After a great deal of coaxing—followed by some emotional blackmail and a final round of force-feeding—Logan's mother finally left his room.
He sat quietly on the edge of his bed, replaying the conversation in his head. There had been no mention of the glowing screen. She hadn't seen it. Hadn't reacted to it. Whatever this system was, it appeared only to him.
Still feeling the faint pulse of energy behind his eyes, he exhaled and closed them again. Just as before, the screen returned, flickering silently to life. Smooth, ethereal, untouched by the logic of Essentia.
The interface split again, like unfolding glass. Five shimmering glyphs rotated around each other.
StatusSkillsMissionsInventoryProtocol Store
"Status?" Logan muttered. "What, like... noble or civilian?"
The Status tab expanded at once, responding to his voice.
Name: Logan Von
Condition: Stable
Aspect Core:Void Master
Aspect Abilities:
– Nullification (Locked)
– Dimensional Folding (Locked)
– Untethered Movement (Locked)
– Anchor Displacement (Locked)
Aspect Level: 0 (Void Noob)
Aspect Points: 0 / 100
Spatial Awareness: 0
Spatial Signature: Fluctuating
Fate Link:Severed
"Void Master?" he echoed. "What the hell is that?"
A robotic voice echoed in his mind, cold and matter-of-fact:
[Definition – Void Master]
A being who commands absence, rather than presence.
One who bends space not through force, but by omission.
A Void Master does not break matter. He disconnects it.
He does not cast spells. He rewrites rules.
He does not walk through space. He reorders what space is.
Logan's breath caught. The words circled in his head like puzzle pieces snapping into place. He doesn't move through space… he alters it.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
That drop—the cold, tasteless thing that wasn't a tear—it had given him power. Not Essentia. Not Bestial. Something older. Something different. And this system... it was built like a game. If he played it, it might give him more.
"But how do I play?" he murmured.
His mind flashed to the old games he used to watch on broken devices in the junk shop. Quests. Leveling. Missions.
"Missions," he said aloud.
The interface shimmered in response, summoning a new screen:
🧭 Missions Tab – Boundless Directive 🔹 [Active Mission]
Name:Spatial Resonance
Tier: Initiation
Objective: Spend 30 uninterrupted minutes focusing on a single location in your surroundings.
Task: Attempt to perceive natural spatial distortions—wind in the trees, flowing water, shifting air.
Status: In Progress
Reward: +20 Aspect Points
Bonus: +10 Spatial Awareness (if completed within 7 days)
🔸 [Daily Mission – Morning Jog]
Objective: Run for 30 minutes
Reward: +5 Aspect Core Points
🔻 [Hidden Protocol Triggers – Undisclosed]
Some missions are not assigned. They are discovered.
Challenge the system. Subvert the structure. Break what resists.
🧩 [Completed Missions]
None yet.
"A morning jog... I can do that," Logan said. "But... what do they mean by spatial vibrations?" He frowned. "It's not like I'm a mage. I don't know how to sense the subtleties of space."
He sat cross-legged on the bed, lost in thought. His mind circled the possibilities: it wasn't Essentia—it didn't feel engineered, controlled. It wasn't Bestial either—he hadn't bonded with a beast or fae.
So what was it?
Before he could chase the thought deeper, a soft knock jolted him upright. The door creaked open. His mother stepped inside, followed closely by a familiar figure.
"Logan, Tessa came to check on you," Julie said with a soft smile.
Tessa offered a smile of her own—bright, practiced, and painfully transparent. Logan could see it immediately: the worry beneath her eyes, the guilt she tried to hide behind cheery warmth.
"It's been a while," she said gently.
Logan smiled. "Tess. Yeah, it really has. I forgot to congratulate you on your testing results. You're one of a kind, Tessa—you deserve that win."
The words hit her harder than he intended. Her hands curled into fists as something clouded her expression—regret, shame, helplessness.
She hadn't been able to help him that day. Hadn't said anything. Hadn't moved.
Logan saw it. Knew it. And spared her the weight.
"Tessa," he said softly, "you don't have to worry about me."
She hesitated. Then smiled. "I came to say goodbye."
"Leaving for the academy already?"
"Yeah."
"Good luck, Tess. Be careful."
"I will... Thank you."
She turned and left.
And just like that, another piece of the old world slipped quietly out of the room.
Logan sat in the stillness for a moment longer. Then stood.
No more hiding in bed.
He got dressed, pulled on his boots, and headed for the door.
Outside, the city greeted him with mild indifference. Shopkeepers swept porches. Lanterns flickered in the overcast dawn. No one noticed him.
Until he started running.
People stared.
In a society defined by magical cores and hovering beasts, jogging was... strange. Unearned exertion. Pointless motion.
But Logan didn't care.
He ran through narrow streets, past quiet plazas and empty parks. His heart thudded. His breath rose in clouds. And with each step, the screen flickered quietly beside him, tracking his time, tallying his progress.
He had no idea if any of this mattered.
But for the first time in days, his feet moved forward—and something deep inside him finally felt aligned.
By the time Logan returned to the alley behind his home, his shirt was clinging to his back and his breath came in slow, steady draws.
He hadn't run like that in years—not since he was a child racing the neighborhood boys over rooftops. His limbs ached. His lungs burned. But it felt good. Real.
A soft chime echoed in his ears as the protocol interface appeared before him, crisp and pulsing with silver light.
✅ [Daily Mission: "Morning Jog" – Completed]
+5 Aspect Core Points awarded
[New Status Unlocked: "Motion Synced" – physical activity now increases Void stability]
He blinked. That was... encouraging.
A small spark flickered at the bottom of the screen—a meter tracking his Aspect Points clicked from 0 to 5/100. A minor gain, but a foothold nonetheless.
"Okay," Logan murmured, wiping sweat from his brow. "That's one tick. Let's try the harder one."
He sat cross-legged on the grass in the quiet shade of the park, just past the forge district. The trees above swayed in the breeze, their leaves rustling faintly. A stream trickled nearby over worn stones. Birds chirped. The world moved.
Now, he just had to feel it.
[Active Mission: Spatial Resonance]
Objective: Perceive distortions in the fabric of space through ambient motion.
Time remaining for bonus: 6 days, 23 hours, 41 minutes...
Logan inhaled slowly, focusing on a patch of grass near his foot. Then a branch. Then the ripple of the stream.
Nothing.
He tried again. And again. Squinting. Imagining. Willing himself to "sense" the shape of the air, the echo between surfaces, the...
His knee started cramping.
Twenty minutes in, his focus broke the fourth time when a squirrel skittered past and startled him enough to swear under his breath.
He gritted his teeth. "This is stupid," he muttered. "What does spatial resonance even feel like? A breeze? A shimmer in my stomach? A divine whisper?"
He tried again.
He saw trees. Stones. Water.
But he didn't feel them.
His focus flickered. Frustration mounted. Whatever magical instinct others claimed to feel—he didn't have it.
Not yet.
When the thirty-minute mark passed and no reward appeared, Logan slumped forward, elbows on his knees, exhausted. The screen blinked softly in front of him:
❌ [Mission incomplete– No measurable resonance detected]
Tip: "Stillness is not silence. Observation begins in absence."
Progress saved: 0% resonance detected. Bonus eligibility remains active.
He groaned and flopped backward onto the grass.
"Stillness is not silence. What does that even mean?"
Above him, clouds moved slowly through fractured sunlight. He closed his eyes—not in surrender, but in something closer to resolve. He'd failed.
But he was still in it.
Whatever this new power was, it wasn't some easy shortcut. There were no flashy awakenings. No instant mastery.
It was layered. Quiet. Demanding.
And for once, Logan didn't mind that.
Elsewhere in the capital, within the granite-lined walls of Null Force Command, a long table of grim-faced officers sat in silence.
Stacks of parchment lay untouched. Dozens of mana-scans and arcane traces cross-referenced—useless. The board at the front remained almost entirely blank except for a single phrase written in crimson chalk:
"Unidentified Spatial Surge: No Source Detected."
Commander Boris tapped his knuckles against the table, his rings clinking against worn armor. He looked tired. Tired and irritated.
"No Essentia residue. No Bestial signature. No spatial anchors to triangulate the origin," he said flatly, eyes flicking from one officer to another. "Nothing. Not a damn trace."
A younger officer raised a hand sheepishly. "Sir, should we treat this as a false alarm? A misfire, maybe, from a faulty artifact? The signal was strong—but it vanished almost instantly."
"I don't believe in false surges," Boris muttered, scratching at the long scar running down his jaw. "This wasn't noise. Something moved. Something not bound by core logic."
The room went quiet.
That's when the door creaked open and a representative from the Crystal Legion poked his head in—half-nervous, half-apologetic.
"Sorry to interrupt. I was told to report any trace anomalies, regardless of magnitude."
Boris gestured vaguely. "If it breaks the monotony, you're welcome."
The soldier stepped forward and placed a small envelope on the table. "It's... probably nothing. But one of our rural medics—Old John, bronze-tier healer in District Twelve—sent in a report last night. Said he was treating a kid who had a violent reaction to Essentia."
Boris frowned. "Violent... how?"
"Well, full rejection symptoms. Seizures, vomiting, blood in the mouth. Kid was expected to need days of recovery—assuming he survived. But Old John says he cast a minor 'Refresh' spell—you know, Level One, basic stabilization?"
The Crystal soldier scratched his temple awkwardly. "Kid woke up three days later like nothing happened. John said he looked better. Healthier than before. Clear skin. Steady breathing. No damage. He even had more energy. Said he glowed a little."
Silence filled the chamber.
Boris leaned back slowly. "And where exactly is this John?"
"Old commoner's ward near the Smiths' quarter."
Another officer let out a short laugh. "He's the one who drinks his tonic with firewine, right? The same John who healed a dog's broken paw backwards last year?"
The room chuckled faintly.
Boris didn't laugh.
"Flag the location," he said. "Put a watch on the street. Don't engage, don't question anyone. Just observe and report. Crystal Legion's orders were to document anything unusual."
He looked at the whiteboard again.
Still blank.
Later that evening, deep within Null Force Command, the observation report from the Crystal Legion had been delivered.
Boris read it twice.
Then again.
A low-ranking bronze healer. A boy who should've been unconscious for a week. And now—healthy?
He snapped his fingers. "Bring in the healer. I want to speak to him myself."
Thirty minutes later, Old John was escorted into the dim briefing room, his robes wrinkled, his left boot untied, and the distinct scent of firewine clinging faintly to his breath. He blinked against the lantern light, gave a sloppy bow, and scratched at his thinning hair.
"You're John," Boris said, hands folded before him.
"People call me Old John," the healer replied cheerfully. "Makes me sound wiser than I am."
"We'll decide how wise you are shortly. Tell me about the boy."
"Which one?" Old John said innocently.
Boris didn't blink. "The one who vomited tar and screamed himself nearly dead after an Essentia injection."
"Oh, that one. Logan Von. Nice kid." John squinted. "Looked like death itself when I saw him. Thought I'd have to amputate the boy's hope along with his soul. Gave him a Level One refresh spell and prayed to the Gods of Cheap Miracles."
Boris's jaw twitched. "And then?"
"Well, I went home. Next thing I hear—from my neighbor's sister's cousin who sells sweetroot near the park—he's jogging."
"Jogging," Boris repeated flatly.
"Yep! Coreless kid jogging like his rent was two steps behind him. Honestly, I was impressed." John chuckled. "Little guy's got no core, no status, and now no fear of public embarrassment. Might as well crown him king of the commoners."
A few Null agents behind Boris exchanged looks.
"And you're certain you used only a Refresh spell?"
"Rank One. Can barely fix a headache. If you think I accidentally awakened someone, Commander, I'll march myself into the Sea of Wailing and let the merfolk sort me out."
Boris leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger on the table.
Coreless. Tar vomiting. Now jogging.
"Where does the boy live?"
John hesitated. "Somewhere in the lower artisan wards. You know how these district lines blur. Couldn't say for sure—unless I'm under truthspell, of course."
Boris stared at him.
Old John smiled. A little crooked. A little too knowing.
"I'll keep my eye on you, Healer."
"And I'll keep mine on the ground, Commander. Easier not to trip over the rising ones that way."