Twelve hours. The number hit me hard. We had just finished the tunnel. We needed time—time to organize, to explain, to let people breathe.
"We don't have time," Theron said, as if reading my mind. He forced himself to stand, moving with a grim focus that pushed past his fatigue. "The supplies are already packed. The carts are ready in the lower storerooms, near the tunnel. We leave now. We start the evacuation immediately."
I followed him out, back up the tunnel. At this point, I had probably run a small marathon just going back and forth. The main hall was chaos, but it was a directed chaos. The guards who hadn't joined the circle were already moving, faces hard, voices firm as they organized people into lines. They'd been waiting for this.
Theron moved through it all with a quiet command, giving sharp, clear orders. The despair from before was gone, replaced by the grim resolve of someone carrying out a plan they wished they never had to use.
As we passed a group of priests loading the last bundles onto a cart, Theron's eyes lingered on them. His voice dropped, just for me. "The barrier… it demands a lot. It'll need a constant flow of power to last even twelve hours."
He didn't say more. He didn't have to. I saw it in his eyes. The Radiance needed fuel. We'd just burned through lives to dig our way out. Now, to keep the door open long enough for everyone to escape, we'd have to burn more. I understood.
The empty spots in the circle would need to be filled. The math was ugly and simple. We didn't talk about it. What was there to say? The choice was already made. Saying it out loud would only waste time and make the weight heavier.
The evacuation began in earnest. People were guided toward the temple's depths, toward the hidden tunnel that was their only chance. The air was thick with fear, but it was focused—sharpened by the guards' efficiency and Theron's silent determination.
We were racing a clock none of us could see, counting down to the moment the gold light outside finally gave out. Before heading back in, I took another look at the black mass slithering against the barrier, the enemies I would have to inevitably face countless times in the future.
The Nightmares, the Dream Realm, Gates, even as Echoes held by other Awakened. I should read up on some guidebooks when I enter the Academy. I didn't recognise any of these creatures at first glance, but they were individually indistinct from this distance. Maybe there were a few familiar faces down there, but that wouldn't change anything. I couldn't even beat a regular guard in combat with my current abilities, nonetheless a raving monster.
I would have to wait till I became a Sequence 6 before engaging in close combat with others. Dragon Scales would be a great help then, though I had a feeling I would probably be a proper Awakened by the time I unlocked that, maybe even Ascended if I was too unlucky with opportunities.
Survival was the immediate goal, but after that came existence. I needed a purpose, a way to blend in and leverage my new abilities without painting a target on my back.
The memory of Master Jet's briefing surfaced—a titbit she revealed to Sunny when hunting down a rogue Awakened named Kurt. The government and the Great Clans were perpetually short on one specific resource: individuals who could stabilize the mentally fractured.
An Awakened lost their mind wasn't just a tragedy; they were a walking catastrophe, a threat to everyone around them. The value of a person who could prevent that, or at least manage the fallout, was immense.
My new ability as a Telepathist was a key. But it was a crude, untested key. I could sense surface emotions and hear the whispers of another's thoughts, but true mental healing?
That was far beyond its current scope. Soothing a terrified Dormant was one thing; calming an Awakened whose very grip on reality was crumbling was an entirely different league of power.
My current skills were a first-aid kit, not a surgical suite. I might be able to avoid provoking such individuals, but I couldn't stop them from being triggered by others
This presented both an opportunity and a danger. The opportunity was clear. In the world of Shadow Slave, there would be no shortage of patients.
The traumatized, the broken, the ones teetering on the edge—they would be my practice. Digesting the Psychiatrist potion wouldn't be a problem; the environment would provide endless material to act upon. I could build a life there, a useful, quiet life that also served my need to advance along the Pathway.
The danger, however, was in the revelation. I could not, under any circumstances, reveal the true nature of my power. Letting any faction know I was part of a foreign power system, that my abilities were rooted in the esoteric principles of the Visionary Pathway—principles that could eventually manipulate dreams, rewrite personalities, and impose my will on reality itself—would be a death sentence. I would be seen not as a useful tool, but as an existential threat to be contained, dissected, and understood.
My role would have to be carefully crafted: a skilled empath. Not a master of the mind, but a proficient soother of surface-level turmoil. I would offer just enough value to be indispensable, but never enough to be frightening.
It was a tightrope walk, but it was a path. It was a way to turn mere survival into a foundation for something more, all while staying hidden in plain sight. Firstly, of course, I had to survive the abominable death trying to claim me here.