Silas awoke the next morning feeling a sense of clarity unlike anything he had experienced since arriving in this world. The usual fog of sleep dissipated quickly, replaced by a sharp, almost electric awareness humming at the edges of his mind. The Occultist Chronicle was now part of him—a quiet presence nestled alongside the system in his consciousness space. Stretching with a satisfied groan, he sat up and rubbed the lingering ache from his temples. His body felt unchanged, but the subtle shift in his perception was undeniable. The patterns of the world around him felt more...structured. He could almost sense the faint impressions of interactions—like echoes left behind by past events. The oath whispered gently in the background: Observe. Learn. Unveil.
With renewed focus, Silas turned his attention to the system interface.
"System, display status."
The familiar text unfolded across his vision, crisp and efficient:
[Status Report]
* Name: Silas Crowell
* Age: 16
* Chronicle: Occultist (1st Order) – 1/10
* Abilities: None (Sublimations pending)
* Attributes:
* Body: 7.3 / 20
* Spirit: 11.3 / 20
* Phenomenal Points: 120 p
Silas's eyes locked on the Spirit attribute.
11.3.
He exhaled slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’d done it. Surpassing the threshold of 10 signified the transition from ordinary mortal to Wielder. The number wasn’t just a metric; it was proof that his connection to the Astral World had solidified. The strands that once hovered beyond reach were now faintly perceptible—a distant, pulsing web of cause and effect that he could one day learn to influence.
His gaze shifted to the Chronicle progress: 1/10.
The new representation was his own custom adjustment, implemented through the system's flexible interface. He had decided on a simple structure to track his growth: ten levels, each representing a milestone in his mastery of the Occultist Chronicle.
According to the system’s calculations, sublimation abilities would unlock at specific intervals:
* Level 4: Insight Tap – extends his analytical reach and reveals hidden mystical structures.
* Level 8: Mimicry Echo – the culmination of his Chronicle’s purpose: the ability to temporarily replicate a mystical ability after thorough study.
Level 10 would mark the Chronicle's full maturity—the point where the oath would loosen its grip, signaling his readiness to advance to the next Order.
The oath isn't forever, Silas mused. It's just the framework. Once the foundation's stable, I can move forward.
The thought sparked a thrill of anticipation. Advancement wasn’t just about power—it was about stepping deeper into the Astral World's mysteries.
But first, knowledge. Step by step.
He dismissed the interface with a thought, stood, and moved toward the window. The fog remained, thick and impenetrable as always. Yet now, it felt less like an obstacle and more like a veil awaiting discovery.
"Time to get to work."
The days that followed were a blur of calculated routine and subtle preparation. Silas maintained his facade of naivety at The Cogwheel Gazette, limping into the office each morning with his usual half-apologetic, half-harried expression. Grint remained oblivious, too absorbed in circulation numbers and sensational headlines to notice the quiet intensity with which Silas now observed the world around him.
The Occultist Chronicle was already altering his perception. Patterns that once seemed random—like the distribution of soot on the cobblestones or the faint etchings on brass pipes—now hinted at deeper structures. Evergarde was more than a mechanical city shrouded in mist; it was a living network of cause and effect, with traces of past phenomena lingering like invisible fingerprints.
But Silas didn’t draw attention to his growing awareness. He delivered his fabricated reports, listened to gossip, and accepted Grint’s dismissive remarks with a disarming grin. All the while, his mind remained fixated on his true work.
After work each evening, Silas navigated the labyrinthine alleys of the Outer City, searching for pieces of a new identity. He couldn't afford recognition if he needed to investigate anomalies more closely.
He started with a mask. In Brasswick Market, a sprawling district of steam-hissing carts and tarp-covered stalls, he found a vendor hawking masquerade masks left over from old Inner City festivals. Most were painted with gaudy colors, the kind nobles wore during galas. But at the bottom of the pile, he found one carved from dark, matte wood: simple, angular, and featureless except for narrow eye slits.
"That one’s cursed, lad," the vendor said with a half-smile. "Made from a tree what grew too close to the fog. People say it whispers at night."
Silas met the man’s gaze and smiled faintly. "Sounds perfect."
The vendor gave a crooked laugh and accepted the coin without further argument. Silas tucked the mask into his satchel and melted into the crowd.
Over the next two nights, he acquired the rest of his disguise: a plain charcoal cloak with a high collar, leather gloves, and a simple utility belt with pouches for chalk, scraps of parchment, and a small, brass-tipped dagger. Nothing flashy. Nothing expensive. Just practical, unassuming gear that could help him slip into shadow when necessary.
On the third night, Silas sat down at his desk and summoned the status interface.
[Status Report]
* Name: Silas Crowell
* Age: 16
* Chronicle: Occultist (1st Order) – 3/10
* Abilities: None (Sublimations pending)
* Attributes:
* Body: 7.3
* Spirit: 11.5
Phenomenal Points: 1310 p
His heart skipped a beat.
3/10? Already? And also 1000+ phenomenal points?
He leaned forward, rubbing his temples. The Occultist Chronicle was supposed to be slow. The oath mandated prolonged study and patient accumulation of mystical knowledge. Yet here he was, only a few days into his journey, and already approaching his first sublimation.
"System, analyze cause of accelerated progression and increased points"
The system responded after a brief pause:
[Progression Analysis Complete]
Cause Identified:
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
* Prior extensive interaction with Astral phenomena before Chronicle acquisition.
* Information Module activity: Multiple analyses of Chronicle structures, Astral World patterns, and phenomena strands.
* Passive knowledge accumulation from system-assisted investigations.
Conclusion: Chronicle progression has been bolstered by pre-existing knowledge resonance. Current sublimation readiness projected within 24-48 hours. Increased points due to creation of a new chronicle and becoming a Wielder - your existence carries more ‘weight’.
Silas exhaled slowly, understanding the reason for increased points. So he focused on the progression.
My past investigations sped up the process. As the system was part of him, the chronicle recognized the system’s information analysis as his own abidance of the oath.
The hours spent prying into the secrets of Chronicle origins, the Astral World's structure, and the mechanics of sublimation had laid an invisible foundation. The Occultist Chronicle, attuned to knowledge and intellectual engagement, had latched onto that groundwork.
The realization brought equal parts relief and dread. He was ahead of schedule—but that meant the first sublimation was closer than he'd expected.
"System, clarify risks associated with first sublimation."
[First Sublimation Risks:]
* Cognitive overload from rapid mental expansion.
* Temporary disorientation due to sensory calibration.
* Low probability of Astral dissonance if oath adherence is compromised.
Recommended Preparation:
* Mental clarity exercises.
* Environmental safety during the process.
* Strict adherence to oath principles.
Silas ran a hand through his hair. His pulse quickened at the thought of disorientation while locked in the Astral World. If something went wrong and the Nightwatch detected it…
No. He shook the thought away. The system had guided him safely through the Chronicle creation; it would do the same for the sublimation. He just needed to prepare.
Insight Tap—the first sublimation—would allow him to extend the system's range and depth when analyzing mystical phenomena. It was a utility skill, not combat-related, but in Evergarde, knowledge was often a deadlier weapon than steel.
He sat back and stared at the ceiling. The fog outside thickened, swirling against the window like restless smoke. His body was exhausted from the day’s work, but his mind raced with possibilities.
The first real step toward mastery.
He closed his eyes and let his breathing slow, centering himself.
The morning arrived with the low groan of steam whistles echoing from the Ironclad District. Silas dressed, made himself a sparse breakfast, and tucked the dark wooden mask into the false bottom of his satchel.
As he stepped onto the street, the fog curled around his ankles like a living thing. He didn’t mind it as much anymore. The mist wasn’t just a blanket of confusion; it was a canvas hiding threads of unseen forces.
His path was set: continue his mundane routine, gather more points, and when the moment was right—initiate his first sublimation.
Night draped Evergarde in its familiar shroud of thick, pale fog. The usual sounds of the Outer City—distant steam whistles, the occasional clatter of hooves on cobblestones—faded into the background as Silas sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of his cramped bedroom. The lantern on his desk was extinguished, leaving only the faint, cold glow of the moon struggling through the mist-smeared window. The air was still, heavy with anticipation.
His pulse quickened as he gave the command.
"System, initiate first sublimation: Insight Tap."
[Initiating Sublimation – Cost: 1,000 p. Proceed?]
The confirmation rattled through his mind like a lock turning. His heart stuttered. A thousand points. Almost everything he had left. The first irreversible step into the unknown.
He exhaled slowly, steeling himself.
"Proceed."
The temperature in the room plummeted instantly. The wooden floor beneath him groaned like a living thing. The thin walls, warped from years of moisture, seemed to pulse inward as though the house itself was holding its breath.
The system's voice, colder and more distant than usual, whispered:
[Recite the oath to anchor the sublimation.]
Silas’s mouth went dry. The pressure pressed down on his chest, turning each breath into a shallow gasp. He clenched his fists and focused on the words etched into his mind.
"In mystery, I seek; in knowledge, I endure.
The veiled shall be unveiled; the unknown shall be understood.
To witness, to comprehend, to adapt—I walk the path of the unseen scholar."
The moment the last word left his lips, the air cracked like ice splitting across a frozen lake. An invisible force surged through his body, igniting his veins with searing cold. His vision blurred. The walls stretched and twisted, the ceiling spiraling upward into endless black. The floor beneath him vanished.
He fell—but didn’t move. The sensation was impossible to describe: disorienting yet stationary, like standing at the epicenter of a silent, collapsing storm. The familiar system interface shattered into fragments of glowing symbols that swirled around him, rearranging themselves into patterns he didn’t understand.
The cold intensified, stabbing into his skull. Images flooded his mind: ancient, weathered runes carved into stone tablets; veins of shimmering, silver mist threading through shadowy streets; flickering outlines of creatures that defied description.
Then, abruptly, the pressure ceased.
The world snapped back into place with a jarring clarity. His bedroom returned—rough wooden floor beneath him, damp walls, the faint scent of mildew in the air. His breath came in ragged gulps, his skin slick with sweat.
[Sublimation Complete.]
[Ability Unlocked: Insight Tap – Extend analytical reach to reveal hidden mystical structures. Usage limited by cognitive strain.]
Silas slumped against the wall, heart racing. The hum of the Chronicle was stronger now, more present. He could feel it beneath his thoughts like a faint vibration—a tuning fork resonating with unseen forces.
Insight Tap. The ability was his. The first tangible manifestation of his Chronicle.
He wiped his forehead with a trembling hand and sat upright. His curiosity stirred despite his exhaustion. The system had warned that the ability revealed mystical structures otherwise hidden to the eye. Evergarde was a city steeped in mystery. The possibilities were endless.
Test it.
Silas shifted to his knees and moved to the window. Outside, the fog swirled lazily in the dim moonlight, soft and impenetrable as always. He placed a hand against the cold glass and activated the ability.
"Activate Insight Tap."
The shift was instantaneous.
The fog changed. What had been a uniform, featureless blanket transformed into a layered tapestry of currents and eddies. Thin strands of silvery energy wove through the mist, forming faint, swirling patterns like invisible rivers in the air. The rooftops of the neighboring houses glowed faintly where traces of latent phenomena clung to chimneys and walls.
Silas's breath caught. So this is what the world really looks like.
Curiosity overtook caution. He tilted his head back and directed his gaze upward, toward the sky where the mist was thickest.
The fog peeled away under his enhanced sight, revealing what lay beyond.
And his blood turned to ice.
High above Evergarde, concealed by the ever-present mist, vast shapes moved.
They swam through the sky like deep-sea leviathans gliding through black water. Their bodies were massive and twisted, formed of shadow and something more—a presence that strained the edges of his perception. Long, jagged limbs extended from bulbous torsos, some trailing tendrils of black mist that dissipated into the surrounding air. Their eyes—or what passed for eyes—glimmered faintly, shifting as though scanning the ground below.
One of them turned its head.
The creature didn't move physically; it just… shifted. Its form reoriented without any discernible motion, and suddenly it faced his direction.
Silas’s heart stopped.
The thing had no discernible features, but its awareness was palpable. A crushing, predatory intelligence radiated from it, locking onto his gaze. The air seemed to thicken. The fog outside the window pressed against the glass as if recoiling—or perhaps being drawn in.
A whisper resonated through his mind, cold and distant:
"See you…"
Terror seized him. He tore his gaze away with a strangled gasp, collapsing to the floor. His chest heaved as he scrambled backward until his back slammed against the opposite wall. The room swam around him. His limbs trembled uncontrollably.
The system crackled in his mind, distorted and faint:
[Cognitive overload detected.]
Silas squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his knees. The whisper still echoed through his skull, hollow and persistent. The oppressive sensation of being watched lingered long after the connection had been severed.
They see you before you see them.
The words he'd heard from the explorer at the Union came rushing back. The creatures in the sky weren’t just distant curiosities. They were aware—intelligent enough to notice when something peered into their domain.
The realization made his stomach lurch. The fog wasn't merely atmospheric or a byproduct of Evergarde’s location. It was a veil, a barrier between the mundane and something far more dangerous. And tonight, for the briefest moment, he had torn that veil aside.
He forced himself to breathe evenly, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. The instinct to run, to flee into the streets and hide beneath the stone arches of the city, pulsed through him. But he fought it down. Running wouldn't help.
Never look at the sky with Insight Tap again.
He etched the rule into his mind. The risk wasn’t worth it. If those creatures could perceive him, they might find him.