Chapter 11: Chapter 11 - A Farewell and A Greeting

“The Underworld is pure chaos,” the whale explained. “There is no structure, no permanence. Everything shifts, moves, unravels, and reforms. Even space itself has no anchor.”

The whale's voice had taken on a more serious, almost reverent tone as it spoke of the place.

Naturally, Rein’s curiosity sparked.

“What does it look like out there?” he asked.

The whale’s answer came slowly, thoughtfully.

“It is difficult to describe. The Outerworld was darkness pierced by the light of distant realms. The Overworld, solid, radiant, filled with oceans, mountains, forests, skies. But the Underworld... it is darker than dark, and yet filled with floating objects I cannot name. Some are vast, others no larger than a stone, drifting without purpose. The realms here do not shine unlike in the Outerworld. They are like hollow pits, dim and swirling with strange, clashing colors that never seem to mix, only churn endlessly.”

A shiver ran down Rein’s spine. Whatever the Underworld was, it sounded like the very fabric of reality had been untethered.

Although Rein had studied several realms within the Underworld through Kael Riven’s writings, he couldn’t be sure how much of that knowledge still held true. The book had been written long ago, and the Underworld—being unpredictable and ever-shifting—could've now rendered all of those information completely obsolete. What once was a lush land could now be a barren void, and a once-peaceful realm might now be a den of monsters.

Thankfully, the whale had taken that burden off their shoulders. It insisted on choosing the realm where it would drop them off, claiming it could sense the ambient strength of the realm’s inhabitants and gauge how manageable it would be for Rein and Morin in their current condition.

It didn’t take long before the whale finally came to a halt, its voice rumbling through the chamber.

“We’ve arrived. This one should suit you.”

Unfortunately, even with the new healing technique the whale had taught him, Rein's recovery was still slow. By the time they reached the chosen realm, he had only managed to mend the broken bones in his pinky and index fingers, and alleviate some of the lesser bruises that marred his body. But progress was still progress.

Most importantly, the speed at which he could cycle his pneuma from his heart and back had improved, from mere milliseconds to a few seconds less. It was a small shift, but a meaningful one. In a world as unpredictable as this, even seconds could mean the difference between life and death.

There was another issue Rein realized during the ride, something the whale hadn’t mentioned but became increasingly clear to him through experience. Even with the improvement in his pneuma cycling speed, there was still a major limitation: if multiple parts of his body were injured at once, his pneuma would be spread thin, forced to branch out through countless veins simultaneously. It was like trying to extinguish multiple fires with a single bucket of water. Inefficient, exhausting, and ultimately unsustainable.

On top of that, pneuma wasn’t limitless. Like other forms of energy, it diminished with use. Although using pneuma internally—within his own body—consumed far less than projecting it outward or through physical mediums, the loss was still there. Slowly, subtly, it chipped away at his reserves. If he pushed too hard, too fast, he could easily run dry before his wounds were even halfway healed.

Of course, his ability to generate pneuma would improve as he got stronger. That was the basic principle behind cultivation. Growth begets strength, and strength begets more pneuma. But there was a problem: advancement required Ousia, something the Underworld was severely lacking in.

Still, Rein wasn’t afraid. If there were living creatures down there—thriving, fighting, surviving—then there had to be a method. A workaround. A hidden path forward. Whatever that method was, he would uncover it. He would find it.

At present, the only reason Rein was able to move without pain was thanks to the miraculous honey the whale had given. An elixir as wondrous as it sounded. Within mere minutes, it had soothed and mended every lingering injury in his body. The recovery felt unreal, like rewinding time on his wounds.

The whale had gifted them an entire bottle of it—thick, golden, and warm to the touch—another gesture that had surprised Rein, though he was again deeply grateful. They stored it in the astral pouch Morin carried at her waist, alongside the serpent’s golden scale. The long bottle and the massive scale both shrank as they entered the pouch, drawn into its space-defying interior.

The astral pouch was bound to Morin’s essence. As its rightful owner, she could draw on its full capacity. It made sense for her to be its keeper. She was further along in her cultivation than Rein, and the deeper the bond with the pouch, the more storage it could access. Still, if the need ever arose, Morin could easily grant him access.

“So I guess this is goodbye for now,” Rein said, rising slowly from where he sat, the last echoes of pain no longer weighing down his movements.

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“So it is,” the whale replied, its deep voice tinged with warmth.

“Bye bye, Mr. Whale!” Morin called, waving both arms with the same childlike joy she’d shown while riding the golden scale.

“Goodbye, little one,” the whale replied gently.

“I will remember you both. I will carry your memory with me, alongside the souls that rest upon my back, until the day my life ends. And perhaps, if fate allows it… we shall meet again.”

Rein smirked. “Let me guess, because of how much you've been saying our pneuma is delicious? And how much of it you drained from us?”

A chuckle rumbled from deep within the whale, so resonant it trembled the very ground beneath their feet.

“Yes, indeed,” it said with amusement. “But more than that… because of the friendship we now share.”

Rein smiled, his voice soft. “Jokes aside, you have my deepest gratitude. If not for you, I don’t know where we’d be right now, probably dead. Honestly… you deserve more than just our pneuma. But I’m afraid I have nothing else to give.”

“There is no need,” the whale replied. “Your pneuma was enough. More than that, I only hope you will remember me… as your friend.”

Rein’s chest tightened. “There’s no way I’d ever forget.”

Beside him, Morin nodded enthusiastically, her silver hair bobbing with each motion, echoing Rein’s words without needing to speak.

“I’m afraid I must be on my way now,” the whale said, its voice tinged with a reluctant farewell. “I’ve already been delayed longer than I ever have before… but not a moment of it was wasted. I will see you again, friends.”

Without needing to step, the familiar gentle winds surged beneath their feet, lifting Rein and Morin upward, carrying them toward the whale’s great mouth.

For the last time, Rein turned his gaze to the colossal being that had become their unlikely savior and companion. The Million Whale remained as awe-inspiring as the moment they’d first seen it, its immense body stretching into infinity, its abyssal eyes deep and unknowable. But this time, there was no fear in Rein’s heart. Only a quiet, lingering affection.

As they drifted toward a swirling hole within the chaos of the Underworld—an opening lined with multicolored fogs that swirled and shimmered but never blended—the whale’s form slowly faded from view. Bit by bit, its presence vanished into the churning dark. And with that, a strange longing bloomed in Rein’s chest, vast and aching, like the space the whale had once occupied. He hoped with everything in him that they truly would meet again someday.

Rein and Morin reached out, gripping each other’s hands tightly as the chaotic winds pulled them into the vortex. The moment they crossed the threshold, everything changed. Reality twisted and bent. Colors became sounds, sounds became movement, and their minds felt like they were unraveling and rethreading at once.

It was disorienting, utterly so. Like their very thoughts were being shuffled inside out.

Still clutching Morin’s hand, Rein tried to steady himself, his mind flashing with thoughts of what kind of realm might lie beyond: a forest shrouded in mist, a mountain range crowned by ice, endless golden plains, roaring oceans, or maybe even a scorched, lifeless desert.

But when they finally came to a stop, the realm that greeted them was nothing like he had imagined at all.

First, they found themselves standing on what felt like hard concrete, surrounded by complete darkness. A slow, constant updraft of earthy-smelling air rose from below, brushing against their skin. It circled them gently, carrying the subtle hint of soil and stone, suggesting they stood on some kind of elevated platform, with nothing but a deep void surrounding them on all sides.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” Rein said to Morin, his voice low but steady.

With no idea how wide the platform was—or how close they were to the edge—staying still was the safest option. One wrong step could send them tumbling into an abyss that might never end.

Then, slowly, torches ignited in midair around them. Their orange glow sputtered to life in a perfect circle, as if responding to their presence. But they weren’t mounted on any walls or stands. They floated, suspended in the dark like eerie stars bound by invisible strings.

The light revealed the truth.

They stood on a circular, elevated slab of stone or concrete. Surrounding them was a seemingly bottomless chasm. Beyond the edge, nothing. No stairs. No bridges. Just jagged brown walls far in the distance, uneven and looming like the inside of a massive, hollowed-out canyon. Rein scanned the area, enhancing his vision with pneuma, but there was no path forward. No exit. No salvation.

Only down.

And that idea grew more tempting with each passing minute.

A creeping unease slithered beneath his skin, the kind of feeling that didn’t come from the mind, but from the body itself. Instinctual. Ancient. Every fiber of him whispered the same thing:

This place is wrong. Leave.

But how? There was nowhere to go. And the longer they stayed, the more oppressive the sensation became, as if the very air were turning against them. Rein clenched his jaw, fighting the irrational urge to just leap into the abyss, to risk it all rather than remain here one second longer.

It was madness, but it was starting to feel like the only option.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, Rein finally made up his mind. He wasn’t planning to jump, just one cautious step forward, just enough to peek over the edge. Maybe the torchlight would reach farther than he could see from where he stood, maybe he’d catch a glimpse of whatever lay at the bottom.

He lifted a trembling foot to take that step—

And froze.

A presence, overwhelming and sudden, pressed into the space around them.

It began with a flicker. A single red flame burst into existence, brighter than all the floating torches combined. It cast deep shadows and bathed the platform in a crimson glow, yet it gave off no heat at all, as if it wasn’t a flame meant to burn but was something else entirely.

Embers swirled and gathered, shaping themselves into the image of a face, not mortal, not Celestial. Elongated and reptilian, it hovered in the air like a phantom made of fire, drifting slowly as it began to circle them. Lazily, like a predator patiently waiting to pounce on its prey.

The edges of the fiery face bloomed outward, branching into flame-wrought antlers and tendrils, like whiskers trailing smoke. Then, more fire spilled forth behind the face, flowing like molten water. The blaze stretched and twisted, revealing a serpentine body made of flame and glowing, magma-hardened scales.

It moved with a fluid, effortless grace, spiraling through the air around them. A massive, undulating shape—part spirit, part beast—its entire form composed of burning stone and living fire.

Rein stood rooted in place, eyes wide. Whatever this creature was, it was ancient. And it was watching.