Level Up Legacy

Arthur returned to the dungeon beneath the spirit city.

He came alone this time. The others stayed in the camp, still trying to touch a fruit or light a single wisp without phasing through it. Tiara had made the most progress, her form pulsing slightly with each attempt. Ali had given up halfway and was now meditating by the pond.

Arthur didn't blame them.

Most people came to the Spirits Realm with the expectation of fighting. They trained themselves to resist and destroy, not to listen.

But this legacy… it wasn't a sword.

It was a mirror.

The path back into the underground chamber felt shorter than before. The black cat didn't appear again, but Arthur didn't need it to guide him. He remembered every turn, every soundless echo, and every shift in the air. Even in a world built from spirit, the silence here was different—heavier.

When he reached the chamber, the shard was gone. Melted into him.

But the room wasn't empty.

He stepped forward, and the runes along the walls shifted. They were the same carvings as before, yet now they pulsed faintly with silver light. As if recognizing him.

Arthur raised his hand. Spiritual energy followed—not surging, not flaring, but responding. He didn't need to command it. He only needed to ask.

He took another step, and the floor rippled like water, revealing lines beneath the surface. Pathways. Layers of overlapping sigils that told stories not written with words, but with memory.

He crouched down, running a hand over the markings.

They weren't static. They pulsed faintly with echoes—fragments of thoughts from those who had walked this chamber long before him.

A whisper passed through his mind. It wasn't language, just… feeling.

Grief.

This wasn't a legacy built from triumph.

It was born from loss.

Arthur sat down in the center of the room, where the shard once floated. He crossed his legs and let the silence reach him. Not in defiance, not in resistance—just in acceptance.

The Legacy responded.

The screen appeared again, hovering quietly in front of him.

[Legacy of Spirits: The Final Sigil]

[Level 1 — 3% Progress]

[Passive: Spiritual Form Stability – Stable]

[Passive: Sigil Recognition – Expanding]

[Active: Soul Insight – Usable]

[Condition met: Inner Calm]

[New Passive Unlocked – Echo Reading: You can perceive emotional imprints left in spiritual environments.]

A pulse of energy passed through his chest. It wasn't sharp. It was warm.

He looked toward the nearest wall.

The carvings trembled. Not physically, but within him.

He saw a man—a seeker, faceless yet familiar—kneeling in front of the shard. The memory wasn't visual. It came as weight: desperate sorrow, the need to preserve something precious even in death.

Then another imprint. A woman placing a hand on a younger child's shoulder. Fear masked with forced bravery. The sigil she carved beside her glowed faintly, meant to shield someone long gone.

Arthur leaned forward, touched the sigil.

A name passed through him. Not in sound, but in intent.

They had left these marks not to be remembered—but to guide others.

He pulled his hand back. His fingers trembled slightly.

"I can't forget these people," Arthur said to himself. "Even if I don't know their names."

There were hundreds of runes here. Maybe thousands. A forgotten archive, not of knowledge, but of sentiment.

A soft sound stirred behind him.

Arthur turned.

The black cat sat by the entrance, golden eyes reflecting the dim light. It didn't move. It just stared.

Arthur met its gaze. "You knew this would happen, didn't you?"

The cat tilted its head, then stood and turned. It walked back through the wall, the same way it had led him before.

Arthur stood and followed.

The wall opened again. This time, the hallway beyond was longer.

The deeper he went, the more the environment changed. Stone gave way to root. Carvings faded into living etchings—veins of silver light pulsing through the walls like breath.

He passed through another chamber. A half-formed tree grew from the center, its bark carved with overlapping symbols.

A group of spiritual forms stood around it, unmoving. He recognized none of them—but they weren't strangers.

They were echoes. Spiritual remnants so faint they no longer held shape, just posture. All of them facing the tree.

Arthur stepped forward. The moment his foot crossed into the chamber, the air changed.

A message bloomed at the center of his vision.

[Ancestral Echo Detected: Whisper Grove]

[Warning: Emotional saturation nearing threshold]

[Engage Soul Insight?]

[Yes] [No]

He accepted.

The world bled away.

In the next instant, Arthur stood amidst a field of whispers.

He couldn't see anything. Only voices—fragmented, low, like overlapping dreams.

"She didn't come back—"

"—our fault, we should've sealed it earlier—"

"—keep her safe, even if we fall—"

Then a scream.

One made of grief, not pain.

Arthur opened his eyes.

The tree was glowing.

Its branches stretched across the chamber now, piercing the ceiling, connecting to dozens of veins of silver energy. Each one leading to a sigil.

Arthur understood then.

This was a grave.

A spiritual one.

The seekers buried here didn't have bodies. They left behind pieces of themselves in the form of sigils, and this tree was their anchor. The Legacy wasn't just a gift.

It was a memory, preserved.

Arthur raised his hand and placed it on the trunk.

"I'm not worthy of this," he said quietly.

The tree answered with warmth.

Not words. Not visions. Just a gentle acceptance, like a hand on his shoulder.

Then a fragment flowed into him. Not knowledge. Not power.

A feeling.

Resolve.

Arthur walked out of the chamber sometime later. He didn't know how long it had been. Time flowed differently down there.

The cat was waiting near the exit again.

This time, it didn't disappear when he approached.

Arthur crouched, extending his hand.

The cat walked toward him and pressed its head gently against his fingers.

Then it spoke—not with a voice, but a message that arrived inside his mind like a thought not born from him.

"Now, you've seen it."

Arthur didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

The cat turned and vanished into the shadows once again.

Back at the shack, the fire was still burning. Tiara had fallen asleep beside it. Ali was nowhere to be seen.

Arthur walked in, grabbed another fruit, and took a bite.

The taste was richer this time.

He looked at his hand, saw the energy swirling quietly, then reached into the air and drew a sigil using his fingertip.

It lingered. Stable.

He pressed it against the floor.

It stayed.

Tiara stirred. Her eyes opened slowly. She looked at the sigil and then at Arthur.

"You did something," she said.

Arthur nodded. "I saw what it meant to leave behind something… even after death."

Tiara didn't speak again.

Arthur leaned back, gazing into the fire.

He didn't feel stronger.

But for the first time since arriving here…

He felt real.