The eastern mountains rose from the morning mist like the teeth of a sleeping god.
Caelum stared at them from the back of Itharrion, feeling the weight of everything pressing down. Seven sites. Seven teams. Seven chances to save everything.
And this one—Site Zero, he'd started calling it—was the worst.
[SITE ZERO: PRIMARY ANCHOR]
[LOCATION: EASTERN MOUNTAINS — FORMER CULT STRONGHOLD]
[RIFT STATUS: ACTIVE — CRITICAL]
[CULT PRESENCE: 50+ COMBATANTS — ELITE]
[UNIQUE THREAT: HIGH PRIEST — NEW LEADER. MULTIPLE RITUAL GUARDIANS. FORBIDDEN SUMMONS IN PROGRESS.]
[WARNING: THIS SITE MUST FALL FOR THE CIRCLE TO BREAK]
"Fifty cultists," Lyra murmured beside him. "Elite. Plus whatever they've summoned."
"Plus traps. Plus wards. Plus probably a dozen things the Archive can't detect." Caelum's voice was calm, but his hands gripped the dragon's scales too tightly. "Standard impossible mission."
"Your favorite kind."
"Not favorite. Just familiar."
Itharrion banked, circling toward a hidden valley. Below, the terrain was rough—jagged peaks, deep crevasses, ancient forests that had never known an axe. Perfect hiding place. Perfect killing ground.
"I cannot land closer than two miles," the dragon said. "They have anti-air wards. Powerful ones. You'll approach on foot."
"Expected." Caelum checked his gear. Weapons. Mana potions. Archive-linked communication stones. "How long do we have?"
"Six hours until the ritual reaches its peak. If they complete it before you stop them—"
"We know." Lyra's voice was ice. "The gate opens. The thing comes through. We all die."
"Then I suggest you hurry."
The dragon descended.
---
The forest was silent.
Wrongly silent. No birds. No insects. No wind moving through leaves. Just stillness, heavy and expectant, like the moment before an execution.
Caelum moved through it with Lyra at his side, the Archive feeding him constant updates.
[FOREST STATUS: VOID-CONTAMINATED]
[LIFE SIGNS: MINIMAL — MOST CREATURES FLED OR DIED]
[TRAPS DETECTED: 7 WITHIN 200 METERS — BYPASS ROUTE CALCULATED]
[HOSTILES: PATROLS — 4 GROUPS OF 3-4]
[RECOMMENDATION: ELIMINATE PATROLS SILENTLY. DO NOT RAISE ALARM.]
He tapped Lyra's arm. Signed.
Three ahead. Left side. I take left two, you take right one.
She nodded. Ice formed around her fingers—not enough to cast, just enough to kill.
They moved.
---
The first patrol died without a sound.
Caelum's lightning dagger took the lead cultist through the spine. He dropped before his body knew it was dead. The second turned—and met Lyra's ice spike through the throat. The third never saw Kira's replacement—a young wolf-blood named Rika, assigned to this mission because Kira was leading her own team elsewhere—appear from the shadows and slit his throat.
Three bodies. Zero noise.
[PATROL 1: ELIMINATED]
[REMAINING PATROLS: 3]
[TIME TO RITUAL PEAK: 5 HOURS, 47 MINUTES]
"Move."
---
They found the second patrol near a stream.
These were smarter—positioned with overlapping sightlines, watching each other's backs. The Archive calculated angles, probabilities, options.
[OPTIMAL APPROACH: SPLIT. LYRA TAKES EASTERN GUARD FROM WATER. RIKA TAKES WESTERN FROM SHADOWS. HOST TAKES CENTRAL DIRECTLY.]
[SYNCHRONIZATION REQUIRED: ALL THREE MUST DIE WITHIN 1 SECOND OF EACH OTHER.]
Caelum signed the plan.
Lyra slipped into the stream—impossibly silent, her ice affinity letting her move through water like it was air. Rika vanished into shadow, her wolf-blood heritage making her one with darkness.
Caelum waited.
Counted.
Three. Two. One.
He moved.
Lightning took his target through the eye—instant, silent, dead before he fell. To his left, Lyra's ice spike emerged from the water and pierced her target's heart. To his right, Rika's knife opened her target's throat.
Three bodies. One second.
[PATROL 2: ELIMINATED]
[REMAINING PATROLS: 2]
[TIME REMAINING: 5 HOURS, 12 MINUTES]
They were making good time.
Too good.
---
The third patrol wasn't a patrol.
It was an ambush.
They walked into a clearing and the world exploded.
Cultists rose from hidden pits, from behind trees, from camouflage that fooled even the Archive for precious seconds. Dozens of them. Armed. Ready. Waiting.
[AMBUSH DETECTED — TOO LATE]
[HOSTILES: 23 — SURROUNDING]
[ESCAPE ROUTES: 0]
[RECOMMENDATION: FIGHT]
Caelum didn't hesitate.
Plasma erupted from his hands—wide cone, maximum spread, no targeting needed. Three cultists died instantly. Four more screamed as superheated air burned their lungs.
Beside him, Lyra unleashed winter.
The temperature plummeted. Frost exploded outward in a wave that froze cultists where they stood—not killing, but trapping, immobilizing, buying time.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Rika moved through the chaos like death incarnate, her knives finding throats and hearts with mechanical precision.
But there were too many.
[MANA LEVEL: 67%]
[HOSTILES REMAINING: 14]
[LYRA STATUS: ENGAGED — MANA 58%]
[RIKA STATUS: WOUNDED — MINOR]
[REINFORCEMENTS: 0]
Caelum made a decision.
"LYRA! COVER ME!"
He ran.
Not away from the cultists—toward them. Through them. Past them. His goal wasn't the ambush. His goal was whatever lay beyond—the ritual site, the rift, the heart of this place.
They'd expected him to fight.
They hadn't expected him to run.
Cultists turned, pursued, but Lyra's ice slowed them, trapped them, killed them. Rika cut down anyone who got too close.
Caelum ran.
---
The ritual site was a wound in the mountain.
A vast chamber, open to the sky, carved from living rock. At its center, a rift pulsed—larger than any secondary site, nearly the size of the main Convergence rift. Around it, cultists chanted in voices that hurt to hear.
And on an altar before the rift, a figure waited.
High Priest. New leader. Someone Caelum had never seen before.
But the figure knew him.
"Finally." The priest's voice was ancient—centuries old, corrupted by Void, wrong in every way. "The heir comes. The Archive's pet. The stolen soul."
Caelum stopped at the chamber's edge.
"You know me."
"I know what you are." The priest smiled—a ghastly expression on a face that had seen too much darkness. "I knew your father too. Not the one who raised you—the other one. The one whose body you stole."
Caelum's blood froze.
"What?"
"Did you think the empty cradle was coincidence? Did you think you were chosen randomly?" The priest laughed—a wet, broken sound. "Your soul was pulled here deliberately. Targeted. Captured. Because your bloodline—your original bloodline—was special. Important. Dangerous."
"My father was an engineer. On Earth. Nothing special."
"On Earth, perhaps. But here—" The priest spread his arms. "Here, his ancestors were something else entirely. Here, your blood carries power you haven't begun to understand."
[ARCHIVE ALERT: NEW INFORMATION]
[HOST'S ORIGINAL BLOODLINE: TRACE DETECTED — ANCIENT]
[CONNECTION TO THIS WORLD: CONFIRMED — HOST'S ANCESTORS ORIGINATED HERE, NOT EARTH]
[IMPLICATION: HOST WAS NOT RANDOMLY CHOSEN. HOST WAS RETURNING HOME.]
Caelum stared at the notification.
Home.
This world was his home. His ancestors' home. His blood's home.
And the cult had known.
They'd always known.
---
"You're lying," he said.
"Am I?" The priest gestured, and the rift pulsed. "Your ancestors were among the Archive's first heirs. They failed. The Archive scattered their souls across worlds, hoping one day a worthy successor would return. You are that successor. You are also—" He smiled wider. "—the key to everything."
"The key to what?"
"To opening the final gate. To bringing through what your ancestors helped imprison. To ending this farce of a world and starting something new."
The cultists around him chanted faster.
The rift pulsed brighter.
And Caelum understood.
They hadn't built the circle to summon something new. They'd built it to summon him. To use him as the anchor. His blood—his original blood, his ancestor blood—was the final piece.
"You need me alive."
"Alive. Dead. Doesn't matter. Your soul is the key. Your blood is the lock. Either way, when the circle completes—"
"I won't let that happen."
"You can't stop it." The priest raised his hands. "The ritual is already in motion. Kill me, and it continues. Kill my followers, and it continues. The only way to stop it is to destroy the rift itself—and that would take more power than you possess."
Caelum looked at the rift.
At the chanting cultists.
At the priest who knew his secrets.
Then he looked at Lyra, who'd just appeared at the chamber's edge, bloodied and fierce.
"Trust me?" he asked.
"Always."
He ran toward the rift.
---
The priest's laughter followed him.
"Fool! You'll destroy yourself!"
Maybe.
But he'd destroyed rifts before. Absorbed them. Made their power his own.
This one was bigger. More unstable. More dangerous.
[RIFT ABSORPTION: CALCULATING]
[SIZE: 340% LARGER THAN PREVIOUS MAXIMUM]
[VOID CONCENTRATION: 500% HIGHER]
[PROBABILITY OF SURVIVAL: 7%]
[PROBABILITY OF PERMANENT DAMAGE: 94%]
[PROBABILITY OF DEATH: 89%]
[RECOMMENDATION: DO NOT PROCEED]
Caelum proceeded.
He touched the rift.
---
The pain was beyond anything he'd experienced.
The fire desert rift had burned. This one unmade. Every cell of his body screamed as Void energy and raw magic and something older, darker, more fundamental poured through him.
The Archive fought back—redirecting, containing, absorbing.
[ABSORPTION: 12%]
[CHANNEL DAMAGE: 34%]
[PAIN LEVEL: UNBEARABLE]
He held on.
[23%]
[CHANNEL DAMAGE: 51%]
[LYRA STATUS: FIGHTING — CULTISTS ATTACKING]
Hold on.
[41%]
[CHANNEL DAMAGE: 67% — CRITICAL]
[ARCHIVE WARNING: HOST BODY FAILING]
Almost.
[58%]
[CHANNEL DAMAGE: 79% — PERMANENT THRESHOLD CROSSED]
[LYRA STATUS: WOUNDED — SERIOUS]
Hold—
[79%]
[CHANNEL DAMAGE: 88%]
[CONSCIOUSNESS: FADING]
—on.
[100%]
The rift collapsed.
Caelum fell.
---
He woke to Lyra's face above him, streaked with tears and blood.
"You're an idiot."
"Told you."
"You absorbed a rift three times larger than any before. Your channels are destroyed. The healers say—" Her voice broke. "They say you might never cast again."
Caelum looked inward.
[CHANNEL STATUS: PERMANENTLY DESTROYED — 97%]
[PREVIOUS CAPACITY: 73% OF ORIGINAL]
[NEW CAPACITY: 3% OF ORIGINAL]
[ALL ELEMENTAL ABILITIES: SEVERELY LIMITED]
[BUT: RIFT ABSORPTION SUCCESSFUL — SITE ZERO DESTROYED]
[CIRCLE STATUS: BROKEN]
[REMAINING SITES: NOW ISOLATED — MANAGEABLE]
[CONVERGENCE: CONTAINED]
He couldn't cast. Could barely channel.
But they'd won.
"Worth it," he whispered.
Lyra kissed him—fierce, desperate, angry.
"Don't you dare say that. Don't you ever say that."
"It's true."
"It's not. You're not just the Archive heir. You're not just the rift-sealer. You're you. And I need you. Not your magic. You."
Caelum looked at her.
"I'm still here."
"Barely."
"Here is enough."
Around them, the chamber was silent. The cultists were dead—Lyra had seen to that while he absorbed the rift. The priest's body lay broken at the altar's base. The sky above was clear—no rift, no darkness, no waiting gate.
They'd won.
The cost was high.
But they'd won.
---
Itharrion found them an hour later, picking through the ruins.
The dragon's eyes widened at Caelum's condition. "Heir—"
"Still here." Caelum leaned on Lyra, barely able to stand. "Site Zero is destroyed. The circle is broken. The other teams—"
"Are reporting success. Five of the seven sites have fallen. The remaining two are isolated—they'll be sealed within days." Itharrion's voice was awed. "You did it. Against all odds, you did it."
"We did it." Caelum looked at Lyra. "All of us."
The dragon nodded slowly.
"The Sovereign will want to see you. When you're healed enough to travel. She has... information. About your ancestors. About the Archive. About what comes next."
Caelum closed his eyes.
What came next.
There was always something next.
"Later," he said. "First, I need to sleep. For a week. Maybe two."
Lyra helped him onto the dragon's back.
"Sleep," she said. "I'll watch."
He slept.
---
END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
---
Next Chapter: "The Reckoning" — With the Convergence finally ended, Caelum returns to a hero's welcome. But the Church hasn't forgotten. The Emperor demands answers. And in the east, something ancient stirs—drawn by the power Caelum unleashed. The political and personal fallout begins.
The Truth Hurts.
So, Caelum wasn't just a random engineer from Earth. He was a "Returning Soul." I’ve been dropping hints about his "original bloodline" since Chapter 1, but seeing the Archive confirm it changes everything.
But at what cost?
3% Mana Capacity. Let that sink in. Caelum just went from a tactical nuke to a flickering candle.
The Prophecy: The High Priest knew his father. Not his Earth father, but the "other one."
Question for the theorists: Now that Caelum can't rely on raw elemental power, how is he going to survive the Church and the Emperor? Is it time for the Archive's "Engineering" and "Science" sub-routines to finally take center stage?
Next Chapter: The war is over, but the Reckoning begins. Caelum has to return to the capital as a hero who can't cast a basic fireball.
[Follow] the story to see how Caelum adapts to his "3% Life" in Chapter 18!
