The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

Aodhán didn't get a wink of sleep that night, not just because he was scared of his cellmate, but because sleep completely eluded him. Perhaps it was exactly because of that fear that sleep remained so stubbornly out of reach.

Arkhan, on the other hand, slept like a baby, chest rising and falling softly as gentle snores escaped his lips. His expression was so innocent; he looked as if he couldn't possibly harm a fly.

Aodhán watched him carefully, wondering what things the boy had done and seen that had twisted him so. He wasn't evil by any means, just so desensitized to death that it put Aodhán's resigned pragmatism to shame.

Their conversation had revealed much to Aodhán, unknown to the boy, because Aodhán had been asking his questions from an informed standpoint. He knew Arkhan's affinity, tier, and power level. Arkhan, on the other hand, was completely clueless about him, knowing nothing of his spirit, affinity, or advancement level.

It created an imbalance in their conversation, but Aodhán wouldn't have had it any other way. He observed the Arkhan's core closely while he slept, struggling to get a sense of his spirit cultivation through the obtrusive haze of the dampening chains. It was difficult, but Aodhán had more than enough time, and after nearly an hour of continuous scrutiny, he finally broke through the haze, his mind's eye throbbing from the strain.

Arkhan's spirit opened up to him like a mosaic of colors and weird shapes—a cascade of white and blue energies brimming with the iridescence of chaos. It was the deepest he'd ever stared into someone's core, and that was because there was no willpower or energy to get in his way.

A chill spread through Aodhán's mind as he pushed his senses deeper into Arkhan's core, searching for seal imprints, icons, and spiritual openings. Usually, he was able to deduce roughly the number of seals a person had just by how intensely their cores blazed, but with such unrestricted access to Arkhan's core, Aodhán didn't deprive himself.

Whether Arkhan became friend or foe, it was in his best interest to know more about this elusive affinity now that he could, before they eventually entered Abyssos.

And so, without hesitation, Aodhán delved into Arkhan's spirit until he could go no further. He rummaged through the boy's spirit as much as his conscience allowed him to, and when he was finally finished, he pulled back his senses, head throbbing and nose bleeding from the strain.

The cell reappeared around him, and Aodhán wiped the blood from his nose with a heavy sigh. His reason for scanning Arkhan's spirit so thoroughly was to understand his affinity and power better, but after what seemed like hours, Aodhán realized he had only scratched the surface, his understanding of the affinity still shallow.

Arkhan's power, however, was something he had grasped fully. The boy had a total of four seals and an icon and had even enlarged his spiritual opening to a channel, putting his chaotic access at the same level as Aldric's.

But above all that, what made Arkhan truly powerful was the intricate nature of his affinity. The complete and utter bizarreness of it.

It wasn't just mind-bending; it questioned reality itself.

Where other affinities followed the rules of reality or anchored it, dream essence seemed to exist in multiple states simultaneously, flickering between what was, what could be, and what could never be. It was, in essence, a dream, a realm where nothing made sense and logic held no sway—imagination and reality merging and blending like a mosaic of colors.

No wonder Arkhan slept so peacefully. How could someone fear nightmares when their very essence was woven from the fabric of dreams themselves? How could death disturb someone who had already lived a thousand deaths in a thousand different ways, each one as real as the waking world?

Aodhán sighed and shook his head in amazement as he tried to imagine what sort of skills Arkhan must have amassed so far. Could he superimpose a dream upon reality, effectively changing the rules of the world around him? Could he travel through dreams and kill someone on another continent while they were asleep? What exactly was his range, and how far into one's consciousness could he travel or invade? Could he manipulate a person to think they were in a dream when, in fact, they were in reality?

The questions rose in his mind like a roaring tide, but each one only reinforced how dangerous mental affinities truly were and how important it was for him to find ways to fortify his mind further. Perhaps he could form a skill in that direction, a cloud of storm that shielded his mind from intrusions…

The thought lingered in his mind for a while, and he began refining the idea, smoothing out kinks and playing it out in his mind to see how it might work.

However, with no way to put it into practice, Aodhán's mind soon drifted. He focused his attention on his core sense and began expanding it, searching through the sea of cores around him to while away time.

What he found wasn't too surprising—a myriad array of rare and bizarre affinities. There were the standard elements and concepts mixed in, like Daruk's ice and Cyrus's space, but the majority bore strange affinities such as Entropy, Retribution, Matter Manipulation, Order, Infinity, Life, Absorption, Telekinesis, Serenity, and the one that set his teeth on edge—Telepathy.

None of these affinities were ones Aodhán was intimately familiar with or had seen in action before, and despite the grave situation, he couldn't help but feel a bit excited at the prospect of seeing them in action.

The bizarre collection of affinities wasn't a mistake but intentional. The Fated needed new seals and affinities to add to his collection, and everyone here was a potential harvest.

Taking time to study each affinity, Aodhán closed his eyes and let his mind drift. Hours passed in this manner, with Aodhán making a mental catalog of the strength of those around him.

Nearly everyone was stronger than him, even among the evolved class. Out of the dozen or so of them in the evolved class, eight were in the 24th tier, putting them one tier above him. Not much of a hassle considering his unique strengths, but still an issue.

The real problems were those in the advanced class.

The difference in class alone was a challenge, but with most of the prisoners ranging from tier 35 to 50, Aodhán was severely outmatched. And with the watchers gunning for him, he wouldn't put it past them to direct all the other captives toward him the instant they stepped into Abyssos. Perhaps they'd play a game of fetch, putting his life in severe danger just so he could cry out to them for salvation.

"I'll never do that," Aodhán whispered to himself, his conviction firm. He would survive this hell, one way or another. Even if he had to sacrifice his morals and lay them on the chopping block.

"I have to get stronger," he whispered once again, a shadow clouding his features as his mind turned to the academy where he was safe. Had been safe. Then, it didn't matter that he was surrounded by powerful people on all sides. But here, where everyone would be searching for their own freedom, he couldn't afford to remain weak.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

He had a mountain of cores in his spatial necklace, but he doubted the cultists would grant them access to it within Abyssos. The thought reminded him of his lightning pendant, and he cursed silently. If there was ever a time he needed mental fortification most, it was now.

There was so much preparation to be done, but so little time.

With urgency churning within his gut, Aodhán got up and began pacing, his mind turning over and over as it searched for a way to either bring the necklace along with him to Abyssos or grant himself a much-needed edge in the upcoming slaughter.

For the next few hours, Aodhán's mind worked tirelessly, building up likely scenarios and finding strategies to counter them. He couldn't hide the pendant the way he had last time, not without access to Varéc, but he couldn't afford to go into Abyssos without it either.

He was turning the thought over in his mind, discarding one idea after another, when the sound of bolt and steel echoed, tearing through the silence like a gunshot. Aodhán looked up as the hinges creaked open, catching the tail end of rippling shadow as the specter moved to open the next cell.

There was no need for words. It was time to come out.

Aodhán clasped the necklace in panic, heart racing, and without a moment's hesitation, he shoved the necklace into his trousers, adjusting it carefully so it nestled tightly between his buttocks. It was the only way he could think of.

"Well, that's one way to keep your valuables safe."

Aodhán froze, his hand still positioned awkwardly behind him. He turned slowly to find Arkhan sitting up on his cot, fully awake, watching him with those unsettling crystal blue eyes and a faint smirk.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to see you shove something into your pants." Arkhan smirked, and Aodhán grimaced in embarrassment.

Arkhan chuckled and waved a hand dismissively as he rose to his feet. "Don't worry about it. We all have our secrets to keep safe. I've got a few things tucked away myself."

"In your butt?" Aodhán asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That's not for you to worry about." Arkhan grinned, dusting off his clothes and hair.

Aodhán sighed, straightened his pants, and moved toward the cell entrance, watching as other captives stepped out of their cells, eyes furrowed in confusion and trepidation.

Arkhan joined him, and with a sigh, he muttered, "Ahh, it must be time. Today is the day we both die."

Aodhán scowled. "I'm not dying today. And that's not the sort of mentality you want to have in a situation like this."

Arkhan snorted. "Have you seen the people locked alongside us in this prison? Many of them are probably in the 70th tier for all we know. I might survive, but you? You'd be eaten alive in an instant."

Aodhán smirked but gave no response, knowing for a fact that Arkhan was wrong. The highest-tiered person in the dungeon was at the 50th tier—a suspiciously leveled number. But that was the beautiful thing about advancement. It was impossible to tell what tier a person was without seeing their power in action, and even then, one could only assume. The only physical tell was the number of rings around a person's irises and perhaps some bloodline manifestations.

Aside from those, most awakened were practically blind, rushing into battle with the hope that they were stronger than their opponents. That particular hurdle made a lot of people cautious and hesitant to pick fights with others, unsure who was stronger or weaker. But in this situation where his evolved status was obvious to everyone with eyes, Aodhán was prey.

Muttering a prayer under his breath, he stepped into the crimson corridor, the sounds of his footsteps dying as the silence runes snuffed them out. Arkhan joined him with a silent whistle, ever unfazed by his circumstances.

All around them, captives walked, staring at each other and sizing each other up. Aodhán locked gazes with one of them—a wiry-looking woman with raven black hair streaked with strands of purple and gold. The woman moved to turn away at first, but then her gaze widened, and she instinctively opened her mouth to speak.

The silence runes snuffed out her words, but Aodhán understood her shock regardless. She recognized him. Her expression, however, wasn't friendly.

Heart racing, Aodhán turned his gaze away, hiding his face before anyone else could see. Fortunately, the woman didn't seem eager to cause a scene in the hallway, and after glaring at him for a while, she turned her attention elsewhere.

Aodhán breathed a sigh of relief, berating himself for being so careless. The woman might not have any evil intentions toward him, but at his current tier, it was better for him to lie low and attract no attention. He was among the weakest people here. He couldn't afford a scene.

Looking straight forward, Aodhán spread out his core sense and smiled when he found Daruk shuffling along a few dozen feet behind him. Surprisingly, Cyrus wasn't too far from Daruk, marching only a meter or two behind him, core pulsing with each step as if he were fighting the constraints the dampening chains placed on him.

It was a futile endeavor, but Aodhán doubted Cyrus would see it that way. In many ways, he was just like Yurin—determined, dogged, and persevering. But alongside all of those good qualities, he was also hardheaded and perpetually angry. That anger in particular was his bane. It clouded his senses and made him irrational. It was the same anger that had landed him in this situation, after all.

A pinprick of light in front of him distracted him from Cyrus, and with a frown, Aodhán focused on it, subconsciously walking faster in his hurry to reach it. The light expanded as they drew closer, and a few minutes later, Aodhán stepped through an open entrance, blinking against the sudden brightness.

He squinted, eyes narrowing until his sight adjusted, and he was finally able to see the new space in great detail. It was a vast, circular chamber with white walls curving upward into a domed ceiling that could easily accommodate over a hundred people.

The only source of light was a single corona at the center of the chamber, so wide it occupied an area five meters in diameter. A pristine screen dominated the far wall, its surface gleaming under the overhead lights, while a door stood partially concealed behind it.

Two additional doorways flanked the chamber on either side, their dark frames contrasting sharply against the sterile white interior. Aside from the four doors, there were no other openings, yet air flowed in, saturating the space with the faint scent of pine and cedar.

All around the room, people stood either in small clusters or alone, watching each other or trying to speak through gestures. The silence runes were still activated, so speech still wasn't possible.

That didn't stop Arkhan, though, who slowly mouthed, "I'm moving toward the center. If there's going to be a massacre, I'd prefer to be the last to die."

"We are not dying," Aodhán insisted, but Arkhan was already walking away, shoving past a group of confused Unorian women without care, their snow-white hair standing out in a sea of multicolored locks.

Aodhán watched him leave with a sigh, taking position by the entrance, not because he wanted to be the first to experience whatever was to come, but because he had someone to meet. He only had to wait a moment before Daruk entered the chamber, his eyes nearly squeezed shut as they adapted to the sudden brightness.

Aodhán pulled him to the side, but before he could even gesture, Daruk's reflexes kicked in, his fist shooting upward in a sharp jab that caught Aodhán squarely in the throat. Aodhán staggered backward, clutching his neck and gasping silently, eyes watering from the impact.

"By Raol, I'm so sorry." Daruk apologized, and then his eyes widened as recognition flashed across his features. "By the Ascendants! Aodhán. I can't believe you're here."

No sound emanated from his mouth, though, and Daruk soon discarded speech to hug Aodhán fiercely. Aodhán hugged him back, chest tight with relief boiling within him to see his brother safe and uninjured.

Well, perhaps safe was the wrong word, because as soon as they pulled apart, Aodhán realized that his eyes were no longer hidden.

A glance across the room revealed dozens of faces turned toward them, including the Entropy awakened he had seen earlier. She stood alongside a group of burly Ragnarians, the largest group formed as of yet.

Cyrus walked into the chamber in that moment, his eyes hidden behind a dense curtain of pink hair. He glared daggers at Aodhán, and for a moment, Aodhán hoped he would join them. Despite their differences, Cyrus was exceedingly powerful and would be an incredible ally to have in this trial they were about to enter.

Cyrus, however, didn't see things his way, and after a moment of hesitation, he walked away, moving to stand alone on one side of the chamber. Attention followed him, as well as the other evolved awakened in the room, but most of it remained fixed on Aodhán and Daruk, courtesy of their position by the entrance.

Aodhán swallowed nervously and gripped Daruk's arm gently, the weight of scrutiny pressing down on him.

This was exactly what he'd needed to avoid. The very thing he had worked to hide—his weakness—was now exposed, and he and Daruk had just painted targets on their backs. In a room full of predators, they had just declared themselves the easiest prey.

Or so he'd thought.

The last of the captives stepped into the chamber, and suddenly every head in the room turned away from them. The shift was so abrupt that Aodhán turned to stare at the newcomers in confusion.

Standing at the threshold, wide-eyed and frozen like deer in headlights, were a trio of Sunstonian nobles. Their platinum gold hair and delicate features stood out like rose stalks in a sea of ash, capturing every ounce of hatred in the room like magnets.

The silence runes chose that moment to deactivate, and from the center of the chamber, a growl echoed out: "Fucking Sunstonian dogs!"