Ninety-Nine K Memories

Consciousness returned to Asteron in waves, as if the sea were returning him to the shore.

First, a deep, slow beat marked the tempo of his return. Then came a slight tingling that ran through his skin, awakening his dormant nerves. After that, he felt the cold kiss of the ground against his cheek, mixed with the smell of earth and rotten leaves. And finally, the weight of pain, omnipresent, sinking into every muscle, reminding him that he still existed.

He opened his eyes with difficulty. The darkness faded, but the light that greeted him was unstable, as if the world itself flickered between wakefulness and sleep. He blinked several times until his vision cleared. And when it did, he recognized the forest around him.

He was lying on the ground, in the same forest he had crawled to, although now everything seemed quieter, more silent.

The blood on his skin had turned into a dark crust, and his wounds, although still throbbing with a dull pain, no longer threatened his life.

As he sat up with a muffled groan, he noticed something cold and heavy in his hand. He looked down and recognized the glass vial, with its intricate engravings. The amber liquid inside moved slowly, although only a residue remained at the bottom.

—It’s almost finished—he whispered, frowning as he turned the vial between his fingers.

He forced himself to stand up, feeling the world spin around him before regaining his balance. Looking back at the place where he had lain unconscious, he noticed something unsettling: the grass around it was withered, charred, as if an invisible flame had swept through everything in its path.

With a cautious movement, he picked up the stopper engraved with runes that lay on the ground, carefully placing it back on the vial.

—It spilled when I lost consciousness… A complete waste—he muttered, cursing his carelessness.

His eyes fell again on the withered grass.

—A single drop too much of Arcane alchemy is enough to send any common living being to the afterlife… And I almost ended up like this dry grass. Can you imagine? "Here lies the fool who didn't know how to measure the dose"—he said, laughing as he rubbed his arms to ward off the chill.

His eyes landed on something sticking out among the dry stalks, an object that shone faintly. He bent down and unearthed a knife of intricate design, its blade made of a dark metal seemed to absorb the light, except for some silver sparkles that danced like shooting stars.

He held it carefully, feeling its perfect weight and balance.

His fingers explored the surface, stopping at a series of runes engraved near the edge. They were ancient symbols, a dead language, eradicated from the memory of the world.

But he knew it.

—Ether Cut Knife…—he uttered, processing the meaning of the words.

A sarcastic smile crept across his face as he turned the weapon, watching the light play across its surface.

—What a pretentious name—he murmured, directing his words to the knife—. But don't worry, I'll put you to the test.

He sighed deeply and let his gaze wander over his own body. What were once ordinary, everyday clothes now looked like they were from an eccentric nobleman's collection. The seams were so perfect they seemed to be made by fairies, and the fabric fit his body as if he had been measured for a tailor-made suit. The first-aid kit, which before only had plasters and expired pills, now looked like an alchemical arsenal, with vials that shone as if they contained stars inside. And that cheap knife, bought in a two-for-one offer, now looked like a legendary relic, vibrating with a sinister energy, as if longing to be used.

His fingers closed on the hilt, and a soft laugh escaped his throat.

—Even a common guy like me can notice it… that hungry edge, that thirst to cut. But…—he turned the blade, looking at it suspiciously—, if I wield you, I'll die at the first cut. An ordinary body can't withstand the power of an Arcane weapon. Do you really think I'm going to fall for that? Are you trying to tempt me to end my existence in a glorious but brief career as an air-cutter? Ha! Well, get ready, because a life of peeling potatoes awaits you.

The knife vibrated with an almost offended tremor, as if shouting: Don't demean me to that!

Returning to the forest with the first-aid kit was a dangerous move, but his intuition had not betrayed him. The Red Door had not only allowed him to cross into this world without invoking magic; it had also transformed everything he carried with him into superior versions, adapted to the rules of this place.

He looked up and observed the forest around him. Shadows stretched between the twisted trunks, and the wind carried a disturbing murmur.

A cold smile slid across his lips.

—Naive puppies—he whispered—. They have no idea what awaits them.

He had managed to vanish once, but his return would not go unnoticed. They would soon pick up his trail, and when that happened, they would come for him without hesitation.

—If I were an Adept, I'd be giving beatings now… instead of receiving them.—He whispered with a bitter smile.

He stretched out his hand in front of him and his fingers traced invisible lines in the air, as if trying to capture something that only he could perceive.

—The Ethereal Heart… I must form it before those puppies corner me again.

He advanced through the forest, lost in his thoughts. The Breath of the World was weak here, an almost imperceptible breeze compared to the dense storms of other places he had known.

But even so, it was better than the dead air of his world.

He stopped when he found a fallen branch. He picked it up and, with careful movements, began to draw a circle on the ground. His strokes were sure, each line made with the accuracy of someone who had repeated this process countless times. Then came the symbols, the runes carved into the surface of the earth, both inside and outside the circle, forming a pattern that seemed to have an ancient meaning.

Finally, Asteron sat in the center of the circle, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

—I have ninety-nine thousand memories—he murmured, a wry smile appearing on his lips—. Ninety-nine thousand lives whispering in my ear. It would be foolish to ignore them.

He immersed his consciousness in the infinite ocean of his mind, where memories shone like stars in a dark sky. Each past life was a current, each memory a wave that dragged him deeper. He separated the useless from the valuable, sorting each fragment of knowledge, each technique, each theory, each mistake and each triumph.

In that process, his breathing became paused, almost meditative, as if he were tuning into a hidden frequency. Each exhalation seemed to release something he had been repressing for a long time.

When he opened his eyes, his smile was different. It was not one of joy or triumph, but of defiant curiosity, as if he had found a dangerous game and decided to play it.

—If fate gives me this opportunity... why not play with fire?—He whispered, his pupils dilated with feverish excitement.

A memory emerged from the shadows of his mind, like a creature lurking in the depths. It was not a simple memory, but a nightmare etched in his being. That indescribable being, that presence that had stripped him of all humanity by merely existing. His body had succumbed to trembling, his mind to emptiness. But in the midst of the chaos, he had glimpsed something more: an ancient truth, a forbidden knowledge that only those who have witnessed the inconceivable can understand.

—So… is it possible?—he whispered doubtfully—. But if I fail… not even my bones will be left to tell the tale.

He remained silent for a moment, weighing the risks, the thin line between sanity and madness, of what he was about to do.

And then, he began to laugh, with that same laughter of someone who cannot help but approach the unknown.

—Why think about it so much? Without the Red Door, my story in this life would already be over. These memories must mean something. They didn't resurface by chance. There's a purpose behind them, something I probably have to do. And if I die…—He shrugged with a calm smile—. Well, after ninety-nine thousand cycles, death is the only thing that has always been the same.

He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. The first thing was to feel the Breath of the World.

For others, this would take days, weeks, even years of meditation. But for him, who had existed throughout countless lives, it was as natural as breathing.@@novelbin@@

The Breath of the World enveloped him as soon as he opened his perception, a subtle current that filtered through the cracks of reality. He felt its flow through the earth, the trees, the air… an ethereal river that united all things.

Now, he had to refine it.

The technique he used was a vestige of remote times, devised for those who did not have illustrious lineages or inherited talents. It was based on the Laws of the Arcane, using its structure as a crucible to distill the essence of the Breath of the World.

And no one mastered it like him, since he had been its architect.

The raw energy slowly transformed, as if shedding impurities to reveal its true essence.

Aether.

Asteron felt it run through his being, fresh and light, as if the breath of the universe itself flowed within him. Around him, the air lit up with tiny particles of light, like fireflies dancing in the dark.

But it was still not enough. He needed the link.

Invoking a fragment of resonance from the Arcane Link was the final step for most. Ethereal Resonance was what gave shape to Aether, what allowed it to take the form of fire, water, lightning… It was the basis of Adept magic.

As he refined the Breath of the World, an undeniable conclusion took shape in his mind, clear and precise.

—The knowledge of the Arcane in my current world is superficial…—he murmured to himself—. They assume that Ethereal Resonances are the core of the Arcane Link, but they do not understand the depth of their error.

His hand closed into a fist, feeling the vibration of the Aether flowing within him.

—Ethereal Resonances are just weak derivations of the Primordial Essences, and these, in turn, are partial manifestations of the true Arcane Link—he frowned—. They have no idea of the depth of what they are trying to master.

He closed his eyes again. During his ninety-nine thousand lives, he had formed his Ethereal Heart with countless Ethereal Resonances. He had mastered their forms, understood their properties. But in this life…

—If I'm going to go big…—His lips curled into a wild smile—. I must not form my Ethereal Heart with simple resonances.

The circle around him began to glow with a trembling light.

—I will do it with the Primordial Essences.