Logos pulsed faintly in the air, edges of the prismatic ring sharpening, almost as if the entity was… considering.
"When I was recovering energy," Logos finally said, "I used the time to assess the structure of this reality. This realm is… different. In unexpected ways."
The phrasing made Zahir pause. "This realm," Logos had said—like someone who'd stepped through the seams between dimensions. Someone not from Prime.
Logos continued, voice steady, old, as if delivering the start of a long lesson.
"The Field seems to have emerged from a handful of irreducible principles. Together, they formed a structure designed to grow. A garden of dimensions, if you will.
"From one angle, the fruit of such a system isn't just new realms—but souls, sharpened until they rival the capabilities of gods. Without any divine requirement. How wondrous."
Zahir didn't know what counted as divine. But the highest rank innovators were legendary god-like figures to him. However, the way Logos said it—like they were intentional byproducts of some cosmic system. What was it getting at?
"But even gardens rot," Logos continued. The light dimmed slightly as it spoke. "There are… flaws in the foundation here. Not incidental ones. Woven into the fabric of creation itself. A tendency for things to fragment. It is… inevitable. Perhaps even necessary. A law, of sorts."
Zahir's jaw flexed. He already knew what fraying felt like. The bus. The sickness. The pieces of himself threatening to peel away.
"My signature, yesterday," he muttered under his breath.
"Yes," Logos confirmed. "Your soul holds a rare structure—superposition at its base layer. A miraculous foundation. One that allows for operations far beyond what most at your rank can even imagine. That potential gives us much to work with.
"But there is a cost," Logos said gently. "Your soul resonates too closely with the fracture pattern woven into this realm. You unravel quicker than most."
The words settled between them, heavy yet not hopeless.
"Understand: the fracture pattern itself is a foundational law of this reality. But it is not solitary. Opposite the fracture are stabilizing forces—principles that bind and balance. They do not negate the fracture; instead, they harmonize with it, allowing measured, sustainable growth. They make the unraveling bear fruit."
The ring pulsed faintly as it spoke.
"This vast civilization of your origin has grasped one of these principles, even if they do not name it properly. Power… stabilizes with resonance. Certain materials, objects, even structures—natural or built—resist the unraveling. They hold things together. Hence the term, anchors. If you can align with them, they can keep you whole, even amplify your natural abilities."
Zahir frowned. "So I need something like that just to exist. I thought reaching base rank was supposed to be an upgrade. This sounds like a huge liability."
The ring hovered steadily, its faint light rippling softly through the air.
"There is an old story," Logos said, tone unchanged, as though this moment called not for answers, but reminders. "Of a farmer who lived at the edge of a great plain. One day, his only horse wandered off. The neighbors called it a tragedy. But the horse returned weeks later… leading a herd of wild mares behind it."
Zahir raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent.
"His neighbors called it a blessing. That same week, the farmer's son broke his leg taming one of the mares. A misfortune, they said. But when military conscriptors arrived at the village, taking every able-bodied young man to fight a distant war… they left the boy behind."
The story settled into the quiet of the room. Logos let it breathe for a moment before finishing.
"Who can say what is a blessing, and what is a curse? Often… they are the same thing. Seen from different distances."
Zahir exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. He didn't know what a farmer or a horse was, but he got the gist of the story. Still, he didn't have time to wax philosophical.
"Yeah? And how much distance I got before this 'blessing' sends me into a death spiral?"
"You are already in the spiral," Logos said calmly. "At your current rate of degradation…days remain. Perhaps fewer, if you strain your Signature again."
That wasn't just a warning. It was a countdown. He swallowed hard, pushing it down. No time to spiral about spiraling.
"Fine," he said at last. "So, how do I find an anchor?"
"With the right components, I believe I can create one for you."
The prismatic ring flared and then morphed into an intricate script of interlocking glyphs—sharp, angular, and yet strangely fluid. Each glyph twisted into existence through strokes of radiant, shifting color, symbols Zahir now easily read, meaning blooming in his mind.
"What you see," Logos spoke, voice steady and patient, "is a symbolic mapping of your soul's current state.
Zahir's eyes darted across the script. Hungrily drinking in the information.
"Your core attributes," Logos explained gently, the symbols shimmering softly, "translated into terms familiar to your civilization, appear as follows."
Soul Rank: [Base]
Signature Type: [Superposition]
Signature Properties: [Minimal Coherence], [???]
Zahir stared at the glyphs floating in the air—sharp, flickering impressions shaped from prismatic pressure. Rank: Base. No surprise there. It was the bottom rung, the first foothold of the Innovator's enlightened path.
But it was the next two lines that carried weight.
Superposition. He was starting to feel what that meant—not just as theory, but in his bones. Holding multiple intentions, recovering faster, even slipping past the Cyclo's scans.
And once—back in Logos' chamber—a brief, crystalline moment of perfect alignment—a precise, sharp snap into place. It hadn't happened since.
All of it—his intuition, the timing, the strange untouchability—was rooted in one thing: Minimal Coherence.
There was another mystery property next to minimal coherence as well, a blurred symbol that refused to resolve clearly.
"What's that other property?"
The prismatic ring shimmered gently, almost thoughtfully. "I cannot decipher it clearly yet. It is, complex. The living question part of your nature, if you will."
Zahir shrugged and kept reading.
Soul Components: [None] (Anchor Needed)
Formulas: [None]
His eyes lingered on the words. "Soul components," he murmured softly. Items he could store within his soul. An anchor was a soul component. That's what he needed to stabilize. There were also catalysts, weapons, and stuff he could use for formulas.
The symbol Logos used to express the idea of formulas gave Zahir the impression of spell casting. Formulas were structured expressions of soul substance, operations he could shape and release. Of course, he hadn't expected to know any just yet. He planned on pirating a few standard ones.
"For reference," Logos said, gently drawing his attention to his stats, "the average Base-Rank Innovator holds most parameters between 9 and 11. You have three beneath 7, and one above 17. This makes you… anomalous."
Zahir studied the glyphs hovering before him, their radiant complexity slowly sharpening into clear, familiar terms. Strength, Agility, Endurance—words he'd always understood intuitively, now refracted through Logos' prismatic symbols.
He stared at the unbalanced numbers, the glowing symbols and warnings, and couldn't help but wonder bitterly:
'Am I seeing this right, or is my stat sheet complete trash?'
"Strength: 9/10," the symbols revealed. [C Grade]
Zahir felt a stab of disappointment. So… no boost there. Apparently, all those street fights and midnight exercises had barely kept him at average. Less than average, actually.
Agility: 18/10 [A+ Grade] [High Potential]
That caught Zahir off guard. Eighteen. Nearly double the standard. He hadn't properly tested this yet, but it tracked. A small pulse of satisfaction stirred in his chest. This was something he could work with. How do I use that? he wondered.
Structural Integrity: 4. [F Grade] [Danger: Fracture Imminent]
Structural integrity was a measure of his endurance, a measure of his soul's capacity for stress. Looking at the stat, his stomach dropped. Four. Four. The number practically mocked him.
That wasn't just weak—it was paper-thin. A soul held together with duct tape and denial. If another Innovator so much as sneezed on him, his whole system might rupture. This was what Logos had been warning him about.
Aura: 7/10 [D Grade] [Significant Leakage]
Aura was a measure of his soul's raw power output and pressure. The thing that determined how hard he could push the Field, how far his presence extended, how much influence he could exert in a clash. Apparently, his aura wasn't just weak; it was leaking. Fuck. He'd have to plug that hole somehow, and fast.
Focus: 5/10 [D- Grade] [Inconsistent]
Focus. Every ability required sustained mental clarity, and he simply didn't have it. Five was bad. Really bad. Inconsistent was worse.
Intellect: 9-14. [C+ → A Grade] [Quantum-Based Fluctuation]
He blinked, noticing the fluctuation immediately. "Why the range?" he asked, unable to hide his confusion.
"Your mind reflects your Signature," Logos explained patiently. "Your processing capacity isn't fixed—it's quantum. Under pressure, and with properly aligned intention, your cognitive ability enjoys a generous enhancement."
Zahir exhaled slowly, letting the numbers settle. Every weakness exposed. Every edge lopsided. Only one real outlier.
"You possess extraordinary base potential. Your agility—a byproduct of your unstable signature—is remarkable. Yet, it is not sustainable. Without proper stabilization, your weaker attributes will continue to erode, eventually causing total signature collapse."
"Great," Zahir muttered bitterly. "So what's next?"
"A balanced anchor will stabilize and elevate your parameters substantially." Logos repeated, steady and firm. "To forge one, we'll need components with properties capable of counterbalancing your soul's volatility. At least two. Three would allow for ideal synthesis."
More glyphs bloomed midair, forming a loose triangular frame around him.
"Each component must resonate with one of three stabilizing qualities:
"Foundation resists unraveling—dense and grounded, it counteracts your fragility.
"Fluidity provides adaptability. Making room for dynamic adjustment rather than brittle collapse.
"Memory binds your Anchor to your identity. This component must be emotionally resonant—tied directly to your personal history."
At that instruction, Zahir's mind drifted on to the cool weight felt against his chest—Six's pendant, resting just beneath his shirt.
He nodded once. "I think I've got one of them already."
"Correct," Logos confirmed. "That pendant holds enough emotional resonance to satisfy the Memory condition. But the others—Foundation and Fluidity—must still be located."
Zahir nodded slowly. His mind was already shifting into map-space, cataloguing where he might be able to go. He was pretty sure there was a component shop on the Lattice. He could start there, now that he should be able to register.
As if tracking the thought, Logos spoke again.
"And though I cannot locate your friend directly," the ring pulsed, voice lowering with gravity, "I do have another function… I believe it may assist you in both searches."
Zahir looked up sharply. "What kind of function?"
The air shimmered. A new symbol bloomed in front of him—strange, elegant, almost unfinished. Its lines flickered like a whisper reaching for language.
"The power of Omens."