Charles stood in the chamber's doorway, bare-chested. His skin was purpled and marked by bruises, lightning burns, and sword grazes. Ribs still bore a Sovereign's fury. Each step toward the bath left a wet, half-blood print on the stone.
He exhaled.
"You know," he said dryly, untying his sash, "once upon a time, I was content with a glass of water and a hot towel."
Anya gave a taut smile. "Once, you weren't storming the heavens."
Charles rolled his eyes. "Fair."
He stepped into the water.
The moment he immersed himself, the water gripped hold of him, refusing passive entry.
Heat and cold clashed, engulfing his battered frame and seeping into bone. He groaned, agony yanking him back to life.
From a black vial at the tub's edge, he retrieved a Meridian Burst Pill. The capsule swirled: violet threads and sparks, like a storm locked in crystal.
"Bottoms up."
He swallowed.
And then the world detonated.
Power surged through him: his body thrust back, muscles arching with a silent, raw scream. Qi exploded outward from his dantian, as if molten lava were being forced through icy, narrow tunnels.
His skin glowed, veins flashing blue and gold. Lightning raged beneath his flesh. Every nerve screamed, louder even than his voice could.
Muscles spasmed as if trying to leap from bone. His teeth ground together, jaw tight with survival.
"Sssssweet thunder gods," he hissed between ragged breaths, barely able to form the words. "Okay. That's… new."
The Silkroot stormed through. It tore away qi-blockages and old wounds with raw force.
Verdant Jade Dew moved next, its essence threading through and mending torn channels. Then Drakebone Ash seared along, binding the repairs with sudden bursts of alchemical heat. The agony felt like lightning fusing his veins shut.
Then came the Stardrop Essence.
The Stardrop Essence threaded sanity back into a mind unraveling. Each drop anchored his convulsing, glowing body.
He coughed. Blood erupted into the silver bathwater like red ink in a divine painting. But it wasn't weakness.
It was the purge.
The filth. The impurities. The rot of past failures was being flushed from his core.
It was the start of something primal.
Charles rasped, his voice trembling, "Fan-fantastic. That's exactly the footnote I needed."
[SIGMA: Warning—Meridian Overload at 83%. Stabilization must happen in 180 seconds. Or else... well, it looks like spontaneous combustion is going to happen.]
He tilted his head back, laughed, and choked on blood and nonsense at the same time. "Should have stuck with wine and revenge."
There was lightning crackling under his skin.
His body hurt, stretched, and shook with the pain of being reborn. This was making something, not healing. A crucible for qi and nerve. Charles never bowed, though, and he never screamed without swinging back.
He clenched the sides of the tub so tightly that the marble began to fracture under his hands.
His breath hitched, then steadied. "Come on, you bastard," he muttered through gritted teeth. "You survived a boardroom coup. You survived betrayal, exile, and that lovely little assassination attempt. Now you're gonna let a bath beat you?"
His arms trembled. Sparks arced from his shoulders. The tub hummed, the sigils glowing brighter.
"I. Don't. Break," he snarled. "Not in a boardroom. Not on a battlefield. Not in a bloody bath."
His meridians surged again—this time with direction. With force of will.
Charles roared—not from pain, but from fury.
A roar shook stone and sigil alike. Lightning streaked to the ceiling. Steam billowed, defying the calm.
SIGMA's voice flickered back, clipped and robotic—but almost admiring, the inflection belying its usual detachment as Charles's AI medical assistant.
[SIGMA:"Overload dropping. 70%. 65%. Warning—system holding. You're... doing it.]
Charles gasped, eyes wide now, glowing faintly with violet and gold. "Damn right I am."
His head slumped back, steam streaming off his body. Even so, his focus sharpened; the process was far from over.
This was just phase one.
But even the storm must start with a single bolt.
[SIGMA: PHASE TWO: HARMONIZATION — 20–45 Minutes]
The storm began to slow.
His breathing steadied. His heart hammered. Qi lines no longer blazed but pulsed. Sweat streamed from his brow, silver and jade gleaming. The room reeked of ozone, spring, and steel.
Above the bath, mist formed—a subtle chi-vapor rising like sacred incense.
Charles opened his eyes, bloodshot but focused. "Still alive. Hah. Eat your core out, Garrick."
His body wasn't just healing—it was evolving.
The Abyss-Forged Vessel inside started to wake up.
He felt the fire deep inside him, forming the [Flame Vein Lv. 1]. It was a passive blaze in his muscles that gave him subtle internal heat and stamina.
Then the lightning hit, and his limbs felt like they were moving at lightning speed. [Lightning Flick Lv. 1] unlocked, and faint arcs of light danced across his knuckles.
And far below... the Earth. A solid, patient presence that keeps you grounded. [Earth Rooting Lv. 1] kept his breath, posture, and will steady.
Darkness followed last—not with terror, but promise. A hum of ancient shadow in his spine. Awareness of corners that light had never kissed. Of paths, only the cursed could walk.
[SIGMA: Noted. Shadow Sensitivity is increasing. Recommend future evaluation. Or a therapist.]
Charles chuckled darkly. "I am the therapist."
[PHASE THREE: BREAKTHROUGH OR EQUILIBRIUM — 45–60 Minutes]
The tub stilled.
Then trembled.
A golden halo bloomed faintly around his chest, dancing along his collarbone and arms. His core beat like a second heart—thump… thump… thump—each pulse sending ripples through the room.
And finally—clarity.
He stood.
He rose from the water. Droplets rolled off his skin as if sliding off metal—his chest remained unbroken, no more blood, no more tremors, just calm strength.
Charles, now solidified at Foundation Core Level 8, exhaled the last of his pain with a long, tired laugh.
He reached for a dark robe hanging beside the bath. Black silk, stitched with chi-thread in the shape of cloud serpents.
The chamber was hushed, more sacred than silence. Enchanted braziers flickered with quiet life. Gold and violet shadows spilled across ancient stone. Moonlily incense drifted in spirals, infused with Dreamroot and jade dew—an alchemical blend crafted not merely for aroma, but to sedate the soul.
Soft motes of light clung to the air like stars that had not fallen. At the room's center, a low platform of opaline marble stood within a glowing rune array—older than House Ziglar, drawn from the First Restoration Codex, reserved for heirs at death's door. Tonight, it welcomed a boy who refused to die.
Charles lay on the stone, breath shallow but steady. His body was a canvas of warfare—lightning burns, bruises blooming. Skin taut with strain. Beneath, his core pulsed erratically.
Still overworked. Still fraying at the edges from the Meridian Burst Pill and the violent baptism of the Iron-Jade Bath.
But the worst was past. Now came the healing.
"Anya," he called.
Anya entered like dusk—graceful, silent, unyielding. She wore a sleeveless robe of sky-gray silk, sleeves bound at her elbows with phoenix thread. No jewelry. No badge. Just warm hands, glowing with Light Qi.
"Success?" she asked.
He flexed his hands—lightning cracked faintly between his knuckles. "Level 8 refined. Core stable. Shadow tamed. Muscles sore. Ego intact."
"Good," she said softly.
There was a narrow glass vial cradled in velvet on a silver tray next to her. This was the main part of tonight's ritual. The Elixir of Dreamveil. A mix of Lunabloom, Phoenix Balm, Verdant Jade extract, and a drop of Stardrop Essence that is unique to you. Anya had mixed this herself, not just as a master healer but also as something else.
Charles looked to the side with one eye barely open. "You're not going to kill me while pretending to help me, are you?"
Anya raised her eyebrows. "Not tonight, my lord." You deserve mercy.
"Tch. "Can't even suffer in peace."
She gently poured the golden elixir into her palms, warming it above an enchanted bowl of starmilk. The liquid shimmered, casting colors across her hands as if holding fragments of other worlds—dreams ready to be pressed into flesh.
"Breathe slowly," she murmured, stepping beside him. "Let the world fall away."
He smirked faintly. "You first."
Then came her hands.
Warm. Steady. Glowing faintly with golden light.
She pressed them to his shoulders, Dreamveil Elixir streaming into muscle and memory. Golden warmth spread like sunrise through storm clouds. Lunabloom and Phoenix Balm suffused his tissue, erasing tension with every stroke.
Charles exhaled sharply. "That's either divine intervention or you smuggled dragon wine into this oil."
"Neither," she said with a smile. "But if I hit the wrong meridian, you'll see things that aren't there."
He snorted, and she went down.
Her thumbs pressed down, tracing the ridge of his spine. Wherever she touched, the runes of the array glowed softly to life.
"You're holding your breath again," she whispered, leaning close to his ear. Her breath was warm, feather-soft. "Stop controlling the pain. Let it rise. Let it go."
"I don't trust it to leave quietly," he muttered.
"Then scream into the pillow, my lord."
Charles laughed roughly, then groaned as her fingers dug into the muscle next to his dantian, making it hard for him to breathe. His back bent, but he didn't pull away. Pain had become a familiar face, and her care was both sharp and steady—strength hidden behind comfort.
It took a few minutes. Or hours. He couldn't tell anymore.
The world had shrunk down to her hands, the sound of her breath, and the slow slide of her oil-slicked palms waking up nerves he didn't know were still broken. His spiritual core, which had been storm-tossed and frayed, began to calm. Fire, lightning, and darkness—all that basic chaos whispered into silence.
And then came the climax.
She rested one hand on the base of his back, another on his forehead. Light pulsed through her like a bell's chime—radiating into him in waves. Stardrop Essence bloomed at last, and for a moment, the world blurred.
No more battlefields. No broken engagement. No throne of betrayal.
Only warmth. Only hands. Only her.
Charles's mind drifted to the past—blood on stone, cold nights alone, a boy too small for his name. And a woman with no obligation, but all the love in the world, brushing his hair in silence after a punishment she didn't stop but always tended.
He sighed. And she felt it.
To Charlemagne Ziglar, this was his mother.
Not by blood. By memory.
By love.
And though his jaw clenched as she activated the Light-Locking Sigil at the base of his neck, he did not flinch. He welcomed the burn. The pulse. The soft locking sensation as all his harmonized meridians sealed into a perfect network.
She stepped back, breathing evenly now.
The air shimmered around him. A golden mist clung to his shoulders like a cloak. His aura was calm, his soul no longer fraying. He stirred, eyes half-lidded, heavy with sleep and something else.
"…What did you do?" he murmured, voice hoarse.
"I lit the darkness from within," she replied, voice a lullaby. "Just a little."
He smiled—not with his lips, but with something buried deeper. A soft, tired laugh followed.
"I think I'm floating."
"You're not," she said gently. "But you've never looked more grounded."
The chamber got quiet again.
The stars blinked outside. The light inside Charles blinked back.
And for one beautiful, brief moment, his soul shone brightly.
Later That Night...
The storm had finally stopped, and he lay in bed.
The ceiling above him had runes of protection and clarity that pulsed in time with his breath.
[SIGMA: The stabilization worked. Core density: 22% more. Constitution: changing. 19% of people have a shadow affinity. 11% more muscle mass. Dignity rating went back up to 68%.]
Charles groaned. "Let's aim for 70 tomorrow. With a side of sarcasm."
[SIGMA: That was the sarcasm.]
He smiled.
Then, silence.
And in that silence, Charles Vale slept—not as a man defeated by pain, but as one reborn by it.