The light had gone. The orb sat cold and crumbling atop its pedestal, fractured beyond repair, its purpose fulfilled. In the silence that followed, Neil stayed where he was, one hand still resting on the stone, the other pressed against the floor. His breathing came slow and even, the weight of what had passed not yet settled in his mind.
He could see.
Not as he had before. The world was no longer just color and shape, texture and sound. There was something else now. Threads of faint luminescence drifted lazily through the air like smoke without wind, curling around corners, pooling in crevices. Some clung to surfaces—walls, floor, even the remains of shattered tablets—while others flowed in slow currents like invisible rivers of dust.
It wasn't light. It wasn't visible, not in the traditional sense. But it was there. He could feel it as much as see it. A pressure in the space behind his eyes. A resonance humming at the edge of thought.
He stood carefully, testing his limbs. They felt heavier. Not weighed down, but solid. Grounded. His muscles responded with subtle resistance, as if they were coiled tighter than before. His balance was perfect. Every movement landed precisely where he intended. He breathed in and felt the air deepen into him, reach further.
And the flows danced around him.
He turned in place, slowly. The chamber had changed. Not physically, but perceptually. Now he saw what had always been there: a lattice of energy, fine and ancient, layered over stone and silence. The broken orb had left behind more than light.
Neil stepped toward one of the drifting currents, watching as tiny specks of essence—like glowing grains of dust—floated gently in a stream that curved toward the far wall. As he moved closer, they shimmered faintly, adjusting, as if acknowledging him.
On instinct, he reached out.
His fingers moved slowly through the flow. It bent away at first, repelled or cautious, but as he adjusted—softened his intention, quieted his mind—the essence shifted.
It moved.
Like mist disturbed by breath, it curled inward, touched his skin, and stuck. Neil felt a subtle warmth at the point of contact, a tingling that spread across his palm and into his wrist.
Then it began to sink.
He watched as the particles—minute, flickering motes of power—drew into his skin. Not fast, not violent. Like water soaking into cloth. A faint glow pulsed under his hand, and then was gone. Absorbed.
Neil blinked.
The effect was subtle. No flash. No rush of euphoria. But something inside him shifted. His senses sharpened further, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to breathe with him.
His pulse steadied. The air felt richer.
More.
He moved to another stream, one thicker and more turbulent. This time, he reached out with intent. Not to grasp. Not to command. Just to connect. His palm brushed through the energy, and again, some of it clung to him.
This time, it absorbed faster.
It fed into him like warmth through chilled hands. He stood still, letting it happen, and felt the quiet transformation settle deeper into his bones. His spine straightened. The ache in his legs from kneeling earlier faded. He flexed a hand and felt strength—not exaggerated, not monstrous, but sure. Reliable.
The energy dust moved in endless streams. Some thick, some barely there. Some floated upward into cracks in the ceiling. Others pooled in corners like fog. Most of it was motion, shifting, meandering. But it was here. And he could touch it.
The realization landed in his chest like a bell tolling.
He could use this.
Not like a weapon, not yet. But he could take it. He could draw it into himself.
He turned back to the heart of the chamber. The orb's collapse had unleashed this slow cascade of lingering energy, and now the room was filled with it—a hundred slow eddies of forgotten knowledge, all drifting free.
Neil sat.
Cross-legged on the stone floor, eyes half-closed, hands resting on his knees, palms upward. He quieted his breath, let the tension roll off his shoulders, and listened.
The essence came to him.
First in tendrils. Then in strands. A steady rhythm, one he adjusted to without thinking. He discovered that breathing in—not the physical act, but the intent behind it—could influence the pull. When he exhaled with focus, essence responded. Not dramatically. But enough.
It was like learning to balance on a tightrope made of smoke.
Hours passed.
The flows grew thinner. The dust less vibrant. But Neil stayed still, drinking in what remained. He shifted only to reach other currents, drawing them in one by one. Not all of it stuck. Much of it drifted past. Some refused him entirely. But enough entered.
And with each thread absorbed, his body changed.
Not visibly. His muscles didn't grow, his skin didn't glow. But the changes were there.
He could feel them.
His joints moved smoother, like sand had been cleared from hidden gears. His back no longer twinged from leaning. His breaths came slower, but deeper, fuller. His thoughts no longer raced—they flowed.
Time folded.
He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He didn't need to.
That realization struck him somewhere in the middle of what felt like a long, slow meditation. He paused, blinked, and tried to remember the last time he had felt hunger. Or thirst. Or fatigue.
There was no memory.
His body remained alert. His mind clear. He rose and paced the chamber. The motion confirmed what he felt: no sluggishness. No stiffness. He could go on. He wanted to.
So he did.
Days passed.
He didn't count them. The chamber held no sun, no clock, no shift in temperature or light. But his internal rhythm remained steady. And the energy dust, while diminished, still swirled around him. Still responded.
He moved from stillness to motion. He learned to guide small streams of essence with his hands. Not directly—not like a tool—but by intention. If he focused, breathed, relaxed a certain way, the dust would bend toward him. Sometimes he drew it into a gentle loop before letting it go. Sometimes he absorbed it slowly, deliberately, one filament at a time.
It was not mastery. Not even close. But it was a beginning.
Eventually, the room began to empty.
The thick clouds of drifting energy grew thinner. The flows slowed. What once swirled freely now clung to corners and shadows. Neil moved carefully, tracing the last motes like a hunter tracking shy fireflies.
He drew the final threads in silence.
When at last the chamber settled into stillness, Neil stood in the center, arms at his sides, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that no longer matched the human world.
No hunger. No thirst.
But not immortal. Not invulnerable. Just... shifted.
He was still human. He knew this. Still made of flesh and breath and memory. But his body had changed. Strength hummed beneath his skin. Not power to crush or destroy, but power to endure. He felt stable in a way he hadn't before. Rooted. Coiled.
He looked down at his hand. Flexed it.
It responded perfectly.
He exhaled.
And for the first time in what might have been days or weeks, he spoke aloud.
"Still me."
The words echoed in the chamber, soft and sure.
He turned toward the passage through which he had come. The corridor beyond was quiet, waiting.
There was no new path. No divine sign. No voice from the walls.
But he no longer needed them.
The path forward wasn't marked by symbols or maps. It was within him now.
He stepped forward.
And the world moved with him.