Chapter 417
And when the time finally came, when Xavier decided to reclaim what belonged to him, there was nothing Ilux could do to stop it.
All resistance, all cunning, all courage ultimately crumbled when faced with the fundamental truth that he had only ever been a borrower—a temporary vessel, a reincarnation whose task had already been completed.
"I have never—and will never—possess Ilux's body. Because from the very beginning, Ilux was never my reincarnation."
Hoooh!
"From the moment he was first born, that was where I resided. Not a complete reincarnation, not the transfer of a soul.
I merely rode along within the consciousness of a boy named Ilux Rediona. I observed his world from within, whispering directions, sometimes taking control. Yet that body always remained his, and his soul stood firmly as itself.
That is why we could separate, why we could speak as two entities, and why in the end I could leave. Because if I had truly reincarnated completely, there would never have been a 'we.' There would have only been 'I' within a new skin."
And within the silence that was broken only by the indifferent pulse of distant pulsars, Xavier continued his confession with a truth that was even more fundamental, more astonishing, more capable of tearing apart the veil of reality that many had long believed to be unquestionable.
That he could never, under any circumstance, within any layer of reality, within even the most limitless ontological possibility, possess the body of Ilux Rediona.
Not because the body was unworthy, not because the body was too weak, not because it had been damaged in the fierce battle beneath the pale moonlight in that empty field.
The reason was far simpler and far more fundamental—a truth hidden behind misguided assumptions, behind misplaced beliefs, behind narratives constructed upon fragile foundations.
Ilux Rediona, from the very beginning—from the moment of his first breath in this world, from the instant his eyes first opened to the light of life—was never the reincarnation of Xavier XVII.
There had been no rebirth, no transfer of a soul from one vessel into another, no cycle of samsara carrying Xavier's essence into Ilux's body.
All of it had merely been a construction, an assumption, a way of thinking far too simple to grasp the complexity of the relationship between two entities that had long shared space within a single consciousness.
And this is why the phenomenon of two souls within one body that had long existed within Ilux became so complex, so confusing, so difficult to explain using the ordinary framework of reincarnation understood by beings of the lower layers of reality.
If Ilux had truly been Xavier's reincarnation, if he had truly been the rebirth of the Human Hero in a new form, then there should have been no separation of souls.
Those two souls should have merged, fused into one indistinguishable whole. What should have existed was simply Xavier reborn—with memories perhaps blurred or perhaps intact, with an identity that might have shifted or remained the same, yet still one, still whole, still indivisible.
The fact that within Ilux existed two separate consciousnesses, two souls capable of interacting with each other, two entities capable of arguing and clashing, two presences that eventually had to be separated through a painful extraction—this was undeniable proof that the framework of reincarnation did not apply here.
Not reincarnation, not rebirth, not the transfer of a soul through the familiar cycle of life and death.
Something else. Something more complex. Something beyond conventional understanding of how souls move and unite.
Thus Xavier offered an explanation that might come closer to the truth, a possibility long hidden behind the curtain of reality that only those who had reached a certain level of awareness could perceive.
That from the very moment Ilux Rediona was born—from the first second when life began to pulse within the fragile body of that newborn child—Xavier's soul had already been present within him.
Not through reincarnation, not by replacing Ilux's original soul, not by seizing complete control.
But in a subtler, more mysterious, more difficult way to comprehend.
Xavier's soul existed as a passenger, as a guest, as a second entity sharing space with Ilux's original soul without ever truly merging with it.
Like two birds perched upon the same branch yet remaining separate beings, like two rivers flowing within a single current while preserving their own molecular identities, like two lights shining within one room yet still distinguishable by their spectra.
This presence was not the result of a conscious decision, not a carefully planned strategy, not a goal meant to be achieved.
It simply happened, flowing within a current of reality far greater than the will of any individual—a mystery that perhaps would never be fully unraveled, even by Xavier himself.
"There is no city beyond this place, no kingdom sending news, no whispers from the outside world. There is only this village, alone in the middle of silence."
And after all the confessions about the nature of power and soul had been revealed, after the truth of two consciousnesses within a single body had finally been inscribed into the silent space between the stars, Xavier allowed himself to drift within the current of time flowing backward.
His mind, which had surpassed the limits of reality, which had witnessed the birth and death of countless universes, which had stood upon the threshold of the Land of the Gods, was now filled with memory after memory rising from the most ancient depths.
Not memories of cosmic battles, not memories of conquered dimensions, not memories of reclaimed power—but memories of a past so human, so simple, so distant from the image of the Human Hero that now clung to his name.
Within the silence of the Golden of Box at the Highest Tier, between the indifferent pulse of pulsars and the pulling gravity of black holes, Xavier once again became an ordinary young man who lived in limitation, in ignorance, in a simplicity he may have longed for without ever realizing it.
Long ago, before all of these journeys began, before he became an entity that transcended the boundaries of dimensions, before he was known as King Xavier XVII, he had merely been a boy growing up within a warm and humble embrace.
There had been no heroic aura surrounding his childhood, no signs of grandeur marking his birth, no whisper of destiny murmuring his name into the wind.
There had only been a small house in a remote village, with a thatched roof that leaked when rain fell, wooden walls that creaked beneath the night wind, and a dirt floor hardened by thousands of footsteps.
Within that house he lived with his grandfather and grandmother—two elderly figures who became his entire world, who taught him how to plant rice in the fields, how to catch fish in the river, how to distinguish poisonous mushrooms from those that could be eaten.
He had never known his parents, never seen their faces, never heard their voices.
According to his grandparents, they had gone off to fight on the battlefield—a word that sounded strange and distant to a small boy whose world was no wider than the village where he lived.
And after their departure, they vanished without reason, without news, without a trace, leaving behind only a quiet emptiness that Xavier sometimes felt during silent nights, when he wondered what it might feel like to have a father lift him in his arms or a mother gently stroke his hair.
To be continued…