I stared at the egg.

Now that the clients were gone, the weight of their presence had lifted, and Anya had shed her professional skin.

She leaned back against the table, arms crossed, watching me with that infuriating smirk of hers—the one that meant she knew something I didn’t.

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

She tapped her chin, pretending to think. “Nothing, nothing… just an observation.”

I sighed. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Her grin widened. “That girl was really interested in you.”

I blinked. “What girl?”

She gave me a flat look. “The one floating. The one who looks like she belongs in an ancient painting. The one who—oh, I don’t know—didn’t stop staring at you the entire time?”

I frowned. “She was just looking at the egg.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve been dealing with humans my whole life. I can read people.” She tilted her head. “And while I can’t read their expressions as clearly as I’d like, I could see her interest in you.”

I scoffed. “Nah.”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re reaching.”

Anya smirked, tilting her head. “Oh? So it was just coincidence that her gaze kept wandering back to you?”

“She was probably just—”

“Oh, and let’s not forget how she paused when you spoke. Like she wasn’t expecting you to sound like that.”

I huffed. “Like what?”

“Like you actually had a brain.” She shrugged. “You’d be surprised how rare that is.”

I groaned. “Anya—”

“Look, kid, I don’t care who catches feelings for you. Just don’t break the heart of an ancient floating enigma-child from an all-powerful bloodline, alright? Some people hold grudges.”

I ran a hand down my face. “Can we not do this right now?”

She laughed, pushing off the table. “Fine, fine. Let’s talk about something easier.”

I exhaled in relief.

Then she gestured toward the egg.

“So,” she said casually, “what do you think?”

I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t know. This thing… it’s different.”

She raised a brow. “Different?”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I placed a hand on the egg’s surface and let my trait take over.

A pulse.

Then—darkness.

No, not darkness. Something worse. Something vast. Endless. The kind of void that didn’t just consume light but refused to acknowledge it had ever existed in the first place.

My breath hitched as my Divine Eye of Origin forced clarity onto the incomprehensible.

—Xal’Zirath, the Void Maw.

The name alone made my skin crawl. Images flashed through my mind: a drifting horror, a floating abyss of gaping teeth and impossible hunger. Its singular, violet eye sat deep within its gnarled flesh—a pit of pure malice.

The world around it forgot. Sand erased footprints. Ruins lost their history. To be devoured wasn’t to die—it was to be removed.

A predator of memory and history. A beast of horror.

And yet—

The egg trembled beneath my palm.

The creature inside wasn’t the full-fledged nightmare that haunted forgotten deserts. It was something smaller, unfinished.

This wasn’t that creature from my vision. This one was…

A Mawling.

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A far weaker version of that horror.

I exhaled slowly. The Mawling wasn’t complete—it was broken. A being that should be dead, but somehow wasn’t. A creature that shouldn’t exist, yet lingered.

Juvenile. Weak. Flickering between states of existence.

A small, shuddering piece of the end.

I pulled my hand away.

Silence.

Anya’s gaze sharpened. “Well?”

I swallowed. “This thing… It’s Eldrazi.”

A pause.

Then she let out a slow, measured breath. “…Shit.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Then—

“Can you hatch it?”

I hesitated. Could I? This wasn’t a normal beast. It wasn’t something that just needed warmth or mana or a carefully structured environment.

It was fractured.

It was hungry.

If I did this wrong, I wouldn’t just fail—I might unleash something.

But…

I looked at the egg again.

Something about it felt unfinished. Like it was waiting for something only I could give it.

I took a steady breath.

If I was going to do this, I needed more than just instinct.

I placed both hands on the egg again, closing my eyes—then opened the other sight.

The world sharpened.

Everything fell away, leaving only the egg and its truth.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the void pressing against my senses, cold and endless.

Then—structure.

I saw the creature’s form within the shell, flickering between what it was and what it should have been. Its essence was unstable, like a broken reflection trying to pull itself together.

And at its center, where its core should be—

A fracture.

Deep. Jagged. Something missing.

That was the problem. The Mawling wasn’t just unborn—it was incomplete.

Without its full core, it would never stabilize.

It would never hatch.

I exhaled, pushing deeper, my Divine Eye dragging me further into the egg’s reality.

I assumed its parent was killed before this egg was completed.

What does it need?

The answer formed in my vision.

Three steps. Three impossible steps.

No—three doable steps.

The Path to Restoration:

1. Essence Rebinding

The broken core wasn’t fully gone—fragments of it still lingered inside the egg, scattered like shattered glass.

I could rebind them, but I needed something to act as a bridge—something to connect the fragments and hold them together.

2. Existence Anchoring

The Mawling wasn’t just weak—it was flickering. Its very existence was unstable, slipping between reality and nothingness.

If I wanted it to hatch, I had to anchor it.

3. Adaptive Growth

Even if I repaired the core and anchored it, the Mawling wouldn’t be strong enough to hatch on its own.

It needed to grow. Quickly.

My Adaptive Growth Factor could stimulate its natural process, reinforcing its body before it ever emerged.

But this wasn’t a normal creature. The process would be unstable.

Too much, and I could push it beyond control. Too little, and it wouldn’t be enough.

I would need precise control.

I pulled my hands away, blinking as my vision returned to normal. My head throbbed from the strain, but I ignored it.

This…

This was possible.

Not easy. Not even close. But possible.

I looked up at Anya.

“I have a plan,” I said.

She raised a brow. “That fast?”

I gave her a small smirk. “What can I say? I’m efficient.”

She rolled her eyes. “Alright, genius. Lay it on me.”

I did.

Anya’s eyes glinted. “That’s good enough.”

She reached for a communication crystal and, without hesitation, activated it.

“We’re renegotiating.”

As she handled that, I focused again, diving deeper into my Divine Eye’s analysis. I wasn’t just looking for what the egg needed—I was looking for what existed in the world that could provide it.

I let my mind drift, reaching across the vast knowledge hidden within the depths of my ability.

And there—

The solution unfolded before me.

The Revival Incubation Process

To rebuild and stabilize the Mawling’s broken essence, I needed to create a custom nurturing chamber—one that mimicked the conditions of its original void-born environment. That meant:

1. Void-Touched Embryotic Fluid (Primary Nutrient Base)

A specialized, high-density liquid to feed the egg’s internal structure.

Solution: The harvested essence of a Nyxian Abyssal Leviathan.

A deep-sea creature that breeds in the Abyss Trenches, producing a nutrient-rich embryotic fluid for its young.

Why? Leviathans sustain their eggs in deep, mana-starved waters for decades. Their fluid is one of the few natural substances capable of maintaining and nurturing dormant void entities.

A single vial would be enough to sustain the Mawling’s core.

2. Soul-Weaving Cocoon (Protective Shell & Energy Regulation)

The Mawling’s soul was fractured, leaking instability. I needed to contain it without suffocating its natural void essence.

Solution: Weaving a cocoon from Nightmare Widow Silk.

The Nightmare Widow is an Abyss-Class Arachnid that spins webs capable of capturing the dreams of dying creatures.

Why? Its silk doesn’t just bind—it anchors fragmented soul energy, preventing it from dispersing while allowing natural mana flow.

This would stabilize the Mawling’s form, ensuring it didn’t flicker out of existence while regenerating.

3. Abyss Core Ignition (Mana Circulation & Core Restoration)

The egg’s core wasn’t just damaged—it was starved. It needed something to rekindle its existence.

Solution: The crystalline heart of a Fallen Void Phoenix.

An extremely rare creature, known to be born from collapsing stars, absorbing void energy instead of fire.

Why? Its heart acts as a natural void reactor, pulsing with self-sustaining abyssal energy.

By embedding the crystal near the egg during incubation, it would act as a steady external power source, feeding the Mawling’s core essence back into stability.

4. Adaptive Growth Factor – Controlled Stimulation

Once the chamber was built, I could introduce my Primordial Growth Factor in waves, using carefully controlled bursts rather than a single overwhelming push.

Growth without direction was mutation. But if I managed the flow carefully, I could steer its rebirth.

Final Process – The Incubation Ritual

1. The egg would be submerged in the Abyssal Leviathan’s embryotic fluid.

2. It would be wrapped in Nightmare Widow Silk, forming a protective cocoon.

3. A fragment of the Fallen Void Phoenix’s heart would be placed inside the cocoon to regulate energy flow.

4. I would apply my Growth Factor in calculated pulses, feeding the egg only as much as it could handle at each stage.

If done perfectly, the Mawling wouldn’t just hatch.

It would awaken—whole. Stronger than ever.

Whether that was actually a good thing, I didn’t know.

---

I exhaled sharply, the vision fading.

Anya was watching me again, eyes sharp. “What did you see?”

I listed everything.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking for some serious high-tier materials, kid.”

I crossed my arms. “You asked me to find a solution. I found it.”

She chuckled. “Alright. Let’s see how much these clients really want their egg revived.”

She activated the crystal again.

“Change of plans. We’re going to need a whole damn procurement team.”