Oblivion's Throne-Chapter 88: Akshara

Aryan Alavkin stood before Orion, his posture relaxed yet commanding, as if the very fabric of the room prostrated itself toward him. He gestured, and a series of luminous sigils flickered into existence, orbiting his outstretched hand like celestial bodies caught in an unseen pull.

"These are called sigils," Aryan began, his voice smooth, "they are how we understand the nature of Hekatryon."

Orion watched, his mind attempting to unravel the meaning behind the symbols. They pulsed with a strange rhythm, each one resonating in a way that made the air itself feel heavier.

Aryan's golden eyes flicked toward him. "Hekatryon is the bridge between what you are and what you impose upon the world. It is not merely power—it is influence over reality itself."

A small smirk played at Aryan's lips. "It is the flow of phenomena. It isn't just energy—it's the movement of reality itself. It runs through every living being, through the fabric of existence."

He raised his hand, and for a brief moment, reality twisted. The light dimmed unnaturally, as if swallowed by a force beyond comprehension. Orion felt something press against him—not physically, but as if the air itself sought to suppress his very existence. He staggered, his body refusing to obey his will.

Aryan lowered his hand, and the sensation vanished instantly.

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Orion inhaled sharply, his pulse racing as a realization settled over him. "That wasn't gravity," he muttered.

Aryan inclined his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "You are sharp," he said, his tone carrying a note of approval. "It was my will, exerted through Hekatryon."

He stepped forward, and the sigils surrounding his hand shifted, rearranging themselves into new patterns. "Hekatryon bends the world. It manifests phenomena—forces beyond flesh, beyond bone. This sigil is one that detects your affinity."

Orion's mind raced. He had always thought of the two as parallel paths—Sensoria shaping the body, Hekatryon shaping the world. But Aryan spoke as if they were something else entirely.

"So, what is my affinity?" Orion asked, his voice quieter now.

Aryan studied him for a long moment before extending a single finger. The sigils reshaped themselves, forming a pattern unlike the others—a swirling vortex of flickering crimson fire and violet lightning. But there was something else beneath it something untethered.

"Your affinities are Ephemeral Flame and Lightning," Aryan stated, his gaze scrutinizing Orion with measured intensity.

"Ephemeral?" Orion repeated, testing the word on his tongue.

Aryan nodded, his expression unreadable. "Fire is destructive. Lightning is movement," he said, his tone measured. "But your power does not merely burn, nor does it merely strike. It is divergent."

He gestured, and the sigil of Orion's flame expanded. The flames crackled but did not extenguish. The lightning flashed but did not fade. Instead, they left behind afterimages.

"You do not wield fire or lightning in their purest form," Aryan continued. "You wield something more elusive—a fire that consumes energy itself rather than just burning material. It doesn't need oxygen to burn and can extinguish other energy-based phenomena, making it incredibly dangerous. When controlled, it can be used for devastating attacks or even defensive barriers that absorb incoming energy."

Orion stared at the manifestation, feeling the weight of the revelation settle in his mind.

"Your lightning synergizes well with physical enhancements, allowing you to chain attacks with fluid momentum. At higher mastery, it may allow you to control electromagnetic forces on a battlefield, influencing metal-based weapons and tech. It means your power will never be about brute force," Aryan added, while manifesting the sigil of lightning.

"It means your power will never be about brute force," Aryan said, watching him closely. "This is the sigil of entropy."

The words sank into Orion's bones.

The training chamber was silent save for the distant hum of energy coursing through the reinforced walls. Aryan and Orion sat opposite each other, the air between them charged with an unspoken weight. Aryan's fingers traced faint circles against the floor, each movement deliberate.

"Now that you know your affinities," Aryan said, his voice calm. "You must understand how one cultivates it."

Orion straightened slightly, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "Is it like Sensoria?" he asked.

Aryan shook his head. "No. Sensoria is honed through exertion. It is tempered like steel, shaped by repetition and refinement. But Hekatryon... Hekatryon is cultivated."

Orion frowned, his brows knitting together. "Meaning?" he asked, his tone edged with slight impatience.

He lifted a finger. "First, there's Awakening—where Hekatryon first becomes active." he explained, his voice steady.

He raised another finger. "Then, Resonance—where the body synchronizes with its own flow." he continued.

He lifted a third finger. "Attunement—where the mind and body harmonize with the forces around them." he said.

He raised a fourth finger, his eyes locking onto Orion's. "Convergence—where affinity ceases to be an ability and becomes a fundamental law of your existence." he said.

Orion nodded.

"Hekatryon does not grow stronger simply by being used. It expands by anchoring itself deeper into the world, by creating resonance with the forces it embodies."

"This isn't about gathering power." Aryan's voice was sharp. "It's about becoming the embodiment of what you wield."

Orion's fingers curled into fists.

Orion narrowed his eyes, his curiosity sharpening. "So, what's after Convergence?" he asked, his voice tinged with anticipation.

Aryan's smirk was barely visible.

Ascendance. The point where the world stops defining you, and you start defining the world," Aryan said

He lifted his palm, and the space above it shimmered, revealing a faint afterimage of himself—a mirage, slightly out of sync with his movements.

Aryan lowered his hand. "This is Akshara," he said, his voice quiet.

Orion's breath hitched slightly. The mirage flickered, its form slightly different—subtly refined, as if a reflection of Aryan that existed moments ahead of the present.

"The cultivation of Hekatryon is mirrored by the cultivation of Akshara," Aryan continued. "It is not merely energy. It is essence—a presence that exists beyond the physical. Every battle fought, every challenge overcome, leaves an imprint upon it."

Orion watched as the mirage shifted, moving just a fraction faster than Aryan himself.

"It is not just power," Aryan said. "It is an accumulation of self. Every choice, every conflict, strengthens or weakens it. Growth is not a matter of mere exertion but of refinement—of aligning oneself with what one is meant to become."

He lowered his hand, and the mirage faded.

"The greatest cultivators are those who do not merely seek strength," Aryan said, his gaze sharp. "They are those who refine their Akshara into something that resonates with the forces they command."

Orion exhaled slowly.

"So it's not about levels or breakthroughs," he murmured. "It's about making my presence undeniable."

Aryan's lips curled slightly. "Precisely."

He leaned forward slightly. "Your ephemeral flames and lightning—they are transient by nature. To cultivate them, you must not seek permanence, but rather embrace the impermanence itself."

Orion absorbed the words, his mind shifting as he reevaluated everything he had believed about strength.

"You must ask yourself," Aryan said, his voice softer now, "not how much power you can wield—but how deeply your presence will shape the world around you."