Kenzo remained still for a long moment. The choice continued to hover before him, simple in appearance yet incredibly heavy in consequence. Two possibilities. Two paths. The voice imposed no urgency, no countdown, no outside pressure. And yet Kenzo could not remember ever feeling such weight behind a decision.
He hesitated.
Choosing a [Transfigured] Power was tempting. There was no denying the appeal. Sir James had been living proof—or rather, dead proof—of what it could offer. Raw, direct, violent strength that seemed capable of bypassing certain natural limitations. But that was precisely the problem. Kenzo knew nothing about the requirements necessary to withstand such a Power. Nothing was clear. Not what it demanded from the body, the mind, or the Heart.
— « Could my body even handle it…? »
He had no idea what it would require physically. His body had already been pushed brutally hard. It had survived so far, yes, but for how much longer?
— « And there's prana… »
That was the other essential point.
Awakened were not simply fighters who possessed Powers. Their true strength also came from their ability to use prana—to channel it, understand it, and develop their control over it. Every higher rank opened new possibilities and new abilities tied to prana itself, not merely to their individual Powers. Control. Density. Perception. All of it evolved through time and training.
Would a Transfigured Power rely on prana in the same way? Would it consume it differently? More violently? More dangerously? Kenzo had absolutely no idea. After all, whether someone was Awakened or Transfigured, the amount of prana they actively used at their current level remained limited.
— « And what if I can't withstand it…? »
He still remembered the pain from the previous Assimilations he had accepted, the feeling of something forcing itself into him from within, of his body being pushed toward collapse. Choosing a Power without understanding what it demanded suddenly seemed irresponsible.
Kenzo tightened his fists.
He had never been trained for this.
At the Royal Academy, the book Yareth had lent him covered the world of the Awakened and Void Creatures, their progression and their ranks. But it said nothing about the abilities tied directly to prana. Absolutely nothing. Not a single line, note, or even a clear rumor explaining how those abilities evolved at each stage. It was almost as though the subject had deliberately been kept in the dark.
— « Either they don't know… or they don't want people to know. »
Either way, choosing a Transfigured Power meant moving forward blind.
Kenzo slowly inhaled. He had never survived by blindly choosing the fastest path. He was still alive because he knew when to take risks—and when not to. This choice was not necessarily permanent. There might be other opportunities. Other hearts. Other decisions.
But this one needed to make sense for who he was now.
— « I'll choose what I can understand. »
The decision formed naturally.
— « [Awakened]. »
The choice was confirmed.
Nothing happened immediately. No sudden pain. No transformation. Only a faint, gentle sensation, almost comforting. A quiet warmth spread through his chest, centered around his Heart. It was not invasive or violent. It felt almost… familiar, as though something had simply found the place where it naturally belonged.
A warm, almost humid sensation accompanied it, like a slow, deep breath. Kenzo briefly closed his eyes, paying attention to the smallest change. Nothing burned. Nothing resisted.
His body accepted it.
Then the voice echoed.
[Congratulations. You have ingested an [Awakened] Power.]
Kenzo opened his eyes again.
— « That's it…? »
He could clearly feel that something had changed, but he could not tell what. There was no sudden flood of information, no new instinct immediately revealing itself. Only that subtle presence nestled within his Heart, like a seed that had yet to awaken.
Kenzo was about to summon his Orb to see what he had received.
That was when everything changed.
A violent tremor ran through the ground.
Kenzo froze. The vibration was not weak. It came from some distance away, but it was distinct and precise, as though something deep beneath their feet had cracked. The ground shook a second time, harder than before, sending small pieces of debris falling around him.
The epicenter was obvious.
The cocoon.
Kenzo broke into a run without thinking. His heart began racing, not from exhaustion, but from the sudden anxiety that seized him. Lucian was still there. Everything they had gone through could become meaningless if something happened now.
— « Hold on… »
He rushed through the corridors of webbing, his footsteps echoing strangely through the increasingly unstable structure. The closer he came, the stronger and more frequent the vibrations became. Even the air seemed to change, growing denser and colder.
At last, he reached Lucian.
The blond boy was standing completely still, eyes wide open.
— « Kenzo… »
His voice was quiet, stunned, almost disbelieving.
Kenzo followed his gaze.
And immediately understood.
The massive table of dark stone that had once stood there was gone. Nothing recognizable remained. The stone had shattered completely, fragments scattered across the floor as though something had exploded from inside it. Beneath the place where the table had stood, a gaping cavity had opened.
A cold breath escaped from it.
It was not an ordinary draft. It was heavy, laden with something almost damp, and the moment it spread through the chamber, Kenzo instinctively tensed. His breathing stopped for a fraction of a second. There was something unmistakably threatening within that air, something carrying a signature he felt as though he had encountered before.
Then the Mist appeared.
Lucian stepped back.
His face went pale.
He did not ask what it was. He did not need an explanation. His wide eyes remained fixed on the Mist with immediate, unfiltered terror.
It was not fear of the unknown.
It was worse.
It was the fear of recognizing something.
Kenzo felt his throat tighten.
No words came.
None were needed.
He knew.
They both knew.
Kenzo finally spoke.
— « Run. »