The machine finally went silent.For the first time in hours, the chamber knew stillness. No buzzing mana, no screaming metal, no ragged echoes of pain. Only the thin, mechanical click of cooling parts and the faint hiss of steam curling into the air like ghosts that had lost their purpose.�The master watched the glass tank as the dense fog inside began to thin. Shapes slowly emerged—wires, restraints, the faint outline of a body no longer thrashing, no longer fighting. Just resting."Father… is it over?" his son asked softly.The master did not answer at once. His gaze, usually unshakable, seemed distant now. "Yes," he said at last. "One way or another, it is."With a heavy clang, the locks disengaged. Metal arms retracted, and the front of the chamber creaked open. Cold air rushed out, carrying the sharp scent of mana and scorched flesh. Abraham stepped forward—or rather, something that had once been Abraham.His eyes, once full of restless ambition, now burned with a calm, unsettling clarity. Mana light pulsed faintly beneath his skin, tracing his veins like dim constellations. The chains that had bound him fell away with a single flex of his fingers.�"Abraham," the son whispered, unsure whether to step closer or run.Abraham looked at him, then at the master. There was no anger in his gaze, no accusation. Only a quiet understanding that hurt more than any rage could have."So," Abraham said, voice low and steady, "this is what your teaching really is."The master held his gaze. "This is the only way to survive the world you asked to enter. I gave you the chance to become more."Abraham let the words hang between them. Once, he would have argued. Once, he would have shouted, demanded answers, begged for a different path. Now, the fire inside him burned too clean for that."I thought internal energy meant peace," he said. "Balance. A path."The son stepped forward, unable to keep quiet. "It doesn't have to be like this. We could have guided you slowly. Trained you, step by step. He chose the hardest road for you."Abraham looked between them—the merciless conviction of the master, the trembling doubt of the son. Two sides of the same world he had walked into with naïve eyes and hopeful dreams."At least," Abraham said, a faint, tired smile touching his lips, "I finally understand what kind of Murim this is."The master's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened behind his back. "Do you regret it?"Abraham glanced at his own hands, feeling the strange, steady power humming beneath his skin. The pain was still in his bones, a phantom echo of what he'd endured. It would never completely fade. Neither would the memory of the boy who had stepped into the gravity room, thinking strength was just training and willpower."I regret not knowing the truth sooner," he replied. "But regret won't change what I am now."The son swallowed. "And what are you now?"Abraham turned toward the chamber doors. The weight of the world outside seemed to press against them—clans, sects, enemies he had never seen but would eventually meet. "Something that can survive," he said quietly. "Whether that's a blessing or a curse… I'll find out on my own."
