The crowd held their breath, Zeke’s final words hanging heavy in the charged silence that followed.
Even in his disembodied state, he felt a flicker of satisfaction. The reaction was everything he had hoped for—and more. His carefully crafted display had worked so flawlessly that not even he could have envisioned a better outco. Here, in the heart of dwarven territory, he had announced himself with a brilliance that would be impossible to ignore.
From this mont on, he could walk the streets of the dwarven capital with his head held high, his presence etched into the minds of all who had witnessed his declaration.
The weight of his ntor’s na and Zeke’s own accomplishnts were enough to eclipse even the most brilliant talent. Especially his latest feat. The title of youngest living Grandmage was not only a monuntal achievent in its own right but also a promise of an even brighter future yet to co.
“Well…” the announcer began, clearly searching for the right words. “Yer ntor’s na be known far an’ wide, even among our kin. Many a dwarf mourned his passin’.” His voice grew steadier, more respectful. “Rest easy, lad, Bombastus were held in high regard by us dwarfs, as be yer na. Ain’t no surprise no more ye’ve done so well in our contest.”
A ripple of approval swept through the crowd, a testant to Maximilian’s greatness. To be rembered and revered even among a foreign people, so far removed from his holand, was proof of a legacy that transcended borders.
The announcer cleared his throat, his voice rising above the murmurs of the crowd. “As I were sayin'… Only three contestants left: Drogar Ironhide, Eldrin Stormshield, an’ Ezekiel, heir o' Hohenheim.”
The crowd erupted into cheers, and Zeke sensed the shift in their attitude. His declaration had erased any lingering doubts about his worthiness. No longer was he an outsider to be dismissed or doubted; instead, the three finalists were now regarded as equally formidable contenders. To Zeke’s surprise, a small but noticeable group of dwarves even cheered for him.
It was unexpected, but far from unwelco.
With a calculated move, Zeke commanded his body to wave to the crowd. He understood dwarven culture well enough to know that they valued humility and approachability far more than the image of a distant, untouchable hero. This suited Zeke just fine—it aligned with the impression he wanted to leave as well as his own preference.
“Ye three will now be takin’ th' third shot o' Dreamwalker brew,” the announcer bellowed, his voice heavy. “Be warned: both th' dose an' purity o' this round are a cut above th' last.”
Zeke caught the sound of nervous gulps from either side of him. He didn’t judge them for it—he couldn’t. If he had been in his physical body, he doubted he could have stopped himself from doing the sa.
The previous dream had been harrowing, leaving scars he hadn’t fully shaken off. He knew it would take days, perhaps longer, before he truly recovered. Now, with the third dose looming, a single, unsettling question echoed in his mind: What nightmare would await him this ti?
However, before he even had ti to dread that thought, the next round of brews was placed before the three finalists and Zeke knew it was ti to return to his body.
He wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if his body consud the concoction while his soul remained untethered, but he suspected the brew would have little to no effect. After all, he had already confird that its primary influence was on the Soul itself.
The thought was tempting—an easy way to bypass the ordeal entirely. But Zeke dismissed it without hesitation. For one, it would be outright cheating. More importantly, it would be a coward’s way out—a silent surrender before the two dwarven prodigies who had the courage to face the brew head-on.
He had no qualms about using tricks to maintain his composure, but abandoning the challenge altogether?
That was not his way.
Zeke commanded his body to unseal the vial, timing his movents to match the other two contestants. Both dwarves cast wary glances at each other, doubtless hoping soone would surrender before it was too late.
But none of them did.
The mont the brew touched his lips, Zeke rged with his body. He barely had ti to register any emotions before the now-familiar sensation of vertigo struck. In an instant, he was whisked away once more.
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This ti, however, the world didn’t snap into focus. Instead, he was bombarded by a chaotic flood of sensations—utterly alien, impossible to decipher. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t move. Yet he was not numb. He could still feel sothing, still perceive the world around him. But the information flooding his mind was so unfamiliar, so utterly bizarre, that he couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Zeke’s mind fought desperately to make sense of his existence, but it was futile. The only certainty was that he was not inhabiting a human body. Otherwise, these alien sensations would be impossible to explain.
His perception was paradoxical—both unbearably dull and unnervingly sharp at the sa ti. Unlike human senses, which were divided among different organs, everything he felt seed to originate from a single, central point within him. It was as if his entire being revolved around this one organ, the core of his existence.
Eventually, he made so progress. Though he had to admit, it wasn’t due to his own efforts but rather the gradual assimilation with whatever entity he now inhabited. Just like before, the longer he remained in this foreign body, the more their mories intertwined. It was likely a sign that its existence was rging with his Soul.
He couldn't tell whether it had taken seconds, hours, or days, but at last, he managed to form a vague picture of his surroundings. This way of perception was closer to his Spatial Awareness than normal sight—a blend of sound and color that his human mind had to interpret into sothing comprehensible.
Thankfully, as his essence continued to rge with the strange being, the process grew easier. The once-alien sensations slowly settled into sothing he could begin to comprehend. As his perception improved, he beca aware of his own existence. Unlike the limitations of human senses, this body seed fully capable of perceiving itself, able to direct its awareness in all directions at the sa ti.
He was definitely sothing, but he wasn't sure what he was seeing.
Every sensation in his body felt as if it ca from a single point that wasn't really a point at all. His awareness stretched outward, like a web, anchored to a center that wasn't a head or torso—just a roundness.
The body was featureless, smooth like polished stone, a perfect sphere without even a hint of a face. There was no mouth, no eyes, no nostrils—nothing suggesting he could take in or release anything the way he was used to. He was a core—nothing more than a thick, pulsing node of awareness.
Tentacles extended from every angle, a sprawling, undulating mass that seed to grow out of the sphere. Each one twisted independently, yet they were all connected in a way that suggested they belonged to the sa entity. They stretched outward, fanning out in an unnatural pattern. So were thick and muscular, others thin and nearly transparent, but all shared the sa strange purpose: to expand his perception. These limbs weren’t for movent, but for awareness—gathering sensations and mories like tendrils of thought.
Each tentacle carried a unique ‘feeling,’ but Zeke couldn't pinpoint exactly what each one relayed. They didn’t rely touch the world—they absorbed it. The way they twisted and flexed seed like they were reaching for information from the very ether itself. Their movents were slow and deliberate, rippling with a liquid-like quality that suggested no visible intent.
This was one of the strangest beings Zeke had ever encountered.
There was no sense of hunger, of thirst, of need. And yet, it was clear that this creature did not exist without purpose. The tension in the tentacles—the way they ever so slowly crept over surfaces—was not one of desperation but a thodical, endless search. It wasn’t for food, not in any way Zeke understood. There was no desire to feed. It was simply seeking. Not a purpose he could comprehend, but it was there all the sa, a deep, unrelenting instinct that drove it’s actions. It was as if it were a thinking machine, not concerned with what it wanted, but only what it understood.
The absence of a mouth, throat, or any opening made him feel like a vessel designed to exist in isolation—no need for connection, no space for speech. Communication had no place here. His thoughts felt... stifled, as if they were all being funneled inward, directed toward the cold, unfeeling logic of this entity.
Eventually, he shifted his focus away from himself and turned his attention to his surroundings.
The space around him felt strange, not due to the unfamiliar environnt, but because it lacked the clear boundaries of space and ti his human mind was used to. It was a disordered world—objects appeared and vanished, flickering in and out of his awareness like fleeting mories rather than tangible things. He could feel the cold stone beneath him, but it didn’t provide any sense of grounding. The tentacles were constantly shifting, making contact, but without urgency. It was like a reflection in a mirror—echoing reality, but disconnected from it.
And the air? It didn’t sll, didn’t feel like it ought to have in Zeke’s prior life. The sensation of air was more like a distant hum against his tentacles, a vibration that was neither warm nor cold, but sothing in between. It was as if the world itself was a dream, and this body—this creature—was rely existing in it, not acting or reacting, but simply being.
There was no notion of ti, no hunger or thirst to signify a passing mont. Just endless reaching, endless seeking, as though the purpose of this existence was only to exist.
For a brief mont, Zeke felt a strange tug—a rging of his thoughts with those of the creature. Its tentacles weren’t just sensing the world; they were reaching into it. Through them, he began to perceive the creature’s intentions. It wasn’t like holding sothing in a hand, but more like cradling a thought—shaping it, twisting it, and letting it beco part of him.
A strange, unsettling unity.
Then, another awareness drifted through him—deeper, more intense—giving him a clearer sense of the creature. This being had existed for eons in a place where ti and death seed irrelevant. Its mind was a vast repository, filled with mountains of information—mories, so of which were its own… others not.
This being carried a hunger for knowledge. It was a thirst unlike anything Zeke had ever known, an oppressive weight he couldn’t escape. Suddenly, everything clicked. It beca crystal clear what—or who—this creature was.
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