As the final echoes of pain ebbed from Adrian's body, the air within Sefirah Castle shifted—subtle at first, then unmistakable. The three ancient stone tables, which had stood like silent judges, began to dissolve into swirling mist, their purpose fulfilled. From that same grey fog rose a new structure—an ornate throne, tall and crooked, carved from shadowy stone that shimmered faintly, like starlight caught in smoke. It radiated something more than majesty: intent. Inscribed above the crown of the throne was a familiar symbol—The Fool. Half-smile. Mask. Question. All in one. It watched him with unblinking purpose.
Adrian's breath caught. The Castle wasn't just acknowledging him—it was inviting him. No… expecting him. Every inch of Sefirah Castle seemed alive now, like a grand, ancient intelligence that had observed his choice and made its own in return. The pressure in the room grew heavier, not suffocating, but meaningful. Adrian took a step forward, and then another, each one echoing like a heartbeat across the marble floor.
He paused only once, eyes locked on the Fool's symbol. A week ago, he had been nothing—a bored otaku in 2025 America, wasting time and dreams. Now, here he was, in the mythical heart of an unknowable power, his soul forever changed by a single choice. The Seer pathway. Familiar, yes—but no less terrifying. He wasn't just a reader anymore. He was a participant.
A strange quiet settled in Adrian's mind—unnatural, but not empty. His thoughts had been rearranged, sharpened. Memories he hadn't consciously held came rushing to the surface—arcane diagrams, ritual scripts, ancient divination techniques. They bloomed in his memory like ink in water, clear and vibrant. His senses expanded—not in sight or sound, but in perception. Spirituality hummed through him like static beneath the skin. The world had more layers now, and he could feel them shifting.
When he blinked, the space around him shimmered. The air pulsed faintly. Shapes flickered in his periphery—ghosts, spirits, echoes. He had awakened Spirit Vision. His enhanced memory organized every flicker of light and sound like pages in a growing grimoire. He could almost hear the beating of unseen hearts, taste the flow of ritualistic energy in the air. The Castle no longer looked empty. It was teeming with echoes and symbols, too ancient to comprehend.
The throne called to him.
With hesitant steps, Adrian approached the seat. The presence it exuded was unlike anything he had felt before. Not regal or divine—something older. Wiser. Curious. Mischievous. The Fool's mask seemed to shift when he stared at it too long, as though it were watching him back. He hesitated only a second longer, then lowered himself onto the throne.
The moment his body touched the cold stone, he felt it—the seat wasn't solid. It was fluid, like mist wrapped in gravity. It embraced him, not in warmth, but in recognition. As though the Castle whispered: You have been seen.
The chamber trembled. Fog coiled up from the floor like smoke from a sacred fire. The throne pulsed with energy beneath him, and reality rippled outward from the symbol above his head. Then—he fell.
Not in body, but in sensation. In soul. Everything around him dissolved into radiant, blinding fog. He was weightless again, pulled by invisible threads through veils of memory and myth. Symbols flashed across his mind's eye—esoteric scripts, star charts, ancient runes. Voices whispered in dozens of languages, none of which he should have known but all of which he somehow understood. The Fool's laughter echoed—not heard, but felt. Cosmic. Personal. Maddening.
The Castle was unraveling him. And rebuilding him anew.
Then—stillness.
With a ragged gasp, Adrian's lungs filled with damp air. He blinked once, twice, the golden haze clearing from his vision. The familiar creak of his old mattress returned, grounding him like a lifeline. Candlelight flickered calmly from the nightstand, casting long shadows on the aged wallpaper of his 1925 London bedroom.
He was back.
But everything had changed.
He sat up slowly, the rain outside still pattering against the glass as if no time had passed at all. Yet the moment he tried to stand, he faltered—not from weakness, but from the rush of awareness. He could feel the air now. The space between things. The whisper of energy clinging to the wood of his desk, to the candle's flame. He turned his head and saw shapes—faint outlines that danced in corners and shadows. Phantoms of something else.
Spirit Vision was still active.
His heart pounded—not in fear, but awe. He remembered the throne. The Castle. The potion. And now, this whisper in his bones… a voice that wasn't a voice, reminding him: You are no longer who you were.
He was no longer a drifting soul in an unfamiliar world. He was a Seer. The first step on a path that would demand everything he had—and more.
Adrian sat at the edge of his bed and rubbed his temple, his thoughts swirling faster than his heartbeat. "This isn't the world from the book," he muttered aloud, eyes flicking toward the candle's dancing shadow, "But I'm no longer just a character in it."
Outside, the rain fell harder, tapping against the window like fingers from another world. And in the corners of the room, the shadows seemed to lean in just a little closer.