Vastarael lay on his back with one arm tucked beneath his head and the other resting lightly over the blanket. Beside him, Phaenora slept soundly with her hair spilled across the pillow. She was exhausted after they trained the entire day.
He envied that. Sleep refused to come to him, mostly because he was thinking about his heart that now hosted twelve pseudo-cores. The increase in total energy capacity was obscene. Even by Ninth Star standards, it pushed him into territory most Divines would label theoretical at best and suicidal at worst.
And then there was the Ninth Star Mage. That title still felt unreal when he let it sit in his mind too long.
An Eighth Star Mage was already considered monstrous. A Ninth Star Mage was something else entirely. It was close enough to the pinnacle of Magecraft that the only thing separating them from legend was a single mythical step, the Tenth Star. The cruel irony was that right now, stripped of the weapon discipline he had honed across his lifetime, he was stronger as a mage than he had ever been as a weapon user.
He was twice as strong, if he was being brutally honest with himself.
His new arms rested beneath the blanket, still unfamiliar in subtle ways that only revealed themselves under strain. They worked better than before in terms of raw output and durability but weapon memory was merciless. Every angle, every torque, every micro-adjustment of grip had to be taught once again. Starting from the basics meant months he did not have.
He exhaled slowly using the Plenituse breathing technique that he learned from his mother at a young age. Even now, after the meadow battle and after hours of rest, his lungs still lagged a fraction behind the demands his body placed on them. When he became a Divine, he didn't need it anymore because he was less fatigued and stronger. Now, with a heart back, he actually had a pulse and he had to start using that breathing technique once again, which was easier than expected. But, he had to do it manually though. He remembered how he used to do manual breathing during his weapon training. He did not like it one bit.
He turned his head slightly, watching Phaenora sleep. Eventually, the stillness became unbearable. He shifted carefully. He slowly got off the bed so it wouldn't creak, which was harder considering his arm strength. He slipped out of the log cabin and looked outside.
Nightfall in the meadows was absolute.
There was no twilight here. One moment the world basked in sunrise and the next it surrendered to night so complete it felt like standing at the edge of the void itself. The sky was ink-black. The ground ahead barely visible unless one relied on using special vision. Vastarael did both, out of habit. That was when he noticed Reynolds.
The man sat a short distance away. His gaze was fixed on the vast, empty darkness ahead. He looked peaceful in a way that didn't match his reputation. Vastarael approached quietly and sat beside him, leaving a respectful distance.
"I didn't expect you to be here."
Reynolds snorted softly. "Didn't expect myself either. Escaping my wife."
"Rough night?"
"She's wonderful. Which somehow makes it worse for me."
Vastarael nodded, understanding far too well what he meant. Reynolds glanced sideways at him.
"What about you? Trouble with your women?"
Vastarael didn't even pretend to hesitate.
"Constantly."
"Plural. Poor you."
"Five, to be specific. And if they fought together, they could probably kill me."
"You're serious."
"Unfortunately. Thankfully, they're reasonable."
"That's what they all say."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment with he void stretching endlessly ahead of them. Reynolds broke it with a quieter tone.
"So. How's the adjustment going?"
"My arms? They're good. I just… have trouble keeping up with manual breathing after I strain myself."
"That bad?"
"It's manageable. Annoying, but manageable."
Reynolds nodded, then frowned slightly.
"You know, there's something I've been wanting to ask you."
"Ask away."
"Why do you want to die so badly?"
"I don't. Not consciously. But I don't avoid it either. Phaenora thinks it's a trauma response from my childhood and from my past life. As you already know, I existed in the apocalypse. I lost my family and friends. I didn't want to lose more."
Reynolds leaned back slightly, listening.
"Maybe that's why I keep putting my life on the line. If I don't hesitate, if I'm always the first forward, then maybe I can stop history from repeating itself."
"And if you don't?"
"Then I die trying. And at least it wasn't meaningless. I don't think I've ever considered my life to be more precious than the ones I care about."
"You really are insane."
"So I've been told."
"You look gentle and soft-spoken but I know you would betray or kill anyone if it meant saving the people you love."
"Yes," Vastarael agreed without hesitation. "That's true."
There was no shame when he said it.
"Honestly, no one else matters when it comes to that."
Reynolds shook his head slowly. "That's a terrifying way to live. Oh, now that we have time, let me answer some of your questions. In my past life, I was an architect."
Vastarael's eyes widened.
"I did urban planning. I designed cities that were meant to last longer than the people who built them. I was reincarnated eons ago, long before most of what you would recognize as modern Spheraphase even existed."
That, finally, made Vastarael turn fully toward him.
"And before you ask, yes. I remember everything. I helped Vasreveilder Nov Aeteria build the Hidden Citadel."
Vastarael's eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in recognition.
"That's not a name people throw around lightly."
"They shouldn't. He earned every syllable of it. He is the founder of civilization on the surface after all."
He leaned back, gaze drifting into the void once more.
"Vasreveilder wasn't transmigrated to Spheraphase like you and I were. He came from Vaveniterium, the home planet of the Aeterium. He was exile. Blamed for treason. Politics, ideology, fear, take your pick. The Aeterium have never been kind to those who disrupt equilibrium, even when disruption is necessary. So he left. He got on a spaceship. With him was his Omniscient and a handful of survivors from a fallen planet whose name has long since been erased. They weren't conquerors. They were refugees."
Vastarael listened in silence.
"When they arrived in Spheraphase, they landed in a vast meadow. Endless grass, open sky, energy spread all around the atmosphere, it was perfect. They named it the Meadows of Asphodel."
"That's derived from a Greek realm in the Underworld where ordinary people go, right? Those who lived lives of mixed virtue existed there for will eternity."
"I know. I was into mythology back then too. I always liked how humanity tried to explain morality. So, they stayed and built a haven. Centuries passed and the population grew. Children were born. And then something strange happened. Some of the descendants… weren't native."
"Transmigrators," Vastarael murmured.
"Yes. They were from Earth but different eras. Vasreveilder noticed immediately. He is a transmigrator too after all. He didn't enslave them. He asked them a single question. 'Do you want to change the world?'"
Vastarael already knew the answer.
"They helped him of course. All of them. Engineers, teachers, physicists, doctors, chemists, everyone with a profession helped. ."
"And with that Omniscient of hers," Vastarael said slowly, "they could anchor that knowledge."
"Exactly. An Omniscient doesn't just know things. They understand how knowledge works. They restored basics first. Measurements, temperature, Physics, Biology, Chemistry, you name it. They didn't turn Spheraphase into Earth. They made it compatible with Earth. And once those foundations were stable, Vasreveilder had me help him with his greatest project."
"The Hidden Citadel."
"It is a structure not bound to geography. It's a nexus that could connect to every realm of Spheraphase without destabilizing local laws."
"That shouldn't be possible," Vastarael said.
"It wasn't. That's why it took over ten thousand years. When it was finished, Vasreveilder didn't crown himself king. He sent explorers instead. Teachers. Scholars. Builders. They spread across Spheraphase, not preaching science as superiority, but offering it as a tool. That's why even now, after wars, resets and divine interference, Spheraphase still understands science and technology at a fundamental level."
Vastarael stared into the void, then laughed quietly.
"Figures. I always wondered why science and technology was so similar to Earth. Who knew it took almost ten thousand years to make it happen?"
"That's how civilizations work."