The call came without ceremony.
No secure channel banner.
No preamble.
Just a vibration against my palm.
I stepped away from the table before answering—far enough that Lina wouldn't hear, far enough that the domain's hum swallowed my voice.
"Yes," I said.
The silence on the other end was tight. Pressurized.
Then: "We were wrong."
They explained quickly. Too quickly. Like people trying to outrun the realization that they should have known better.
Judgment had held them. Every model, every response chain, every eye had been fixed upward—toward spectacle, toward inevitability.
While the ground moved.
Facilities accessed without resistance.
Classified research extracted without damage.
Human operatives. Bio-marked. Coordinated.
Not destruction.
Harvest.
"They took knowledge," Elias Hallow said. "Not equipment. Not weapons. Knowledge that shouldn't be transferable."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
"When do you want me there?" I asked.
A pause. Then, quietly:
"As soon as possible."
"Understood."
The call ended.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, phone still in my hand.
Then I turned back.
Lina was sitting on the floor near the edge of the domain, knees drawn up, eyes open. She hadn't moved since hours ago. You couldn't really sleep here—not properly. The space didn't allow for surrender. It was a laboratory, not a refuge.
My laboratory.
She looked up. "where did you go?"
I didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
"have you figured out what you want to do next?" she said softly. Not accusing. Just observant. "Judgment wasn't the point."
"No," I said. "It was the curtain."
She rubbed her arms. "So what now?"
I looked at the table.
At the alignment.
At a system that had once belonged to someone else.
To me.
I wanted a normal, uneventful human life—to go to school, get a job, and enjoy a little tranquility with my mother. But my past refuses to stay buried.
Sigh.
If they insist on dragging back the Saint of Wisdom, then they should prepare themselves. Because that's who they're about to get.
She frowned. "Neo?"
"Lina, don't worry, I will handle this."
She didn't argue. She just stared, confused.
The domain hummed, patient. Waiting.
It always waited.
I walked back to the table and placed my hand against its surface.
Not to act.
To remember.
"Open legacy access," I said.
The alignment hesitated.
Not resistance.
Recognition.
[Request detected.]
[Identity confirmation required.]
Circular.
Silent.
Lit by floating panels.
Shelves of relics suspended in midair.
Crystals that pulsed like beating hearts.
Fragments of old Saint sigils, incomplete and deliberately unfinished.
And in the very center—
A desk.
My desk.
The exact design from my previous life.
I walked toward it slowly, breath steady.
Stacks of journals lay waiting.
My handwriting on the covers.
Theories of Soul Evolution.
Wisdom Codex: Volume I–VII.
Paths to Transcendence.
Personal Notes — Final Day.
I touched the top journal.
Warm.
Familiar.
Memories stirred — not just images, but weight.
Decisions made with full knowledge of their cost.
Victories that felt hollow even as they reshaped reality.
The moment I'd decided that ruling outcomes was easier than trusting people.
Behind me, Lina didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
The domain was quiet in a way that invited honesty.
"I don't plan to fight Justice," I said at last.
The words echoed softly, absorbed by the chamber.
Lina shifted slightly. "But you're preparing like someone who might."
"Yes."
I opened the journal.
The first page wasn't writing.
It was a diagram.
My soul.
Not as a metaphor.
As a structure.
Layers. Locks. Compression seals imposed by death and rebirth. Limiters I had chosen so that this life wouldn't immediately collapse under what I used to be.
The alignment stirred.
[Self-modification detected.]
[Risk: extreme.]
I ignored it.
"This domain isn't a weapon," I said. "It's a mirror."
I turned a page.
Phase-One Restoration: Cognitive Bandwidth.
Not power.
Not output.
Capacity.
In my past life, Wisdom hadn't made me stronger.
It had made me earlier.
I placed my palm on the page.
The ink lifted, threads of light pulling free and weaving themselves into the air above the desk. The domain responded instantly, panels rotating, formulas aligning to match old assumptions.
The cost appeared immediately.
Not physical pain.
Time.
Moments of my future collapsing inward, feeding clarity into the present. I felt it — birthdays that would now be quieter, conversations that would never quite happen the way they might have.
Acceptable.
Lina inhaled sharply. "Neo… something just changed."
"Yes," I said. "I reduced how surprised I'm allowed to be."
The diagram finalized.
[Restoration complete:
Cognitive throughput increased.]
[Predictive depth—unlocked.]
I straightened slowly.
The chamber felt… smaller now. Not physically.
Conceptually.
As if fewer unknowns could hide inside it.
I looked at the next journal.
Phase Two: Adaptive Soul Reinforcement.
That one was dangerous.
Not because of what it gave.
But because of what it assumed I was willing to endure.
I hesitated.
Justice.
The relic.
The government watching shadows stretch.
And above all—
My mother, asleep in an apartment that should never have needed protection.
I closed the journal.
"For now," I said quietly. "This is enough."
The domain accepted that.
Reluctantly.
Lina finally spoke. "Neo?," she said. "Are you okay?."
I nodded. "Yes, I am, I just feel a bit different, but I will adjust to it soon enough."
I gathered the journals I'd need and slid them into place on the desk.
If Justice came for me—
I would deal with it then.
I closed the journal and slid it back into place.
The desk responded, panels retracting, relics stabilizing, the chamber folding inward like a thought concluding. The domain didn't resist this time.
It understood finality.
I turned to Lina. "We're leaving."
She blinked. "That's it?"
"For now."
The shelves began to dissolve into light, not vanishing but withdrawing—stored, archived, sealed. The crystals dimmed. The floating sigils locked themselves into dormant patterns.
At the edge of the chamber, the threshold formed—a clean line where reality resumed its claim.
Lina hesitated before crossing it. "What about this place?" she asked.
I placed my hand against the boundary.
The alignment answered without being asked.
[Domain anchor confirmed.]
[Access conditions unspecified.]
I specified them.
"This domain is mine," I said calmly. "Not a shelter. Not a refuge. A base."
The words carried weight.
The alignment recalibrated.
[Access update pending.]
"Single-user authorization," I continued. "No passive observation. No external linkage. No witnesses."
Lina's eyes widened slightly.
"You're locking it," she said.
"Yes."
"For everyone?"
"For everyone."
The domain accepted the parameters.
[Access conditions set.]
[Primary operator: Neo Zane Cole.]
[Witness allowance: revoked.]
"Geez, how greedy" Lina teased.
The threshold sharpened.
Behind us, the chamber sealed—not disappearing, not collapsing, but withdrawing beyond reach, like a blade returning to its sheath.
Lina crossed into the real world first.
I followed.
The domain closed.
Silence replaced the hum.
Just a normal room again. Normal light. Normal gravity.
Lina turned to me. "So… what now?"
I picked up my phone.
The call log was still there.
Waiting.
"Now," I said, "you go home, and mind your business."
I just needed to get rid of her so I can go see how much damage they noticed.
She studied my face. "you know I won't do that, you are now stuck with me."
I rolled my eyes, then looked back at the space where the domain had been.
"I'll walk you home, let's go."
She frowned. "Yeah ok."
I met her eyes.
"I don't say this often but— th-th-thank you" the words finally came out, "you were actually useful."
She bust out laughing, "you are so weird Neo, are you sure you are really the Saint of wisdom?"
"Ha Ha very funny… am never saying that to you again."
"No no am sorry, do forgive me," she was still laughing. "You are welcome"
I stepped past her toward the door.
Behind me, somewhere far deeper than walls or floors, the alchemy domain remained—
silent,
sealed,
and exclusively mine.
We left the building without speaking.
——
The night air felt heavier than it should have. Not oppressive—aware. As if the city had shifted slightly to accommodate the version of me that now existed.
Lina walked beside me, hands in her jacket pockets, steps measured. She didn't ask questions on the way. She never did when she sensed the answers wouldn't help.
Streetlights passed overhead in slow sequence.
Normal. Predictable.
I made sure she reached her apartment door before stopping.
"You'll be okay here," I said.
It wasn't reassurance.
It was assessment.
She hesitated with her keys in hand. "You're not coming in.?"
"No."
She nodded once. "You made me miss my chance to call you a pervert."
"Sigh— you are my one true stress."
she giggled.
"Be careful," she said quietly.
I almost smiled. Almost.
"You too."
She went inside.
The door closed.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, then turned and walked away.
⸻
The government building didn't advertise itself.
No signs. No flags. Just concrete, glass, and the kind of security that assumed you already belonged if you were close enough to notice it.
I passed through the first checkpoint without resistance.
Then the second.
By the third, they stopped pretending this was routine.
"Mr. Cole," one of them said, hand hovering near his comm. "They're ready for you."
Of course they were.
The room they led me into was smaller than the one with the glass walls.
Windowless.
Reinforced.
A place built for conversations that couldn't be allowed to echo.
They were already arguing when I entered.
Not loudly.
Tightly.
Maps were projected across the table. Facility names I recognized. Timelines that overlapped just enough to suggest intent.
When they noticed me, the room quieted.
Good.
I took the empty seat without waiting to be invited.
"Start from the part you don't understand," I said. "We can skip the rest."
A few of them didn't like that.
Director Hale did.
"We were outmaneuvered," Elias Hallow said. "Completely."
"Yes," I replied. "You were watching Judgment."
I mean, so was I.
That landed harder than accusation.
Dirtector Hale followed. "We want to know how they moved through secured infrastructure without triggering anything."
"You don't," I said.
Silence.
I leaned back slightly. "What you want to know is why nothing broke."
They exchanged looks.
"Because this wasn't an attack," I continued. "It was an extraction. No resistance. No damage. No urgency."
Blake Rogers slammed his hands on the table. "They stole classified military research."
"No," I corrected calmly. "They reassigned it."
That stopped them.
I tapped the edge of the projection, highlighting one of the affected facilities.
"Tell me exactly what's missing," I said. "Not what you think was taken. What hasn't come back online the same way."
They hesitated.
That told me enough.
"You don't know yet," I said. "Which means they were selective."
I folded my hands. "That's good news."
Blake Rogers scoffed. "How is that good news?"
"Because it means this wasn't meant to cripple you," I said. "It was meant to outpace you."
The room went very still.
Finally, Elias Hallow spoke carefully. "And where does that leave us?"
I met their eyes.
"Behind," I said. "But not out."
A pause.
Then: "And you?"
I stood.
"I'll tell you what you need to defend yourselves," I said. "Nothing more."
Their expressions hardened.
Good.
"And in return?" the Director asked.
I turned toward the door.
"You stop treating Judgment like the problem," I said. "And you stop assuming I'm on a leash. That wasn't the deal we had, hope you remember."
I opened the door.
Behind me, no one argued.
They couldn't afford to.
I stepped into the hallway, already feeling the weight of what came next.
Justice had taken the first real move.
Now everyone knew it.
And for the first time—
I was no longer reacting.