The scale of it was the first thing that hit me. It was immense, a cavernous space that made the grandest cathedral from my old world look like a dollhouse. And it was built of death.
Pitch-black stone columns, smooth and cold as obsidian, soared towards a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. But they weren't just stone. Every surface—every column, every sweeping arch, every curve of the distant domes—was inlaid with bones. A mosaic of remains, fused seamlessly into the dark rock. I saw ribs that could have been from a giant, delicate finger bones that looked elven, thick, heavy skulls that spoke of dwarven stock, and countless others I couldn't identify. It was a library of species, a architectural record of mortality.
And in the centre of it all, a cross.
It wasn't wood. pure white marble, and it was colossal, stretching a hundred meters tall, a stark, silent monument. There was no pattern or symbols on it, the cross was as blank as the one I wore around my neck. That was intentional I suppose.
An overwhelming, profound holiness saturated the air, a sense of peace so absolute it felt heavier than the silence. This wasn't a tomb, despite what its' appearance may suggest; it was a reliquary. A sacred, sombre museum of the departed.
What held my attention the longest was the blob of soft, silver-gold light floating in front of the cross. It was hard to distinguish, as it seemed t both pour from the cross, while the cross also seems to be drawing on it to maintain form. I recognised it almost instantly for what it was. My Soul Core.
This was a cathedral. But not for the living. It was a cathedral for the dead, and the being that presided over it all. And it was one I was somewhat familiar with. Not intimately, there wasn't enough of a presence for that, but through who it originally belonged to. This was meant to be Adam's Divine Kingdom, the Corpse Cathedral.
And now it was my fucking Soul Sea.
The sharp, pleasant chime of the Academy's morning alarm pulled me from a deep, dreamless sleep. A week. It had been a full week since Roberts dropped me off, and the sheer normality of it all still felt like a luxury I didn't deserve.
My room in Dormitory B was spacious, private, and clean. Immaculately so. After a quick shower in my own ensuite—a concept that still felt wildly indulgent—I pulled on the standard-issue grey training gear. The fabric was high-tech, breathable, and fit perfectly. Everything here was just… better.
Stepping into the hallway, the air hummed with quiet energy. The Academy wasn't just a school; it was a fortress of comfort and efficiency, a world away from the battered outer city and lightyears ahead of the grim reality of the First Nightmare. It reminded me of the nicer university campuses from my old life, the kind my well-off family had always expected me to attend. The familiarity was a comfort, a tiny anchor in this insane new world.
The cafeteria was a vast, sunlit atrium. The smell of real coffee and cooked food hit me first, a small miracle in a world still rebuilding. I grabbed a tray—scrambled eggs, toast, a piece of fruit that actually looked fresh—and scanned the room.
A guy named Leo from my Combat Theory class caught my eye and gave a short nod. I returned it with a slight smile. A few tables over, Sarah, a sharp-eyed girl I'd partnered with in Essence Control drills, waved me over, but I gestured to my food and then an empty table, miming that I needed to review something.
She smiled and turned back to her friends. It was easy. Polite. Normal. I was building a network, carefully. Not too close, not too distant. Just enough to be remembered as a decent guy.
Settling into a seat by the window, I took a sip of excellent coffee and let my mind drift over the past week.
The classes were… interesting. Basic information about Essence, History of the Change, Nightmare Creature Taxonomy. It was all stuff I technically already knew from Sunny's experiences, but hearing it from the Academy's instructors made it real.
They focused on survival, on cohesion, on becoming efficient cogs in the machine that was fighting back against the Nightmare. My "Spectator" aspect made it easy to ace the theoretical stuff, absorbing details and making connections that left others scribbling frantic notes.
My Flaw, Justice, had been quiet. It wasn't a voice in my head, more of a… predisposition. In a strategy simulation, I'd instinctively suggested sacrificing a simulated patrol to draw a stronger enemy into a trap. The instructor had called it "ruthlessly logical."
The other students had just stared. I'd played it off as a cold calculation from my Nightmare experience, but I felt it then—the cool, unemotional certainty of the decision. It was fair. It was necessary. It just wasn't very human.
I'd have to be careful about that, had to consciously remind myself to smile, to make small talk, to be polite. The instinct was to be efficient, not friendly. It was a little unsettling, but manageable for now.
No one knew my True Name, my Aspect Rank, or the… extent of my abilities. On record, I was Adam, a Sleeper with a rare but unspecified mental-type Aspect, Rank: Dormant Human. I'd practiced with "Spectator" and "Telepathist" in controlled environments, enough to sell the lie.
Reading surface thoughts and analysing body language was impressive enough for a newbie. It made people wary of me, which was perfect. I'd kept my Aspect and Flaw to myself, just as Roberts advised. When asked, I gave vague, non-committal answers about "support-based abilities" and a Flaw that "affected my decision-making." It was boring enough to be believable.
I hadn't dared to try "Envisioning." The description made it sound like the ultimate cheat code, but the requirement for understanding was a serious limiter. I couldn't just whip up a lightsaber; I'd probably accidentally create a fancy glow-stick that overheated. My project, my secret goal, was something simpler. The worst part was, I couldn't even experiment: the Envisioning was a one-time use.
My options were seriously limited in that case. Knowing the rules of fairness, I would at most be able to Envision an Ascended with more direct or simple capabilities. Summoning a Titan, of any Rank, was obviously not going to work.
Finishing the last of my eggs, I focused on the view outside the cafeteria window. manicured green lawns, sparkling fountains, students laughing on their way to early classes. Paradise. A gilded cage, maybe, but a cage with five-star amenities.
It was a good place to get strong. A safe place to figure out exactly what being "The True Creator" was supposed to mean.
I took a last swig of coffee, stood up, and headed for my first class. Time to play the part.
...
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