A Mind Without Borders

The stars were still out when I opened my eyes again.

The party had ended, the warmth of it fading like candlelight down a long corridor. I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the crest still tucked on my pillow. The silence felt different now. Less empty, more… waiting.

I wasn’t tired anymore.
But there was a kind of stillness in my chest that felt new.

I rose.

There were no footsteps in the hall, no murmurs behind closed doors. Only the low hum of the torches burning along the corridor walls. I passed them without sound, barefoot, quiet. No one stopped me. Maybe they thought I was asleep. Or...

Maybe they thought I deserved to rest.

But tonight, I don’t want any rest.
Tonight, I want to try again.

I went to the roof again.

The sky was still open, alive with stars, distant and quiet. I sat cross-legged beneath their gaze, the night breeze brushing my skin.

I exhaled slowly. And closed my eyes.

No pressure. No desperation. Just me. Just my breath.

And hope.

I let myself fall inward, to my subconscious.

***

"I have retrieved the Watcher's logs, Emperor."

"It took you two whole years to get the logs. That's interesting."

"The boy never reached his spirit zone despite my teachings, until yesterday. Vulcan responded, albeit briefly. That’s when I reclaimed the Watcher."

He leaned back in his seat, a faint smirk curling at his lips. "Remarkable! Can he even enter his subconscious?!"

"It was also his birthday today," I added, "He was my apprentice for these two years. I couldn’t leave until the celebrations were over. Think of this meeting as… a delay out of courtesy."

"Very well!" he said dryly. "Let’s see what secrets the birthday boy holds."

I placed the Watcher on the crystal table and activated the glyphs. Light unfolded into the air—pulsing charts, spiritual energy graphs, records of time through the past two years.

Blank.

For two years, the log had recorded nothing. No spirit signatures. No movement. Only silence.

Emperor's face darkened. "Temina! What is this?"

"This is why I waited two years to retrieve it. I knew it was blank, and I knew that meant something was wrong. But yesterday, during the battle, it changed. The Watcher finally responded. So I took it back the moment I could."

"How can there be nothing?" he asked, narrowing his gaze.

"Because the energy we sensed all this time wasn’t spiritual," I said, "The malice I feel around him—it’s not coming from any spirit. It's him. It always has been. Basalin himself is the source."

Silence followed. Heavy.
The mood shifted. More serious, more dark.

Then I revealed the data from yesterday.

I showed the graphs from yesterday. There was a spike of spiritual energy, from there it varied, mostly increased and at Basalin's Beast form it accelerated exponentially. When Pholomin put an end to Basalin, the curve dropped to zero.

"When Vulcan’s presence was first detected during the battle," I explained, "I assumed the Watcher had finally located his spirit zone. But—"

"Of course, it was the spirit zone." Emperor Nyxarion interrupted.

"I thought the same," I said. "But I looked deeper. Over and over again. And I found this."

I zoomed the holographic chart... one small point just before Vulcan’s emergence. And it was visible—
Another spike in the graph, a little one, almost invisible. It dropped instantly, blending into the curve, making a straight line there. But on zooming, it showed up.

"Another energy pulse?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yes. But not from Vulcan. It came from a different region of his subconscious."

He went still.

And then—

The chamber shuddered.

At first, I thought it was an earthquake. The table trembled. The glyphs rippled.

But how can there be quakes in the Spirit-Realm?!

Then I looked at Emperor Nyxarion.

That wasn’t the world shifting.

It was him.

Emperor's spiritual energy began leaking—no, erupting from his body like a breach in a dam. His control fractured.

"Get a hold of yourself, Emperor!"

"Until now," he growled, "No being has ever housed more than one spirit. What manner of creature contradicts the natural law of this world so completely?!"

His aura flared again, rattling the crystal around us.

"We have to erase him," he snarled. "That boy must not exist."

"Wait!" I shouted sharply. "There’s more. And it changes everything."

He stopped. Barely.

"All these signs point to one conclusion," I claimed, breathing carefully. "Basalin has no spirit zone. His entire subconscious acts as one. That’s why he couldn’t find Vulcan through meditation. It was never about technique—it was about fate.”

The Emperor stood frozen in the ruin of silence, trembling not with fear… but with realization.

And that was more dangerous than anything else.

***

There was fire.

Hot. Still, not burning. Just alive.

I stood in a space alike a memory, shifting and incomplete. Shadows melted in every corner, yet the ground beneath my feet felt solid. The light came from ahead, not bright, but pulsing like a heartbeat.

And there... at last, he stood.

Vulcan.

Massive. Silent. Waiting.

He turned slowly toward me. No surprise in his eyes. No hesitation.

"I’ve been waiting," his voice rumbled, soft and low, like embers in a forge.

I felt my chest seize. "I’ve looked for you... for years…"
Tears blurred my vision. But here, even grief couldn’t survive the heat. They vanished.

"I know."

"Then..." I asked, stepping closer. "Why couldn’t we find each other?"

He looked away, toward the ever-changing dark.

"Because we were both searching. Always moving. Missing. Your spirit-zone isn’t fixed, Basalin. This whole area... all of it, is your spirit-zone."

I swallowed. My throat hurt. My hands trembled.
No wonder meditation never worked. I wasn’t still enough. Never close enough. The entire map was the destination. Still—

"But we are here now, face to face."

Vulcan nodded.

We didn’t speak any ancient words.
We didn’t need to.

When our palms touched, something deeper than fire surged between us. Something old, binding, inevitable.

The pact was formed.
The forge was lit.

The heat faded. Not gone, but settled. Like breath drawn in and held.
Vulcan’s hand lingered against mine for just a moment longer.

His eyes burned brighter now, merging with my vision.

"From now you can use my flames as you want, it won't affect you."

"But..." I hesitated. "What about those losing controls? Am I not enough to hold your powers at my will?"

"You were never weak," Vulcan said, with something close to reverence.
"You used my flames with care. You shaped them. Molded them. At first. But then...
What broke through your control… wasn’t me."

He paused.

"It was you. Your own strength."

The words struck deep.
Harder than any blow.

Me?

"But you’re not alone anymore," Vulcan continued. His voice softened; still fire, but the kind that warmed instead of devoured.
"If we are to burn… let it be not in rage, but in meaning."

I stood there, surrounded by warmth that no longer burned.

And that was when it changed.
In the far edge of that shifting space... something moved.

A silhouette.
Still. Watching. Distant, but near enough to see.
It had no shape. No glow. Just a suggestion of something... wrapped in shadow.

"What... is that?" I whispered.

I took a step forward—

And then I woke up.