NOVEL NEXT Chapter 152: Echoes in the Cradle
The second month of our covert alliance with the Norenki settled into a productive rhythm. The fear and hostility that had defined our first meeting had been replaced by a foundation of solid, pragmatic respect. Trade flowed freely through the portal I maintained, a secret artery connecting our two burgeoning powers. Convoys of Norenki hunters would arrive with hauls of rare monster parts and exotic alchemical herbs from the western territories, and in return, they would leave with precisely-forged Dweorg tools from Bastion, life-saving medical supplies synthesized in Silverwood, and advanced nutritional paste from my own stores.
"Freja's latest progress report is... impressive, Master Eren," Jeeves' calm, synthesized voice echoed in my mind one afternoon as I reviewed the data streams in the Cradle's command center. "With their Tier 4 Champions properly equipped, their dungeon clearance efficiency has increased by two hundred and seventeen percent. Their Sanctum is approaching the threshold for a Level 3 evolution. At this rate, they will be entirely self-sufficient within another three months."
I looked at the live feed Jeeves was projecting — a holographic image of Freja, clad in her humming lightning-forged plate, effortlessly cleaving through a hulking beast that would have given our entire team trouble less than half a year ago. She moved with a confidence and power that had been there all along, but was now finally unshackled.
"She's a force of nature," I sent back, a flicker of genuine admiration in my thoughts.
"Indeed. She is also proving to be a shrewd and effective asset. Her feigned 'negotiations' with the Kyorian garrison at Nexus Delta-5 are a masterwork of bureaucratic attrition. She has them tied up for now, buying enough time to rebuild her settlement's defenses and discreet upgrades."
I allowed myself a small smile. Lucas had given her the playbook, and she was running it to perfection. Vayne would get her reports of a pacified, cooperative tribe, and the lie would hold. For now.
With the western front stabilized and our new allies growing stronger by the day, my focus shifted back inward, to the heart of my own power. To the Cradle of Echoing Flame and the immense, silent challenge that ticked down with every passing second.
The countdown timer projected above the Cradle's main Nexus was now just over nine months. Nine months until the "Old Gods" arrived, until the Cradle's true dungeon became accessible. A puzzle of that scale, bequeathed by my own impossibly powerful ancestors, was not something I could face unprepared.
"Alright, everyone," I said aloud, my voice echoing in the cavernous command chamber. "Time for a strategy session."
My Anima — except for Kasian — materialized around the central console. Jeeves, a pillar of pure blue data; Rexxar, a mountain of raw, kinetic force crackling in his crystalline form; Leoric, a calm, intricate lattice of golden light; and Nyx, a silent shadow of grace and lethal intent.
"The Cradle's dungeon," I began, gesturing to the timer. "We know it's likely a Legendary-grade challenge or higher. What we don't know is its nature. What are we preparing for?"
"The data is insufficient for a conclusive prediction," Jeeves stated immediately. "Given the source — a pre-Purge Ancestral installation — conventional System metrics may not even apply. It could be a combat trial, a series of complex puzzles, or a conceptual reality that seeks to unmake the intruder. We must prepare for all eventualities."
"Preparation is good," Rexxar's voice boomed, his form vibrating with pent-up energy. "But strategy is simple. A door is a door. We will kick it in. Whatever is on the other side, I will smash it!"
"A charmingly direct approach, Rexxar," Leoric noted, his tone dry as dust. "However, the Cradle's internal architecture is a living marvel of escher-like complexity. To 'kick in the door' might be to kick in your own face from three seconds in the future. Brute force may not be the optimal, or even a viable, solution."
Nyx simply watched, her silence more potent than the others' words. She was an infiltrator, a problem-solver who operated in the spaces between brute force and pure logic. Her gaze was on me, waiting.
"I also have this strange sensation that I could not bring you all, a quiet call that grows as the timer counts down." I mused aloud. "Maybe this 'Dungeon' is some sort of exam, similar to Kharonus' level, with this one meant to be taken alone?"
The question hung in the air. Even Jeeves, with his vast processing power, couldn't offer a definitive answer. My gut feeling was that it had to be a solo trial. A final test, designed by Enki or those like him, for their heir. To rely on my Anima might be seen as a weakness.
"We need more historical context," I decided. "I need to understand what the 'Old Gods' meant to my ancestors." I closed my eyes, focusing my intent. "Kasian. I'm sorry, I know you told me you needed more time to recover after accessing the Akashic records, but I desperately need more information."
A deep, resonant hum filled the chamber as the air itself seemed to grow heavy with ancient knowledge. Kasian, the Chronicle, materialized. He was not a distinct form like the others, but a swirling vortex of shimmering, unbound information, ancient script, and stellar phenomena contained in a vaguely humanoid shape.
Stolen story; please report.
<You seek knowledge of the Un-System,> Kasian's voice was not a sound, but a concept imparted directly into our minds, a chorus of a billion whispering libraries.
"The Cradle's dungeon timer refers to the 'Old Gods,'" I said. "What were they? Enemies of the Ancestors?"
The vortex that was Kasian pulsed with a slow, deep light.
<Misinterpretation,> he communicated. <'Old Gods' is a colloquialism for Primordial Powers unbound by the Prime System's logic. Time. Fate. Creation. The core concepts of reality. Your ancestors did not 'fight' them. They 'were' them. My archives indicate that a dungeon of this nature would not be a fortress against an enemy. It would most likely be a 'crucible' or a 'classroom.' A place to test a user's worthiness to comprehend and wield such forces without unraveling themselves and the fabric of reality around them.>
A classroom. The same thought I'd had while fighting King Thalanil. The revelation settled into place with a profound sense of rightness. This wasn't a monster to be slain. It was a test to be passed.
"Then your original assessment holds," Jeeves chimed in. "A solo insertion is the most probable success scenario. To bring external forces, even those bound to you, might invalidate the very purpose of the test. Especially considering most trial takers would have a significantly lower number of Anima than you, Master."
The path was set. Nine months to prepare myself, to hone every skill and push my understanding of my own power to its absolute limit. It was a daunting, solitary road.
Later, I was in the quiet, peaceful forest grove that Bennu maintained in one of the Cradle's upper biodomes, simply trying to clear my head. The sheer scale of the task ahead was immense. I sat cross-legged on the soft, glowing moss, my eyes closed, focusing on my breathing. It was then that I felt it — a subtle, familiar shimmer in the air nearby.
I opened my eyes to see Kaelen, sitting a few yards away, watching me with his intelligent, starlit eyes. He had grown. When I first found him, he was no bigger than a housecat. Now, his head came up to my knee as I sat. He was lean and graceful, easily the size of a large dog, his twilight-hued fur shimmering with a life of its own.
As I watched, a shimmering silver butterfly fluttered past his nose. He playfully swiped at it, missed, and then simply — vanished. Not in a blink of light, but in a flicker, a subtle rejection of the space he occupied, reappearing a foot to the left without a sound, his paw landing exactly where the butterfly now was.
It wasn't just teleportation. I leaned forward, my [Predator's Gaze] flaring. It was more. His teleportation had always been an innate, instinctive ability, like a fish breathing water. But this was controlled. It had a signature. I could feel the faint, conceptual echo of it, the ghost of displaced reality that lingered for a microsecond after he moved. It was the exact same metaphysical footprint as my own [Ember's Leap].
The ever-evolving, mana-rich environment of the Cradle had been nourishing him, but he'd also been observing me. The bond between us, that of a survivor and his companion, had become a conduit. He was learning, adapting, mimicking my own Soul's expression of movement.
"Kaelen," I said softly. He trotted over, nudging his cool, wet nose into my hand.
A new idea, a new path of training, sparked in my mind. Perhaps my road ahead wasn't entirely solitary after all.
"Alright, you clever little beast," I said, a genuine grin spreading across my face as I stood up. "Class is in session."
For the next several weeks, the grove became our training ground. It began simply. I would manifest a single, slow-moving ball of cool Soulfire and command him to stay on it, to follow it no matter how I moved it. At first, his leaps were clumsy, instinctive things. He'd overshoot, appearing a few feet from the target, frustrated. But I would just reset, patiently guiding him. "Feel it, Kaelen," I'd murmur, focusing on the feeling of my own Leap. "Don't just move from one location to another. Tell your destination that you are already there."
Slowly, he began to get it. His Leaps became sharper, more precise. Soon, I could have a dozen flaming orbs darting around the grove, and he could move between them in a seamless, silent dance of displacement, a flicker of twilight and shadow that was almost impossible to track.
Then, we started sparring.
I would manifest a simple blade from my [Armory of the Ashen Soul], its edge non-lethal and cold. I came at him, a flowing series of slow, deliberate attacks. His job was not to flee, but to use his Leaps to evade and flank. He was a natural. The moment my blade began its arc, he would already be gone, reappearing at my side, nipping at my heel.
He was growing stronger, his own Leaps becoming more audacious. He even began to leave behind faint, shimmering after-images, similar to my own [Blink Echo]. It was like fighting a ghost made of starlight and mischief. Our synergy grew with every session, becoming a fluid, unspoken language.
One day, I decided it was time for a true test. We stood across from each other in the grove, the air still and quiet.
"Alright, Kaelen," I said, manifesting a proper, sharp-edged soul-forged blade. "No holding back."
I Leaped, my form blurring as I appeared behind him, my blade slashing downwards. But he was already gone. He hadn't just teleported; he had Leaped into the exact pocket of space my own body had just vacated, using the temporal echo of my own displacement as a waypoint. He appeared behind me, a low growl in his throat, his sharp teeth snapping inches from my arm.
I spun, my blade a white arc, but he Leaped again, this time to a tree branch high above, his starlit eyes gleaming down at me. He was becoming a living extension of my own combat style, a perfect flanking unit and distractionary force who moved with the same impossible logic as I did.
I let the soul-blade dissipate and laughed, the sound genuine and filled with pride. Kaelen Leaped down from the branch and trotted over, his tail wagging as he nudged his head against my leg. My path to the dungeon might be one I had to walk alone, but in the months of training leading up to it, I had just gained the perfect sparring partner.