The hunger was overwhelming.
Even thinking was a monumental task; his brain felt sluggish, as though the very act of forming a thought drained what little remained of his energy.
The voice of his inner monologue had slowed to a crawl, fading into a disjointed murmur.
The air was thick with dust, each breath was a struggle as Eryndor sat hunched in the cramped pocket of space.
Broken beams and slabs of concrete loomed around him, close enough to graze his shoulders, almost enough to seal him in like a tomb.
He had enough space to stretch his legs, but the weight of the massive debris pressing against the tiny chamber made escape impossible.
He couldn't push any part of the fallen structure when he had just been trapped, not to mention now, a mere husk of his past self.
His body was wasting away—his ribs stood out like a cage beneath his bruised, dust-caked skin, and his arms, once strong, trembled weakly at his sides, useless against the immovable rubble.
His lips were cracked and caked with dried blood, his tongue thick and dry as sand, while his hollow cheeks told of days without food or water.
He had long lost track of time, trapped beneath the ruins of the collapsed building. Each moment felt like it might be his last, yet somehow, he clung to life.
Time and again, he found himself proven wrong—waking up after every bout of unconsciousness, defying the death he was sure would claim him.
He had never considered suicide, holding onto the fragile hope of rescue. But even that hope was being eroded by the relentless passage of time.
Was it sheer willpower keeping him alive, enabling him to endure the impossible without food or water for so long? Somehow, against all odds, his body refused to give in.
It endured—unchanged, unyielding—sustaining him in ways that defied explanation.
At some point, a single thought began to push its way into his weary, despairing mind.
How have I held on for so long?
It was a small doubt, but it was enough to crack the foundation of his identity. Days blurred together as that doubt deepened.
The length of time he lost consciousness remained the same, and yet he continued to wake, even when he thought death was certain.
By even the most conservative estimate, it had been well over two months. And then, for the first time, a thought surfaced—unbidden but undeniable.
Am I even human?
It wasn't a fleeting whim or a joke, the kind teenagers entertain when their imaginations run wild.
No, this was a genuine question, born from his own physical condition and the impossible endurance he was exhibiting.
The more he observed himself, the more the question gnawed at him.
When the crack in the foundation of his identity enlarged, going as far as doubting his own existence, a crown-shaped trinket buried deep within his consciousness cracked, releasing a wisp of pitch-black smoke.
The moment it touched his consciousness, Eryndor felt himself stretch—everywhere, all at once. All his senses suddenly went haywire.
A flurry of voices exploded in his mind, growing louder with each passing second. They seemed like memories. A lot of them. All at once.
"Arghhh!"
His scream tore from his throat, guttural and hoarse, a result of months without water or speech.
His body crumpled to the floor, his hands clutching his head with whatever fragile strength remained.
Around him, small stones from the fallen structure began to levitate, forming a protective barrier that spun rapidly.
The force was enough to injure the hands of anyone who dared to intrude.
As time stretched on, Eryndor began to lose all sense of his physical form, the pain in his mind swallowing what little awareness remained of his body.
Am I losing consciousness again?
He had gotten used to this feeling over the course of his lonely days spent beneath the rubble.
The wisp of black smoke withdrew from Eryndor's consciousness, as if it had suddenly realized the consequences it had unleashed.
It retreated toward the crown-shaped trinket hovering in the distance, now trembling violently as if it were fighting to contain the force it had sealed away for so long.
The moment the smoke touched the crown, it was as if the balance had shifted.
The trinket shattered, breaking into countless golden fragments that swirled around, merging with the powers it had been sealing.
A few moments later, a dazzling Golden Palace deep within Eryndor's mind stood in place of the crown.
When he opened his eyes, what greeted Eryndor wasn't the usual wreckage of the building, but a sprawling, opulent palace of gold.
His surroundings were unlike anything he'd seen before. He glanced around, but the vast expanse beyond the palace was nothing but endless darkness.
He reasoned, it was better to venture into the Golden Palace rather than the darkness.
With little effort, Eryndor pushed open the massive gates and stepped into the grand hall.
The space stretched out before him, vast and awe-inspiring, with eight rooms branching off from the central area.
At the heart of the hall stood three altars, each one bearing a black orb, silently rotating in the air above it. As he drew closer, a faint glimmer caught his eye.
The altar was etched with a small line of text, intricately carved into its surface.
[Passive Regeneration - Stable]
[Telekinesis - Active]
[Cognitive Scrying - Active]
Are these the abilities I have? No wonder I didn't die, Passive Regeneration might have played a hand in it.
Eryndor understood the meanings of the words, but the terms 'Stable' and 'Active' eluded him.
He pondered briefly: Are those levels? Ranks for abilities? Which one was better—Stable or Active?
He shook his head, trying to clear the confusion. There was no point in dwelling on things he couldn't understand right now.
Turning his attention back to the massive doors, he stepped forward and attempted to push them open.
Despite his full strength, none of the doors budged—except for one.
It trembled slightly as he pressed against it.
This one... this is the one I can open. Probably.
He stepped back, gathering himself, and charged toward the door. He slammed his shoulder into it with all his might.
The door shook violently but refused to give way. Panting, he steadied himself, took a deep breath, and tried again.
The result was the same, no matter how much force he applied. The door remained unmoved.
It feels like I am missing something.
Eryndor narrowed his eyes, recalling the flood of information that had crashed into his mind just before he arrived in this place.
Most of it was irrelevant, but there were fragments that lingered, intriguing pieces that seemed to offer him some understanding.
Some of those pieces hinted at a way to open the door before him.
This world, as it appeared, was entirely normal. But 200 years ago, Qi, Mana, Spiritual Energy, and Internal Energy had surged in various parts of the Earth.
Ordinary people couldn't feel this subtle shift, but those who had the right techniques could harness these energies, gaining powers beyond the norm.
Where did these techniques come from? The Eight Outer Domains that had invaded Earth.
There was something known as the Cosmic Limit, the threshold that determined the level of lifeform allowed by the universe.
Two centuries ago, when the Cosmic Limit had risen from 0 to 1, the surge of energies had flooded into Earth, coinciding with the invasion of the Eight Outer Domains.
The Cosmic Limit had, in a way, protected humanity on Earth, as it prevented the truly dangerous beings of Outer Domains from entering and wiping out humanity or enslaving them.
Only lifeforms at level 1 or below were allowed, ones which could be dealt with by the current technology of Earth.
In response to these threats, the Human Federation was formed—a united force of all nations, dedicated to combating the Outer Domains and cultivating powerful native beings to defend against them.
But the Eight Outer Domains weren't Earth's only concern. There were also the Anomalies—unpredictable, deadly entities that killed indiscriminately.
These creatures had no specific form or power, not even a guarantee of a conscious mind.
Their only purpose was destruction, and they were feared and hated by both the Human Federation and the Outer Domains alike.
Among the flood of information, one fragment stood out—an unsettling clue that made Eryndor question his very existence.
There were places in the universe that weren't affected by the suppression of the Cosmic Limit.
It was theorized that these places were home to beings so powerful they could disregard the Cosmic Limit.
These beings were called Eldritch Entities, and the realms they inhabited were known as Forbidden Voids.
All known Eldritch Entities had been observed to possess Cognitive Scrying and Telekinesis.
Could I be one of them? Would I need to master those techniques in order to open the door?