"..."
The cat-shaped being of shadow and contradiction waited in silence as Rey floated in the sea of formless black.
No wind. No motion. Nothing save for the glow of Rey's radiant body and the blacker-than-black silhouette of the entity before him. Its grin lingered—something primal, something unsettling, like an expression carved into the face of a dream that should never have been remembered.
Rey stared at the being, the echo of its question still lingering in his mind.
"Why should I help you?"
The silence stretched for a moment longer—until Rey spoke.
"You need me."
The cat's grin didn't fade, but its head tilted in curiosity. It neither confirmed nor denied. Just watched.
Rey inhaled slowly. There was no air here, but the motion grounded him.
"Ater must have sent me here for a reason," he continued. "He knew I'd reach this place. He knew I'd meet you. Maybe… maybe this was part of his plan all along."
The cat thing said nothing, but its tails flicked once—a ripple across a still sea.
Rey pressed on. "I don't know everything, but I know enough. You want to return—to the world of the Ancients. To the land that lies above the stars of existence. But you can't. Not without help. Not without a path."
The feline silhouette narrowed its eyes slightly, the grin widening a fraction.
"I can be that path," Rey said firmly. "If you help me go back—if you help me save my world—I'll carve a way for you to rise. You don't need to possess me or turn me into a vessel. Just guide me. Let me do what needs to be done, and I'll make sure you reach the realm above."
A long silence.
Then—
"Correct," the being said.
Its voice echoed with layered tones—masculine, feminine, mechanical, bestial—overlapping in strange harmony. "That was the task of my fragment. Ater was meant to be the one to guide a worthy vessel to become… me. Or something close. But he changed the plan. Altered the course."
The creature's grin didn't waver.
"And now I understand why."
Rey narrowed his eyes. "Then you'll help me?"
"I will," the cat thing said slowly, "but not for free. For this is no small thing you ask. Saving a world that is falling—no, being erased—from beneath the System's fabric is not simple. It is not even possible by ordinary means."
"I'm not ordinary," Rey said, voice steady.
The cat chuckled, a sound like shattering mirrors and echoing laughter in deep caves. "No. You are not."
Its tails writhed and twisted behind it, as if reacting to thoughts rather than physics.
"There are two ways to save H'Trae," the cat said. "The first—and simplest—is to copy it. You would create a new Star of Existence, an exact duplicate of H'Trae. All its people. All its lands. Its skies. Its histories. But… the original would vanish. That version of H'Trae would be deleted, and your replica would survive in its place—outside the System's chains."
Rey felt his pulse skip. He understood exactly what that meant.
"…That's what I did with Lucielle," he muttered. "When I brought her back… I didn't heal her. I rewrote her. Created a perfect version from memory, using my Primeval Skills."
"Yes," the cat said, approving. "You unanchored her from the failing version of your reality and tied her to the one you had authority over. That's what saved her. That is what you can do again. But…"
Rey's gaze darkened. "I won't be able to save Ater."
Ater was not a part of the original H'Trae, and unlike his classmates—the Otherworlders—he had no anchor to H'Trae. In fact, he was more akin to a virus—a glitch in the System that had to be eradicated.
Rey's power only affected H'Trae and those tied to the world that he now controlled.
As a result, the new H'Trae would not have Ater present.
It wouldn't recognize him.
The cat bowed its head slightly. "No. Ater is not part of what you'd consider conventional existence. He is a fragment. You cannot duplicate what was never fully there to begin with. His role is finished."
"That's not good enough." Rey's hands tightened into fists.
The cat raised an eyebrow—if it had any—and said nothing.
"I'm not sacrificing anyone," Rey said, eyes burning with resolve. "If Ater chose this path, fine. But I'll find a way to save him too."
"…Interesting," the cat murmured. "You truly are an anomaly. You refuse to follow the clean route. Even now, at the edge of reality, when most would abandon morality for efficiency."
It floated closer, tail tips coiling in curiosity.
"Now I understand. This is why Ater altered the plan. He knew… he knew you'd reject the logic of sacrifice."
Rey nodded. "So… what's the other way?"
The cat's grin widened unnaturally.
"The second path is more dangerous. Riskier. But… it could save everyone. Even Ater."
"Tell me." Rey stood firm.
"You must not duplicate H'Trae," the cat began. "You must liberate it. Sever it from the System, not by replicating it—but by moving it. You will create a new layer of reality—a new substrate beneath the stars or above the stars—I would recommend the former, since it is not directly in the path of the Ancients, but I need you to carve a path for me, so above it is. This new realm will be parallel to existence, carved by your will, where H'Trae can exist free of the System's threads."
Rey's heart pounded.
"And I can do that?"
"With the authority you now possess… yes," the cat said. "You are [He Who Remains], a Primeval-tier existence. You have full mastery of all six Primeval Skills. You have dominion over concept, time, identity, causality, and more related to your world. What you lack… is guidance. Which I can provide."
Rey nodded slowly, absorbing the enormity of what he was being asked to do.
"And what happens if I fail?"
The cat chuckled. "Then you will be annihilated by the Overseers. Those above the stars—those who guard the balance. Your attempt will be noticed by them, and will instantly be seen as a breach of purpose… a cancerous mutation daring to exist outside the System. And you will be erased before your new layer can take root."
"…How long do we have?" Rey took a deep breath.
"Once we begin? Not long," the cat said, voice grave. "They will feel it. They will see it. And they will come."
A flicker of doubt threatened to spark in Rey's chest—but he crushed it.
"I'm ready."
The cat grinned once more, somehow both excited and solemn.
"Good. Then we shall begin. You must focus your mind on H'Trae—not just its shape, but its meaning. Its people. Its rhythm. You will grasp it, hold it in your hands, and lift it."
Rey nodded.
"And when you begin… do not hesitate. Not even for a second."
"I won't," Rey said.
The cat turned, and for the first time, its tail pointed to something in the void—a faint, distant glimmer. A new light, buried in the black.
"That," the cat whispered, "will be your canvas."
And so, with determination blazing in his chest and the eyes of the void watching in silence, Rey prepared to do what no one had done before:
To steal a world from the hands of fate…
... And bring it home.