Frid remained kneeling. His head pressed against the dirt, his breath ragged yet unwavering. The murmur of his voice had softened into something almost rhythmic—reverent, deliberate, unyielding.
Eo did not move.
He simply observed.
Frid was behaving differently from the others. His body did not tremble in fear, nor did he show signs of hostility. Instead, he remained in that position—lowered, motionless, expectant.
This was new.
Why?
Eo tilted his head, his mind rapidly constructing possibilities.
Submission? No. The posture was too controlled.
A defensive response? Unlikely. He was fully exposed.
A sign of vulnerability? Perhaps. But then why did his voice lack distress?
Eo took another step forward. The water beneath him barely stirred.
Frid did not flinch.
Fascinating.
Eo’s gaze shifted, analyzing the others. They were not following his actions.
The female—Aelith.
Her brows furrowed deeply, a sharp contrast to Frid’s placid surrender. Her fingers twitched, hovering near her robes, as if torn between reaching for something and holding back.
She did not understand either.
Caelum, the younger male, hesitated before stepping forward. His movements were cautious, calculated. His voice, when it came, was strained yet steady.
“Frid… hey, can you hear me?”
No response.
Caelum’s expression tightened. His hand clenched at his side, frustration evident in the way his jaw tensed.
“Frid, snap out of it. This thing—it’s not a god.”
Eo absorbed the words.
God.
The sound had weight. A pattern of emphasis, layered with belief, meaning, uncertainty.
Interesting.
He continued listening.
Caelum exhaled sharply. “Damn it… what is wrong with you?”
Eo remained still, but his mind was working rapidly. They were attempting to extract the kneeling one from his current state.
A social structure? A hierarchy of behavior? Were they attempting to override his choice?
More data was needed.
He turned his attention back to Frid.
Still kneeling. Still whispering. Still… expectant.
Eo’s gaze narrowed slightly.
If this was a form of communication, then he needed to understand it.
A shift ran through his form.
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Tiny adjustments—microscopic restructuring. The subtle movement of dense internal matter reconstructing.
Eo had experimented with mimicking sound before. But it was not efficient. The result had been distorted, lacking depth and accuracy.
He needed something better.
He needed a true voice.
Deep within his core, filaments wove together—flexible, shifting, expanding. An entirely new structure formed within him, one that did not exist before.
A synthetic vocal cord.
Eo stilled for a moment, testing the function.
Air moved through the chamber, vibrating at calculated intervals.
And then—
“…Speak.”
The word resonated, clearer than before.
Aelith froze.
Caelum took a step back, eyes widening in disbelief.
Thorne, still silent, only tightened his grip on his grimoire.
Eo absorbed their reactions, noting their shock. Had he done something wrong? Had the sound not been correct?
His form shifted again, adjusting. The vibrations altered, refining.
“…Talk.”
This time, it was sharper, more natural.
Frid shuddered. His breath hitched—his body trembling, but not from fear.
From confirmation.
“…Divine… it speaks…”
Eo analyzed. The kneeling human’s mutterings had intensified—his voice laced with devotion.
This was not the expected outcome.
Eo paused.
His understanding of human interaction was still incomplete. Despite mimicking their language, their reactions were unpredictable.
He would need more tests.
Yet before he could continue, a new shift occurred.
Thorne moved.
Slowly. Deliberately.
The exhaustion in his limbs was evident, but his stance was firm. His fingers hovered over the grimoire at his hip, his expression unreadable.
His voice, when it came, was low and strained.
“…It doesn’t matter what I throw at it, does it?”
Aelith stiffened. “Thorne—”
But he wasn’t speaking to her.
His gaze remained locked on Eo.
“…I could cast everything my grimoire holds. I could exhaust every spell I have… And it wouldn’t change a thing.”
Eo examined him.
The male was calculating. Measuring. Assessing his own limits.
Interesting.
His energy was shifting—not with intent to attack, but with acknowledgment.
Eo had felt it before—the faint, almost instinctual understanding of power.
It was like the ocean recognizing the pull of the tide.
A realization of insignificance.
Aelith’s expression darkened. “Don’t say that.”
But Thorne only exhaled.
“…I’m not blind, Aelith.” His voice was quiet. “We are not in control here.”
Eo listened.
The structure of their interactions… the layers of emotions woven between words…
He was beginning to understand.
Slowly, deliberately, Eo spoke again—his new voice sharper, more refined.
“…Learn.”
A single word.
But it held meaning.
Eo’s form shifted. The elements within him reacted, flowing and converging, refining his structure with seamless precision. Something clicked into place—an understanding, a bridge between imitation and mastery.
His throat-like structure adjusted. The way air moved inside him changed. His vocalization was no longer hollow, no longer warped by unnatural resonance.
“Who… are you?”
The words came out smoother, clearer. Not entirely human, but close.
Aelith stiffened, her breath caught in her throat.
Caelum’s fingers twitched toward his weapon. His mind reeled, yet his body refused to move—locked in a moment of sheer disbelief.
Eo observed them carefully, noting their reactions, gauging their responses. His curiosity deepened. The sounds he produced had meaning. Power. He could feel the weight behind them, the way they shaped thought and action.
Aelith finally forced herself to speak. “You… can talk?”
Eo tilted his head, considering the words. He understood them. He processed them.
“Yes.”
A single, solid answer.
Aelith paled.
Caelum exhaled sharply, his grip on his weapon tightening.
Thorne, struggling to keep himself upright, trudged forward with heavy, labored steps. Pain laced through his body, but his eyes never left the creature before him. His instincts screamed—no amount of magic could bridge this gap. Even if he unleashed everything in his grimoire, it would be meaningless.
Futile.
He clenched his jaw, swallowing the bitter realization.
Nearby, Frid continued to mutter between wet, gurgling breaths. Blood dripped from his torn flesh, his lips curled into something eerily serene.
"Agatha… do you see? Do you see it? Divine… absolute… do you hear it speak? Ah…"
Eo turned toward him.
His interest flared.
Frid’s actions were different—his movements, his tone, his expression. Unlike the others, who were rigid with fear, this one… revered him.
Eo stepped forward.
Frid trembled, but not in fear. His broken face stretched into something resembling a grin.
"Yes… yes… Agatha… do you understand? It speaks, it walks, it… watches."
Eo’s curiosity deepened.
He crouched down, staring into the madman’s unfocused eyes.
“…Why?”
The word was crisp. Sharp. A demand.
Frid let out a choked laugh, body wracked with shivers. His hands, slick with his own blood, pressed together as if in prayer.
"Because… you are beyond."
His voice trembled with something raw. Something unhinged.
Aelith and Caelum watched in horror.
Eo’s gaze remained locked on Frid.
Something about those words stirred within him. Something unknown.
And he wanted to understand.
