"What is this place?" Vlad asked quietly, voice echoing softly across the endless expanse.
The water beneath him rippled in gentle, liquid silver—cool and unbroken, reflecting a vast, featureless sky of drifting white clouds. No horizon. No wind. Only serene, infinite calm.
"It's Sylvie's spirit realm," the figure replied, tone warm and familiar.
Sylvie slipped out of Vlad's chest in a burst of soft white light—small, luminous, dragon-like form no bigger than a cat. She circled the man in playful loops, brushing against him with affectionate chirps. He chuckled, reaching up to let her glide along his outstretched arm.
"What happened to me?"
The figure met his eyes—steady, ancient, yet kind.
"Your body was too frail to handle her power. I didn't expect it would turn out like this. I'm sorry."
Vlad lowered his head, dark hair falling across his face.
"Please don't apologize. You were trying to help me. If anything, it was my weakness."
A faint smile appeared on the man's face—subtle, genuine.
"It was Sylvie's choice. She found you in the forest. She's the one who brought me to you."
Vlad watched her spin happily through the air, trailing faint motes of light like stardust.
"Thank you… for saving me."
Then he looked back.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"You called her your friend… Are you the First Patriarch?"
The man's smile deepened just slightly—lines of age and wisdom etching around his eyes.
"Yes. Aurelion Dravenir. Though what you see now is only a fragment Sylvie remembers."
Vlad bowed deeply, palms flat against the still water.
"Greetings, First Patriarch."
A hand rested gently on his head—warm, steady, grounding.
"None of that. Call me Leon."
"As you wish… Lord Leon."
They talked a little longer—quiet words about time, memory, the weight of legacy.
"Don't you get bored here?" Vlad asked eventually.
Leon glanced at Sylvie, who hovered upside-down with a mischievous chirp.
"Not while she's around. She never lets things stay quiet for long." He looked back at Vlad. "Since you're here… how about a spar? It's been ages."
Vlad hesitated.
"I'd like that, but I'll disappoint you. My mana is weak. I can barely use healing magic."
Leon waved it off casually.
"This is the spirit realm. Mana is everywhere. Stop limiting yourself."
Vlad straightened, a spark of determination flickering in his eyes.
"…Then I accept."
They stepped apart across the mirror-smooth sea. Sylvie hovered between them and chirped once—bright, encouraging.
Leon vanished.
No sound. No ripple in the water. Just sudden absence.
Vlad's eyes sharpened. He scanned the endless sky—
"Tempest Slash."
Wind crashed down from above like an invisible guillotine.
It struck him cleanly—force slamming into his chest—and sent him skidding backward across the surface of the spirit sea. Water burst outward in silver arcs, droplets hanging suspended in the air before falling back with soft plinks.
He rose, breath uneven, clothes damp and clinging.
Leon stood several paces away, relaxed, arms loose at his sides.
"You won't be harmed here. Go all out."
Vlad extended his arm.
"Wind Spear."
A spiraling lance of compressed air shot forward, slicing through the calm with a high-pitched whine.
"Flame Wall."
Fire surged upward in a roaring curtain—crimson and gold—and swallowed the attack whole. Heat shimmered, distorting the air like a mirage.
Leon was suddenly beside him—too close, too fast.
A palm pressed lightly against Vlad's abdomen.
"Wind Thrust."
The blast detonated point-blank.
Vlad was hurled backward, body skipping across the water like a stone before he twisted mid-air and regained balance—feet sliding to a stop in sprays of liquid light.
"Think of it as training!" Leon called, voice carrying effortlessly.
Vlad smiled—
—and vanished.
Leon's eyes flicked upward.
"You learn fast."
"Earth Pull."
The air distorted—gravity inverting in a sudden wrench.
Vlad was dragged from above and slammed downward by crushing force. The surface of the sea exploded on impact—waves radiating outward in concentric rings.
He rose again, laughing lightly despite the ache in his ribs.
"This is fun, Lord Leon!"
Leon grinned—wide, boyish, alive.
"Then don't hold back."
They collided once more.
Flames roared across the horizon in sweeping arcs.
Blades of wind carved through drifting clouds like invisible swords.
Lightning tore jagged scars through the sky—white-hot, crackling with raw power.
Leon moved through it all with effortless grace.
He stepped aside just enough for fire to graze past his shoulder—singeing nothing.
Raised a hand and scattered lightning into harmless sparks that danced like fireflies.
Shifted his stance and let wind dissolve against his shoulder in a harmless gust.
Then he countered.
A burst of flame forced Vlad to guard—arms crossed, mana flaring blue to shield.
Compressed air struck his flank like a hammer.
A precise arc of lightning drove him back again—body arcing through the air before he caught himself.
The spirit sea churned violently beneath them—waves rising, falling, reflecting the chaos above.
Leon vanished.
Vlad steadied his breathing—chest heaving, eyes scanning.
A presence formed behind him—
"Lightning Punch."
The strike descended—fist wreathed in crackling white—
Vlad disappeared.
He reappeared at Leon's side, palm already pressed forward.
"I got you now."
"Wind Thrust!"
Air exploded at point-blank range—shockwave rippling outward.
For a split second, Leon's expression brightened with genuine excitement—eyes alight.
Then—
"The King's Gaze."
Everything fell silent.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
The wind ceased.
The sea froze mid-ripple.
Even Sylvie stopped mid-flight, wings pinned.
The sky darkened as though something immeasurable had opened beyond it.
Pressure descended.
Not violent.
Not chaotic.
Absolute.
Ancient authority pressed upon the realm—like the weight of mountains settling, like the gaze of something vast and eternal turning its attention.
The spirit world did not shake in resistance—
It trembled in acknowledgment.
Vlad's knees struck the water—hard.
His lungs refused to draw breath.
His bones felt as though they were bowing of their own accord.
This was not force.
It was command.
The clouds tore apart in a widening fracture, revealing nothing—yet implying everything.
Something sovereign watched.
Leon stood at the center of it, eyes gleaming, smile slowly stretching—not in cruelty, but in exhilaration.
The weight intensified.
The spirit realm, a domain that nullified pain, screamed in silence.
Sylvie shrieked and threw herself in front of Vlad, forming a fragile barrier of white light. She unleashed a desperate Tempest Slash—wind howling in defiance.
The moment the wind struck—
Leon blinked.
The sky sealed.
The sea resumed its gentle motion.
The pressure vanished as if it had never existed.
Only Vlad remained kneeling—fingers trembling slightly against the water's surface.
For a moment, he did not rise.
He breathed in—
Slowly.
Steadily.
Then he pushed himself up.
His voice, when it came, was quieter than before.
"That move… was that what you used to bend the heavens?"
Leon chuckled—soft, almost nostalgic.
"You've been reading stories. Yes. That was The King's Gaze. Though I was never strong enough to truly defeat the heavens."
He offered his hand and helped Vlad up.
"Your ambush was excellent. I'll give you the win."
"It was an honor sparring with you."
Leon nodded.
"It's time to return. Your mother will be worried."
Vlad smiled faintly.
"You're right. I shouldn't worry her."
Leon tilted his head.
"You're not going to ask for Sylvie's power back?"
Vlad shook his head.
"She's your friend. If I take her, you'll be alone."
For the first time, Leon's expression softened completely—lines of ancient sorrow easing.
"I want you to take her. Show her the world. Grow stronger together. She'll be happier with you."
Vlad bowed lightly.
"Then I'll protect her."
Sylvie flew into his chest once more—warm light settling like a heartbeat.
"Come here," Leon said.
Vlad stepped closer.
"I owe you a reward."
Two fingers pressed against his chest.
Cold.
Not burning.
Not painful.
Just heavy.
Something spread beneath his skin—slow, deliberate, like ink sinking into parchment.
Vlad gasped as a faint mark surfaced over his heart.
It was not large.
An oval shape, thin and precise, as though drawn by a single unbroken stroke. At its center lay a narrow vertical line—straight, unwavering.
An eye.
Not detailed.
Just a shape.
Ancient.
The skin around it did not blister. It did not scar. It simply accepted the mark.
The oval darkened slightly.
The vertical slit seemed deeper than ink—less a drawing and more a seam in reality itself.
For a moment—
The spirit realm trembled—subtle, reverent.
Then it went still.
Aurelion withdrew his hand.
"The Sovereign does not need to shout," he said quietly.
The mark faded until it was barely visible—like a birthmark hidden beneath pale skin.
"I've infused a fragment of my mana into it. You won't fear exhaustion anymore. And when the time comes… the sovereign slit will part."
Vlad bowed.
He closed his eyes.
—
He opened them in his bed—breath uneven, sheets tangled around him.
"Vlad!"
Elarys rushed forward and embraced him—arms tight, tears already falling.
Slowly, he pulled aside his clothing.
The Sovereign Eye rested over his heart—faint, calm, sealed.
The sovereign slit lay quiet.
He stared at it quietly.
What would happen… when it's parted?