Unaware of the eyes observing him from above, Calen was ensnared in a dream. He felt trapped within another's body, a passive spectator bound to their perspective, unable to act. His vision swirled with blurred colors, devoid of sound, and the world spun dizzyingly, as if he were caught in an endless whirl. Gradually, his sight sharpened, and faint sounds emerged.
He was a child trudging to school, with a working father and a housewife mother, their faces obscured in haze. He played with other children, watched movies and anime, attended high school, and studied physics, chemistry, and mathematics. He enrolled in a university to pursue advanced physics for his degree. With each passing scene, the experiences fused with his memories, as if they were his own. As he progressed through these stages of life, Calen felt his mind maturing, aging with the weight of newfound understanding. By the time he reached university, he realized he was witnessing fragments of a past life—a life that belonged to him before he became Calen Vorys, his current identity.
In the dream, he saw himself working on particle physics for a PhD. But as the scenes advanced, his vision blurred again, and sound faded. "What happened? How did I die?" Calen strained to force the memories into focus, desperate to uncover how he had transitioned to this new body in an unfamiliar world. Darkness swallowed his sight, and a throbbing pain surged in his head, like a relentless assault from an unseen force. He yearned to scream, to lash out, but he was powerless, a prisoner in the dream.
Abruptly, his vision cleared. He was a child again, cradled in a man's arms—his father in this life. A woman's voice, urgent and resolute, broke through. "Take him away. I'll hold them off."
"No, I'm stronger," his father argued, his voice trembling with rage. "You take him. I can hold them longer."
"You're stronger, so you have a better chance of getting him far from here while I distract them," the woman insisted. "Listen to me, Victor. It's vital he lives and grows up far away. Please, take him."
Calen heard his father's teeth grind, but no further words came. His mother leaned close, her whisper soft yet piercing. "Always remember, Calen Vorys, we love you forever." She turned and vanished into the distance. His father, clutching him tightly, spun in the opposite direction and ran, the wind roaring past them. Behind, thunder rumbled, mingled with indescribable sounds—like the world itself was unraveling.
The scene ignited a primal rage within Calen, a burning desire for vengeance that dwarfed the grief he'd felt when his father failed to return from the sea. His heart ached with loss and injustice, yet the dream pressed forward, heedless of his turmoil. The scenes shifted to the day his father didn't return, then plodded through the monotonous two years that followed, marked by hunger and mourning. The dream culminated in today's events: catching the demon angler fish. This time, Calen noticed a silver ring encircling the base of the fish's pearl. He saw his blood drip onto the ring, triggering a brilliant flash as it vanished. A soft female voice echoed in his mind: "Identified species: Human. Initiating Emperor Project…"
Drawing on the knowledge from his past life, Calen pieced it together. "It wasn't a senior—it was some sort of an artifact that triggered my awakening. But what is the 'Emperor Project'?" Until this morning, his life had been simple, unremarkable. Now, questions swirled in his mind, each more urgent than the last, and he remained trapped in this strange dream. As he grappled with his thoughts, his mind grew sluggish, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. His consciousness slipped away once more.
…
For nearly six hours, Elder Lembert and the village chief had hovered above the small house, their eyes fixed on the scene below. Lembert had erected a minor concealment array around the dwelling to mask the anomaly in the ambient Aether from other awakened in the village. He knew it wouldn't fool anyone stronger than himself or the chief, but it was better than nothing.
A rustle beside him drew his attention. The village chief, with a sheepish grin, had produced a teapot and two porcelain cups from somewhere within his robes. He sprinkled tea leaves into the pot, then conjured a stream of water from thin air to fill it. "Could you…?" he asked, glancing at Lembert.
Lembert's mouth twitched at the chief's practiced antics. "This is your fourth tea," he said, exasperated, but reached out to touch the pot. Steam soon curled from its spout. Shamelessly, he poured himself a cup before passing the pot to the chief, who chuckled.
"You know I'm addicted to tea," the chief said, claiming the floating cup as the teapot hovered between them. "Besides, I'm half-asleep just standing here staring down. We've seen nothing but Aether fluctuations so far."
As they sipped, a sudden surge of Aether yanked downward, jarring their senses. "It's reaching its climax," Lembert said, his voice calm but his heart racing. "The formation is on its last legs. The boy is winning."
Despite his outward composure, Lembert was anything but calm. He secretly hoped the boy would prevail, not just for the boy's sake but for his own ambitions. Observing the Aether's behavior alone wouldn't guarantee his breakthrough to Grand Mastery, but if the formation collapsed, he might glimpse its inner workings—enough to push him over the threshold.
The moment he'd awaited arrived with a sharp crack, like a tree branch snapping. The sound grew louder, and ethereal blue patterns shimmered into existence, enveloping the house and surrounding forest. Complex arrays of straight lines, arcs, and circles intertwined in a three-dimensional lattice, glowing with intricate beauty. Lembert strained every fiber of his being to memorize the design, his mind burning with the effort. The pattern lingered for a mere second before vanishing, leaving the night silent and ordinary once more.
Lembert trembled violently, as if seized by a fit. Blood trickled from his eyes and nose, but a manic laugh erupted from him. "Hahahaha!" he cackled, his voice echoing dangerously in the quiet.
The village chief shook his head, exasperated but understanding. He knew how rare this opportunity was for Lembert. The minor concealment array, still active, thankfully muffled the laughter, sparing the neighborhood from waking. The chief also knew the danger—only Lembert's Master-level expertise had kept him upright. Had the chief attempted to memorize that chaotic pattern, he might have collapsed dead on the spot. No, thank you.
"Calm down," the chief urged, seeing Lembert's laughter persist. "You'll wake the whole village."
"Haha, Old Yang!" Lembert crowed, his face alight with a triumphant grin. "I'll show those fools—I Lembert still has what it takes for formations!"
The chief ignored the outburst and extended his senses toward the house. The boy was still unconscious but stable, his vitals strong. "He's fine," the chief said. "He'll likely wake in a few hours. We can leave now."
"Yes, yes," Lembert agreed, his laughter subsiding but his smile undimmed. "He's fine. We'll speak with him tomorrow. Let him rest."
The two turned and flew toward the village chief's house. As they departed, the chief flicked his sleeve, and the floating teapot vanished into thin air. Unbeknownst to them, a shadowy figure perched on a branch in a nearby tree, its gaze fixed on the house. As the elders disappeared into the distance, the figure's eyes tracked their retreat. After a few minutes of silent observation, the shadow melted into the night, leaving no trace.