Morning did not arrive with golden rays.
It seeped.
A muted, silver-gray pallor slipping through the narrow window of Kel's room like hesitation rather than light. The estate still slumbered; frost clung to the glass, and the air was cold enough that each breath carried a faint trail.
Kel opened his eyes.
He did not rise immediately.
The faint heaviness in his limbs reminded him of the strain woven into his bones—long weeks of healing, aura refinement, alchemy, diplomacy, and the memory of spectral water brushing against his consciousness the night before.
Sairen's last word echoed faintly in his mind.
"Equal."
He inhaled once more.
The breath sat still within him.
He exhaled.
The slight ache in his abdomen told him enough.
His physical form was healthy.
His mana channels stable.
His aura threads—calmer than they had ever been since his curse lifted.
His eyes sharpened.
Then—
He moved.
Slowly, purposefully, he rose and stepped out of bed. Bare feet touched the cold stone floor with deliberate silence. He did not reach for his coat. Not yet.
Today would begin differently.
Quiet Preparation
He sat cross-legged on the floor, pulse slowing into rhythm. The morning chill wrapped around his skin like a thin layer of ice.
He did not reject it.
He welcomed it.
One hand rested against his lower abdomen—below the navel, above the root of his core. The place where his first aura core still simmered faintly, a red ember forged from defiance and survival.
The irregular core, formed not at the standard center of aura cultivation—as the world dictated—but at the root chakra, just as his knowledge of old-world chakra theory suggested.
Anomaly.
He allowed the word to pass through his thoughts without hesitation.
Yes.
He was.
And this morning, he intended to deepen that truth.
Kel inhaled.
Breath condensed in the cold air.
Mana began to stir.
Aura followed.
He did not force it.
He directed it.
Slow. Precise.
He let his fingers float upward, stopping just below the sternum—at the center of the body, where normal practitioners focused their first aura core.
The solar plexus.
The second chakra.
The world called it the Center of Martial Flow.
His previous life called it Manipura—the seat of power, fire, determination.
He called it…
the next point.
Manifestation
He drew aura from the root core.
It surged, untamed, like molten heat running through his veins.
Pain flickered.
He did not react.
His breath continued even.
Stabilize. Refine. Condense.
Aura followed breath.
Mana responded.
The world's rules pressed.
Chakra theory defies traditional aura methodology.
Seven cores is not possible.
Kel did not argue.
He simply did it.
First, swirling the aura at the approximate center.
Then compressing it.
Not into a sphere.
Not into a flame.
Into a sun.
Heat rolled through him—not burning, but illuminating.
His back straightened.
Muscles trembled.
Blood rushed.
Something cracked—
not in his body.
In the invisible lattice of how this world believed power worked.
Kel's fingers twitched.
He tightened his hold—not on power.
On intent.
"I acknowledge you," he thought toward the awakening energy, "but I will not be consumed. You are mine, not the other way around."
The aura compressed further.
A drip of sweat rolled down his temple.
Then another.
His breath deepened.
Momentum tipped.
And—
Flash.
A burst of heat, invisible and contained.
The air shimmered around him.
Frost along the window melted in a thin vertical streak.
Kel opened his eyes.
A faint amber glow rippled across his irises, fleeting as sunrise.
Then vanished.
He released the breath.
"…Done."
The Second Core
He lifted a hand to his chest slowly.
His palm hovered above that place, feeling the faint vibration.
The core pulsed.
Not red.
Not cold.
Golden.
Not seen, but felt.
A centre of sun.
Solar Plexus Core – Active.
If others saw this, they would call it madness.
Breaking every cultivation doctrine.
But he only saw progress.
In his mind, system output flickered across the edges of awareness—
[AURA CORE LOG UPDATED]
First Core: Root – Red Irregular (Stability / Survival / Defiance)
Second Core: Solar – Golden (Will / Drive / Inner Flame)
Unique Architecture Detected: Dual-Chakra Core Formation
Risk Level: Extreme.
Efficiency Level: Immeasurable.
Projection: Potential exponential growth beyond mortal threshold.
Kel frowned.
Extreme risk.
He sighed.
Naturally.
He wiped the sweat trailing down his neck.
"Let it be extreme," he murmured. "I've been dying since the day I woke up. If this world believes I should crawl at its pace, it'll have to catch me first."
A faint ripple of presence touched the edge of his consciousness.
Not words.
Just attention.
He spoke inwardly without shifting expression.
Sairen.
"You did it."
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
Yes.
"…You realize that condensing multiple aura cores is considered a path to spiritual collapse in current metaphysics."
I do.
"…And still you did it."
That implies I considered the alternative.
A pause.
Then a faint whisper of amusement.
"Reckless anomaly."
He almost smiled.
Equal, he reminded softly.
"Yes," she conceded, voice as soft as mist over water. "Equal."
Physical Check
He stood slowly.
His knees did not buckle.
His aura channels thrummed.
Alive.
Power rippled beneath skin—not visible, not loud. Contained. He rolled his shoulders back, spine straightening, breath quiet.
His right hand drifted toward his bow hanging near the wall.
Just for calibration.
He lifted it.
Pulled the string.
His arm did not strain.
It obeyed.
He released slowly.
The air vibrated.
A crack appeared along the wooden floor where no arrow had been loosed.
He blinked.
"…Too much."
Already? Sairen observed mildly.
He set the bow down.
"Yes."
Internal Calculation
One core meant survival.
Two cores meant ignition.
Seven?
He exhaled, closing the window shutter to block out the last of the pale light.
Not yet.
He straightened his coat.
Dressed in silence.
His scarf wound around his neck, shadowing his jaw.
His footsteps made no sound.
As he reached the door, he paused.
His reflection in the metal latch stared back.
Eyes clear.
Not grim.
Not arrogant.
Just aware.
"This path has no precedent."
Then I will become one.
"Mortals who walk like gods burn quickly."
Then I'll burn where I choose, not where fate places the fire.
No response.
Only the faintest ripple of the lake.
A whisper.
"…Do not burn alone."
Kel's grip on the door tightened for a brief moment.
He opened it.
Morning awaited.
And beyond it—
Vanhart's second restoration phase.
Noble reconciliations.
Merchant negotiations.
Village councils.
Aura refinement.
Magic studies.
Treatment maintenance.
Border defense planning.
The weight of futures.
And somewhere unseen:
Chakra three.
Not today.
Soon.
He stepped into the hallway.
Coat trailing like shadow.
The air felt different now.
Even winter seemed to notice.
Somewhere behind him, frost reformed on the window frame—
but thinner than before.
As if reluctant.