The necrotic yellow of the sky did not merely fade. As Aegis marched toward the Apex of Revision, the atmosphere grew heavy with the scent of burning copper and ancient dust. He could feel the change in his own marrow. The Level 2 threshold had brought more than just physical sturdiness; it had opened a sensory gate.
He no longer saw the world as a finished painting. He saw it as a construction of interlocking forces, a forcefield of raw Essence held together by the sheer tension of the Origin.
Kael walked ten paces behind, his movements twitchy and unnatural. The boy's mahogany skin seemed to ripple with static whenever the wind picked up. Aegis ignored him, his focus fixed on the shifting energy in his own palms. The cold, sharp power he had absorbed from the shattered terminal was settling into a localized core within his chest. It was a seed of Primal Static, a wild form of fantasy energy that didn't follow the "Laws" of the lower world.
