A golden ripple shimmered beneath their feet as Alaric and Elijah stood suspended in a cosmic realm between form and formlessness. The stars that drifted around them pulsed like ancient heartbeats—silent, steady, watching. Massive silver chains, each thick as towers and stretching into infinity, wrapped across the stars and stitched them to the darkness like threads in an invisible loom.
Alaric exhaled slowly. The solemn weight in his tone made the entire space seem to pause.
"This," he said, raising his gaze to the starlit expanse above, "is the place where you can awaken your Essence."
Elijah turned to him, blinking. "What do you mean… activate my Essence? thought it would be a ritual."
Alaric nodded, then stepped forward as golden motes danced around his coat. "I opened the gate. But to awaken it—to forge it into reality—you must do that yourself."
His hand swept across the air. "This domain was discovered by your father, Victor, and later refined by his own hand. It is called the Final Boundary because it exists at the outermost edge of the World of Jade."
Alaric's voice echoed through the stillness, weighty with truth. "We, the Eight Constant Devils, claimed this place as a sanctuary of absolutes—a realm where no illusion, no twist of fate can obscure one's true will."
Elijah's eyes widened as he looked once more at the vast emptiness—the stars, the endless chains, the dark expanse stretching beyond comprehension. "Wait… these chains—are they…?"
"Yes," Alaric nodded. "These are the Probability Threads. What you see are the bindings of fate and destiny—govern your life, your choices, every decision and consequence you've ever made. They form an invisible web that connects every soul in the World of Jade."
He gestured to the countless stars glowing in the dark. "And those stars? They are the living beings of our world—each soul bound to its thread of probability, shining here in its truest form."
Elijah was silent for a long moment, awe painted across his features.
"I can't believe my father discovered this…" he murmured. "He's… awesome."
A rare smile touched Alaric's face. "He was. We all were. The Eight Constant Devils—we stood at equal power. Victor was our brightest star."
He stepped back now, facing Elijah directly.
"Now," Alaric said, his tone sharpening, "watch closely. It's time for my next move."
Elijah straightened. "What are you going to do?"
Alaric said nothing. He closed his eyes, extended his right hand, and began to chant in an ancient tongue. His voice echoed with the timbre of forgotten languages, heavy and sacred:
"O' Solornath El'dara… Essenth'Mai Ka'dur,
By my blood and bound star,
Let probability be broken, and soul be born."
Then, with unwavering calm, he raised his left wrist to his mouth and bit down. Blood dripped slowly from the wound—thick, red, and glowing faintly gold.
As the droplets struck the air, they ignited like stars falling into water. A radiant golden circle formed beneath them, expanding outward with runic light. The heavens above trembled. And then—
A pillar of golden light shot down from the sky and enveloped Elijah, illuminating the space like dawn piercing eternal night.
Chains erupted from the circle—silver and spectral—wrapping around Elijah's arms, chest, and legs. They tightened, humming with divine resistance.
"Elijah," Alaric said gravely, "this is the ritual I prepared. The Law of Destruction. These chains are the fate that governs you—the Probability Threads that try to shape your destiny."
Elijah gritted his teeth as the chains constricted, cutting into his very spirit. His knees buckled.
Elijah gasped as the chains pulled tighter, constricting not just his limbs but his will.
"Your Essence will only awaken," Alaric continued, "if you shatter them. Not with magic. Not with technique. But with yourself."
He pushed—channeling strength, fury, fear—but nothing happened.
The chains only tightened.
"I—I can't," Elijah gasped. "It's too strong…"
Alaric's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move. Instead, his voice dropped to a whisper.
"Elijah… I know it seems impossible. Even Solomon cannot defy the thread. But you must. I don't want to see you fall like the rest. I don't want to lose you."
Elijah strained again. His body trembled. His vision blurred. His voice cracked.
Then—
A sound. Gentle. Distant. Familiar.
It wasn't a word, exactly. It was warmth. It was memory.
A voice, soft as light and deep as the soul.
"I am always with you."
Elijah's eyes widened. His body shuddered.
"…Mom?" he whispered.
The chains pulsed, reacting to the invocation of truth in his soul.
"Don't give up," the voice said, closer now. "You were never alone, my son. Not even for a heartbeat."
It wasn't the voice that Elijah truly yearned for.
It was the feeling—that sacred, invisible thread that had once connected him to the safest place he had ever known.
A mother's love.
Not the kind that shouted over storms,
Not the kind that demanded to be seen—
But the kind that stayed when the world turned its back.
It was the warmth that cradled him before he ever understood what comfort was.
It was the presence that sat quietly beside his pain, never asking him to hide it.
It was the heartbeat that once lulled him to sleep before he ever had a name.
Her love wasn't made of fire or thunder.
It was made of something older—softer, stronger—like the roots of an ancient tree, holding the soil of his soul together when everything else fell apart.
It didn't need to speak to be heard.
It didn't need to move to be felt.
It simply was.
Constant. Eternal. Unbreakable.
Even now, when the world felt colder than death and emptier than silence,
that love found him.
In the quiet between thoughts.
In the pause between breaths.
In the ache he carried and didn't know how to name.
It reached into him, not from the outside…
but from within—
as if it had always been a part of him,
as if it had waited patiently for this exact moment.
Tears spilled down Elijah's face—hot, real, and full of every year he had spent pretending he didn't need to cry.
"…I miss you," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it all.
And then—
Not from the sky, not from a vision, but from the deepest chamber of his soul…
"I never left."
A voice that wasn't just sound—but memory, scent, warmth, and time.
A voice that spoke to the boy in him, the warrior he had become, and the brokenness he tried to hide.
And then, gently, commandingly—
"Now rise."
Because that is what a mother's love does.
It doesn't just console.
It resurrects.
It doesn't just remember you.
It reminds you who you are.
His breath hitched. His heart burned.
And then—he screamed.
The aura around him ignited. His body glowed white-gold, essence pouring from him like fire released from a cage. The chains rattled, then cracked.
Alaric's eyes widened. "He's doing it…"
Elijah roared, every muscle shaking, energy surging like a tidal wave.
The chains shattered—one by one—with violent bursts of light, the last of them exploding like stars dying in the night.
And then… silence.
The light faded. The sky calmed.
Elijah collapsed forward, unconscious.
But before he could hit the ground, Alaric caught him with both arms—slowly lowering him down.
A slow smile crept across his face. He whispered softly, "I knew it. Elijah, you did it."
Elijah stirred faintly. "I… need some rest…"
And then, his eyes fluttered closed.
Alaric stood there, gazing down at him. Not as a general. Not as a warrior.
But as a guardian.
Now, the memory faded. The stars of the real world gleamed faintly over the city.
On the balcony, Rudolf stood beside Alaric once again, a long moment of silence passing between them before the king spoke.
"You used the Law of Destruction Ritual," he said, voice low. "The most forbidden spell of soul-awakening. But how did you know… I mean… how did you believe Elijah could break it?"
Alaric said nothing.
He simply raised his eyes to the stars—quiet, steady.
The sky above them held no answer.
Only light.