The silence that followed the hunters' withdrawal was unnatural. It was not the calm after battle, nor the stillness of an uninhabited land. It was an expectant silence, as if Khaelor itself had taken note of what had occurred and was adjusting something deep within its layers. Lin Ye felt it clearly: the continent was recognizing him—not as ally or enemy, but as a persistent anomaly it had not yet decided how to classify.
Kael-Ur did not speak at once. He watched the circle of floating stones of the Silent Thunder for several heartbeats, as though listening to an echo only he could hear. Then he turned and began walking without looking back.
"Don't stay there," he said. "The thunder has already marked you. Linger any longer and you'll draw worse things."
Lin Ye followed. Each step felt slightly different from the last, as if distance itself were inconsistent. The fragmented clock responded with gentle pulses—not alarms, but adjustments. It was no longer trying to impose itself on the environment; it was learning to coexist with it.
"The hunters will return," Lin Ye said as they walked. "They didn't seem inclined to give up."
"Of course they'll return," Kael-Ur replied. "To them, you're a dangerous contradiction. You don't fit their doctrines. And doctrines always fear what they can't classify."
"And you?" Lin Ye asked. "Why help me?"
Kael-Ur stopped short.
"Because I forced the world," he said plainly. "And you're learning to negotiate with it."
They resumed walking. The terrain changed again. The black veins vanished, replaced by an irregular expanse dotted with fragments of rock suspended at various heights. They did not float chaotically; each seemed to occupy a precise position, as if answering to an invisible geometry.
Lin Ye felt something different in his chest.
Not pressure.
Not tension.
But… disorientation.
The space around him seemed to remember things that had not happened there. Shadows cast by objects that were not present, visual echoes of paths that did not exist. For an instant, Lin Ye felt as though he were in several places at once, layered without merging.
"This is the third foundation," Kael-Ur said quietly. "Not a common bloodline. Something older."
"Space," Lin Ye murmured.
"Spatial memory," Kael-Ur corrected. "Space doesn't only separate. It remembers."
They entered the suspended zone. The fragmented clock reacted immediately—but in a way completely unlike before. It did not vibrate violently or recoil. One of its gears began to turn slowly, as if it had found a familiar frequency.
Lin Ye took a step… and appeared two steps ahead.
He froze, breathing hard.
"I didn't move," he said.
"Yes, you did," Kael-Ur replied. "But space decided to shorten the memory of the path."
Lin Ye closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he saw something new: faint, translucent lines connecting fragments of the environment, like luminous scars in the air. They were not portals or fixed routes. They were memories of past movement—impressions left by something that had crossed that place again and again.
"Don't try to use them," Kael-Ur warned. "Not yet."
Too late.
One of the floating rock fragments jerked sharply, drawn toward one of those lines, and slammed into another with a dull crash. The impact produced no visible shockwave, but the surrounding space folded slightly, as if bent incorrectly.
Lin Ye felt a violent pull inside himself. The fragmented clock reacted, attempting to stabilize him—but this time it did not steal an instant. Instead, it recorded.
"Spatial memory pattern detected."
The inner voice resonated, clearer than before.
"Partial compatibility confirmed."
Lin Ye dropped to his knees—not from pain, but from informational overload. Overlapping images flooded his mind: steps taken and not taken, alternate trajectories, places reached and abandoned across diverging timelines. He could not control it. Only endure it.
Kael-Ur stayed at his side without touching him.
"This is not power," he said. "It's perception. And perception without a domain is dangerous."
Lin Ye clenched his teeth and forced his breathing into a steady rhythm. He remembered the Immobile Flame, the passive resistance. He remembered the Silent Thunder, the automatic interruption. He did not try to use anything. He allowed space to pass through him without claiming it.
Gradually, the avalanche subsided.
When he managed to stand, the world looked… slightly different. Not distorted. Not broken. Just deeper. As if behind every object existed a version that had once been somewhere else.
"You haven't awakened a bloodline," Kael-Ur said. "You haven't created a domain. But now, space is no longer entirely hostile to you."
Lin Ye looked at his hands.
"Three foundations," he said. "And none of them are direct power."
Kael-Ur nodded.
"Because if they were, you'd already be dead."
They walked to the edge of the suspended zone. From there, a vast expanse of Khaelor stretched out—marked by distorted regions, impossible ruins, and areas where the sky itself seemed layered and fractured.
"Listen carefully, Lin Ye," Kael-Ur said, stopping. "With these foundations, your Domain won't be expansive. It won't crush others. It will be… selective."
"A domain that doesn't control," Lin Ye murmured, "but decides when the world is allowed to touch me."
Kael-Ur smiled faintly.
"Exactly. A Threshold Domain."
The fragmented clock vibrated with a soft, steady intensity. For the first time, it did not seem unstable.
"But not yet," Kael-Ur added. "If you try to form it now, the price will be greater than the Heaven-Stolen Hour that gave you birth."
Lin Ye lifted his gaze.
"Then what comes next?"
Kael-Ur looked toward the horizon, where a dark structure rose like a thorn driven into the land.
"Return to the Empire," he said. "Not to serve it… but to survive it."
A chill ran through Lin Ye.
"The hunters will follow you," Kael-Ur continued. "Imperial factions are already watching you. And the Eye of the Throne…" he paused, "…now knows that you truly exist."
Khaelor's nonexistent wind stirred the dark grass.
"When you return," he concluded, "you won't be stronger. But you will be harder to erase."
Lin Ye nodded.
That was enough.
Far away, beyond continents and eras, a fragment of the Eye of the Throne adjusted its focus.
The bearer had gained space in which to exist.
And for the first time, the world would have to learn how to go around him.