Chapter 4: Chapter 4 - Pneuma and Ousia

Given the sheer size of the whale from the outside, Rein had assumed it would take hours—maybe even longer—before they reached the chamber it spoke of. To his surprise, the descent ended even faster that he'd expected.

Bracing for impact, he focused some of his remaining pneuma into his legs and feet, preparing to absorb the force of landing. With the speed they’d been traveling, he was certain that without it, not just his legs, but his entire body would’ve been shattered on contact, and with Morin still asleep in his arms, he couldn’t risk even the smallest injury.

Yet, even with all his pneuma concentrated on cushioning the blow, he doubted it would be enough.

Then, unexpectedly, a powerful gust of wind rushed upward, cradling them like unseen hands. It slowed their descent, and by the time his feet touched something solid, it was more like stepping off a ledge than falling from the sky. So soft, in fact, that he hadn’t needed to use pneuma at all.

Rein exhaled in quiet disbelief.

Inside the whale’s body, he had expected darkness, maybe even suffocating blackness. But instead, light greeted them. Bright and steady. He squinted, shielding his eyes as they adjusted to the glow.

The source wasn’t hard to find.

At the center of the chamber flowed what appeared to be a river—but not one of water. Instead, an orange liquid oozed gently through a stone-like channel. It glowed with a soft, molten sheen, bubbling occasionally, sending flickers of orange light dancing across the rocky ground.

But what stood out most wasn’t its strange color, it was its warmth. Even from where they stood, a gentle heat radiated toward them, wrapping around their skin like a heavy blanket.

Rein stared, mesmerized for a moment.

There was no doubt about it. That wasn’t just any liquid.

It was magma.

Everything about the Million Whale shattered Rein’s expectations.

He had imagined something closer to a beast, especially with how it was referred to as a “demonic beast.” He had expected fangs, muscle, and instinct-driven hunger. Instead, what he saw—what he was inside—felt more akin to a planet. From the terrain on its skin that mimicked landscapes, to the seamless transition between the four seasons layered across its body, the creature defied all assumptions.

And now, here within it, was a vast chamber with flowing magma.

It didn’t feel like he was inside something biological at all.

“Sit wherever you’d like,” the whale’s voice echoed—not in his mind this time, but around the chamber, deep and resonant. “It may not be comfortable, but comfort is not required. Don’t worry, it will only take a few days to reach your destination.”

Rein looked around, eventually spotting a large rock nestled at a safe distance from the glowing river of magma. It was wide enough to fit both him and Morin, but its peak was jagged and uneven—no place to safely lay a sleeping child.

But that could be fixed.

He shifted Morin gently in his arms and raised one hand. Channeling his pneuma through his arm and into his fingers, he extended them, sharpening his focus. The flow of pneuma gathered within his hand, pulsing just beneath the skin like a quiet current. His fingers stiffened and pressed tightly together as he began to carve.

Even as he worked, he could feel it.

A faint, slow siphon. His pneuma trickling away, almost imperceptibly.

Not enough to harm him—not yet—and Rein noticed something else. The whale was careful, drawing only as much pneuma as his body could naturally regenerate. A few days of this and the amount would still be substantial, but it wouldn’t endanger him.

Rein didn’t complain. The whale was keeping its end of the deal, and so would he. All he could do now was hold his sister close, shape their resting place, and wait for whatever came next.

When he felt ready, he drew his arm back, preparing to slice off the jagged top of the large rock to make a place for Morin to lie. But just before his hand moved, a thought struck him—this wasn’t just any rock. It was part of the whale’s body.

He stopped himself just in time, heart skipping at the thought of what might’ve happened if he hadn’t. Hurting the whale might’ve meant being spat out into the void… or worse, swallowed completely.

“Can I cut this rock?” Rein asked aloud. “Or would it hurt you, since it’s part of your body?”

“With a rock that small, it wouldn’t feel more than a tickle,” the whale’s deep voice replied. “Still, it is part of me. But I will allow you to damage it… in exchange for a little more of your pneuma.”

Rein narrowed his eyes. “Fine. We’ve got a deal.”

What a shrewd whale.

With permission granted, he swung his hand in a swift, fluid motion, slicing the rock’s peak cleanly. The severed piece clattered down the side, and he brushed away the remaining debris with his arm. The flattened surface wasn’t luxurious—hard and bare, nothing like the beds they had on Rigel—but it would do for now.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

He gently laid Morin down, then sat beside her, letting her head rest on his legs as a pillow. With his sleeve, he wiped the sweat from her brow and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. The ambient warmth of the magma-filled chamber radiated around them, an unexpected comfort, far more soothing than the cold that had surrounded them outside the whale.

Not far off, a cluster of small, red, round objects floated toward him, carried by the same unseen wind that had brought him and Morin from the whale’s mouth. Rein watched them drift closer, realizing once again that the whale must have complete control over the air currents within its body.

The objects came to a gentle stop beside him on the rock.

“What are these?” he muttered, picking one up.

He turned it over in his hand, noting its smooth, soft surface. He brought it to his nose—it carried a faintly sweet scent, oddly familiar.

“Fruit,” the whale’s voice rumbled. “You should eat. Restore your strength.”

“Thanks,” Rein said.

“There’s no need for gratitude. Eating will help accelerate your pneuma regeneration, will it not? That benefits us both.”

“You’ve got a point,” Rein replied, giving a half-smile.

Food was one of the simplest ways to speed up pneuma recovery. The other—and far more effective—was sleep, which Morin was already deep in.

Rein glanced at the fruit again. For a moment, he had thought it was a kind gesture. But in the end, it was just another calculated move to draw more pneuma out of him.

Shrewd whale, he thought once again. Very shrewd.

Not that he’d say that out loud.

Rein took a bite of the fruit. It reminded him of something they had back on Rigel—similar in appearance, but the taste was unmistakably different.

“It’s bland,” he said.

“Indeed,” the whale replied. “That fruit was grown in the Overworld. A gift from a traveler who once rode within me. Unlike your home realm in the Outerworld, the Overworld has far less ousia. And even less can be found in the Underworld's realms.”

“So the amount of ousia a tree absorbs affects the flavor of its fruit,” Rein murmured, thoughtful.

The whale was right. The Outerworld was saturated with ousia. It was like air, present everywhere. Rein had never really thought about it before. Maybe that’s why he’d taken it for granted. Not that it mattered much, he couldn’t use ousia effectively anyway. Only those who had opened their higher gates could truly harness it.

Pneuma, however, was a different story. Rein could use that. Everyone could. Unlike blood, which flowed automatically and beyond control, pneuma could be summoned and directed like a limb.

If blood existed to sustain life, then pneuma served many purposes—one of which was to enhance the body’s abilities, a skill Rein had practiced extensively.

So far, he was only capable of its most basic application: boosting his physical strength and heightening his senses.

Those that had opened more gates could project it outside the body, or transfer it to an object, along with other applications of it that he never got the chance to learn. His weakness had seen to that. It was, after all, the reason he’d been cast out.

The key difference between the two was simple. Pneuma came from within, the heart, specifically. Every living being produced it, though the amount, speed, and—as the whale had mentioned—purity varied greatly. Celestials like him, it turned out, produced the purest and most potent form. That was something Rein had only now come to understand. What that meant in practice, he still had no idea.

Ousia, on the other hand, came from without. It belonged to the outside world itself, the universe’s own breath. Like pneuma, it could be manipulated, but only by those with the strength or mastery to do so. None of which Rein possessed.

And when pneuma and ousia were combined, that was when their power truly shone. Celestials used that synergy in battle, melding internal force and ambient energy to unleash devastating energy blasts capable of disintegrating creatures in a single strike. There might have been more applications too, techniques Rein had never gotten the chance to learn, his expulsion came too early.

And if the whale was right—if the Underworld was truly lacking in ousia—then it was likely Rein would never learn those techniques. That meant they'd be relying solely on pneuma from now on.

That was manageable for him, but for Morin... he wasn’t sure. She was gifted, though. Quick to learn, and already past her second gate. If anyone could adapt, it was her.

He, on the other hand, would have to push himself even harder. He couldn’t afford to be left behind, or worse, become a burden.

Rein felt a subtle shift within himself. His pneuma had begun regenerating faster. The fruit worked, though not nearly as well as the ones from Rigel. Just like its bland taste, the effects were faint. Likely another consequence of the ousia-starved environment where it was grown.

"Brother," a raspy voice said.

He looked down to find Morin awake, her eyes focused on him.

"You’re up. Was I chewing too loud?" Rein said with a slight smile.

Morin shook her head and pointed at the fruit in his hand. "What’s that?"

"It’s fruit. Want some?"

Her stomach answered for her with a loud growl.

Rein chuckled, helped her sit up, and handed her the remaining fruit. She devoured four of them in less than a minute.

"Bland," she said flatly.

"You say that after eating four?" Rein teased as he wiped her cheeks.

"I was hungry," she replied, puffing out her cheeks.

Then she reached into the pocket on her left side and pulled out a small brown pouch, shaped round and tied at the top with a black lace. It looked ordinary, unremarkable.

But the moment Rein recognized it, his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Is that an astral pouch?” Rein blurted out, almost jumping.

Morin nodded calmly.

His eyes widened even further.

If she had the sense to bring something as rare and useful as an astral pouch, then surely—surely—she had the sense to pack other essential artifacts too.

“What else did you bring?” he asked, hopeful.

“Nothing else,” Morin replied, expression blank.

Rein’s heart dipped.

“What about a pulse ring?” he tried again.

Morin shook her head.

Lower.

“A morphblade?”

Another shake.

Each artifact he named was met with the same response, and with each one, Rein’s hopes sank deeper. Still, he held onto a thread of optimism.

“What about inside the pouch? You brought food—like rations or regeneration supplies, right?”

“Just candy,” she said without hesitation.

Rein’s heart hit rock bottom.

“Did I do bad?” Morin asked softly, as if sensing the disappointment behind his silence.

“Not at all!” Rein answered immediately.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He wasn’t lying. Not even a little. Even without enchanted tools or emergency rations, Morin’s presence was worth more than a bag full of artifacts. She was their strength, plain and simple. More than that, comfort.

She’d always been aloof—hard to read, often lost in her own world. Half the time, Rein had no idea what was going through her head. That unpredictability was one of the reasons he’d wanted to leave her in Rigel, where she’d be safe, far from the dangers ahead.

But one thing about her was undeniable: she was strong. Strong in a way that made Rein feel like the protected one, not the protector.

“You’re way stronger than me,” he said with a smile. “That’s why I need to rely on you, alright?”

Morin’s eyes lit up. She raised both arms and flexed her tiny biceps.

“You can count on me. I’ll protect you!” she declared proudly.

Rein laughed and ruffled her hair. “I’m sure you will.”

A faint tremor suddenly rippled through the ground beneath them, enough to make both of them crouch for balance.

“Hold tight,” the whale’s voice echoed, calm but thunderous. “We will cross into the Overworld in a few more hours.”