➤ 『WELL OF THE SOUL』
Name: Kivas Chariot
Race: Fateling
Total Level: 1
➤ 『Attributes』
💪 Strength (STR): 8
🧠 Intelligence Quotient (IQ): 21
🙏 Piety (PIE): 30
🛡️ Vitality (VIT): 10
💨 Speed (SPD): 7
🎯 Dexterity (DEX): 10
🍀 Luck (LUK): 15
➤ 『Vitals』
❤️ Hemo Psyche (HP): 36 / 36
🔮 Mana Psyche (MP): 26 / 26
➤ 『Derived Stats』
🗡️ Attack Power: 8
✨ Magic Power: 21
🔆 Divine Power: 30
🛡️ Defense: 10
🍃 Magic Defense: 30
👁️ Detect: 19
🧩 Disarm Trap: 12
🚧 Evade Trap: 9
🏃 Action Speed: 7
🎯 Accuracy: 12
🌀 Evasion: 9
⛓️ Resistance: 23
➤ 『Classes』
◈ Priest Lv1
➤ 『Skills』
◈ Divine Soulmate Imbuer Lv1 – You possess the power to imbue a Genesis Core onto your fated soulmate.
◈ Fate Weaver Lv1 – You possess the power to weave fate.
➤ 『END OF THE WELL』
Kivas sat cross-legged, the glow of the canopy casting slow, sleepy patterns across her shoulders. She wiped her fingers on her thigh, then waved her hand to summon her Well of the Soul. Her eyes scanned over the now-familiar interface.
Her brows furrowed.
"…Huh."
Samael, who was reclined a few feet away against a tree, one leg crossed over the other, gave her a side glance. "What is it now?"
"I think… some of my attributes just increased." Kivas tilted her head, squinting at the pulsing numbers before her. "But I haven't fought the Nightmare yet."
"Let me guess," Samael said, already smug. "You're wondering why that happened?"
"Oh wow, how did you know that?" Kivas sarcastically remarked "Who would have thought that I'm wondering why that happened. Did my new class do this?"
"Correct. Gaining a class influences your base attributes. The change is subtle, sometimes unpredictable," Samael explained, flicking a stray twig off her shoulder. "But it's natural. A new class rewrites parts of your soul's structure. The soul adapts, and the stats reflect the new form."
Kivas played around her finger upon the Well of the Soul in front of her, nodding to herself. "So there's bonus effects from simply getting a class... that's great."
"Don't get too eager."
"Why not? What if I get more classes now? Like… stack them all up. Priest today, Mage tomorrow, maybe Thief on Sunday—"
"You will weaken yourself," Samael said flatly.
"Why?"
"The more classes you hold, the more divided your growth becomes. Each class demands experience to develop. If you split your focus, none of them evolve properly. Not until your soul is seasoned enough to carry that weight."
"Oh…" Kivas rubbed her chin. "So having too many classes early on is like juggling with broken hands. Got it~"
"Focus on one. Learn its rhythm. Let it bloom. Then you'll know when to branch, train their concept, and evolve."
"Okay… okay…" Kivas looked back at her hand. "So how many classes did you have before… you know."
Samael smirked without turning. "More than a hundred."
Kivas nearly fell over. "Holy numbers, what?!"
"Class slots expand with time, with mastery, with essence consumption. I've lived long enough to gather what most wouldn't in three lifetimes, heh."
"I mean—of course you did. You were terrifying. You are terrifying."
"I was revered and feared," Samael added, resting her chin on her palm. "My classes were not just tools—they were extensions of my identity. At some point, I even have the ability to craft and tinker with a unique class of my own."
"Woah, can I achieve that level in my lifetime?"
"If I continue to mentor you, take my original form back, and find yourself interesting enough to not outright kill you. Maybe."
"What kind of person does that to their soulmate?" Kivas chuckled.
"I'll set the precedent," Samael smirked.
"Yeouch."
A second later, Samael was gone from Kivas' sight.
Kivas then found a finger playfully pushing her cheek in curiosity. She then saw Samael above her shoulder, speaking in a rather serious tone.
"I forgot to point this out, but let me inform you of something, Fateling."
"Yweah?" Kivas raised her eyebrow, her cheek still being pushed by Samael's index finger.
"Never reveal the content of your Well of the Soul to others. Not even me."
Kivas replied with a half-lidded gaze. "You're literally the one mentoring me, though."
"That doesn't change the principle." Samael's tone sharpened. "The Well is sacred. Personal. Telling another being about your skills, your attributes, your class specifics—it weakens you. Spiritually. You let them touch your existence through knowledge alone."
"Seriously?"
"This world listens when names are spoken. Skills especially. Their names are power. Numbers, too—revealing even one value in the wrong presence could be as dangerous as dropping your weapon mid-fight."
Kivas exhaled slowly, nodding. "Okay… but then—is it dangerous to open the Well in front of someone, like I'm doing now?"
"No," Samael answered. "The interface is soul-locked. Only the owner sees it. I can't read anything on your screen, not even if I gouged your eyes out and used them myself."
"Terrifying way to make a point, but thanks."
Samael retracted her finger and began sitting right beside Kivas, the moment of intensity fading. "You'll learn to protect it. As you grow, others might try to trick you into revealing what you carry. Don't give them that edge."
Kivas smiled. "Understood."
She opened the Well again briefly, scanning the lines. Another thing she noticed.
"Mhm, my HP and MP values went up too."
"Of course," Samael said. "Those rise with class acquisition. Your soul's vessel has grown broader."
"But I don't have any skills that use them yet."
"Then you acquire a skill," Samael said easily. "Not every skill belongs to a class. Some are ambient, born from concepts, rituals, or environments. If you can learn the language of the world, you can learn to speak through it."
"Do you… know one I can learn?"
Samael stood. "I do."
Kivas perked up. "Oh?"
"One that aligns well with your class, even if it's not Priest-specific. The class amplifies it, lets it shine." She motioned to follow. "Come."
They crossed the clearing, moving through soft moss and tall grass until they reached the remains of their earlier meal. The chitin shells of the centipede-like Voidling glimmered under the filtered light.
Kivas approached the glistening remains. "Okay, what now? Don't tell me that I need to eat the shell too…"
Samael pointed to a jagged, roundish plate of polished carapace. "Touch it. Don't think. Just let your essence bleed."
Kivas crouched beside it, placing both hands against the shell. It was warm, thrumming faintly.
"Now close your eyes," Samael instructed. "Reach. Extend your soul. Even if you can't imagine the process, just imagine the concept. Picture a tendril. Something from your chest. Your spine. Your crown. Let it touch the chitin."
Kivas followed the instructions.
Eyes closed.
Breath steady.
In her mind, she imagined a soft filament, like smoke, uncoiling from her sternum and pressing gently into the slick shell beneath her hands.