Chapter 13: The Quiet Storm
"What are you doing standing out there? Come inside and let's have dinner. I prepared your favorite—Red Beans Baozi." Allina's soft, melodic voice drifted out from the other side of the cottage door.
Morca subconsciously stepped over the threshold into the house, his mind still working in overdrive to decipher the implications of the latest system notification.
Ever since his awakening had been disrupted by his father, Morca had developed a few distinct hobbies to anchor himself and quiet his lingering trauma. Chief among them was a relentless pursuit of answers to life's grandest mysteries. Because his fragile health restricted him from venturing far beyond the immediate boundaries of their isolated cottage, his world was small—yet his knowledge was ever-expanding, fueled by everything Allina had secretly taught him over the past year.
Beyond his studies, he possessed a passion for solving puzzles that others deemed impossible, no matter how labyrinthine they appeared. Finally, there was his sketching and painting—outlets that kept his vivid imagination alive within his fragile frame.
But lately, trapped in the cage of those haunting, fragmented dreams, Morca found himself facing a puzzle he didn't even know how to begin solving. Even now, with a fresh clue in hand, the true meaning eluded him. Part of him still wondered if his mind was simply fracturing into hallucinations.
His mother's gentle call cut cleanly through his spiral of thoughts, sparking a sudden realization. Whether it was the surreal nightmares, the enigmatic Infinity Nihility System, the sudden appearance of the two sky-faring Pathbearers—especially that terrifying young lady—his mother's bizarrely calm behavior, or the cryptic notification floating in his mind, he needed to stop rushing. He would uncover the truth of it all. But to do that, he had to take things one step at a time. And the very first step was to confirm a few questions with his mother.
As sharp as his intellect was, Morca knew that while Allina appeared to be an ordinary woman, she was far from it. Her boundless reservoir of knowledge extended far beyond what even the most distinguished scholars could comprehend.
He had first suspected this back when they lived in Magoria, a prominent city within the country of Northelia on the Astro Continent. There, she had worked from home as an exclusive, high-security research officer, quietly collaborating with multiple top-tier global organizations.
Another glaring clue was their current safety. Despite being effectively grounded and surrounded by distant spies, no enemy had ever dared to step foot into their valley to cause them harm. Even the arrogant, high-born scions of his lineage kept their distance, content to merely spread mocking rumors from afar.
There was an old adage in Evoslon, whispered frequently across the Mystrasia Continent: "Woe to the one who gives birth to a monster child…"
The saying carried a double edge, holding true if that child failed to awaken their lineage flaw. Yet, in Allina's presence, the ominous warning felt like nothing more than empty words.
Morca could still vividly recall the harsh words of his uncle, Emmett Lee, during the day he was abducted: "You had better awaken a potential befitting his son, or your days in the clan won't be easy. Worse, if you fail to awaken… mediocrity is not tolerated here."
Yet, aside from the chronic trauma and illness he endured daily, Morca had never faced the clan's wrath. He knew with absolute certainty that whatever crushing consequences should have fallen upon his head had been quietly intercepted and neutralized by his mother.
He firmly believed that true intelligence wasn't about forcing an outcome; it was about knowing when to strike and when to adapt. To him, any method was worth testing, so long as it advanced him toward his goal. That was the mark of a true scholar.
Deciding to let things flow naturally was the smartest tactical move he could make—at least until a clear path presented itself.
Taking a few steadying breaths, Morca stepped fully into the familiar sitting room.
The cottage featured a cozy, two-story layout. The ground floor housed the living room, a modest kitchen, a dining area, and a private study. The sitting room itself was elegantly minimalist, furnished with two comfortable couches and a polished wooden coffee table anchoring the center of the space.
Built into the stone wall opposite the long couch was a heavy fireplace crafted from dark metal, designed to ward off the brutal chill of winter and the valley's colder nights.
Just behind the shorter couch lay the dining area, consisting of a simple wooden table and two matching chairs. This space flowed seamlessly into a pristine, neatly arranged kitchen.
Allina was already seated in one of the chairs, waiting patiently. The table had already been set, bearing a platter of soft, fluffy, freshly steamed baozi, a bowl of vibrant fruit, and neatly arranged cutlery. A gentle plume of steam rose from the buns, carrying a rich, comforting aroma that instantly filled the room.
Though baozi were considered common street food across the Mystrasia Continent, Morca favored their warmth and versatile flavor profiles—especially when his mother made them. There was something intrinsically grounding about her cooking. It felt safe. Familiar.
Without a word, he walked over to the empty chair, sat down, and began serving himself. He filled a small bowl with savory, fried red beans, drizzled a splash of soy milk sauce over top, and claimed two fist-sized buns. Allina served herself a modest portion, taking only a single baozi.
After rinsing his hands in a small washbowl, Morca skillfully tore a small opening in the soft, pillowy wrapper of his bun. A rich burst of savory steam escaped. He lifted the bun, dipped it lightly into the soy milk sauce, and took a large bite.
A wave of comforting warmth spread across his palate—the perfect texture of the dough, the rich complexity of the filling, and the subtle blend of spices working in perfect harmony. For a brief, fleeting moment, the weight of the world faded into the background.
Yet even as they ate, a quiet, palpable tension lingered just beneath the surface. Unspoken questions and heavy, unanswered truths hung in the air between them, bearing the massive weight of things Morca had yet to truly comprehend.
With a final bite, Morca quickly finished the rest of his bun. Still chewing, he scooped up a spoonful of the fried red beans, letting the flavors meld in his mouth.
Seated across from him, Allina watched him enjoy the meal with a soft, radiant smile blossoming on her rosy lips."How is it?" she asked softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I added a touch of freshwater lobster powder to the red beans this time."
With his mouth completely full, Morca couldn't articulate an answer. Instead, he nodded vigorously and gave her a firm, enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Allina's smile widened, a deep sense of quiet satisfaction reflecting in her eyes.
Fifteen minutes later, the meal drew to a close. Yet on Allina's plate, half a baozi remained entirely untouched, alongside a nearly full bowl of red beans. It was clear she had barely eaten a thing.
"Where did you spend your evening?" she asked gently, her tone shifting into something more serious. "And your trauma… did it act up again today?"
***
An hour later, following a long, deeply nuanced discussion between mother and son...
Morca retired upstairs to his bedroom. The space was modest in size but meticulously tidy and thoughtfully organized. A single twin-sized bed rested flush against the glass window, where the pale moonlight poured inward, casting long, stark shadows across the cool wooden floorboards.
Hanging prominently above the headboard was a striking, custom painting of a massive Roc captured in mid-flight, its sweeping wings spread wide. Its vibrant feathers, paired with dreamy grey eyes and crimson-haloed pupils, were rendered in such lifelike detail that the legendary beast looked as though it might tear free from the canvas at any moment.
Across from the bed stood a simple, sturdy writing desk. Upon its surface, a small collection of thick, leather-bound brown books stood upright beside a spherical globe. The map's surface was slightly faded and worn in specific regions, as though curious fingers had traced its continents thousands of times.
On the opposite wall, spanning nearly the entire length of the room, was a massive corkboard. It was covered in pinned sketches and anatomical drawings of highly complex, bizarre equipment, alongside calculated breakdowns of human and animal biologies. Every single diagram was accompanied by a small index tag detailing his precise hypotheses and findings.
The quiet room exuded an atmosphere of calm, singular purpose—a delicate balance between domestic comfort and obsessive curiosity. This sanctuary was Morca's dream. His purpose. His escape.
Since he lacked the ability to awaken his lineage talent like his peers, he had resolved to weaponize his mind. He had spent the last several months obsessively dissecting rare artifacts, mundane biologies, and high-tier beast anatomy into comprehensive theories.
In truth, he would have gladly added monsters to his index of theories if he could only secure their records. But he didn't have access to such classified documents. Even the monstrous entities he caught brief glimpses of within his fragmented nightmares would instantly blur and dissolve the moment he woke up, their terrifying forms slipping away like illusions that refused to be captured by mortal ink.
And since Allina claimed to be a mere mortal, there was absolutely no way she could provide him with those forbidden records.
Records concerning monsters were not things a person could casually acquire. Only awakened experts and a select, heavily vetted circle of high-ranking scientists were granted limited access—and even then, their scrutiny was subject to draconian regulation. After all, information regarding these creatures was not merely restricted. It was systematically controlled.
Evoslon was not a world designed for comfort. If a person possessed neither a bloodline talent nor a brilliant mind, they were viewed as nothing more than economic waste, destined to be buried in the dirt within a few short decades. That was the best-case scenario, assuming they were lucky enough to never wander outside their established comfort zone.
The brass doorknob of the bedroom rotated counterclockwise with a soft click. The door cracked open, and Morca stepped calmly inside. After sealing the door shut behind him, he crossed the room and collapsed lazily onto the twin bed. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, closing his eyes for a long moment to absorb the sheer weight of what he had just learned.
He let out a deep, purposeful sigh.
Dragging himself out of bed, he stood up and walked toward his wall of pinned theories. His expression hardened into one of absolute seriousness as his fingers traced the edge of his notes.
"That was truly eye-opening," he muttered under his breath. "An Ascendant... the Primal Origin Source... and four distinct paths to awakening. The three great powers that rule the Mystrasia Continent are nowhere near as simple as they appear on the surface. Their roots are anchored to something far deeper. Something I can't even fully comprehend yet. Most importantly… the so-called Blasphemy Slate, and the revelation that humanity's greatest flaw is actually its ultimate potential…"
His mind drifted back to the dining table. They had finished eating a few hours prior when Allina had gently questioned him about his evening, shifting the conversation to check if his trauma had resurfaced. Sensing a rare opening, Morca had instantly seized the opportunity. He had played the moment to his absolute tactical advantage, carefully extracting a few vague yet critical fragments of forbidden information from her.
Allina had clearly noticed his erratic behavior following the mysterious young lady's departure. She had watched him stand at the cottage entrance in a complete daze, and she had paid close attention to how he recounted his evening jog. Although she seemed to suspect he was deliberately holding back, she had still chosen to ask what was troubling him—perhaps out of a mother's intuition, or perhaps driven by something far more personal.
Faced with that sudden opportunity, Morca had hesitated. A tidal wave of burning questions had instantly crashed through his mind:
Why did his father forcefully disrupt his lineage awakening?
Where exactly were they taken to awaken those powers?
What truly was a lineage flaw, and why were the ordinary civilians of Evoslon kept entirely oblivious to the existence of extraordinaries?
Why had his father, Claudius Sherman, vanished without a trace immediately after that disastrous awakening ceremony?
There were countless mysteries to unravel. But after a calculated moment of deliberation, Morca had selected the single question that felt most fundamental—the one foundational truth that could bridge the gap to everything else.
Looking directly into his mother's dreamy grey eyes, he asked:
"What is the true origin of the Sin Purging Ceremony? Why must someone like me be forced to go through it, when everyone else is allowed to live freely as ordinary humans?"