The great hall hummed with a quiet tension that prickled at Kaleem's skin. Dozens of recruits milled about, some whispering anxiously, others boasting in low voices, but all with eyes turned toward the glowing platform at the chamber's center.
Kaleem's steps echoed softly as he entered, head slightly bowed, his senses heightened. Though partially attuned already—marked by the faint glow behind his eyes and the whisper of mysteries in his blood—his journey had only just begun. What awaited was far more than a formality. It was the Baptism of Mystery, the rite that would evolve the three mortal states of—body, mind, and soul.
He scanned the crowd. Most were younger, talking in tight-knit groups, already familiar. Kaleem, however, stood alone—an outsider still. He did not speak. He watched.
A light touch on his shoulder broke his stillness.
He turned quickly, half-ready to summon his inner energies—only to find a red-haired girl with Asian features blinking up at him, startled by his sudden reaction.
"You've been wandering around, and I thought you might need some company," she said. Her voice was soft but carried a confident tone to it. She pointed to her group nearby, stationed close to the attunement platform.
Kaleem glanced at them—a mix of boys and girls, their looks suggesting competence but also guardedness.
He weighed her offer in silence. _In this place, isolation is a danger. Allies—even shallow ones—can be useful._
He gave a slight nod and followed.
As they approached, the conversation among the group died. A blonde girl with large glasses and a skeptical frown glanced at him from over a book.
"Kimmy, who's this?" she asked, her eyes narrowing with measured curiosity. She was sharp—the kind who didn't miss much.
"I saw him wandering and thought maybe he—"
"Kimmy, you know you can't just bring strangers here," snapped a boy, dark-haired and lean, with an intensity in his eyes that reminded Kaleem of cornered animals. The kind that always bite.
"I… I just—" Kimmy's voice trembled.
Pah!
The sound of a slap—not cruel, but firm—echoed as another boy thumped the aggressive one on the head.
"Enough, Riggs. Don't scare her."
This new voice was calm, but carried authority. The speaker was tall and broad-shouldered, with a composed demeanor that demanded respect without force.
He extended a hand to Kaleem.
"Nice to meet you, I am Marcus Foster and I'm the oldest of the group."
Kaleem shook it. "Kaleem. Thanks."
Introductions followed:
- Lisa Valentine — the blonde with glasses. Cunning eyes, calculating mind.
- Jonathan Riggs— the boy with sharp words and sharper glares.
- Kimmy Shores— the red-haired girl who had approached him.
The group was a strange mix of tension and camaraderie. Some offered polite nods. Others, like Riggs, remained icy. Still, none rejected his presence outright.
Then, without warning, the platform blazed to life.
Rings of glowing sigils pulsed outward, forming an intricate web of runes and symbols. The room fell silent.
"All participants, prepare for your attunement," came a mechanical voice that echoed through the stone like thunder contained.
From various alcoves, figures emerged—officers clad in long robes, their collars emblazoned with a half-moon badge.
A long obsidian table materialized on the platform, laden with mystic materials—stones that bled light, bones that vibrated, papers that fluttered without wind.
One of the officers stepped forward—an elderly woman whose eyes shimmered with three different colors.
"As you ascend the stage," she intoned, "select the components that resonate with you. These shall form your Anchor—your personal stabilizer, the tether between your truth and the greater Void."
Kaleem listened closely. He already knew this: Anchors weren't mere tools. They were metaphysical constructs—born from obsession, memory, belief, and vision. Without one, the soul could spiral into madness during the transformation.
One by one, the candidates stepped forward. Cries of joy rang out as they found their destined materials. Others cursed in frustration.
Kaleem's eyes swept across the table, unmoved.
Then he saw it—a jagged slab of silvery-black metal, cold and pulsing with starry motes. Its surface shimmered like the night sky.
A paper rested beside it.
> "Ancient Star Ore"
Something stirred in his chest.
A flicker of memory. A legend half-remembered.
He reached for it. Nothing else called to him.
With the ore cradled in both hands, he stepped onto the platform.
Mana surged beneath his feet, and the ritual began.
Threads of power—seen only through his awakened Mystic Vision—crawled like silver worms through the air, burrowing into his skin. A chill ran through his veins.
Then came the surge—his Mysteries erupting like volcanoes in his soul.
- Mystery of Withering—the slow death that begins at birth.
- Mystery of Decaying & Living Flesh—the duality of rot and rebirth.
- Mystery of Creeping Shadows—the unseen watchers in corners unseen.
- Mystery of the Stars—silent witnesses to time and fate.
The shell of mana around him grew solid, forming a cocoon of reddish-pink light, swirling with stars. Inside, silence. Emptiness. Darkness.
---
Within Kaleem's Mindscape,
Kaleem's thoughts floated in a void of stars, bone, and pulsating flesh.
The stars above blinked in alien rhythms.
His body remained trapped in the waking world, but his mind drifted deep into the baptismal trance.
He could feel it—his sanity slipping ever as everything seems to be in a buzz.
He needed an Anchor and fast.
The Ancient Star Ore manifested before him, silent and waiting.
He approached and remembered the rite to anchor creation:
> "Use your mind and write its story. Weave its mysteries through tale as you pour in your blood, flesh, mana, and soul. Then, the birth begins."
As he reached toward the ore, he suddenly had a whim— he decided to let his thoughts run wild by using various points from his acquired Earth memory and began to construct his anchor's story.
> There exist 21 sequences in the stars...
Each Sequence symbolized not only an authority, but a truth—a path to godhood.
They were fragments of an ancient cosmology. Each sequence once governed by a transcendent being.
> Sequence (0): The Fool
> Sequence (1): The Magician
> Sequence (2): The High Priestess
> …
> Sequence (20): Judgment
> Sequence (21): The World
Each sequence was forged by HIM—the Unseen Origin, the Star Father, the one who created the Crown of All. A crown composed of 21 celestial metals, united by law.
A throne was created from that crown.
But it had no king.
Kaleem's breath quickened. His soul trembled.
The ore began to melt—not with heat, but with mana. Its form unraveled, taking the form shaped by his mysteries.
Piece by piece, it shattered into 21 floating shards, each shaped like a diamond, each glowing with symbols representing their sequence.
Together they formed a halo—a crown—and hovered above him.
Without hesitation, he used his mind to communicate with it.
The moment they connected—
Thunder erupted through the stars.
His mind shattered.
His body convulsed.
And then—
Darkness.
A single sentence echoed through the fragments of his soul:
>"The Kingless Crown has been born."
And somewhere, hidden from perception in this mindscape a throne is born and is waiting for its King.