The storm around Steve was the first to change.
At some point, the violent pull of Essence stopped being something he resisted and became something he accepted. The green currents tightened, no longer random, no longer chaotic, and then began to circle him with intent. Lightning that had been restrained until now finally bled outward, but it didn’t explode. It folded inward instead, crawling along his arms and shoulders in controlled arcs.
The shadows beneath him deepened.
Not spreading wildly, but sharpening, clinging close to his form like a second skin. They wrapped around his blade first, then traced the outline of his body, reacting to the lightning instead of opposing it.
Something invisible shifted.
His domain began to surface.
It didn’t appear all at once. It assembled itself in layers, as if reality itself was testing each piece before allowing it to exist. The first thing that manifested was the ground beneath him, or rather, the idea of it. A flat plane of darkness formed, smooth and reflective like polished obsidian, stretching outward in a wide circle.
Lightning struck down into it.
Not from above, but from nowhere, stabbing into the plane in straight, precise lines. Each impact didn’t crack the surface. It etched it. Thin glowing veins spread outward from every strike, lines of voltage frozen in place like scars.
Shadows followed those lines, filling the gaps between them, forming a battlefield carved by repeated conflict.
Then blades appeared.
Not physical swords, but silhouettes of them, dozens at first, then hundreds, suspended in the air at different angles. Some were formed of condensed shadow, others of lightning so compressed it held shape like steel. All of them pointed inward, toward Steve, toward the center.
This was not a domain of protection.
It was a domain of confrontation.
At the heart of it, Steve sat unmoving, blade resting across his knees, lightning crawling over its edge while shadow bled into the grooves. His breathing was steady now.
I could feel it clearly.
Every law he had grasped wasn’t layered separately. They were aligned. Edge, sharpness, momentum, voltage, shadow, void. All of them converged on a single concept.
The sword as inevitability.
Steve’s lips moved.
His voice was low and rough.
"Abyssal Stormblade."
The domain responded.
Lightning flared once, and the shadows locked into place. The blades suspended in the air dissolved, collapsing inward as streams of energy that poured back into his body.
The domain withdrew.
The obsidian plane faded. The etched lightning scars vanished. Everything folded inward, compressed into Steve’s core as the Essence storm around him finally lost its turbulence. Green light seeped into his skin, into muscle and bone, into something deeper, reinforcing what had already been forged.
Steve inhaled slowly.
Then he stood.
The aura that rolled off him was different now. Sharper. Heavier. Not oppressive, but undeniable. Lightning crackled faintly around him without needing intent, shadows moving in quiet synchrony instead of lagging behind.
Transcendent.
Before I could say anything the space around North shifted next.
Her Essence storm had never been violent. Even now, it didn’t rage or clash. It tightened. The green currents compressed inward, slowing, refining, until the turbulence vanished entirely.
Then the ground beneath her changed.
A grid formed.
Perfectly straight lines etched themselves into existence beneath her feet, spreading outward in a wide plane, each square precise, evenly spaced, extending far beyond her immediate presence. The grid wasn’t physical, but it was absolute, as if the space itself had been measured, divided, and corrected.
Above her, the air mirrored it.
Reflections appeared, not true mirrors, but planes of faintly reflective distortion hanging at different angles around her. They showed fragments of movement, afterimages of paths that could be taken but hadn’t been yet. Every reflection suggested a different angle of attack. A different approach. A different ending.
The grid beneath her feet began to brighten.
Random squares flared to life in soft green light, then dimmed again, moving in patterns that made no immediate sense. A rhythm only she understood. Every illuminated square marked a position. A step. A strike. A moment where death would pass through and move on.
At the center of it all, North sat calmly.
Behind her, a single dagger manifested.
It wasn’t solid. It was a silhouette, sharp and unmistakable, suspended in the air just above her back, perfectly aligned with her spine. Thin lines of green wind curled around it, barely visible, tracing its edge again and again as if sharpening it endlessly.
This wasn’t a battlefield.
It was a measured space.
An execution zone where movement was permitted only because it had already been accounted for.
Her laws flowed seamlessly. Silent Cleave defined the strike. Rolling Momentum ensured it never stalled. Wind carried it forward. Compression erased resistance. Space corrected distance until there was no escape.
North’s lips moved.
"Grid of Severance."
The grid froze.
Every glowing square dimmed at once. The reflections shattered silently, dissolving into faint motes of light that flowed back toward her. The suspended dagger unraveled into green threads of Essence and sank into her core.
The storm ended without noise.
North stood.
The space around her felt lighter now, responsive, as if it preferred to move the way she intended.
She too had stepped into Transcendent.
And when I scanned both of them, I felt it then.
A shift not just in power, but in vitality.
Their bodies had changed. Not visibly, but fundamentally. Life force flowed through them with new depth, new resilience. Their lifespans had expanded, no longer constrained by the limits they had once brushed against.
Steve rolled his shoulders and let out a slow breath. "That," he said, voice rough but steady, "was... intense."
North glanced at him, then at me. "Different," she said. "And I already like it. The Essence is so much more than what I had comprehended." She said as she raised her hand and Essence flowed around her fingers smoothly.
I stepped closer, studying them both.
"You’re past the threshold now," I said. "Your foundations are set. From here on, growth will be slower, but deeper."
Steve grinned faintly. "Good. I was getting tired of worrying about dying of old age."
North smirked. "Speak for yourself."
I felt the Sovereign’s Imprint settle more firmly around them, my Essence resonating faintly with their newly formed domains.
"You did well," I said simply.
Steve rested his sword against his shoulder and glanced my way. "So," he said, a hint of anticipation creeping into his voice, "are we still hunting like you said, or has something changed?"
I smiled.
"Nothing’s changed," I replied. "We’ll hunt. We’ll make our presence known in Sector Zero."
I met his gaze, then added calmly, "And after that, we go for the Ferans."