"Yggdrasil…are you still there?"

He waited in silence, listening for that familiar, half-mocking voice that usually hovered in the back of his mind, but for the first time since their strange bond began, nothing came in reply. The stillness pressed on him, not heavy or suffocating, but empty in a way that felt unfamiliar, like a sound he had grown used to had suddenly vanished.

"He said he'll be back after a while…right?" Jacob muttered under his breath as he sat up, brushing the dust from his clothes. In a strange way he already felt the absence; Yggdrasil had been irritating, often cryptic and dismissive, yet undeniably a companion. Without him, there would be no guidance in the study of true runes, and until he returned Jacob would simply have to wait.

What troubled him most, though, was not the silence itself but the thought that Yggdrasil might have taken a risk in telling him what he did, that he had perhaps even placed himself in some danger to speak of such things.

The memory of that cold gaze, that sensation of being examined and measured from some impossible distance returned with the force of a shiver, and he felt his heartbeat quicken as if his body understood more than his mind did.

"First…" he whispered, then fell quiet, his eyes scanning the room though he knew he was alone. His chest tightened as his pulse climbed higher, but still some reckless impulse, some stubborn curiosity, urged him onward.

"Eter…ni…" He faltered, drew in a deep breath, and forced the last syllable out. "ty."

The word hung in the air like smoke, and Jacob sat frozen, holding his breath, every nerve straining as if the world itself might shift in response. Minutes passed. Nothing came. The silence did not change.

"Do I need to say it all at once?" he wondered, though even as the thought formed he dismissed it. To tempt fate by uttering the name in full was madness, and madness had nearly carried him far enough already.

"To think there is such a being," Jacob thought, his voice sinking inward. The idea made him tremble with fear, yet behind the fear there was also a spark of something else, excitement, perhaps even hope.

If the strongest being in existence, as Yggdrasil had claimed, had reached that place of supremacy through the use of true runes, then what did that mean for him? Did it not prove that true runes could lift him beyond human limits, perhaps even past the rank zero barrier?

He shook his head and exhaled, steadying himself. "I'm getting ahead of myself. First, I need to learn this."

His gaze shifted back to the book lying open before him, the cover worn but the pages filled with strange promise. Forcing aside every thought of Yggdrasil's warning and the shadow of that name, he opened to the first page again and studied the drawing. The rune, impossibly complex, still left him in awe, yet now there was something more than awe in his expression.

"One day," he murmured, a quiet vow to himself, "I'll be able to create something like this."

Nodding once in quiet satisfaction, he turned the page, ready to see what lay ahead.

Jacob soon found himself completely absorbed in the book, the words and diagrams pulling him in deeper with every page, for there were layers upon layers within the instructions, countless details in the methods, and subtle shifts in the theories that hinted at a depth far beyond what he had first expected.

Each line seemed to open into another, and the more he read the more he realized how much he had overlooked, how many small nuances Lazarus had left behind for him to uncover, and how much could be learned from a text that appeared simple at first glance.

His eyes gleamed with excitement as he pressed forward, devouring the knowledge with a hunger he could hardly restrain, learning things he had never even heard mentioned before, until at last he reached the final page. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jacob closed the book and sat still for a moment, exhaling softly as his gaze lingered on the worn cover with a quiet sense of wonder.

"There's still…so much I don't know, isn't there?" he murmured, the words slipping out in the same tone he had used when reading Akashic's journal for the first time. The similarities were impossible to ignore, not only in the structure of the book but in the voice behind it, for the style of writing, the way the explanations unfolded, and even the framing of the theories all carried that same unmistakable pattern he had once found in Akashic's work.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Another thing Akashic had left behind.

The thought returned again and again, and the more Jacob considered it, the more his curiosity grew. The first king, as he pieced him together through scattered fragments, became more than just a figure of history; he became a man of impossible reach, one who had slain gods, who had devised techniques that stretched the very limits of what was thought possible, who had stood against powerful enemies while gathering allies of equal strength, and who had nearly stepped into immortality itself. The title of legend, Jacob realized, was not merely a word attached to him after his death, but something he had earned again and again in life.

"I should start."

The technique outlined in the book was no simple matter; it unfolded in stages, each one demanding precision and patience, and even the very first step carried weight. He was to draw the intricate rune pictured on the opening page directly over his heart, shaping it from pure mana, a task both simple in description and daunting in execution.

It was difficult, and Jacob knew it would be, for even though the book offered guidance, notes on where to begin, suggestions on how to deal with certain difficult sections, reminders of where mistakes were most easily made, the act of forming a rune of such complexity was always going to test him.

He did not hesitate.

Pulling off his shirt and setting it neatly at his side, Jacob closed his eyes and turned all his attention inward, focusing until every part of him seemed fixed upon the steady pulse of mana within his heart. Slowly, carefully, he began to draw that energy outward, guiding it through channels he could just barely feel until it reached the surface of his chest.

Then, with deliberate patience, he set to work on the long and demanding task of sketching the rune.

"Yggdrasil…are you still there?"

Hearing the faint echo of Jacob's voice, Yggdrasil gave a quiet chuckle, one so small it barely stirred the air. "Have you grown attached already?" he murmured to himself, though he knew well enough Jacob could not hear him.

His gaze drifted slowly across the place he had not seen in what felt like an age; it was unchanged, as though time itself had forgotten it. The vast cavern stretched endlessly around him, its darkness broken only by the faint glow of countless motes of green light that drifted like lazy fireflies above.

At his wrists and ankles the same bindings remained, thick chains wrought from living roots that wound around him and anchored him to some unseen pillar behind. They were loose, loose enough that he could move as he pleased, yet their presence carried a weight all the same, for as long as they remained he could not draw upon his mana.

He sighed, turning back toward the small wooden table where he sat, and beyond it to the figure standing several paces away. "How troublesome," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to his unwelcome company.

The man's eyes narrowed into a glare as he stepped forward, each footfall sharp against the cavern floor. "What are you trying to pull?" he growled, his voice edged with suspicion.

"Me?" Yggdrasil replied lightly, tilting his head as though puzzled. "Nothing at all. I am simply passing the rest of my life in quiet penury, locked away in the heart of the tree I once shaped with my own hands."

The man stood silent for a few moments, studying him as though searching for cracks in his words, before finally speaking again. "The lord felt a disturbance, and it came from you. Tell me, who were you speaking to?"

Yggdrasil said nothing, his expression unreadable, and the man's tone hardened as he pressed further. "Was it an elf? If so, then perhaps another race must be erased from the world. Or was it a human, like that old companion of yours…I've even forgotten his foolish name."

At that, Yggdrasil broke into laughter, a sound deep and resonant that rose from his chest and echoed through the cavern. He laughed so hard that his eyes grew wet, as if the very absurdity of it had touched something raw within him. "You've forgotten his name?" he said between the fading waves of laughter. "The man who filled every one of you with unshakable fear? Preposterous."

The man let out a low growl, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at Yggdrasil. "Was it someone from Akashic's kingdom?" he asked, his voice carrying suspicion.

Yggdrasil remained silent, offering no reply, his expression unchanged.

The man exhaled slowly, as though wearied by the very exchange. "Look," he said, his tone softening only slightly, "I don't want to be here, and you certainly don't want me here. Neither of us has any desire to see another race wiped from the world. So, just give me a name and be done with it."

For a long moment Yggdrasil simply stared at him, his gaze steady and unreadable, and then he formed two words silently with his lips.

The man's eyes flared with sudden fury, his face twisting as he stepped forward in a rush, seizing Yggdrasil by the front of his clothes. "Not a joke," he hissed, his voice trembling with restrained anger. "That joke will cost you dearly, you and your precious Valor both."

Yggdrasil's voice was calm, almost indifferent, as he answered, "If you are this concerned about what I might say, then kill me."

The man grunted and shoved him backward, the force toppling the chair and sending the table crashing onto its side. The motes of green light that floated in the cavern stirred violently, swirling around the intruder in sharp flashes as though the place itself disapproved of his actions.

"I won't kill you," the man said coldly, "but your descendants…that is another matter. I will have my choice of a few."

Yggdrasil remained where he had fallen, his gaze fixed upon the floor, his expression as impassive as stone. "Do as you will," he said quietly.

The man gave a short, contemptuous scoff before turning his back and striding out of the chamber, his footsteps fading into the depths beyond.

When he was gone, Yggdrasil slowly pushed himself upright, brushing the dust from his clothes before setting the table back in its place and righting the fallen chair. He sat once more, his movements unhurried, and lowered his gaze to his hands.

A soft sigh escaped him. "How long should I rest before I return to him?" he murmured to himself. "A year…yes, a year will suffice."

He leaned forward, resting his head upon the table, and within moments he was asleep, the green motes above resuming their quiet, steady drift.

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