Soul One gestured lazily toward the spectacles hovering between us.
"That's your solution?"
They looked painfully ordinary.
Thin white wooden frame. Clear lenses. No glow. No runes. No aura pressure. If I'd seen them on a table back in the estate, I would've assumed they belonged to a tired scholar with poor eyesight.
"Hey, Nova, come now and say hello."
I sat silently.
Waiting for this nova.
"Nova, say hello," soul one said, looking at those spectacles.
I squinted.
"…Who," I said carefully, "are you talking to?"
"Nova," Soul One replied, pointing at the spectacles. "Your new partner."
"…Those are glasses."
"Yes."
"Spectacles."
"Correct."
"For eyes."
"Also correct."
Then I stared.
Then I stared harder.
Then, I glanced around the void.
Stars. Threads. Infinite nothing.
Then back at the glasses.
"…Looks like I've finally lost it," I concluded. "This is it. Forbidden skill backlash. I snapped. Next, you'll tell me my sword has opinions."
Then—
Soul One's expression changed.
The easy amusement drained away, replaced by something… irritated. Genuinely so.
"I am not asking," he said coolly. "Respond."
The spectacles vibrated.
A shiver ran down my spine.
He leaned closer to the glasses.
"Nova," he repeated, voice sharper now. "Respond."
Silence.
Then—
A voice echoed in my mind.
Not loud.
Not deep.
Not ancient.
A voice that was… young.
Clear. Crisp. Slightly irritated.
And unreasonably smug.
"Ugh. You really had to wake me now?"
I froze.
Every instinct I had screamed threat.
I spun in place, scanning for the speaker. "Who said that?!"
The spectacles floated gently forward.
Stopped. Right in front of my face.
"…You've got to be kidding me," I whispered.
The voice continued, unmistakably coming from the glasses.
"I was in the middle of formulating the new algorithm of light spectrums," it said huffily. "Do you have any idea how annoying it is to be pulled out mid-calculation?"
Soul One pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I warned you," he muttered. "Minimal attitude. That was the agreement."
"Oh, please," the voice snapped back. "You never enforce agreements"."
"…Nova," Soul One said flatly.
The glasses vibrated.
"Fine," the voice sighed. "Hello, unauthorised reincarnator. Augustus Ironcreed. Age: technically seventeen. Mentally: well above 40 but still acts like an immature brat. Success probability for this mission: frankly above average."
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"…The glasses are judging me."
Soul One smiled. "That means it's functioning."
I took a step back. "No. No, that's not functioning. That's haunted."
"I'm not haunted," the voice snapped indignantly. "I am sentient."
"That's worse!"
The lenses flashed faintly.
"I am Nova," the voice declared, pride practically radiating. "A sentient artefact born to observe, analyse, and interpret layered truths across physical, metaphysical, conceptual, and many more aspects."
I stared.
"…You're glasses."
"I am a Sacred Treasure grade artefact," Nova corrected sharply. "A difference you'd appreciate if you had any kind of refinement whatsoever."
Soul One chuckled.
That was a mistake.
Nova's tone sharpened instantly.
"And you," Nova continued, rounding on Soul One, "are late. Do you know how long I've been waiting? I was promised an active role. A worthy wielder. Someone intellectually stimulating. Someone worth teaching."
The glasses angled toward me again.
"…And you bring me this?"
Hey.
I pointed at myself. "I never asked for you, thanks."
"You accepted the mission," Nova replied instantly. "And emotional instability and panic-prone. I can smell it on your soul."
"That is deeply invasive."
"And accurate."
I froze.
Then Soul One cleared his throat. "Nova."
"Yes?" the glasses replied sweetly.
"Mind explaining why you ignored me?"
There was a pause.
Then—
The void tightened.
I didn't know how else to describe it. Something in Soul One's presence sharpened—not power, but authority.
"Maybe because I was hoping you would reconsider."
"You do not get to 'hope," Soul One said calmly. "You were sealed for a reason."
Nova bristled. Literally. The air behind the lenses flared.
"I was sealed because you were afraid of what I'd notice," Nova snapped.
Soul One's eyes narrowed.
"That," he said quietly, "is exactly why you were sealed."
Silence fell.
Not the awkward kind.
The disciplinary kind.
I slowly raised a hand. "…Should I be worried that the glasses are arguing with a cosmic entity?"
"Yes," Nova and Soul One said simultaneously.
They glared at each other.
Soul One exhaled slowly. "Nova, your role is observation. Interpretation. Guidance. Not—"
"—babysitting," Nova cut in sharply.
Then the glasses turned fully toward me.
And the voice dropped any pretence of politeness.
High-pitched. Clear. Sharp as a needle.
"Why," the voice said indignantly, "must I babysit a muscle-brained warrior?"
I froze.
"If you wanted me to partner with someone," the voice continued, dripping with pride, "you could have at least chosen a refined scholar. Or a theoretician. Or a half-competent metaphysician. Not—"
The spectacles rotated slightly, as if looking at me.
"—this."
I stared.
They stared back.
"…The glasses just insulted me," I said slowly.
Soul One sighed. "Nova. Manners."
"Hmph," the voice sniffed. "Very well. I retract muscle-brained. He does appear marginally sentient."
"HEY."
The spectacles ignored me completely.
Soul One pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is Nova. Try not to antagonise it in the first minute."
"Try?" Nova scoffed. "I'm already offended."
I pointed. "You said it like it was a thing."
"I am a lens," Nova snapped. "A transcendent artefact of truth, not a run-of-the-mill toy. Do not 'it' me."
"…I hate this already," I muttered.
Soul One smiled faintly. "That's normal."
Nova rotated in the air, the lenses catching nonexistent light. For a moment, I could swear I saw concentric rings—faint, celestial, layered with symbols too precise to be decorative—flicker around them before vanishing again.
Then Nova spoke again, tone sharpening.
"Explain," it demanded. "Why am I being assigned to him?"
Soul One waved a hand. "Because he's the only option."
Nova laughed.
Actually laughed.
A bright, crystalline sound full of disdain.
"That's not a qualification," Nova said. "That's a coincidence."
"Is it?" Soul One countered mildly.
Silence.
Nova's lenses tilted, focusing on me.
I felt it instantly.
The sensation was—
Uncomfortable.
Not pressure. Not pain.
Like being mentally undressed by a librarian with no respect for privacy.
I resisted the urge to cover myself.
"Hm," Nova said.
"…Alive. Damaged. Inconsistent. Loudly inefficient."
"Hey."
"Emotionally compromised," it continued.
"Chronically unlucky. Suspiciously resilient. And—oh."
Soul One mildly angrily. "Nova."
"Relax," Nova said dismissively. "I'm not cataloguing him. Merely… noticing."
"…Stop doing that," I said carefully.
"I'm not doing anything," Nova replied. "I'm observing."
"That's worse."
Soul One clapped once. "Enough. Nova, you know the constraints."
Nova clicked its metaphorical tongue. "Yes. Yes. Those constraints."
It sighed—somehow.
"Very well. Temporary cooperation acknowledged."
"Temporary?" I echoed.
"Everything with mortals is temporary," Nova replied dismissively.
Soul One, calming down, gestured toward the spectacles. "Augustus. This is Nova. Nova—Lens of the Dragon Sage."
Nova sniffed. "You could at least say my full designation."
Soul One smirked. "You don't need the ego boost."
I blinked. "Dragon Sage?"
That got Nova's attention.
The lenses turned fully toward me.
"…You don't know," Nova said slowly.
Soul One raised a finger. "Careful."
Nova huffed. "Fine. I won't elaborate."
Then, begrudgingly:
"When the Dragon Sage vanished, he left no corpse, no relic hoard, no final prophecy.
Only the Eye.
From it, I was born—not as a guide to outcomes, but as a crucible of understanding. It offers no comfort, no reassurance, and no direction. It provides only the means to see without distortion.
I do not reward curiosity.
It tolerates discipline.
Those who seek shortcuts are not punished by wrath or judgment—but by exposure.
They are shown truths too vast, too precise, and too heavy to survive believing.
Knowledge, after all, is never dangerous.
Only the mind holding it is."
I swallowed.
That… explained the attitude.
"And now," Nova continued sourly, "I am being asked to assist a warrior whose primary strategy involves standing in front of a shitlode of problems and refusing to die."
"That's not—" I stopped. "…Okay, that's partially accurate."
Soul One gestured between us. "You're both correct, which is why this works."
Nova scoffed again. "He doesn't meet the requirements to own or use me completely."
"I know," Soul One replied.
I stiffened. "Wait—what requirements?"
Nova recited them with relish.
"Authority far below the acceptable threshold. Cognitive resilience: untested. Scholar classification: nonexistent. Soul resistance: marginal."
I glared. "I'm right here."
"And yet," Nova said dryly, "still unqualified."
Soul One raised his hand. "Which is why Nova will only lend his powers partially."
The spectacles drifted closer to me—then stopped.
"Partnered," Soul One said. "Not wielded."
Nova fell silent.
That… didn't feel better.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
Soul One's tone shifted, becoming more instructional. "Nova will not function as a tool under your command. It will act as an independent observer, operating within agreed parameters."
"And those parameters are?" I asked.
Nova answered before Soul One could.
"I will assist in appraisal beyond your natural authority," it said crisply. "Approximately triple your current threshold."
My breath caught.
"Meaning," Soul One clarified, "you'll be able to detect anomalies, false constructs, hidden clones, suppressed authorities—things that would normally kill you before you noticed them."
"Since the danger levels will be in the chosen one's level range, if you keep up with him, you will be able to detect and prepare for the threat."
Nova added, smugly, "You'll be nudged. Guided. Prepared. Occasionally… alerted."
"Occasionally?" I repeated.
"I do not solve problems," Nova said flatly. "I expose them."
I frowned. "That feels like splitting hairs."
"It is an existential distinction," Nova replied. "And one enforced by law."
I rubbed my temples. "If you're that capable, why can't you just tell me what to do? Give solutions. Optimal paths."
Nova's tone went cold.
"Because that is directly against my nature."
Soul One nodded. "And against the rules."
"What rules?" I demanded.
"The same ones you're already dancing around," Soul One replied. "Interference."
Nova continued, voice precise and merciless.
"I do not predict outcomes. I do not choose paths. I do not provide answers."
"Then what good are you?" I snapped.
Nova leaned in.
"To show you the Truth, the truth that will shatter your worldview."
The words landed heavier than any threat.
"Solutions," Nova continued, "collapse possibility. They impose direction. That is interference by higher beings."
Soul One folded his arms. "And interference triggers backlash. On you. On Nova. On the webs you're trying to hide from."
I grimaced. "Because we're interfering with destiny… by preventing pre-existing interference."
"Exactly," Soul One said, pleased. "Unwarranted maintenance."
Nova sniffed. "Crude phrasing. Accurate, unfortunately."
I exhaled slowly. "So you'll show me the truth. The threats. The contradictions."
"Yes," Nova said.
"But I still have to decide."
"Yes."
"And if I decide wrong?"
Nova paused.
"Then you will be shown why," it said softly. "In excruciating detail."
Soul One grinned. "Isn't that comforting?"
"No," I said flatly. "It's terrifying."
"Good," Nova replied. "Fear improves discipline."
I stared at the spectacles.
At the quiet, waiting lenses.
The thing that would let me see things I was probably never meant to.
"…So," I asked at last, "is it a blessing or a curse?"
Nova considered.
"The Eyes of Truth," it said finally, "does not bless or curse."
Soul One chuckled. "But?"
Nova's voice sharpened.
"What you see through it," it said, "often does."
The spectacles drifted closer.
Hovering.
Waiting.
And somehow—
I had the distinct feeling that the moment I accepted this partnership, ignorance would never again be an option.
That scared me more than any dungeon ever had.
Ohhh... wait a minute.
"By the way, if you only expose truth," I said slowly, "then you don't reduce interference. You just shift responsibility. The outcome still changes."
That made the smug and proud atmosphere around Nova pause.
The void held its breath.
Nova didn't answer immediately.
For the first time since it had spoken, the faint, invisible pressure around the lenses changed—not defensive, not offended.
Evaluative.
Careful.
Soul One didn't interrupt. That alone told me this mattered.
"You are correct," Nova said at last.
No sarcasm.
No smugness.
Just precision.
"Exposure does not negate consequence. It transfers authorship."
I frowned. "That's just a prettier way of saying the same thing."
"No," Nova replied calmly. "It is the difference between interference and choice."
The spectacles rotated, slow and deliberate.
"When a higher entity provides solutions," Nova continued, "it collapses probability. One outcome becomes dominant. All others are discarded."
I felt the weight of that sentence settle.
"That is interference," Nova said. "Because the decision is no longer yours. Responsibility shifts upward."
Soul One nodded once.
"When I expose truth," Nova went on, "I do not remove paths. I expand them."
"By dumping horrifying information into my brain," I muttered.
"Yes," Nova agreed. "Because you were already walking blind."
The lenses tilted toward me.
"You misunderstand what draws attention," Nova said. "It is not change that alerts fate. It is certainty."
I stiffened.
"Fate tolerates chaos," Nova continued. "It tolerates inefficiency. It tolerates failure. What it does not tolerate is inevitability imposed from above."
Soul One folded his arms. "That's why prophecy and probability calculation systems are so heavily regulated."
"And why I was sealed," Nova added flatly.
The void dimmed slightly as that statement landed.
I swallowed. "…Because you could make outcomes too clean."
"Too correct," Nova said. "Too optimal."
"Too noticeable," Soul One finished.
I ran a hand through my hair. "So you show me the truth, but not the path."
"Yes," Nova said. "You decide. You act. The outcome belongs to you."
"And if I screw up?"
Nova didn't hesitate.
"Then fate blames you," it said. "Not me."
Soul One smiled thinly. "Which keeps the cosmic paperwork manageable."
I stared at the spectacles.
"…That's horrible."
"Yes," Nova replied. "It is also fair."
The lenses drifted closer—close enough now that I could see my own reflection faintly warped in the glass.
"Understand this, Augustus Ironcreed," Nova said, voice low and exact. "I will not save you from your decisions."
I met its gaze.
"But," Nova continued, "I will ensure you never make them in ignorance."
Silence fell again.
Not heavy.
Not threatening.
Final.
I exhaled slowly.
"So I don't get answers," I said. "I get… clarity."
"Yes."
"And clarity doesn't reduce danger."
"No," Nova said. "It removes excuses."
Soul One chuckled softly. "See? Teamwork already."
I ignored him.
My eyes stayed on Nova.
"…You really are a curse," I muttered.
Nova paused.
Then, quietly—
"I have been called worse," it said. "Usually by those who survived."
That didn't help.
The spectacles hovered there, waiting.
Not demanding.
Not pleading.
Just… present.
And I understood then.
This wasn't a weapon.
It wasn't a buff.
It wasn't even protection.
It was a mirror.
One that would never let me lie to myself again.
"…Alright," I said finally. "Partnered. Not wielded."
Nova's lenses flashed once.
"Agreement acknowledged."
Soul One clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Then we're done here."
The void began to loosen, threads unraveling as reality prepared to shove me back where I belonged.
"Oh," Soul One added casually, as the stars started to blur, "Try not to look too deeper with Nova."
I frowned. "Why?"
Nova answered before he could.
"Because," it said calmly, "some truths are not survivable at your current level."
I had the deeply uncomfortable realization that the most dangerous thing I now carried wasn't a forbidden skill, or a cursed class, or even an ancient demon's attention.
It was the ability to see what I could have pretended not to notice.
And once you see—
You don't get to look away.