Chapter 504: Base Language

Bruce woke with the thread still faintly humming in his awareness.

That was new.

Not the humming itself. The thread had always possessed a subtle presence, a thin, warm line he could feel whenever he deliberately reached for it. What was new was that he had awakened already conscious of it, before he had even thought to look for it.

The thread had, sometime during the night, shifted from something he had to reach for into something he simply carried.

He lay still for a moment, considering the change.

Last night's attempt had accomplished something after all.

The push along the thread had failed to carry him back to his body, but it had apparently thickened the connection on his end. His soul-body's awareness of the thread was now part of his baseline perception rather than something requiring conscious effort.

The Akashic had told him that the connection would strengthen as he advanced.

Apparently, it was already doing so—slowly, subtly, but in ways he could feel.

He filed the observation away.

Then, still lying in bed, he tested something else.

He turned his attention toward the thread and simply listened.

He did not push nor reach. He only listened for anything that might come from the other side.

For several seconds, there was nothing.

Then— Very faintly, so faintly that he couldn't be certain he wasn't imagining it, he felt warmth.

Not a sensation in the conventional sense. Not a word or an emotion.

Just the barest impression that someone was near the other end of the thread.

Someone familiar.

Bruce held onto the feeling for perhaps three seconds.

Then it faded. Or perhaps his perception simply lost it. Or perhaps he had imagined the entire thing.

He opened his eyes and felt something, however faint, and the thread had carried it.

Bruce rose from the bed. Kael was already awake and dressed.

He sat at the small table with Yolen's essay spread before him, Bruce's lecture manuscript resting beside it. Judging by the faint shadows beneath his eyes, he had been reading since before dawn.

"Morning," Kael said quietly without looking up.

"How much did you sleep?"

"Enough. Maybe four hours."

Kael finally lifted his eyes. "Yolen is interesting."

"That's what I wanted to ask about."

Kael closed the essay. "He makes a very specific argument that I think you need to see. He claims the realm's fabric is written in what he calls base-language. Not the standardized seals. Not even first-principle writing as the manual describes it."

He tapped the essay. "Something earlier."

Bruce's attention sharpened."The seals and first-principle writing are both human-made adaptations of this base-language. The Codex, however, uses the original form directly. Everyone else is working with derivatives."

"That is consistent with what we were thinking last night."

"It is."

Kael leaned back slightly. "And Yolen says something else. This is the part I found particularly interesting."

Bruce waited. "He argues that base-language cannot be learned in the ordinary sense. You cannot study it from a book or master it through repetition. You can only remember it. Recognize it. Awaken to it."

Bruce's expression changed slightly.

Kael continued. "He believed a very small number of souls—perhaps one in a hundred thousand—possess an imprint of it within their souls from before their current life."

"An imprint."

"That's the word he uses. According to his theory, those souls aren't necessarily more talented than ordinary soul-script practitioners. They're simply remembering something they already knew before this life."

Kael paused. "He believed the base-language predates the division of the three Codices. Souls carrying an imprint of it are, in some sense, carrying fragments of the old unified ordering."

Bruce became very still. His thoughts immediately went to his soul talent.

The imprints he had seen when he awakened.

[Sanatio Divina].

[Sanare Veritatem].

And the third.

The one that had remained blurred and unreadable—a word he had never been able to decipher.

The first two had appeared to him in Latin.

A language from Earth.

A language that should never have existed inside his soul.

For a long time, he had assumed that the answer was simply that his soul talent had somehow carried fragments of his previous life into this one.

But what if that wasn't quite right?

What if the imprints weren't actually Latin at all?

What if Latin was merely the rendering his mind had given them?

The closest translation his consciousness could produce for something that wasn't Latin—or any other mortal language—but something older.

Something his soul already recognized.

Something it had carried long before this life.

His thoughts accelerated.

That would mean— That would mean the imprint was base-language.

And the fact that it had manifested to him as Latin—a language deeply connected to healing, medicine, and the surgeon's tradition he had belonged to in his previous life—might not have been a coincidence.

Perhaps his soul had simply translated the ancient imprint into the closest form his current consciousness could understand.

Bruce sat silently for several moments.

Kael watched him.

"You see it," the demon said.

"I see it."

"Your talent's name—the Latin—isn't actually Latin."

"It's a translation."

Bruce's voice was quiet.

"From something older. Something my soul was carrying before this life."

"Which would make you, according to Yolen's framework, one of those one-in-a-hundred-thousand souls capable of carrying an imprint of the base-language."

"Yes."

Kael's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Which would also mean that if you ever managed to communicate with the Codex, it might recognize what you're speaking."

Bruce looked at him.

"Rather than simply lecture at me."

"Exactly."

Silence settled over the room.

Theron's voice eventually came from the other side.

"This keeps getting bigger."

Bruce glanced toward him.

"It does."

"How are you holding it?"

Bruce considered the question.

"Carefully."

He leaned back.

"I don't want to assume Yolen is correct simply because his theory fits me. He could still be wrong. Many of his contemporaries believed he was. The theory book I've been reading barely mentions him, and when it does, it's critical."

He paused.

"But the correspondence is suggestive."

"And if he's right?"

Bruce's expression hardened slightly.

"Then I'm even more specifically positioned for whatever the Codex might want than Elenora's papers suggested."

Theron exhaled quietly.

"Which makes staying alive even more important."

"Yes."

Kael's voice was calm.

"This stays in the room."

Bruce met his eyes.

"This stays in the room."

They were agreed.

There was no need to say it again.

The three of them washed, dressed, and went for breakfast.

Bruce decided against the stew stall.

He wanted something different—a small change of routine before a day that promised to be different in far more important ways.

He led them to a smaller establishment near the market square, a soul-noodle vendor Theron had noticed the previous day and been curious about.

The vendor was a middle-aged soul with calloused hands and the tired, practiced movements of someone who had spent years doing the same work.

The noodles were good.

Thick and chewy, served in a broth that had clearly been simmering for hours.

Each bowl cost twelve points.

They ate standing at a small outdoor counter.

The meal settled them before the day ahead. Soul noodles were, apparently, every bit as satisfying in this realm as noodles had been in Bruce's old world.

Theron spoke through a mouthful.

"This is better than the stew."

"Different, not better," Bruce corrected. "The stew is a working breakfast. This is a sitting breakfast. We'll have the stew most days and come here when we have more time."

"I'm coming here every day I can."

"Fair enough."

They finished their meal and headed toward the southern outer district.

The Proving Ground was farther out than the Deepwood, lying in the opposite direction and requiring them to pass through parts of the city Bruce had never visited.

The architecture changed as they moved deeper into the southern district.

Unlike the academic buildings of the central outer district, this area had clearly been designed around training.

Wide spaces separated the buildings. Equipment stalls sold practice weapons and protective gear. Long, low structures that Bruce assumed were sparring halls lined several of the streets.

There was also a distinct bustle to the area—the steady movement of souls coming and going, many carrying weapons or wearing training equipment.

The Proving Ground's portal stood at the center of a broad square.

A small guard post had been built beside it.

The guard was a C-rank soul, younger-looking than most of the senior guards Bruce had encountered. He possessed the alert posture of someone who had not yet become tired of his job.

He checked their tokens and seals before looking up.

"First time at the Proving Ground?"

"Yeah. First time."

The guard nodded.

"Then you'll need the standard briefing."

He gestured toward the portal.

"The Proving Ground is a controlled training dungeon. The portal will take you into a staging area where you can select the type of session you want."

He began counting the options on his fingers.

"Single-beast practice. Multi-beast practice. Environmental hazards. Tactical scenarios."

Bruce listened carefully.

"The beasts generated inside are simulations. They look, move, and attack like real beasts, but they don't drop cores, yield essence, or provide any other resources."

"And they can't actually die?"

"Not in the ordinary sense."

The guard shrugged.

"When you deal a lethal blow, the beast dissolves. The session either continues or ends, depending on the scenario you've selected."

"Understood."

"The purpose of the Proving Ground is practice without resource consumption. You can test techniques, develop combinations, familiarize yourself with new beast types, or simply spar with your party in a controlled environment."

He pointed toward the portal.

"Sessions last for whatever duration you set. The standard maximum is three hours. After that, you'll have to exit and re-enter if you want another session."

"Understood."

The guard glanced at their sponsorship seals.

"Sponsor parties get access for free. Non-sponsored parties have to pay for sessions, and the rates are high enough that most hunters only use the facility when they have something specific to work on."

His gaze returned to Bruce.

"Elenora's sponsorship covers your usage."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

"So take advantage of it. You can run as many sessions as you want today."

Bruce nodded. "Thank you."

The guard stepped aside.

"Good training." He waved them through.