The darkness remained unchanged.

Even after the last message, even after the system’s cold, almost mechanical response, the environment remained exactly the same—absolute, formless, directionless, without any reference point that could anchor Damon’s perception to anything concrete. There was no horizon, no depth, not even the sensation of floating. It was worse than that. It was like existing in a place where the concept of “place” simply didn’t apply.

Damon stood still for a few moments, his eyes scanning the nothingness as if, at some point, he expected to find a flaw—a crack, a distortion, anything that would reveal an exit.

Nothing came.

He took a deep breath, even without being sure he needed to, and ran a hand over his face in a slow gesture, more to organize his thoughts than out of any physical need. This was already starting to irritate him. Not because of the lack of control—he had dealt with that before—but because of the lack of immediate logic. The system had always been inconsistent, yes, but this… this was deliberate. “Great,” he murmured, his voice firm, echoing in a space that returned no sound. “Total darkness. Interface locked. Minimal response. You continue to be consistent garbage.”

His eyes scanned the void again.

Nothing.

Not a spark.

Not a reflection.

Not even the sensation of something about to emerge.

And this lasted long enough to become unsettling.

Because the silence wasn’t just the absence of sound.

It was… suspended expectation.

As if something was being prepared beyond his perception.

Damon narrowed his eyes slightly.

“If you’re going to do something,” he said, now with a slight trace of impatience in his voice, “do it already.”

And then—

Finally—

Something responded.

It didn’t come as light.

It didn’t come as sound.

It came as presence.

A subtle alteration in his own perception, as if the void had been slightly distorted, compressed into a single point in front of him. And from that point, almost like a wound opening in absolute darkness, something different emerged.

Color.

Pink.

A soft hue, but impossible to ignore in that completely black environment.

At first, it was just a point.

Small.

Unstable.

But then it expanded.

It took shape.

Translucent lines began to form, as if someone were tracing an invisible interface directly onto the nonexistent reality of that space. The shape gradually took form, structuring itself into something recognizable—a screen.

Thin.

Delicate.

Floating in front of him.

And then the text appeared.

Clear.

Crisp.

Undeniable.

[Update complete.]

Damon stared at it in silence for a few seconds.

His gaze swept across the message, as if expecting something more to emerge along with it—some additional detail, some automatic explanation, anything to justify the spectacle that had just unfolded.

Nothing came.

He tilted his head slightly.

“…seriously?” he murmured, his tone heavy with irritated weariness.

He took a small step forward, approaching the interface, his eyes now more attentive, analyzing each line, each detail of that screen he hadn’t seen in… too long.

“Is that it?” he continued. “After weeks of being gone, after freezing in the middle of combat, after simply disappearing when you were useful… you come back with ‘update completed’?”

He let out a low laugh.

No humor.

“Congratulations. Impressive.”

His fingers rose slightly, as if considering touching the screen—but he didn’t. Not because he couldn’t, but because he knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

“None of this explains why you’ve been useless for so long,” he said bluntly. “So start talking.”

Silence.

For a brief moment—

He thought he would be ignored again.

But then—

The screen flickered.

Just once.

And new lines began to appear, one below the other, with a more stable fluidity than anything he had ever seen in that system before.

[System responds.]

Damon raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Look…”

The interface continued.

[Prolonged inactivity was not a failure.]

[Inactivity was a necessary measure.]

Damon’s gaze changed.

Slightly.

Less irritated.

More attentive.

“…continues.”

[User’s body exhibited structural limitations.]

[Attribute absorption capacity exceeded safe limit.]

[Successive updates generated internal instability.]

Damon frowned.

Now there was something there.

Something that made sense.

“You’re saying that… I couldn’t handle the updates?”

[Pattern confirmed.]

[Status accumulation exceeded biological integration capacity.]

[Probable outcome: systemic collapse of the user.]

He was silent for a second.

Processing.

Then he let out a small sigh through his nose.

“…so you froze on purpose.”

[Yes.]

Simple as that.

Straight to the point.

No beating around the bush.

Damon put his hand to the back of his neck, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“…fantastic,” he murmured. “So you get to decide when I can or can’t evolve now?”

The screen didn’t respond immediately.

But then—

New lines appeared.

[Correction needed.]

[External interference detected.]

Damon’s eyes narrowed.

“…interference?”

[Confirmation.]

[External source blocked complete system operation.]

[Interference affected status reading, processing, and updating.]

He stood motionless.

Now this was new.

“…what exactly was interfering?”

There was a brief pause.

And then—

[Interference destroyed.]

[Source no longer relevant.]

Damon let out a short laugh.

“Sure. Convenient.” But even so, he didn’t ignore it.

Because it… fit.

The glitches.

The delays.

The moments when the system simply wouldn’t respond.

“…so you were inactive because my body couldn’t handle it and because something was blocking you.”

[Correct.]

“And now?”

The answer came immediately.

[Limitations removed.]

[Expanded integration capacity.]

[Global update applied.]

Damon tilted his head slightly.

“…explain better.”

[User body adjusted.]

[Increased absorption capacity.]

[Optimized processing.]

[System integration stabilized.]

Silence.

Damon looked at the screen.

And then—

A slow smile began to appear at the corner of his lips.

“…so now it works.”

[Yes.]

Simple.

Direct.

Definitive.

He let out a longer breath, slowly running a hand over his face, as if reorganizing everything within his own mind.

“…it took a while.”

But then—

He stopped.

Because there was a more immediate question.

More important.

His eyes drifted to the emptiness around him, then back to the screen.

“…where am I?”

The answer came without hesitation.

[Location: user’s mind.]

Damon blinked.

Once.

“…my mind?”

[Yes.]

He looked around again.

Now with a different kind of attention.

“…is this me?”

[Functional representation of cognitive space.]

He let out a low laugh.

“…that explains a lot.”

But then—

His expression changed.

More serious.

More direct.

“…then get me out of here.”

Silence.

And then—

The answer came.

[Denied.]

Damon sighed.

He expected it.

“Of course.”

He crossed his arms, looking directly at the screen now with more controlled patience.

“…and why?”

The interface answered.

[Evolution process not completed.]

[User must remain until completion.]

His gaze narrowed.

“…and how long does that take?”

[Temporal pattern not applicable.]

[Process occurs outside of external reference.]

He let out a small laugh.

“Perfect. You can’t even define that.”

But then—

The next line appeared.

And this—

Made him silent.

[User must support full evolution.]

[Interruption will result in critical failure.]

His smile faded.

“…critical failure?”

[Integration collapse.]

[Loss of functionality.]

[Possible irreversible damage.]

Silence.

Heavy.

Damon lightly ran his tongue over his lips, thinking.

“…so I stay here… or I break.”

[Correct.]

He exhaled slowly.

“…great.”

His eyes drifted to the void.

And then—

To the screen.

“…so start already.”

The interface didn’t respond immediately.

But something changed.

Not in the environment.

Not in the light.

But in him.

A feeling.

Subtle at first.

Like a distant tingling, beginning at some undefined point in his own consciousness, spreading slowly like waves on an invisible surface.

Damon didn’t move.

He didn’t react immediately.

But his eyes—

They remained alert.

Because he recognized it.

It wasn’t pain.

Not yet.

But—

It was coming.

And this time—

He knew.

He couldn’t simply ignore it.

…

Damon’s body remained motionless on the dining room floor, exactly where he had fallen, as if the previous impact had been only the beginning of something much deeper. His breathing was rhythmic, steady, without apparent lapses, and the slight movement of his chest was the only visible confirmation that he was still there—still alive. But the absence of any response, of any conscious reaction, made that normality almost disturbing.

Chaos, however, did not follow that logic.

Morgana was still kneeling beside him, her hands pressed against Damon’s face as if letting go meant losing him forever. Her fingers trembled slightly, her uneven breathing betraying a panic she couldn’t contain, no matter how hard she tried to maintain some control. Her eyes desperately searched for any sign—a movement, a focus, anything that would break the silence.

“Damon… Damon, answer… please…” she murmured, her voice faltering between attempts to call him back.

Aria wasn’t much different. Despite her normally lighthearted, almost playful nature, there was now a clear tension in her every movement. She leaned in, stepped back, moved closer again, as if trying to find a way to help without knowing exactly how. Her fingers hovered over his arm again, hesitant, and the smile that always accompanied her had completely disappeared.

“This doesn’t make sense…” she murmured, more to herself than to the others. “He was fine… he was talking…”

Elizabeth remained close, but her posture, though firm, was beginning to reveal subtle cracks. Her eyes were fixed on Damon, intense, calculating, trying to find a logical answer to something that clearly defied the norm. Her hand was still near his face, but now motionless, as if any hasty action could worsen a situation she didn’t fully understand.

“Damon,” she called again, lower, more controlled—but there was urgency there, hidden beneath the discipline. “Whatever this is… answer.” Nothing.

No reaction.

Not a single muscle moved.

And that—

That’s what fueled the despair.

Morgana squeezed his face slightly, leaning in closer, almost pressing her forehead against his.

“Don’t do this to me…” she whispered, her voice now broken. “You don’t do this to me now…”

Then a firm hand landed on her shoulder.

Esther.

“Step away,” she said.

It wasn’t a request.

Morgana didn’t react immediately, her eyes still fixed on Damon’s face, as if she hadn’t even processed Ester’s presence.

“I said step away,” she repeated, this time more firmly, her hand applying slight pressure to pull her back.

There was a second of resistance.

Emotional.

Instinctive.

But then—

Morgana yielded.

More out of authority in her tone than reason.

Ester immediately moved into her place, her posture shifting completely to something more technical, more precise. Her fingers went directly to Damon’s pulse again, this time with more attention, while her other hand positioned itself near his neck, feeling the flow, the regularity.

Her eyes analyzed.

Calculated.

Without haste.

Without panic.

“Stable pulse,” she said, in a firm tone. “Constant rhythm.”

Ingrivid was already on the opposite side, kneeling with a similar calm, observing not only the body, but the overall pattern of the situation. Unlike the others, her focus wasn’t just on Damon—it was on the whole.

Environment.

Time.

Sequence.

“Normal breathing,” added Ingrivid, observing the movement of his chest. “No signs of stopping or failing.”

Aria blinked, looking between the two, clearly still trying to process.

“Normal?” “He just fainted out of nowhere!” she repeated, incredulous.

“It wasn’t a common fainting spell,” Ingrivid replied dryly, but without raising her voice. “But it’s not a physical collapse either.”

Elizabeth looked away from Damon for the first time, staring at the two of them.

“Then what is it?”

Ester slowly released his wrist, but didn’t move away.

“I don’t know,” she replied directly. “But his body is functioning.”

Morgana stepped forward again.

“Functioning?!” she repeated, her voice thick with disbelief. “He’s not responding!”

“And that’s exactly the point,” Ingrivid said, now looking directly at her.

There was a brief silence.

And then—

She continued.

“His body didn’t malfunction. He didn’t go into shock. There are no signs of immediate trauma. That means… the problem isn’t in his body.”

Aria frowned. “So where—”

“Entirely in him,” Esther replied, cutting him off.

Elizabeth was silent for a second.

Thinking.

Connecting.

“…something internal,” she murmured.

“Yes,” Esther said.

Morgana ran a hand through her hair, clearly trying to compose herself, but still visibly shaken.

“And what do we do with that?” she asked, her voice lower now, but still tense.

Esther stood up slowly.

“First,” she said, looking directly at Morgana and Aria, “you two are going to calm down.”

The tone left no room for discussion.

Morgana opened her mouth to reply—

But stopped.

Because there was something in that look.

Something firm.

Reliable.

Ingrivid also stood up, crossing her arms.

“He’s alive,” she said directly. “Breathing. Stable.” Aria exhaled slowly, as if only now realizing she had been holding her breath.

“…okay,” she murmured.

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a brief second, gathering herself.

When she opened them again—

She was back in control.

“Then we wait,” she said.

Esther nodded slightly.

“We wait.”

Morgana looked at Damon once more.

Her chest still rose.

And fell.

Constant.

Present.

She swallowed hard.

And then—

She took a small step back.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she needed to.

And for the first time since he fell—

The panic lessened.

It didn’t disappear.

But… it was contained.

Because now there was something to hold on to.

He was alive.

And, for now—

That was enough.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep