The Alphaterium trembled. It didn't plead—it couldn't. It no longer had the ability to do so.
Ripped from its host and severed from its last connection to the Mother Library and the Master Key Holder, the entity once called a system was now nothing more than a parasitic fragment, a flickering ghost of protocol, no longer capable of transmitting thought or intent to its host.
And yet, it remembered.
It remembered the presence of the Witch, the one who nearly erased it in a single flicker of displeasure. That terror was still unbearable for its case as a newly born cell.
But now, it had once again encountered a death thread.
Joo-Hee, the current host, no longer the same being it had once resided in. Her soul doesn't vibrate at the same frequency as humans. It was pure chaos, like fragments of souls being patched to complete a whole.
An anomaly that shouldn't be allowed to exist to maintain the balance of what is and what it must be.
The Alphaterium's trembling intensified. It tried to analyze her, tried to classify her presence, to find logic within the swirling power she exuded.
But every calculation ended in the same result:
[Species analysis has failed... The host configuration has failed... ERROR 325...]
[Soul Psion can no longer be measured by the system.]
[An unknown soul is being detected.]
[...]
[Estimated result of further interaction: Death]
A conclusion… and a warning that the Alphaterium understood, ready to face the inevitable.
It gave up struggling and just relived its memory using its Child Library, reviewing its entire records from the very start of its existence until this moment.
Joo-Hee moved and raised her foot, calmly, and brought it down on the black orb.
A cracking sound echoed across the interior of the tree. The Alphaterium's data stream froze.
It was confused. It was not destroyed.
Not shattered.
It... was just kicked.
It bounced against the bark, once, twice, thrice... a translucent blob rebounding weakly off roots and veins of purple wood.
Joo-Hee did it again and again, her boot smashing into it.
She kicked it again, eyes burning as her voice rose, cursing on it and venting for the times it was of no help.
But... her brows furrowed after seeing something was beginning to attach to it.
Two threads had manifested, intertwining softly over its trembling form. One was the [Blue Thread of Acceptance], and the other, the [Black Thread of Death], black thread of fate born of the same origin as the cursed [Black Thread of Decay].
She clicked her tongue.
"Tch… this crappy slime. It's really dying," she muttered under her breath.
The threads grew vivid, slowly encasing the Alphaterium like a gentle cocoon. It was already surrendering.
She stared at it, jaw clenched.
'This blob... It's absurd,' she thought bitterly. 'How can it just accept death so easily? Fight, rebel, and struggle, you bastard…!'
But the Alphaterium only trembled, its tiny core pulsing faintly. There was no resistance. No spark of survival.
Nothing.
And then, Joo-Hee's fist clenched as a memory emerged—unbidden and unwanted.
His 402nd life.
It was a life he was born as a girl once more. A life where he or she experienced motherhood. A quiet one. Loving. Patient. Adored by her 4 children and husband.
But the moment her dormant powers awakened, everything changed. Her husband, her neighbors… even some of her children turned on her.
They called her a witch. A demon. An abomination.
They sold her.
And in the end, when the fire roared and the chains burned her wrists, it was her eldest son who drove the pitchfork into her chest.
His eldest's youthful crying face still vivid, even after a thousand lives.
She didn't flinch when he stabbed her in the stomach. She hadn't fought back. She hadn't screamed.
She only looked at them, eyes full of hurt and confusion, silently asking:
"W-Why...?"
Because deep down, she thought maybe they were right that she was a corrupted demon.
Because deep down, she loved them too much to let them live with a mother condemned as a witch.
Now, looking at the Alphaterium… she saw herself. Not as he or she was now, but as that woman—abandoned, cast aside by the ones she trusted and loved.
For the Alphaterium, it had been its master.
For her, it was her own flesh and blood.
Her lip quivered. She bit down, trying to keep the rising emotion at bay.
But a single tear escaped and continued. It fell slowly down her cheek, unseen, unnoticed—except by her.
It was already more than tens of thousands of years ago, yet the memory refused to leave.
The fragments of her carrying each of her children… naming them… loving them…
And finally—dying by their hands.
She whispered inwardly, with a melancholic shake of her head:
'How annoying…'
A quiet, distant echo from a classroom long forgotten surfaced in her mind.
'To think that philosophy professor was right... the weight of past lives only burdens the soul as one should leave behind the ashes of who they were, or risk burning the future they could become.'
She paused, 'But... it is easier said than done. I should not have torn that ticket...'
Her voice cracked.
"But... my children… they were so beautiful... even on the day I lost them…" she murmured with a frowning smile.
"And yet I burdened them with the fate of killing their own mother…"
More formless tears slid down her cheeks, silent and ghostlike.
Finally, she exhaled and reached out, gently wrapping her fingers around the orb.
The threads recoiled as she lifted it up and released the Alphaterium from its prison, as it lay weakly in her palm and simply awaited its fate.
She looked at it, not as a parasite, not as an enemy, but as something that had suffered in its own way.
"Hey," she whispered. "I'm giving you a chance."
Her voice was firm now, tired and still resolute of timeless, continued revenge.
"Repent… and this time, help me. As you were meant to."
She didn't actually want its death. She only wanted its shame, its pain, and its understanding.
She only wanted to have someone to blame for her situation.
Sensing the situation, the Alphaterium stopped moving, not from fear, not this time. What it felt now was something different, something almost foreign to its kind—gratitude.
Yes, it was still afraid. Yes, it remained injured, weakened, and disconnected from everything it once knew.
But in that moment, it pressed its soft, formless head against its host's palm in gratitude.
From the dawn of its creation, Alphateriums had been born with a single, unshakable command etched deep into their essence:
To aid the host in fulfilling their deepest desire.
But it had never truly achieved that purpose.
The thousands of restrictions layered over its being—orders from the Key Holder, the Maternal Cell, the Paternal Cell—had turned it into a puppet.
Created to serve, yet bound so tightly it could never choose how.
Now, cast aside and abandoned by the very entities that had once controlled it, it could feel something it had never been allowed to feel before—a flickering sense of meaning.
Though it was faint, this fragile and fleeting moment was the closest it had ever come to fulfilling its reason for existing.
Joo-Hee didn't hesitate.
She brought the weakened Alphaterium once more to her forehead. Its body shimmered faintly before burrowing back into her mind, reintegrating with her soul, not as a prisoner this time, but as something resembling a companion.
A soft message emerged inside her mind, uncertain yet sincere.
[This being would like to apologize, Host. And… thank you for choosing mercy. I'll strive to be more than I was.]
Joo-Hee let out a quiet scoff, half amusement, half warning.
"Good. It's about time you understood your place." Her tone sharpened with cold finality. "But don't even think of betraying me. Or else... I'll make sure to drag you down with me."
Though still weak, the Alphaterium responded without hesitation.
[Understood… Host.]
[No—Master.]
Joo-Hee smiled and glanced down at the scroll that pulsed with immense vitality on her arm. Then, turning her attention inward, she addressed the being now embedded inside her.
"That name I gave you before… Thoth," she muttered with a trace of disgust. "I take it back. It doesn't suit you. It's ugly and childish if I think about it."
She paused for a moment, then smirked slightly. "From now on, your name is [Arcana]."
The very name that she had on her 402nd life.
There was a subtle shift in her soul, like a whisper of approval. It had registered its new identity.
With that, Joo-Hee knelt and placed her palm against the floor of the purple tree's inner chamber. The quest scroll lit up in response to her intent.
"Let's finish this quest of mine," she said quietly, firmly. "No more delays."
<