The knock on the window did not echo like a normal sound.
It vibrated—low, rhythmic, as if reality itself had been tapped by a hand from the other side.
Arin didn't move.
Elyra didn't breathe.
Even the shadows in the room seemed to pause.
The hooded figure outside kept staring directly into Arin's eyes, even though the window glass reflected almost nothing in the darkness. His golden irises glowed faintly—unnaturally—like eyes that had seen too many minds open… and too many collapse.
"Arin Vassir," the voice whispered.
A voice smooth and cold enough to bruise the bones.
Elyra stepped between them at once.
"You're not coming in."
The figure tilted his head, studying her as though she were a page in a book he'd already read.
"Not here for you, Elyra Venn. You do not carry the frequency."
Arin felt his skin crawl.
Frequency.
A word only used in old Helunsntion research files.
The frequency of a mind capable of Projection, Echo-binding, or full Reality Bleed.
"Arin," Elyra whispered without turning,
"don't… think… anything."
Arin tried.
He really did.
But fear is a thought.
And fear always has shape.
A thin line of smoke curled from the corner of the room—barely visible, trembling between existence and imagination.
Not again… not now… please—
The hooded cultist's eyes widened slightly.
"Incomplete Echo," he said, fascinated.
"A juvenile manifestation. But your frequency is strong."
Elyra grabbed Arin's arm.
"We're leaving. Through the back staircase."
The cultist placed his palm gently against the glass.
"You can leave," he said, almost kindly.
"But the boy stays. His mind is opening.
We wish to witness the birth."
Arin flinched. Elyra tightened her grip.
But then—
Another sound.
Not the cultist.
Not Arin's unstable manifestation.
Something else.
A scraping sound.
Metal on metal.
Coming from under the cultist's cloak.
Elyra noticed it too.
Her voice sharpened.
"Arin. Don't look at him. Look at me."
But Arin was staring.
Frozen.
Because the cultist slowly lifted a small metallic disk—engraved with the same circle and hollow eye symbol.
The symbol of Occultum Sensus.
The cult's relic.
The "Mind Key."
Elyra's body stiffened.
"Don't you dare—"
The cultist pressed the disk lightly against the window.
And the glass… rippled.
Not cracked.
Not melted.
Ripples, like water.
Reality bending.
Arin's heart dropped.
"He's using a Perception Melt…"
The cultist nodded.
"Your mind knows the name. Good.
Understanding is the first step."
The glass rippled wider.
Elyra cursed under her breath.
"This is bad. Arin, listen—your Impulse is unstable. If you panic even once—"
Arin whispered shakily,
"I'm already panicking…"
The smoke-shape behind him blinked—eyes forming for a split second before dissolving back into fog.
The cultist smiled.
Beautiful. Monstrous.
He was enjoying it.
Elyra didn't waste another second.
She pushed Arin hard toward the door.
"Run!"
But the moment Arin moved, the cultist reacted faster than either of them expected.
The window erupted inward—quietly, without sound—glass turning into liquid and splashing the floor like mercury.
The cultist stepped through the opening, not walking…
gliding.
Arin stumbled backward.
Elyra pulled a small charm from her pocket—a circle carved with a diagonal slash. A Null-sigil.
A counter-symbol.
"Stay back," she warned.
The cultist paused.
Then chuckled softly.
"You think your Null-sigil can interrupt a Manifestation? Child… Helunsntion is far beyond symbols now."
His hand began glowing gold.
Not with power.
With Arin's frequency.
The cultist had somehow read it—absorbed it—understood it. As if Arin's mind had already been cataloged.
"Arin Vassir," he whispered,
"you are awakening. You cannot stop it any more than you can stop breathing."
Arin's breath hitched.
The smoke behind him swirled faster.
Elyra saw it and panicked.
"Arin—your mind is reacting—calm down—please—"
But panic had already bloomed.
And panic is a thought.
The smoke suddenly took shape—long limbs, spiderlike arms, a half-formed head, a mouth that opened but had no inside.
Elyra grabbed Arin's face with both hands.
"Look at me. LOOK at me. Breathe—slowly—focus on something real—"
But Arin couldn't.
The creature turned.
Its hollow face faced the cultist.
The cultist smiled widely.
"Yes… show me your mind."
He raised his hand.
But Elyra moved first.
She slammed the Null-sigil charm into the creature.
A crackle of white light burst out—like static electricity trying to erase a thought.
The creature screeched soundlessly—its limbs twisting, dissolving into thick vapor again.
Arin gasped and collapsed to his knees.
The cultist's expression darkened.
"You erased a newborn manifestation," he said softly.
"That is unforgivable."
Elyra didn't relent.
"Arin—get up. Move!"
He forced himself up, stumbling toward the hallway.
Elyra backed away slowly, keeping herself between him and the cultist.
The cultist didn't chase.
He simply raised his hand again.
This time, five thin golden lines stretched from his fingers—like strings.
And the air began bending.
Like he was pulling the room.
"No—no—no—he's using Thread Manipulation—" Elyra gasped.
Arin had seen it online.
A forbidden Helunsntion technique.
A way to grab onto someone else's thoughts.
Elyra shouted,
"DON'T LET HIM GRAB YOUR FEAR—"
But it was already too late.
Arin felt something yank inside his skull.
A thought.
A memory.
A nightmare.
The creature from his childhood.
The dark figure that stood at the end of his bed for years.
Tall.
Faceless.
Breathing without lungs.
The cultist pulled harder.
And from the darkness behind Arin—
it stepped forward.
Fully formed.
This time real.
A completed Reality Bleed.
Arin's eyes widened with horror.
"No… NO—this wasn't supposed to be possible—"
Elyra shoved Arin down just as the creature smashed its hand where his head had been.
The cultist grinned.
"Ah… your subconscious is exquisite."
Elyra pulled Arin into the hallway.
"RUN. NOW!"
They sprinted down the stairs—two steps at a time—while behind them heavy footsteps shook the walls.
The creature was following.
Reality-Bleed manifestations never disappeared.
Not unless the user died…
or the creature did.
But killing a Reality-Bleed entity was impossible.
The cultist's voice echoed from above:
"Run if you wish. We will find you.
The Mind That Breathes cannot hide."
Elyra almost missed a step but didn't slow.
"Arin, listen—your power type is awakening way too fast. This is way beyond Impulse and Echo. You're skipping stages."
Arin gasped,
"Skipping? What do you mean—?"
"Vivid Manifestors can jump from Impulse straight to Bleed if their fear spikes."
"Fantastic," Arin muttered.
"I'm a walking disaster."
"Not disaster," Elyra corrected, pulling him faster.
"Target."
They reached the ground floor…
only to find the back exit blocked.
Two more cultists.
Both wearing the same hollow-eye symbol.
Both staring at Arin like he was a miracle.
Elyra cursed.
"They cornered us… they planned this."
Arin's legs shook.
The creature was coming down the stairs behind them.
The cultists moved toward them.
Elyra whispered,
"Arin. There is only one thing you can do."
He looked at her helplessly.
"What—what do I do—?"
She grabbed his face again, forcing his eyes to hers.
"Use your mind.
Not fear.
Intention.
Control.
You have Vivid Projection. You can create something REAL.
Something powerful."
Arin trembled.
"I can't control it—"
"Yes, you can. You already did."
She gestured behind them.
"That creature from your childhood? Arin—your mind REMEMBERED every detail. You have perfect memory-projection. You are not weak—you are dangerous."
The footsteps behind grew louder.
The cultists in front advanced.
Elyra leaned in, whispering one last thing:
"Don't think of fear.
Think of what you needed…
back then."
Arin closed his eyes.
Darkness swirled behind his eyelids.
Not empty.
Full of memories.
Full of the nightmares that chased him for years.
But also…
One image.
One presence.
The thing he always wished for as a child.
The thing he imagined standing between him and the monster at his bed.
A guardian.
He whispered,
"I remember…"
His thoughts sparked—silver.
His emotions surged—white.
His intention sharpened—blue.
A wave of cold mental energy burst from him—
so strong the cultists staggered back.
Elyra's eyes widened.
"He's doing it—"
Arin's mind cracked open—
not breaking
but blooming.
A tall figure formed behind him.
Armored.
Silent.
A faceless knight made of memory and pure willpower.
A Vivid Projection.
Stable.
Solid.
Real.
Arin's protector.
The cultists stepped back in fear for the first time.
The creature behind them roared.
The knight stepped forward—
lifting its arm—
and reality shivered.
Elyra whispered,
"Arin… what did you make…?"
Arin exhaled shakily.
"My guardian," he whispered.
"The one I imagined every night so I could sleep…"
The knight raised its head.
The hallway lights flickered.
Everything went silent.
Then—
The knight charged.