Asher’s sleeping figure lay on the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The dim light of the room cast soft shadows across his face, making him look almost peaceful. Antra stood over him, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips.


    He rubbed his hands together, the sound faint but deliberate, as if preparing for a grand performance. Stretching his arms dramatically, he took a deep breath—though he didn’t need to—and dove into Asher’s mind like a ripple breaking the surface of still water.


    Dreams, Antra knew, were the gateway to the mind. They were fragments of memories, emotions, and experiences, woven together in a tapestry that told the story of a person’s life.


    If one delved deep enough, they could uncover not just dreams but memories—raw, unfiltered, and often hidden even from the dreamer themselves. That was precisely what Antra intended to do.


    As he swam through the white mist of Asher’s subconscious, he felt a strange sense of calm. The mist was thick, almost tangible, but it parted easily as he moved forward. Soon, he found himself on solid ground, the mist vanishing instantly, leaving behind a clear, vivid landscape.


    ''This place has no mist,'' Antra muttered, frowning as he looked around. It was unusual. Normally, a person’s mind was shrouded in mist, a reflection of forgotten or fragmented memories. The mist acted as a barrier, protecting the deeper, more vulnerable parts of the mind.


    But here, everything was crystal clear, as if Asher’s mind had no secrets to hide.


    There were two possibilities, Antra reasoned. Either Asher had a perfect memory, recalling every detail of his life since birth with absolute clarity, or he had so few memories that he could remember them all without effort.


    Both scenarios spoke of an extraordinary mind, one that was either meticulously organized or tragically empty.


    Taking a deep breath—though he didn’t need to—Antra took a step forward. The scenery shifted instantly, revealing the ruins Asher had explored. The memory was vivid, almost painfully clear, and it played out in slow motion. Antra watched as Asher moved through the ruins, his silver eyes scanning the environment with precision.


    Every detail was sharp, every sound distinct. It was as if Asher was experiencing the memory in slow motion, his perception of time altered.


    ''He’s perceiving things in slow motion,'' Antra thought, amused. The ability to accelerate or decelerate perception was rare and powerful. It spoke of a mind that could process information at an extraordinary speed, a mind that could adapt to any situation.


    If Asher were to grow into a Transcended in the future, he would undoubtedly become a formidable asset to humanity.


    ''But what a pity he made the wrong enemy,'' Antra sighed, continuing his journey through Asher’s memories. He had already seen the fight against Kena through multiple perspectives, and there was nothing new to uncover here. Still, he lingered for a moment, watching as Asher moved with a grace and precision that belied his youth. There was potential here, Antra thought, but potential alone wasn’t enough to save him.


    As he walked, he occasionally stumbled upon other memories—moments with Asher’s grandfather, laughter with friends, quiet evenings in the village. They were fragments of a life lived, but none held the answers Antra sought. He moved on, his curiosity driving him deeper into Asher’s mind.


    Then something caught his eye. A faint light glimmered in the distance, drawing his curiosity. He changed course, walking toward it. The closer he got, the more the air seemed to ripple like water. The sound of screams echoed around him, growing louder with each step.


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    Finally, he reached the source of the light—a massive tree engulfed in flames. Its roots writhed like serpents, and bodies hung from its branches, burning and screaming in agony.


    Antra clutched his head, the scene overwhelming even for him. ''This is messed up,'' he thought. ''It must be his trauma.''


    The tree was a manifestation of Asher’s deepest fears and regrets, a symbol of the pain he carried within him. Antra could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the heat of the flames searing his skin even though he knew it wasn’t real.


    The screams of the burning figures echoed in his ears, a cacophony of despair and suffering.


    Satisfied with his discovery, he tried to retreat, but the tree lashed out. Its burning branches reached for him, and the figures of burning humans began to move in his direction. Antra clicked his tongue in annoyance.


    Raising his hand, he brought it down sharply, and an unseen force slammed into the tree, pushing it back. But it wasn’t enough. The burning figures continued to advance.


    Realizing the danger, Antra decided not to fight. If he woke Asher, he’d either be trapped here or forcibly ejected. Both outcomes would mean failure. And while he could always try again another day, he was far too lazy for that.


    ''Tch.'' He clicked his tongue again but kept his smile intact. With a soft step, he leaped back and plunged into the ground, using an escape technique he’d developed. It was taxing, both mentally and energetically, but it did the job.


    He emerged back on the road he’d been walking earlier, the burning tree and its horrors now far behind him. Antra continued his search, combing through Asher’s memories for anything useful. Hours passed, and he finally reached the last door—a wooden house.


    ''It’s his house,'' Antra thought. ''There must be something useful here.''


    Stepping inside, he found the house eerily empty. The kitchen was spotless, the table set with a cake that read ''Happy Birthday'' in bold letters. Antra’s mouth watered at the sight, but he knew it was just a memory. He couldn’t eat it.


    With a sigh, he moved toward Asher’s room.


    "What?!" Antra’s calm demeanor shattered as he took a step back. The room was empty, but what shocked him was the white wall with a massive crack running through it.


    He had reached the border of Asher’s mind—the soul wall, as Antra liked to call it. Souls were uncharted territory, even for him. He had encountered soul walls before but had never been able to breach them. He had even tried entering the minds of newborns, hoping their souls would be weak enough to penetrate, but to no avail.


    But now, here it was—a crack in the soul wall, large enough for him to slip through.


    ''I’ve hit the jackpot,'' Antra thought, his excitement bubbling over.


    His mind raced as he stepped closer to examine the crack. Seeing no immediate danger, he decided to take the plunge.


    ''Here we go,'' Antra smirked, stepping through the crack.


    He entered a vast, white expanse. A world of white to be exact.The entire space was dyed in blinding whiteness, a stark contrast to the vivid memories he’d just traversed. It was disappointing, to say the least, but Antra reminded himself that this was his first time inside someone’s soul. He was still learning.


    Souls were connected to many things—physical vessels, dreams, even memories. They were the core of a person’s being, and now Antra was standing inside one.


    He moved forward, his body feeling heavy, as if the soul itself was rejecting his presence.This was a new experience.


    He wasn’t welcome here, but that didn’t stop him. ''It’s just an Awakened soul. What can it possibly do against me?'' he thought, a mocking smile on his face.


    As he pressed on, his vision blurred, and a massive door came into view. It was black and white, adorned with intricate patterns that Antra couldn’t decipher. Touching it sent a chill down his spine, but it only widened his smile.


    He tried to push the door open, but it didn’t budge. With a sigh, he focused all his energy, creating a force to push it open. Slowly, the door creaked, revealing a sliver of what lay beyond.


    Kneeling down, Antra peered inside.


    At first, his smile widened. Then, it vanished. His face turned pale, then red, then purple. His hands trembled as he tried to pull away, but he was glued to the door. His instincts screamed at him to move, but he couldn’t. And then, his smile returned—wider, more manic than ever.


    In an instant, his head exploded, splattering into a million pieces. Blood sprayed across the expanse of his room, staining it crimson.


    Hugh’s eyes widened in horror as he watched his master’s body collapse, headless and lifeless.


    His breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as he recoiled from the crimson spray.


    His hands flew to his face, smearing the blood that had landed there, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.His legs gave out, and he crashed to the floor, his eyes wide with terror, a small scream escaping his lips.


    If anyone could have read Antra’s thoughts in his final moments, they would have come to a single, chilling conclusion:


    ''Sanity is temporary, but madness is eternal.''