Two days ago
Jayar returned alone. The walk down the prison corridor felt longer this time, each step echoing against the stone walls like a reminder of what he had lost. Without Joe, the silence was heavier, the air thicker. He carried with him only the weight of his thoughts—questions with no answers, doubts with no guidance.
When he reached the end of the hall, the reinforced door groaned open under his hand. The hinges screeched softly as if reluctant to let him in.
Kiwooin's cell was just as he remembered—The marble walls where he sits are snow-white, but in an amber-colored glass box. Kiwooin sat on the floor with his back against the wall, as if the stone itself was the only thing holding him upright.
His two-toned hair caught the uneven glow, strands of black and white bending the light into strange shapes. It made his face look less human, more like some figure pulled out of a half-forgotten myth.
Jayar lingered at the threshold for a heartbeat, then stepped inside. His voice was quiet, but urgent.
"I… I want more. FB. Power. Abilities."
Kiwooin moved only slightly—slowly turning his head, as though even that motion carried weight. His eyes locked onto Jayar's, unblinking, and for a moment Jayar felt as if the man could see straight through him, peeling back every layer of pretense.
When Kiwooin finally spoke, his voice was calm, steady, yet it resonated with something dangerous.
"Are you sure? Increasing your FB is not training. It is not discipline. It is not form. It is… a path."
The word lingered in the air, heavy and deliberate.
Jayar swallowed hard. His fists tightened at his sides until his knuckles whitened.
"I don't want to be a soldier forever," he said, his voice growing stronger with each word. "I want to be more. I want to break free of the system. I want to reach the second level of Nexus."
For a long moment, Kiwooin said nothing. His expression remained unreadable, though something flickered faintly in his eyes—an emotion Jayar couldn't name. Amusement? Pity? Recognition?
Then, at last, Kiwooin spoke again. His words were quiet, yet they struck like the toll of a distant bell.
"Once you step onto that path… there is no return."
Jayar didn't look away. The silence between them thickened, stretching like the air before a storm.
And though he couldn't yet see it, though the cell remained as dim and suffocating as before, Jayar felt it—somewhere, just beyond his reach—the second stage of Nexus, waiting like a door half-open, daring him to walk through.
Kiwooin chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling in the dim cell.
"You're already inside," he said, tilting his head with a sly smile. "You didn't even notice, did you?"
Jayar stiffened, confusion cutting across his face.
"What do you mean?"
Kiwooin rose slowly from the floor. Dust clung to his clothes, and he brushed it away with deliberate calm before stepping closer. The shadows seemed to move with him, swallowing the light that tried to reach his figure.
"You want power," he said quietly. "And I can give it to you. I'll show you the formula, and your FB will rise. You'll feel everything change inside you. But…" he let the word linger like a blade above Jayar's head, "…there's one condition."
Jayar's voice was taut, caught between hope and dread.
"What condition?"
Kiwooin's eyes gleamed.
"You already agreed. The moment you stayed here, the moment you spoke of power—you bound yourself. You became part of something greater than the Gor, greater than the Dome. You became a disciple of the Fulchiva clan."
Jayar froze. The name meant nothing to him, yet the weight in Kiwooin's voice made his pulse quicken.
"What is Fulchiva?"
Kiwooin closed his eyes. A slow smile curved his lips, as though he savored the taste of a forbidden word.
"A clan even the Dome fears," he whispered. "Those who see no boundaries. Who dare to rewrite the Nexus itself. Those who break the rules."
Jayar's breath caught, his words bursting out with raw disbelief.
"You tricked me into a cult…"
Kiwooin's laughter was soft, but there was nothing kind in it.
"No, Jayar. You came of your own will. I only kept the door open."
And then it happened.
In the hollow of Kiwooin's hand, a crimson mark flared into existence, burning with unnatural light. It pulsed once, twice, searing itself into the air as if reality itself bent to acknowledge it. A mark that could not be erased.
Jayar staggered back, heat flooding through his veins. His body trembled as his FB began to surge—rising higher, higher—yet with it came something else. Something foreign. Something that was no longer his own.
Kiwooin stepped back into the shadows, his figure dissolving into the darkness until only his voice remained.
"Welcome to Fulchiva, Jayar," he murmured. "Now… you're one of us."
...
Felix burst into the room like a winded herald, hands flailing as if to catch the world by its lapels.
"Jayar—oh Jayar!" he cried, voice half incredulous, half frenzied. "If I'm reading this right, Jayar's fallen in with a cult!"
He laughed, a nervous, high sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Not just any cult," he went on, pacing a small Gor as if the motion steadied him. "The biggest, the most powerful in the Alpha dimension. Only the Ootsoro clan outmatches them—and let's not even start on them." He jabbed a finger in the air as if to ward off the thought.
Felix came to a sudden halt and folded his arms, trying to look grave but failing spectacularly. "Kayav," he said, lowering his voice theatrically, "there are three things I fear in this life. First: AI. Second: crypts. Third: cults." He counted them off on his knuckles as if reciting commandments.
He turned toward Kayav, eyes wide and earnest. For a beat his bravado dropped and a small, almost pleading note crept in. "Tell me I'm not asking too much of my friends to stay out of this. Tell me I'm not asking too much."
The question hung between them, fragile as glass. Outside, the market murmured on—ordinary, indifferent—while inside, Felix's words pulled at a thread no one was yet ready to tug.
...
Jayar had gone deeper into the wilderness than he had planned, yet the hunt had gone better than expected. His senses were razor-sharp, every sound of the forest clear, every shadow familiar. Adrenaline still hummed through his veins. The quiet woods pressed in around him, calm and steady—but inside, something restless stirred. Something he couldn't name.
He crouched by a narrow stream, wiping the sweat from his brow. Cold water trickled over the stones, its gentle murmur soothing. For a brief moment, Jayar let himself breathe. Then it came—subtle at first, like the faint brush of warmth against his chest.
Heat.
It spread slowly, insistently, crawling outward like fire licking through dry wood.
He froze. The air thickened, heavy, as though the forest itself was holding its breath. His eyes fell to his palm. There, burned into his flesh, the mark Kiwooin had branded only hours ago—red, raw, alive. It flared suddenly, violently, as if answering some unheard command.
Jayar's lips parted. "Whaaat!?"
His heart hammered, erratic, each beat shaking his chest. The mark pulsed, blood-red light spreading along his wrist like veins of molten iron. A low hum rose in his ears—subtle at first, then deeper, louder—until it rattled in his bones, a vibration that wasn't sound so much as raw force.
Pain lanced through him. But beneath the pain was something else. Something vast. Something that felt like a door, pried open inside his body.
No… this can't be happening. Not now…
The heat surged, engulfing him. His muscles strained, hardening with unnatural strength. His vision bled at the edges, colors sharpening, too vivid, too bright. Static prickled across his skin, crawling up his arms, sparking along his spine. He staggered, breath ragged, and dropped to his knees by the stream.
I—what's happening to me?
The ground beneath him seemed to shift, trembling, unstable—as though the earth itself recoiled from him. Every sound in the forest sharpened to an unbearable pitch: the rustle of leaves crashed like waves, the flutter of wings struck like a drumbeat. Even the breeze through the branches roared, a storm in his ears.
His pulse thundered. His lungs burned with each breath, fire clawing for release. Every movement—every blink, every twitch—carried an intensity that was not his own.
And still the mark pulsed, brighter, hotter, dragging him further into something he could neither control nor escape.
Then, something inside him snapped.
It was his voice—yet not quite. The sound didn't come from his throat, nor did it echo only in his head. It reverberated through his chest, his gut, deep within the marrow of his bones. A whisper that was both him and not him, something primal that stirred at his core.
You are one of us now. The power is within you. Fulchiva is your path.
Jayar froze. The words echoed with a certainty no thought could ever carry. It wasn't imagination. It wasn't delusion. It was truth—ancient and absolute—woven into his being as though it had always been there, waiting to awaken.
The burning heat inside him began to subside, but in its wake it left a clarity so sharp it bordered on painful. The weight he had carried, invisible but suffocating, seemed to lift from his shoulders. For the first time, his mind felt unclouded, his body alive in ways he had never known.
His own voice rose again, stronger now, filled with conviction.
Fulchiva. This… this is my path.
The forest fell utterly silent. Not a bird stirred, not a leaf shifted in the breeze. It was as if the world itself had paused, holding its breath, bearing witness to the moment.
His heartbeat slowed, steady and powerful, and with it the fire within him dimmed to embers. But beneath his skin a new force thrummed, undeniable, alive. He could feel it coiling in his veins, a predator's strength awakened, demanding to be used.
Jayar rose to his feet. At first his legs trembled, unsteady, but each breath brought him firmer into himself. His hand closed tightly around the hunting knife at his side, and the grip felt different now—certain, unbreakable.
For the first time in a long while, he felt prepared. Not just for the hunt. Not just for survival. For everything.
His thoughts crystallized, sharp as steel.
I'm no longer just a soldier. I'm something more.