Title] : Spirit with Good Luck]
[Fractured Reality] :Temple with Good Luck
[Rank] : Memory (Middle-tier)
[Abilities] :
[Coin of Fortune] (Memory lower-Tier)
[Lucky Leap] (Memory lower-Tier)
Believer Count: 2
[Authority Held]
Fortune: Memory-level (lower-tier)
Seeing his believer count hop by a number made him quite relieved. Though it was pathetic to think about, he was not bothered by its low number and was instead more relieved at another system notification.
[Believer count has increased]
[Body is stabilizing...]
'Finally...'
He let out a shaky breath, relief spreading through him like the first drop of rain after a long drought.
He was no longer teetering on the edge of complete ruin, no longer scrambling just to stay alive.
But this wasn't the end. He knew that much. His thoughts drifted to the figures that haunted him—the Black Veil Master with their unknown intentions, the Minotaur of Chivalry whose presence alone felt like a crushing weight, and the Lonely Cat's Fractured Reality, a trap that had nearly claimed him.
Each memory was like a shadow clinging to his back, a constant reminder of how fragile his hold on survival was.
It felt like danger followed him everywhere he went, lurking just out of sight, waiting to strike.
"Maybe this is what it means to be a weak Reality Master," he muttered softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
There was no one around to hear him, but saying it out loud made the thought feel heavier, more real.
His hands tightened into fists, his nails pressing into his palms. He hated the word "weak." It made him feel small, powerless, like the world could crush him at any moment. But even as the bitterness grew, so did a spark of determination.
If being weak meant always being hunted, always being on the verge of defeat, then he would find a way to change it. He had survived this long. He could survive longer. He had to.
After finally gathering his courage, he forced himself to think strategically, the faint ember of determination in his chest starting to burn brighter. He needed a plan—not just to survive, but to fight back against those who relentlessly hunted him.
Sitting cross-legged on the cold, hard floor, he stared at his open palms as if they could conjure the answers he sought.
"Right now, all I'm good at is running and hoping luck will pull me through," he murmured to himself. "Fighting them head-on? That's like trying to shatter a mountain with a twig."
His thoughts flickered to his last encounter with the Minotaur of Chivalry. Her attacks had been unrelenting, every swing of her weapon calculated and precise. He had survived by sheer luck, barely slipping through her grasp with a combination of frantic thinking and his ability's fickle blessings.
The memory sent a chill down his spine.
He frowned, his fingers brushing against the worn leather of the revolver holstered at his side. It was the only weapon he had left, and though it gave him a sense of security, the reality of its uselessness without ammunition was a bitter pill to swallow.
"I have this revolver," he muttered, running his fingers along the cold, etched grooves of the barrel. The weight of it felt both reassuring and useless in his hands. "But it's worthless without bullets. What good is a weapon if it can't fire?"
He stared at the gun in silence, his mind wandering through fragmented memories, piecing together bits of information and half-formed plans. Then, an idea began to take shape.
He recalled something Williams had said in passing: When a Walker dies, their essence crystallizes into a magical artifact.
The thought lingered, sparking his curiosity.
'Williams has that button... the one that lets him see glimpses of the future,' Ivaim mused. 'If Walkers turn into artifacts, I wonder—what happens when Reality Ruiners die?'