Oblivion's Throne-Chapter 78: Telling Varun

Varun remained silent, watching as Orion steadied his breath, his fingers tightening around the spear's shaft. A deep, unsettling focus settled over the young man—an intensity that made Varun's instincts sharpen.

Then Orion moved.

The air cracked as his spear lashed out, blurring with sheer speed. He twisted, the haft rolling along his back in a seamless motion before snapping forward like a striking serpent. The ground shuddered beneath his weight as he pivoted into a lunge, his entire body flowing as if guided by an unseen rhythm.

Varun's eyes narrowed. This wasn't just the Wraith style.

The forms were there, the foundation he himself had drilled into Orion time and time again. But the transitions—those were different. The way Orion's movements interwove with each other, how his spear snapped between offense and defense without pause—it was as if he had unraveled something deeper within the technique.

And then came the moment Varun hadn't anticipated.

Orion's spear flickered out in a strike—but at the last second, his grip shifted. The angle bent in an unnatural way, forcing his wrist to snap inward and adjust mid-motion. The spear whistled past where a guard would have blocked, slipping through an imaginary defense. It was a correction—a refinement that should have taken years to master, happening instinctively in the blink of an eye.

Varun took a step forward before he even realized it..

The sequence began anew—sharp, relentless. The first form bled into the second, then the third. But now, Varun wasn't just watching his technique—he was watching Orion himself.

There was something wrong.

Orion was too controlled. But the desperation in his eyes was real, the way his body moved was a bit unnatural. His instincts were sharper than they should be, his adjustments too precise for someone at his stage of training. It was as if he had already done this a thousand times before.

A thought formed in Varun's mind—one he didn't like.

He waited for the next movement, then stepped forward. Orion lashed out with the spear—Varun caught it with his palm.

Orion's knuckles white where around the spear. His breathing was uneven, but not just from exhaustion. The raw, almost fanatical desperation in his movements, as if he had already lived through the consequences of failure.

Orion's breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles trembling from exertion. His uniform clung to his sweat-drenched skin, his pulse hammering in his ears.

He was afraid.

"I..." Orion said, his voice wavering, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as his fingers tensed at his sides.

Orion wasn't just determined to get stronger.

He was desperate to get stronger.

"I need to tell you something," he said, his voice quiet but firm, his gaze unwavering despite the tension in his posture.

Varun didn't respond immediately. His sharp eyes studied Orion, the weight of a man trying to piece together an impossible puzzle.

"Speak," Varun said at last, his voice calm but edged with intensity, his sharp gaze never leaving Orion.

Orion hesitated only a moment before exhaling sharply. His hands tightened at his sides. "I had a dream." he said, his voice low and strained.

Varun furrowed his brow as his gaze sharpened. "A dream?" he asked, his tone measured.

Orion nodded. "Not just any dream. It felt... real. Too real." His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. "In that dream, I was older. I had mastered Wraith's style. But the details—" he swallowed, throat dry. "—the details are vivid. The way my muscles moved, the techniques, the angles of my strikes... it's all burned into my mind as if I lived through it."

Orion forced himself to continue, his throat tightening as he met Varun's gaze. "And I died," he said, his voice hollow.

A flicker of something crossed Varun's gaze—something cold, calculating. He didn't interrupt.

Varun remained unnervingly still.

Orion inhaled sharply, grounding himself in the present. "The movements I just performed were burned into me the moment I woke up," he said, his voice taut with restrained urgency.

This was something else entirely.

"You believe this dream was a vision?" Varun finally asked, his voice calm.

Orion exhaled. "Yes," he said, a quiet conviction settling in his voice.

A pause.

And then—realization struck.

Varun's eyes narrowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "The Xenothalamus." he murmured, tension coiling in his posture as the weight of realization settled over him.

Varun exhaled through his nose, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. The Xenothalamus is responsible for processing Hekatryon energy, influencing Sensoria. There have been theories that it can accelerate cognitive processes, but this—" he gestured at Orion, at everything he had just witnessed. "This is beyond comprehension."

Orion clenched his fists. "I came to the same conclusion." he said, his voice filled with certainty.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Across from him, Varun stood still, his gaze unreadable—his expression shifting from shock to something heavier, something unsettled.

"Have you told anyone?" Varun asked sharply, his posture stiffening as if bracing for the worst.

His mind raced through the implications, each possibility unraveling into a tangled web of uncertainty. If Orion's Xenothalamus had truly unlocked memories of a potential future, then the applications—and consequences—were staggering.

Was it merely a glimpse of an inevitable fate, a timeline already set in stone? If this was real, if Orion was truly experiencing echoes of a future self, then they were standing on the precipice of something far greater than either of them had anticipated. And that thought alone sent a shiver down Varun's spine

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Orion shook his head. "No. And I don't plan to."

Another silence.

Then, slowly, Varun nodded.

"If this is real," he murmured, more to himself than to Orion, "then we have no choice."

Orion stiffened. "No choice?" he asked, his eyes searching Varun's face for answers.

Varun's expression hardened. "We hone it. We refine your body until it can withstand what your mind remembers."

Orion felt something settle inside him—a grim certainty.

He wouldn't let the future repeat itself.

Varun stepped forward, his presence grounding, unshakable. He placed a firm hand on Orion's shoulder, his grip strong.

"Let's make sure you're strong enough to survive it this time." Varun said, his voice low but resolute, carrying the weight of an unspoken promise.

Varun remained silent for a moment, his gaze turned sharp as he locked onto Orion. Then, his expression shifted, his tactical mind turning toward something else.

"Have you analyzed the movements?" Varun asked abruptly.

Orion blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?" he asked, his voice unsteady, caught off guard by Varun's sudden shift in demeanor.

Varun's voice was firm, demanding clarity. "The techniques you recalled from your dream. Did you run them through any combat simulators?" he asked again.

Orion gave a slow nod. "Yeah. I used the Ares Combat Simulator last night to break them down."

Varun inhaled sharply. "And the analysis? How far has it progressed?"

Orion pulled up the data on his datapad. The projection flickered in the dim lighting, lines of code and movement diagnostics scrolling across the screen.

"About twelve percent complete."

Varun's entire demeanor changed.

Varun's voice was cold, unwavering. His eyes locked onto Orion with an intensity that sent a chill through the air. "Delete it. Now." he said leaving no room for argument.

Orion's eyes widened. "What?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion and a hint of unease.

His fingers hovered over the datapad, hesitating under Varun's sudden intensity.

"Delete. It."