The days passed slowly.
Aurelion kept his word. He rested. He healed. The medics changed his bandages, checked his wounds, nodded with approval. His leg was mending. His side was closing. His fists were healing.
But rest was not the same as stillness.
Each night, when the platform grew quiet and the others slept, he sat cross-legged on the floor of his quarters, closed his eyes, and reached inward.
The power was there.
Always there.
He could feel it coiled beneath his skin, a dormant volcano waiting to erupt. The shards on his back hummed in response, resonating with the part of him that remembered what it was to be a king.
36% of what he had once been.
Not enough. Never enough.
But more than he had started with.
He reached deeper.
The upper dantian—the gate that held his old power—had cracked during the descent. He could feel the fissure, the thin line of weakness that let power leak through.
I need more, he thought. I need to open it wider.
He pushed.
Slowly. Carefully. Not force—flow.
The crack widened.
Power surged through—raw, ancient, hungry. It spread through his body like fire through dry grass. His veins burned. His heart stuttered. His skin flushed with heat.
37%. 38%. 39%.
He opened his eyes.
The room was the same. The platform hummed softly. The water lapped against the hull.
But he felt different. Stronger. More.
He touched the shards on his back. They pulsed in response, warm and alive.
Not enough, he thought. But closer.
The next night, he tried again.
40%. 41%. 42%.
The power came faster now. The crack in the dantian was widening, the seal weakening. He could feel the old self pushing through—the king, the conqueror, the monster.
But he wasn't afraid.
Not anymore.
He had Ami. Corrin. Kael. People who stood beside him, bled beside him, fought beside him.
I am not alone, he thought. I never was.
He reached deeper.
43%. 44%. 45%.
The third night, he pushed harder.
The dantian groaned, the crack widening further. Power flooded through him—not a trickle, a torrent. His body burned. His vision swam. His heart pounded against his ribs like a trapped animal.
46%. 47%. 48%.
He didn't stop.
The power kept coming, relentless and overwhelming. He felt his muscles tighten, his bones harden, his blood sing.
49%. 50%.
He opened his eyes.
The room was dark, but he could see everything—every shadow, every grain of wood, every speck of dust floating in the air. His senses were sharper, clearer, more alive. The shards on his back hummed in harmony, their light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
50%.
Half of what he had once been.
He looked at his hands. The wounds on his knuckles were gone. The cuts had healed, the bruises faded, the skin smooth and unblemished.
His leg—his injured leg—no longer ached. He stood, testing it, expecting pain.
There was none.
He had healed.
The power is accelerating my recovery, he realized. The more I draw on it, the faster I heal.
He touched his side. The wound from the demon's claws was gone. The skin was smooth, the muscle whole.
I'm becoming more, he thought. More than I was. More than I thought I could be.
And I'm not done yet.
The next morning, Ami found him on the observation deck.
"You look different," she said. "Your eyes."
"What about them?"
"They're... brighter. Like there's something behind them."
He almost smiled. "There is."
"What?"
He turned to her. "I'm healing. Faster than I should be. The power I've been drawing on—it's accelerating my recovery."
Ami looked at him quizzically, hell is he going on about, what power
"So you're getting stronger?"
"Yes."
"And the wounds?"
"Gone. All of them."
She stepped closer. "All of them?"
"All of them."
She looked at his leg, his side, his hands. Her eyes widened.
"How?"
He touched Gatekeeper's hilt. The blade pulsed.
"I'm becoming more than I was," he said. "And I think I'm just getting started."
Ami gave him a questioning look, then decided she didn't care as long as he was fine
That night, he sat on the observation deck.
The water was dark and still. The city was down there, waiting. The truth was down there, waiting.
The First King, he thought. He was a prisoner. Bound to the gate. Bound to the seal.
But I won't be.
I will choose.
I will always choose.
He touched Gatekeeper's hilt. The blade pulsed.
And when I go back down—I will be ready.