Jacob had read more books on the mind than he could count, for it was the one thing he needed to understand before he ever dared step into the labyrinthine mystery of a mage's inner world, and though the knowledge was fragmented and filled with contradictions, he had gleaned enough to know the risks of tampering with what was not meant to be touched.

He understood that the mind could be expanded naturally through the act of rising in rank, when body, aura, mana, and thought were all drawn upward together, each reinforcing the other, and that in such moments the mind itself grew clearer, sharper, more resilient, able to bear the weight of faster thinking and steadier resolve. Yet what came with advancement through effort and time could, in theory, be forced, drawn out deliberately, at great danger.

It was said that to enhance the mind manually was to risk splitting it apart, leaving behind fractures that might never heal, but Jacob no longer cared for such warnings. If he succeeded, he would finally be able to refine his method of fighting, the one built upon constant analysis and cold reaction, for with a mind faster than his body he could read the battlefield as easily as he once read the words in a book, and every strike, every step, every counter could flow more perfectly than before.

He looked down at the fragments of himself he had gathered, those jagged shards of memory and thought that slowly shifted and pressed together in his hands, forming something crude and solid, a cube without beauty or life.

Jacob frowned at it, shaking his head, because the more he looked the more he realized how suffocating such a shape would be. 'A cube is too restrictive,' he thought, and in truth any shape would be, for most minds were bound to their form, shifting only slightly as people aged, strengthened, or weakened, but never truly breaking free.

To change the shape of the mind entirely was considered impossible unless it was first reduced to nothing, shattered so utterly that rebuilding meant becoming something else altogether, a risk so final and so fatal that no sane mage dared to attempt it.

But his mind was already broken, already ground into pieces, and against all odds he had dragged those pieces back into his grasp. This was not a curse, not now, it was a rare chance, perhaps the only chance he would ever have, to forge something new, something unbound.

He did not want a shape, not a cube, not a sphere, not any construct that carried walls and limits. What he wanted was a mind without boundary, free and unrestricted, one that could stretch and contract and move as needed, flowing endlessly, unchained by form.

He had no way of knowing what such a mind might cost him, what hidden dangers it might carry, but he was certain of one thing: if he succeeded in connecting it, in weaving those fragments back into something coherent, it would be faster, far faster than anything he had known.

Jacob closed his fist around the half-formed cube and clenched. The fragile structure splintered instantly, his vision blurring as the shards scattered and his thoughts began to swim with dizziness, but he refused to stop. Again he clenched his hand, grinding the shards into even smaller pieces, smaller still until his body trembled and his sense of self threatened to slip away altogether. The fragments of his mind shrank and shrank, reduced at last to particles so fine they resembled grains of sand, each no larger than the smallest spark of thought.

And with what little remained of himself, no more than a stubborn will holding together a frame already gone, he let go, casting those grains into the void, choosing to abandon the safety of structure and embrace the uncertainty of ruin.

And as the scattered fragments drifted further away from him, Jacob forced himself not to collapse into despair but instead tried to reach inward, searching for something familiar, something that could anchor him, and he found himself grasping at his mana, ridiculous as the thought seemed, as if mere energy could hold together a breaking mind.

At first there was nothing, no reaction, only the spreading sensation of dissolution as his awareness stretched farther and farther, fading until he could hardly remember what he was or why he struggled, save for one stubborn truth repeating within him like a heartbeat: he had to live.

That single thought, fragile but unyielding, pushed him deeper, until he forced his mana upward, drawing it against his will into the collapsing space of his mind, shoving it until it spilled into that fragile emptiness. With the last thread of consciousness he had left, he cast the mana towards the drifting grains of thought.

For a moment it did nothing, hovering uselessly while his sense of self thinned and scattered, and Jacob knew that he was seconds from failure, from dying not in battle but in silence, his mind too broken to contain him.

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Yet it did not end, because there was something else in him, not one presence but two, waiting. Roots pushed their way into his mindspace, first a few, then dozens, then thousands, dividing and spreading until they filled the emptiness with pale threads.

Jacob's mana flowed toward them instinctively, binding itself to the roots, and together they sought the grains of his mind, weaving toward them, latching onto them, connecting fragment to fragment. Slowly, haltingly, the pieces of his consciousness that had been drifting apart were tied together, the roots carrying mana between them like veins, holding the fragments steady even as they floated restlessly.

Then another figure appeared within that space, solid where Jacob was scattered, and he looked down at Jacob with a faint click of his tongue before turning his gaze across the endless fragments. "This is quite insane," Yggdrasil muttered, his voice neither approval nor condemnation but something weary and amused.

What he saw was not a mind restored to form, but something altogether different: countless grains of thought and memory and feeling, all connected by the roots of the world tree's seed, and further reinforced by Jacob's mana, a vast constellation of fragments strung together, each drifting freely, all moving at impossible speed, unbound by any shape or constraint. Emotions, memories, instincts, all of it flowed faster than it ever had, without the walls that once confined it.

"You have even solved your problem with the true runes without waiting for me to guide you," Yggdrasil said, his eyes narrowing as if unwilling to fully acknowledge Jacob's achievement. "You forced the seed to redirect every root already spread through your body into your mind, binding the fragments together. By doing so you've dealt with your greatest weakness, your emotions no longer spill unrestrained beyond your mana, so the runes will not reject you anymore."

He paused, studying the fragile but functioning network, before his voice lowered again. "But do not think this is perfect. Your mental strength has collapsed, you will tire easily, and because this construction demands constant supply, your mana has weakened as well."

Yggdrasil's head tilted slightly to the side, toward an emptiness where no one stood, and yet he still spoke, his words edged with irritation. "Unless, of course, you finally choose to help, and stop acting like a parasite."

The space where Yggdrasil's gaze lingered began to tremble, faint at first, then with a growing intensity that spread across the fragments of Jacob's mind, and suddenly there was a soundless detonation, a deep internal boom that shook everything at once, and from that rupture a great sphere of light emerged, its glow flooding through every corner of Jacob's mind until all the grains and roots were bathed in radiance.

The sphere drifted slowly, deliberately, moving as though searching for its place, until it settled in the very center of the mindscape, where it pulsed with quiet strength.

Another boom followed, sharper and more contained, but this time the effect was different. Instead of filling the space with light, a whirlpool formed upon the sphere's surface, its pull irresistible, and in a single instant the brilliance that had filled Jacob's mind was consumed, drawn into that spiral until nothing remained but darkness.

The roots that had been spread like a network across the space shrank to thin threads, almost invisible, and the tenuous connection that bound Jacob's mind to the flow of his mana heart was severed, leaving the system to stand alone.

Yggdrasil regarded the sight without alarm, his head tilting slightly as he examined the transformation, and if he were to name it, he thought, Jacob's mind resembled nothing so much as the night sky itself.

Vast emptiness stretched in every direction, black and unbroken, and scattered across that void the grains of Jacob's mind shone faintly, like distant stars adrift in the silence. At the center of it all stood the sphere, bright and steady, like a sun around which the fragments circled in a slow, gravitational orbit. The roots and mana still connected them, but now they were so small, so subtle, they were no longer visible.

"Show-off," Yggdrasil muttered under his breath, though his expression carried as much curiosity as disdain. The light had reshaped Jacob's mind, reinforcing it in ways even Yggdrasil had not expected, it had cut off the unstable demand for mana, freeing Jacob from the constant burden of maintaining those connections, and at the same time it had imposed a kind of order, refining the scattered chaos into something stable.

Of course, there were consequences. Jacob's mind now stood at a level where thoughts and emotions would not spill outward unbidden, but at the same time, those emotions themselves were subdued, muted beneath the calm surface. It was both strength and weakness,his decisions would be clearer, more rational, but at the price of a lower human intensity.

Yggdrasil paced across the silent space, hands behind his back, the faintest trace of amusement curling his lips. "I will have to change the reward for my quest," he said softly to himself, "but it is worth it. This mind alone would rank among the top ten thousand I have seen." Considering he had looked upon billions, the acknowledgment was no small praise.

Then the mindscape trembled once more, the grains of thought stirring as if stirred by an unseen wind. Yggdrasil turned his gaze back toward Jacob, his smile widening in a rare flicker of genuine satisfaction. "Give that vampire hell," he said, though he knew Jacob could not hear him.

And then, in an instant, Jacob's eyes opened. No time had passed at all; though it had felt like minutes or hours within the mind, in reality not even a heartbeat had been lost. He saw the woman closing the distance, her shadow falling over him as his blood seeped freely from open wounds and his limbs remained heavy with exhaustion.

Yet despite the weakness of his body, Jacob felt something he had never known so sharply before: clarity. His mind was silent and unbroken, his thoughts sharp and fast beyond belief, and beneath that clarity a certainty stirred.

'I can use it, true runes,' he thought, the conviction arising from somewhere deeper than reason, an instinct so strong it needed no proof. His lips curved into a faint smile, almost defiant, as the woman loomed nearer. 'Time for round two.'

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