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Time is the silent tyrant that devours everything.
It flits past on tattered wings so swiftly that the span of a day is already a fading heartbeat. Blink again and a week has collapsed into the same brief breath. Clench your fists and a month disintegrates to ash. Turn once more and a year is nothing but a stray spark in the black furnace of eternity. Whole lives—dreams, victories, loves, regrets—shrink to a single, brittle tick of the cosmic clock.
When the final dusk gathers at the rim of your vision, only a handful of merciless questions remain:
What have you wrought with the hours entrusted to your fragile flesh?
What secret wisdom have you torn from the jaws of existence?
Why are you condemned to perish?
Why were you compelled to breathe at all?
No mortal tongue can answer. The void offers no solace. Yet the questions echo on, louder than the pounding of your own doomed heart.
And still—time accelerates. It does not care for your triumphs or your terror; it cares no more for kings than for dust. Stars blaze, crumble, and vanish. Planets spin through their allotted orbits, each obeying the same inexorable summons toward ruin. Every throne, every monument, every whispered name is eventually swallowed in the rushing dark.
So cry out, struggle, create, despair—do what you will. The universal hourglass will overturn regardless, its black grains cascading without pause. For in the end, all things are granted the same single, fleeting day beneath an indifferent, devouring sky.
Source: The Hour Before Death – Timekeeper Avalvestros
Excerpt 25 End
“Little brat, get over here!”
The arrogant voice cut through the scroll-filled tent like a blade through paper.
Hassan groaned, closing his wordbook with a quiet thud. His reading and training were once a refuge—now interrupted again. He trudged toward the elf, knowing he had no excuse left.
In the beginning, he'd pretended not to understand the common tongue, but his mistake had been learning too quickly. What started as a few words rapidly turned into fluency. Now he knew thousands, able to speak and understand with ease—and the elf knew it.
At first, he tried to hide his rapid learning. But over time, he realized the elder had already measured his intellect—and now they expected more from him, not less. Once he figured that out, he began slowly revealing his intelligence.
His accelerated learning hadn’t just come from effort. Ever since his intelligence had increased, picking up new concepts came naturally—almost effortlessly. And with two languages under his belt from his past life, this one had fallen into place faster than he’d expected.
Once, he dared to defy the elf—and paid the price. The punishment had been humiliating, quite literally. The elf left his diaper unchanged for an entire day, a cruel and calculated move. The thing was enchanted, too strong for Hassan to remove, making the discomfort unbearable and the memory unforgettable.
It was too humiliating to report—even to the elder, whom he’d only recently learned was actually his granduncle, Bharzun.
He had complained about other things. Like being forced to lie across a desk for hours while the elf studied and wrote, using him as a makeshift surface for punishment. That had been too much. Thankfully, once he told Bharzun, the elder punished the elf and ensured he was never subjected to that torment again.
Hassan finally reached the elf, standing just far enough to show irritation but not disrespect.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Have you memorized today’s thirty words?” the elf replied without looking up.
“Almost,” Hassan muttered.
The elf’s expression soured, though a faint glint in his eye betrayed a touch of surprise. “Learn faster. I don’t have all day. Once you're done, we’ll move on to history.”
Accustomed to the elf’s haughty tone by now, Hassan replied with mild suspicion, “History?”
“Yes, history,” the elf said. “Without learning from the past, one is doomed to repeat its mistakes.”
Hassan understood the lesson, but the chance to learn more about the world excited him far more than any warning about past mistakes. A flicker of eagerness lit in his eyes. “Fine,” he said, then quickly added, “Also, when are you going to teach me arcane magic? Didn’t you say if I learned to speak properly, you would?”
“Don’t twist my words!” the elf snapped. “I said elegantly. And what you speak is far from elegant by my standards, brat. First, you’ll learn poetry. Then art. Don’t even dream about touching the arcane path for at least... eight—no, ten years!”
Hassan stared in disbelief. The elf had changed his story again. When had elegance become a requirement? Hassan knew he already spoke better than most zamongarai in town—yet the elf refused to acknowledge it.
“Didn’t you say a hundred years last time? And now it’s ten? Sounds like it could drop again,” Hassan said, voice laced with hope—and challenge.
“Silence! Ignorant beas—kid! Don’t get clever with me,” the elf growled. “You’re just a little smarter than I gave you credit for. But tell me this—why are you pestering me about arcane training when Elder Bharzun is willing to teach you the innate path? He said you’ve got rare talents in every path. You won’t find a better shaman, spirit warrior, or woundsealer than him.”
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The elf’s mouth twisted in reluctant admission. “And... while I hate to say it, he’s slightly stronger than me.”
The sour face that followed said everything—much stronger, most likely.
Hassan understood where the elf was coming from. He’d learned that magic was divided into two primary paths: the innate and the arcane. As a zamongarai—part of a giant-born race—it was rare for someone like him to excel in the arcane path. Most zamongarai had stronger ties to the natural world: spirits, elements, the unseen forces. As such, they often thrived in the innate path, where their natural affinities shone.
Still, Hassan had asked about teleportation—about portals, folds in space, ways to travel far in an instant. The elf had explained that such feats were almost impossible with the innate path, unless one had a rare affinity for spatial elements or a spirit companion tied to space itself.
That affinity, however, couldn’t be tested until he came of age—at thirty years old. And finding a spirit of space? Even rarer.
But the arcane path? That path did contain the knowledge and spells he hungered for. It held the key to the power he imagined. The allure of becoming an arcanist grew stronger with each passing day.
So Hassan responded calmly, “I never said I didn’t want to learn from him. But why limit myself to just one or two paths, when I could choose from all of them?”
The elf waved him off with a snort. “As if you would find the time to train both. Whatever. You won’t be learning arcane knowledge from me anytime soon.”
That was his cue to return to his books, his drills, and the steady grind of training.
His daily training followed a strict rhythm: reading and writing—one that doubled as a mental exercise in itself. Afterward, he focused on soul development through sense training, then shifted to agility drills.
Once inside the system training space, his efforts turned toward resistance work, along with mind manual routines. Soul training continued there too, though with a greater emphasis on sharpening his senses—especially taste and smell—since the forest offered far more stimuli than the parchment-stuffed tent ever could.
That routine reminded him of his earliest days—when Bharzun first began bringing him to this tent each morning, only to return him at night to his caregiver. Or rather, his aunt, Animora.
It had taken him a while to even realize that Animora was a woman. Back then, he couldn’t tell the difference at all.
Now, he understood the subtle markers: facial structure, body size, horn length. Males typically had longer horns, coarser features, and were larger overall. Females tended to be smaller, smoother in appearance, with shorter horns. Still, they all looked like towering humanoid bulls, and it wasn’t always obvious.
Thankfully, he had discovered a reliable trick—all the women wore long robes that covered their entire bodies.
He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t care. It made telling them apart far easier.
Calling Animora his aunt felt natural. She had cared for him in those early days and had always been kind, even if he rarely saw her now except for nighttime.
But that wasn’t what truly mattered right now. What did matter was the bottleneck—the frustrating halt he’d reached in his talents. Several of them had been stuck at Rank 3, hovering at 99% for what felt like forever. He was desperate to break through, to move beyond the plateau.
He opened his panel again, scanning for any changes, any sign of movement past the wall he'd hit:
#####
Name: None
Race: Zamongarai
Age: 276 days
Tier: 0
Attributes:
Physique: 7.44 → 21.87
Mind: 14.21 → 22.41
Soul: 14.13 → 24.84
Talents:
Human Intelligence (Rank 3: 49% → 99%) – Expand
Human Soul (Rank 3: 42% → 99%) – Expand
Zamongarai’s Physique (Rank 2: 17% → Rank 3: 85%) – Expand
Zamongarai’s Sense (Rank 3: 1% → 99%) – Expand
Zamongarai’s Soul (Rank 2: 9% → Rank 3: 78%) – Expand
Vessel Control (Rank Unknown) – Expand
Skills: Physique Manual (Basic: 37% → 96%), Mind Manual (Basic: 47% → 91%), Soul Manual (Basic: 44% → 97%), Tracking Manual (Basic: 37% → 96%)
System Training Space – Time remaining until reset: 11 hours, 2 minutes, 12 seconds – Current Mode: Tutorial
#####
After half a year of relentless training, Hassan’s body had become nearly unrecognizable. He now stood at roughly a third the size of his caregiver and was nearing half the elf’s height. His muscles had filled out, giving him a solid, powerful build that far exceeded anything from his previous life.
He could lift large stones in the forest with ease, and he’d crushed delroaches—tough pests—with nothing but his fists.
The breakthrough in his Zamongarai’s Physique talent came easier than he anticipated. Once he hit the limit of Rank 2, he realized that the key to advancement was novelty—pushing his body beyond its usual routines.
He introduced new drills, weight training, and high-resistance exercises into his schedule. The moment he pushed far enough, the bottleneck shattered.
But the breakthrough wasn’t gentle. It was terrifying.
A jolt of energy surged through his entire body, deeper than muscle or bone. It felt like lightning had struck his marrow, transforming it—reforging it. When the current reached his brain, his thoughts blurred, his senses overloaded. His body collapsed.
When he awoke, he could feel it. He was stronger, faster, and even his reaction speed had sharpened, like a new edge honed into his very mind.
That moment reminded him of how much he’d changed. As his mind attributes grew, so had his clarity—his thoughts now faster, clearer, and unburdened. Solving problems, deciphering puzzles, and making decisions felt almost instinctual now.
But more than that, something deeper had shifted.
He no longer thought in straight lines, chasing the most immediate solution. Instead, his mind stretched forward and outward, weighing long-term consequences and unseen ripple effects.
It was strange, almost eerie... but also exhilarating.
As for his soul... that remained a mystery.
Even when his Zamongarai’s Soul advanced to Rank 3, and his soul attributes surpassed his mental ones, he couldn’t clearly identify what had changed.
His senses had definitely sharpened, but he suspected that was more from the rise in his Zamongarai’s Sense talent than from the soul itself.
Still, something had evolved—something deep and intangible.
For all his upgrades, Hassan knew he still paled in comparison to a full-grown zamongarai.
Physique, for their kind, was largely tied to size—and he simply hadn’t grown enough yet. Right now, even the females would likely overpower him in sheer strength.
But that would change.
Give it a few more years, and he knew—he would be the one towering over them.
Even now, Hassan stood apart from the other young zamongarai. His muscles were more defined, denser—not just bulk, but function.
Likely, it was the agility training.
That constant refinement had sculpted his physique—natural in motion, powerful in form. He was confident that, even at equal height, he’d be physically stronger than most of his peers.
His training manuals had also begun to stall—each hovering stubbornly in the 90% range.
The issue wasn’t lack of effort. It was perfection.
One misaligned movement, one improper breath, one mental lapse—any of it could halt progress completely.
The Mind Manual, once his most advanced, had now fallen behind the others. Unlike physical motions, it was far harder to detect mistakes of thought and awareness.
Even if he managed to push these manuals to 100%, it wouldn’t matter unless he had access to the next stage.
He could only hope the system’s tutorial would reward him with more advanced manuals soon.
But none of that mattered at the moment.
Hassan exhaled slowly, letting the thoughts settle.
He had grown stronger. Sharper. His body, mind, and soul had evolved far beyond where he started. And yet—he remained stuck.
So what was missing?
What would it take to break through... to finally ascend to Rank 4 talents?
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