The city bus shuddered to a halt with a hydraulic hiss, its brakes groaning in protest. Kaelen stepped off, his new, cheap sneakers hitting the cracked pavement. The email from the university burned in his mind, a ticking clock counting down the seconds to his academic execution. He had less than twenty-four hours.
He stood at the entrance to the Old Town Market, a sprawling, chaotic labyrinth of commerce that spilled out from a historic square into a web of narrow, cobblestone streets. The air was a thick, soupy assault on his senses, a stark contrast to the sterile, recycled air of his tiny apartment. The smell of frying onions and sizzling, unidentified meats from a food vendor warred with the sweet, cloying scent of cheap incense from a nearby stall and the underlying aroma of dust, damp stone, and unwashed humanity. It was the smell of mortal life, unfiltered and overwhelming.
For a being accustomed to the silent, scentless void of space, the noise was even worse. It was a cacophony, a multi-layered roar composed of a hundred different sounds: the shrill cries of vendors hawking their wares, the cacophony of a dozen different languages haggling over prices, the distant, tinny music from a cheap radio, the shuffling feet of a thousand shoppers, and the incessant, oppressive hum of a city teeming with life.
He pushed his way into the crowd, his frail body buffeted by the moving tide of people. This was the hunting ground his intellect had selected, and it was every bit as chaotic as he had hoped. The market was a sprawling ecosystem of desperation and opportunity. Stalls overflowed with junk, spilling their contents onto tarps laid out on the ground. There were mountains of old clothes, tangled nests of rusted tools, boxes of chipped dishware, and tables covered in gaudy, mass-produced jewelry that glinted under the weak morning sun.
It was a sea of trash. But Kaelen knew that even the most polluted ocean could hide a pearl.
He began to walk, his pace steady and purposeful, his eyes scanning everything. To an outside observer, he was just another aimless browser, another student looking for a bargain. But inside his mind, a sophisticated process was underway.
He activated the System's [Scan] function. The world, already a sensory overload, was now overlaid with a faint, blue-tinted data stream, visible only to him.
[Scan initiated. Active duration: 1 hour. Energy cost: 0.005 units of Primordial Chaos Energy per minute.]
The cost was minimal, but his energy reserves were still pitifully low. He could not afford to waste a single drop. He had to be efficient.
He passed a stall selling what the vendor claimed were ancient Roman coins. Kaelen didn't even slow down. His eyes swept over the tray, and the System's feedback was instantaneous.
[Target: Metal Disc. Composition: Lead, Tin, Nickel plating. Age: Approx. 5 years. Origin: East Asian factory. Status: Modern Replica. Value: Worthless.]
He moved on. Another stall was piled high with dusty pottery.
[Target: Clay Vase. Composition: Terracotta with modern acrylic paint. Age: Approx. 18 months. Status: Tourist souvenir. Value: Negligible.]
Again and again, the result was the same. Worthless. Fake. Junk. The sheer volume of uselessness was staggering. He walked for what felt like an eternity, his senses assaulted, his focus absolute. He sifted through mountains of mundane history, a god searching for a single, forgotten spark of the divine in a world that had forgotten magic.
He passed a table laden with old, tarnished silverware.
[Target: Silver-plated fork. Status: Worthless.]
He scanned a box of yellowed photographs.
[Target: Albumen print photograph. Subject: Unidentified Victorian-era family. Status: Minor historical value. Monetary value: Low.]
His energy reserves were slowly but steadily draining. The faint blue overlay from the System began to flicker, a silent warning. He had been scanning for nearly thirty minutes. His time, and his power, were running out. The desperation of the boy whose body he wore, a feeling he had ruthlessly suppressed, began to bubble up from the depths of his consciousness. What if he was wrong? What if this world was truly just a spiritual desert, a place devoid of any real treasures? What if he was doomed to fail, to be crushed by a ten-thousand-dollar debt and the disdain of mortal loan sharks?
He shoved the thought aside with the force of his will. He was the Celestial Sovereign. He did not fail. The universe simply hadn't presented him with the correct opportunity yet.
He turned down another narrow, crowded alleyway, this one filled with stalls selling old books, maps, and office supplies. The air here smelled of decaying paper and leather. It was quieter, less frantic. He scanned a stack of old leather-bound books.
[Target: Collection of 19th-century poetry. Status: Moderate water damage. Value: Low.]
His gaze moved across the cluttered table, past stacks of yellowed newspapers and tarnished brass letter openers. And then he saw it.
It was nothing. It was a lump. A piece of dark, grimy stone, roughly the size of a man's fist, sitting on a stack of papers to keep them from blowing away in the breeze. It was asymmetrical, unadorned, and covered in a thick layer of dust and what looked like dried ink stains. It was, by any rational measure, the most worthless object on the entire table.
But Kaelen's highly developed instincts, honed over millennia of sensing cosmic energies, felt a subtle, almost imperceptible wrongness about it. It was too still. Too quiet. It seemed to absorb the light and sound around it, a tiny, silent void on a table full of noisy history.
He focused his scan on the object.
[Scanning target...]
The System's response was not immediate this time. The blue text flickered.
[Scan inconclusive... Detecting trace energy signature... Signature is dormant and heavily shielded by mundane material.]
Kaelen's borrowed heart gave a single, heavy thud. Dormant energy. That was it. That was the spark he was looking for.
[Deep Scan recommended to analyze internal structure and energy composition. Warning: Deep Scan requires a significant energy expenditure.]
[Cost: 0.01 units of Primordial Chaos Energy. Proceed? Y/N]
The cost was enormous. It was more than double what he had spent on an hour of passive scanning. It was a huge portion of his remaining energy reserves. If he was wrong, if the object was just a strange piece of radioactive rock, he would be left dangerously depleted, with nothing to show for it. It was a gamble.
But a sovereign did not hesitate. His will was absolute. Proceed.
The blue overlay in his vision flared with a brilliant light. The world seemed to fade into the background as the System focused all its power on the grimy stone. Data scrolled across his vision at an incomprehensible speed—spectral analysis, energy resonance, material density calculations.
[Deep Scan Complete.]
[Item: Dormant Celestial Inkstone Fragment]
[Origin: Unknown. Age: Uncalibratable (exceeds 50,000 years).]
[Description: A fragment of a much larger artifact used by ancient celestial beings for divine calligraphy. The stone itself is a unique, energy-absorbent crystal. It has absorbed ambient spiritual energy over countless eons.]
[Status: Contains a significant amount of sealed, dormant spiritual energy. Can be refined.]
[Value: Priceless.]
Kaelen's soul, for the first time since his rebirth, felt a genuine flicker of triumphant joy. He had been right. He had found it. His pearl in an ocean of trash.
Now came the second part of the challenge: acquiring it.
He took a deep, calming breath, forcing the excitement down. He could not approach the vendor looking like he had just found the holy grail. He had to become Kaelen Vance again—the poor, hesitant student.
He shuffled up to the stall, his posture slightly stooped, his eyes avoiding direct contact with the vendor. The vendor was a portly, middle-aged man with a shrewd, calculating gaze. He was watching a small television propped up on a stack of books.
Kaelen feigned interest in a box of old, rusted fountain pen nibs. He picked a few up, examined them with a look of mild curiosity, and then put them down with a dismissive sigh. His movements were designed to project a lack of serious buying intent.
"Anything catch your eye, son?" the vendor asked, his voice bored, not even looking up from his television.
"Ah, not really," Kaelen mumbled, channeling the timid voice of the boy he now was. "Just looking."
His eyes "accidentally" drifted to the stack of papers and the stone holding them down. He gestured towards it vaguely. "What's that rock? It's kind of interesting looking."
The vendor glanced over, his eyes barely registering the object. "That? It's just a rock. Been using it as a paperweight for years. Probably came from a box of my grandfather's old office junk."
"Huh," Kaelen said, affecting a tone of idle curiosity. He reached out and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked, and cool to the touch. To a mortal, it was just a dense, ugly stone. To Kaelen, he could feel the immense, sleeping power within it, like holding a caged thunderstorm in the palm of his hand. He had to mask his reaction.
He turned it over, squinting. "It's got all these weird cracks. And this big chip on the side. Looks like it would scratch up a good desk." He was deliberately highlighting its flaws, devaluing it in the vendor's mind.
"It's a rock, kid. What do you expect?" the vendor grunted, his attention returning to his show.
"Yeah, I guess," Kaelen said, placing it back on the papers. He paused for a moment, as if making a decision. "You know what? My dad collects weird rocks and paperweights. It's his birthday soon. How much would you want for it?"
The vendor finally looked at him, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He smelled a potential sale, no matter how small. He mentally sized Kaelen up—the worn clothes, the cheap shoes. This kid didn't have much money.
"For that old thing?" The vendor stroked his chin, putting on a show of deep thought. "It's an antique paperweight. Very rare. Let's say... fifty dollars."
It was an outrageous price, a clear attempt to gouge a naive student. The old Kaelen Vance would have panicked and fled. The Celestial Sovereign, however, saw the move for what it was—an opening gambit.
Kaelen let out a short, surprised laugh. "Fifty? For a chipped rock? I could find a better one on the side of the road for free." He started to turn away, a classic negotiating tactic. "Sorry to bother you."
"Hey, hey, wait a minute, kid," the vendor said quickly, not wanting to lose the sale entirely. "You look like a good kid. A student. For you... forty."
"I've got maybe fifteen dollars on me for the rest of the week," Kaelen said truthfully, pulling out a worn wallet and showing the few crumpled bills inside. "I was going to use it for lunch."
The vendor sighed, seeing his chance for a big profit evaporate. But a small sale was better than no sale. "Look, kid. It's got history. I can't just give it away. Tell you what. Twenty dollars. Final offer. And you're practically stealing it from me."
"Deal," Kaelen said instantly, a look of reluctant acceptance on his face. He handed over the crumpled bills. The vendor took the money, pocketed it, and waved a dismissive hand, his attention already back on his television.
Kaelen carefully picked up his prize. He wrapped the Celestial Inkstone Fragment in a handkerchief from his pocket and secured it deep within his jacket. He had done it. He had secured the key to his own resurrection.
He turned to leave the stall, a feeling of grim satisfaction settling over him. He had taken the first step.
It was at that moment that he felt a subtle shift in the market's atmosphere. A new presence had arrived. The chaotic, bustling energy of the crowd seemed to part, a path clearing without any obvious reason. Two men walked down the alleyway, their pace unhurried, their demeanor radiating an authority that was completely out of place in this sea of commoners.
The first was a young man, perhaps a few years older than Kaelen's current body. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored, dark designer suit that probably cost more than Kaelen's apartment building. His face was handsome, but marred by an expression of innate arrogance and boredom, the look of a man who had never been denied anything in his life.
Walking a single, respectful step behind him was an older man. He was dressed simply, like an attendant, but his back was ramrod straight, and his eyes were sharp, disciplined, and held a cold, dangerous light.
It was the old man that Kaelen focused on. His [Soul Sense] wasn't active, but his own spiritual instincts screamed at him. The old man possessed a faint, but undeniable, cultivator's aura. It was weak, pathetic even, but it was there. This world wasn't as simple as it appeared.
The young master, Dante Valerius, and his attendant, Elias, had arrived. And their sharp, searching eyes were sweeping across the very section of the market where Kaelen now stood. They were looking for something.