It turns out "finally" meant sitting. Reading. Researching.

Not exactly what I had envisioned when I asked what's the next step. I had imagined thunder. Fire. A clash of bloodlines and steel. Not the ache of hunched shoulders over yellowed pages, eyes burning under flickering crystal-light while I tried to decipher a script that seemed as old as time.

Every hour or so, Barbra and Ranah would return—arms brimming with more tomes, scrolls, etched tablets, and occasionally something that looked disturbingly organic. Books stitched in animal hide. Pages slick with ink that moved when you stared at it too long.

From where they were pulling these volumes, I had no idea. Not a single one looked like it came from this realm. Some of them buzzed faintly with cursed wards; others bled shadows. The languages weren't even recognizable to me—at least, not at first glance. Thankfully, the Mask filtered and translated most of it into readable Continental Common. Not always gracefully, and certainly not consistently, but enough that I could piece together meaning with effort. When it failed, it would project glyphs in the air like a puzzled tutor, waiting for correction or guesswork.

"Barbra," I called, flipping open a particularly brittle book bound in cracked bone. "What does exiligi mean?"

Barbra, halfway through balancing a stack of twenty more texts, didn't even look up. "Dead language from Archon Uyill's domain. Popularized again by Dominus Thrallish."

She set the books down without a sound—something I had yet to figure out how she managed—and continued, "It means something close to what you'd remember as the 'Inner Self.' But not quite the same as identity. More like... your blood's whisper. The self-before-self."

"Right. Thanks."

She gave a half-nod, already vanishing to retrieve more.

I returned to the book, tracing the cracked line with my finger as the translated words shimmered into clarity.

On the Preservation and Refinement of Beast-Blood in Absence of Shells Chapter IV – Of Root and Howl Translated from the Pale Tablets of Var'zeer

"The Shell is not the cradle of blood, but the cage of what it becomes. In the absence of a Shell—either by choice or limitation—one must refine the blood not by external augmentation, but by recursive introspection."

"First, one must locate the exiligi—the Inner Self not as identity, but as ancestral echo. It lies not in thought, but in pulse. Fast until hunger is no longer pain but rhythm. The exiligi sings only when silence becomes a companion."

"Once it is located, consume a piece of yourself. This is not poetic. Draw blood. Let your teeth break skin. You must taste what you are and let your tongue remember. Memory does not live in the mind alone. This awakens the ancestral matrix."

"Then, begin the Refinement: Let your mana travel not into spell or function, but into marrow. Into the core of your physicality. Focus not on shaping, but listening. The beast-blood will resist, for it is instinctive and wants nothing of chains. You must not bind it. You must offer it partnership."

"Use this chant as guide, not command: I am not your jailer. I am your mirror. I do not tame the howl. I howl with it. My blood remembers. And I awaken."

"If done correctly, the blood will thicken. You will feel it. Like tar turning to oil, it will become luminous, responding to your will without diminishing itself. This is Preservation."

I turned the page. The glyphs on this one writhed before settling. A second chapter emerged.

Chapter V – The Integration of Miasma into Core Bloodlines As taught in the Hidden Fold of the Beast-Born

"Miasma is corruption to the untrained. But to the Descendants of Wild Blood, it is fertilizer for ascension. If properly embedded, miasma does not degrade the soul. It tempers it."

"To begin integration, one must first separate the 'clean' blood from the instinctive blood. This is done through ritual sleep—entering a trance and visualizing the river within. Where the current diverges, you will see two flows: one silvery, one dark. Take from the dark. Bring it into the light."

"Use breath to mix. Inhale as if drawing fire into your ribs. Exhale not from lungs, but from your spine. Feel it descend. Then drink from a miasmic well—fluid left behind by monsters, or distilled from fear-born beasts. A few drops only."

"Let it spiral into your core. If you feel yourself fraying, stop. You are not ready. If you feel yourself splitting, continue. For it is not pain but transformation."

"In time, the core blood will house the miasma like a jewel in amber. It will harden. Cool. When it no longer writhes, you have succeeded. You will now be both blood and breath of the wilds. Your children, should you have them, will inherit flame and fangs."

I stared at the line: You are not ready. If you feel yourself splitting, continue. The cruelty of it was poetic. The wisdom of it… sobering.

This wasn't a ritual. It was surgery. Internal, spiritual, ancestral. And I'd be alone for every second of it. There was no Shell to cradle me. No skillcube buffer. Just will, hunger, and whatever parts of me hadn't already been shattered by Danatallion's Halls.

I closed the book and pressed it against my chest.

Everything they were preparing me for—the horn, the blade, the exiligi, the howl, the integration of miasma—it was all tied to one thing:

Survival that leads to dominion.

Not as a Walker. Not as a puppet of some Dominus. But something older. Something that didn't need a title to rule.

And I wasn't just reading now.

I was remembering.

Chapter VI — Of Claw and Clarity: Anchoring the Beast Without Losing the Mind

From the Graven Bark Codices of Nahlurra's Feral Writ

"The danger is not in awakening the beast. The danger is forgetting which voice is yours."

"Beast-blood remembers war. It remembers teeth, betrayal, flight, and dominance. When you refine it, you do not erase its memory—you sharpen it. Thus, the more powerful your connection, the more easily your will is overridden in moments of crisis."

"To anchor the mind during these states, three mental frames must be built over time. These are not thoughts but postures of being:

Stolen novel; please report.

First, the Witness — a part of your mind that watches, but never acts. It records what happens when rage or instinct overtakes reason. You must train this part through meditation and recounting frenzy as if it were memory belonging to another.

Second, the Herald — the voice of return. This is a practiced mantra or word (in your own tongue) that calls the beast back to calm. Whisper it as you begin to feel the shift. Scream it when you lose control. It must always be yours, not borrowed.

Third, the Leash — not an object, but a bond. Forge it with someone who knows you. A person, spirit, or entity who can reach you even in your blood's madness. If none exists, carve a symbol into your skin. Make it yours. A wound that reminds."

"Only once these anchors are in place may you safely access higher forms of beast state—what the Fold of Ul'thera calls 'Feral Sovereignty.' Without anchors, this path ends in madness or death."

Chapter VII — The Spinal Stair: How Miasma Reshapes the Meridian Spine

Translated from the Weeping Scrolls of Chasm-Trader Ilhon

"When miasma is first introduced to the self, it sinks. It coils. It seeks the marrow. But it also rises—always—seeking the ladder of the soul, which lies nestled along the spine."

"This ladder, called the Meridian Spine in some traditions, is the metaphysical mirror of the body's nervous will. Each vertebra is both a physical bone and an echo-chamber of spirit. Miasma, once accepted, travels up and down these rungs, reshaping the user if left unchecked."

"To use this reshaping, instead of suffering it, one must learn to 'bind' miasma to specific spinal gates. These gates correspond not to chakras or elemental points, but to beastly temperaments and transformations. Each gate, once opened, offers power, but alters behavior."

The 1st Gate (Tailbone): Survival. Once opened, the user's blood hunger doubles. The body becomes more durable, skin thickens. Emotional responses diminish. Many become cold.

The 3rd Gate (Solar Spine): Dominion. Grants increased control over monsters and lesser beast-blooded. Voice becomes a commanding weapon. However, the user may begin viewing people as pieces on a board.

The 5th Gate (Cervical Knot): Memory. Opens ancestral recall. Past lives, instinctive crafts, and long-dead battle patterns resurface. Risks include bleeding identities and hallucinations.

"There are seven gates in total. Few open more than three without permanent alteration. Some gates cannot be closed once opened. Choose carefully."

Chapter VIII — Hybridization: The Crafting of Symbiotic Bloodlines

As recorded by the Beast-Seers of Kal-Dareth, 3rd Moon Cycle, Year of Knotted Roots

"Preservation is power. Refinement is skill. But hybridization is legacy."

"If one wishes to merge the instincts of one beast with another—either through union, blood-seal, or self-infliction—one must first understand the nature of Symbiotic Bloodlines. These are rare states where two or more bestial aspects coexist without erasing each other."

"To begin crafting such a hybrid:

You must first successfully preserve your own beast-blood (see prior volumes).

Then, obtain the preserved or pure bestial essence of a second creature—preferably via organ, ichor, or crystallized marrow.

The essence must be boiled in miasma and marrow ash, then consumed during a state of heart-rate suspension.

During consumption, the mind must project a Dominance Sigil—either drawn in blood, or formed psychically. This sigil determines whether the secondary beast becomes subordinate, equal, or a hostile entity within the body.

"Common Sigil Forms Include:" • The Fang-Axis — merges bloodlines under a predator-prey balance. Usually unstable, but powerful for combat-focused hybrids. • The Mirror-Crown — forms a balanced duality. Useful for retaining control, but fusion must be exact. • The Chain-Sworn — subjugates the secondary essence entirely. Most stable, but can cause severe guilt-shock or loss of instinctive gifts.

"Signs of successful hybridization include: rapid limb regeneration, alternate heartbeat patterns, vocal shifts, and presence of new memory-seeds (faint dreams not your own). Signs of failure include: spontaneous bone shifting, muteness, spiritual echo, and cannibalistic desire."

The book began to glow.

Not a soft flicker, but a steady, humming pulse—like a heart that had been waiting to beat again. Glyphs scribed in lost tongues shimmered gold across the edges of the parchment, and the ink itself seemed to burn into clarity. I leaned back slightly, the Mask veiling my face shifting with a slow curl of acknowledgment.

I smiled.

I had reached far enough. Far enough that the book recognized me. Far enough that something—no, someone—had decided I was ready.

And now came the question.

Should I cheat?

It wasn't even an ethical question, not really. Not in Danatallion's Halls. Not after the things I'd seen.

I already knew what Temptation would say. His answer would be immediate, flamboyant, and unapologetic: "YES, and with flair."

Fractal wouldn't say it, but her feathers would shift into a shimmering chorus of approval, her mask-face tilting in mischief, her entire body chirping in affirmation. YES. Always yes, if it meant creating something new.

Morres? He'd be buried under eight hundred layers of dreamlogic by now. Probably still chasing meaning through metaphors inside the labyrinth of his own slumbering mind. If I asked him, he'd likely wave a languid hand from beneath a dreamblanket made of starlight and fog, muttering something like, "If the path exists, it was always yours."

Ranah, though…

Ranah would purse her lips. Straighten her spine. Deliver some beautifully structured sentences about how diligence is the better part of virtue. That true mastery is earned, not taken.

Barbra?

Barbra would stare through me with eyes like a mountain cliff—ancient, immovable. And then she'd shrug and say:

"All positions are valid. But survival always wins. So ask yourself—does this method of cheating improve survival?"

That's what it came down to, didn't it?

So let's ask ourselves—what is survival here? It's not just the preservation of life. It's not about avoiding pain or prolonging breath.

Survival is understanding.

It's deciphering this impossible chain of knowledge, unraveling a truth so deeply buried that not even our mother knew. None of our siblings. Not even our mother, Juliet Duarte herself, the Lop-Eared Legion, with her miracle of Septuplication and her thousand-layer mind.

None of them knew this.

This link—this primal inheritance that whispers in my blood, coils in my bones, and hides behind words like bestial, miasma, and refinement—it was never part of our education. Never part of the doctrine of Demeterra. Not because it was too dangerous…

But because they didn't even know it existed.

Right now, as far as I can tell, only Barbra is aware of it in this cluster. Maybe Temptation suspects. Maybe Morres dreamed of it once.

But I'm staring straight at it.

The missing link. The marrow-deep legacy.

So then I ask again.

If using my Arte—if pulling words into living force, if breathing ink and structure into meaning—could help me reach beyond the borders of comprehension, should I?

Would using my Arte, Lexicon Manipulation, allow me to transmute what I only read into something I embody?

Would it take knowledge and etch it into instinct?

The answer came from the corners of my mind, unspoken yet absolute.

Yes.

Not just yes. Yes, because this is what it was for. Yes, because this is the kind of understanding that changes the structure of a person's soul. Yes, because if I didn't do this, then I was walking blind through an armory while others drew swords from shadows.

I placed my hand on the glowing page.

The words shifted beneath my palm like molten gold, burning not in heat, but in clarity.

This wasn't just knowledge. This was inheritance.

And I had no intention of letting it slip past me.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.