CHAPTER 528: THE KEY TO UNLOCK THE POTENTIAL

The battlefield trembled with every strike, the air thick with smoke and the smell of scorched earth. Flames coiled and twisted around Liam’s form as he clashed with the illusion, the two moving in a blur of fire and shadow. Every swing of a blade, every snap of a dagger, sent shockwaves rippling across the terrain, carving deep scars into the blackened ground.

Sparks rained from the collisions, each one a brief flare of light in the oppressive haze, illuminating the intensity etched into their every movement. Liam’s muscles burned, sweat mingling with soot and blood, yet his motions flowed with a precision that seemed beyond conscious thought. His body moved with the logic of instinct, a rhythm of pure survival, while his mind watched in quiet awe.

Amidst the chaos, Liam’s thoughts were sharp, slicing through the fog of battle as he observed and questioned—not his movements, for they required no thought, but the balance of power itself.

Why, he wondered, were he and the illusion still equal? If this being were truly his reflection, a mirror of everything he had been and everything he had learned, then why wasn’t it stronger, more formidable? And if he himself had found the key that had previously made him inferior—Reason—then why wasn’t he overwhelming it now with that advantage?

The questions came fast, cascading through his mind, each one igniting another spark of understanding. The answers felt close, hovering at the edge of comprehension, but clarity demanded patience.

His eyes narrowed as he spun, the ground beneath him shattering and glowing from the heat of his motion. With every strike and counter, his mind probed deeper, daring to look beyond the mere mechanics of combat.

He considered the nature of the illusion. It mirrored him perfectly, yet it was not simply him. It was him as he had always been—the tactician, the analyst, the master of calculation and foresight. Every movement, every decision had been born from reason, from careful deliberation. And here he was, the current version of himself, stripped of the weight of thought, moving in raw, chaotic instinct.

The paradox gnawed at him: if the illusion was pure Reason and he was pure Instinct, wouldn’t one inevitably dominate the other? Logic dictated that there should be a hierarchy, a superior and an inferior. Yet here they stood, locked in equal ferocity, neither able to claim the upper hand.

Questions swirled in his mind, as rapid and unpredictable as his body’s movements.

If embracing his instincts was the potential Aesmirius had spoken of, then had he not already touched it? Had he not discovered the secret to transcending limitation? And yet, if instinct alone was not enough to break through, why had the illusion not achieved victory? Why did the scales remain balanced, neither side capable of crushing the other?

The answers he sought were not in strength or in speed, nor in the precision of thought or the fury of instinct. They lay deeper, hidden within the essence of his own being.

That was when he realized it. In a quiet moment amid the storm of motion, that the two forces—Reason and Instinct—were not meant to compete. They were the pillars of who he was, inseparable and interdependent. To elevate one above the other was to shackle himself, to impose restriction where there should be unity.

The thought struck him with sudden clarity, like a sun piercing the clouds after a storm. Neither the illusion nor his instinctive self was meant to dominate; the balance between them was not weakness, nor was it failure. It was truth.

The illusion existed as a perfect manifestation of Reason because that was one half of him. Instinct existed as pure motion, unbound and unpredictable, because that was the other half. To pit them against one another, to seek superiority, was folly. They were fragments of a whole, and only when understood as such could the essence of his potential truly be glimpsed.

Putting the pieces together settled something sharp and certain in his mind, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He eased back a step, letting the frenzied tempo of the clash taper as he widened the space between them. The illusion continued to prowl in a slow arc around him, those hybrid javelins orbiting its back like predatory stars, each one poised to launch the moment he gave it an opening.

’That old bastard of a god truly knows how to make life complicated.’ Liam thought as he stilled for a moment.

Aesmirius had always known what lay at the heart of this confrontation. That the illusion was never truly a mirror of his potential, but a calculated trick—a misdirection to provoke, to probe, and toss Liam’s mind into turmoil so that he would wrestle with the concept of himself

in the most agonizing, and enlightening way possible.

But instead of resentment, instead of anger at being toyed with, Liam felt something unexpected: gratitude. A sharp, honest gratitude. For Aesmirius had not simply revealed the answer or given him a straight path to understanding. Instead, he had forced Liam to discover it himself.

To feel it, to sweat it, and to bleed into it. The mind games, the manipulation, the illusions—all of it had been a crucible. And in this crucible, Liam had forged clarity.

He allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment as he stole a glance at the Aether, which stood in the distance.

’I guess it won’t kill me to say thanks.’ He thought with a faint, almost amused huff escaping his mouth as he deflected a blazing strike with the flat of his dagger.

Soon after, a single word echoed in his mind.

Unity.

The word rose in his mind with a quiet finality, ringing truer than anything else ever had. The key to his potential was not domination of one half over the other, but the seamless fusion of both. Reason without Instinct was rigid. Instinct without Reason was wild. Each alone was formidable, but together—truly together—they formed something Aesmirius had always known he could achieve. A harmony only someone like Liam could embody.

As he remained still, he felt every shift in the illusion’s movements, and sensed every microsecond of hesitation as it circled him. His instinct tracked them with perfect fluidity, while his mind measured the patterns beneath them with equal precision. Something inside him was aligning—merging and evolving.

The illusion noticed the change almost instantly. Its eyes narrowed as Liam gradually eased the battle’s pace, giving space instead of devouring it. The illusion mistook it immediately. It assumed Liam was slipping back into predictability, returning to the comfortable blueprint of tactics and calculation. A ghost of a smile tugged at the illusion’s lips. That same familiar smug smile it had from the beginning.

Liam knew. He felt the assumption roll off the illusion like a faint heatwave. And yet, he did not correct it. He let the illusion believe. He let it think his return to rationality was a regression, a mistake. All the while, within him, Reason and Instinct—once jagged and at odds—grew quiet, approached each other, and finally intertwined. His thoughts and movements aligned not in conflict or in hierarchy, but in fluid cooperation. Instinct guided where Reason refined. Reason redirected where Instinct surged.

For the first time, Liam did not feel divided. He did not feel like two halves straining to overpower one another. He felt whole.

The illusion exhaled as if preparing to dismantle him yet again, but the moment Liam lifted his gaze—calm, sharp, and unreadable—something in the air shifted. His stance no longer belonged to the tactician. Nor to the feral instinct. It belonged to something entirely new. Something the illusion had no blueprint for.

And in the next instant, everything blurred.