Dreamweaver stared at him in a daze, but she also understood what he meant.
Because a little thought should have made it clear: at least within this Dream World, she was almost the only person capable of receiving the legacy of Blackfire. That was also why the factions represented by Ether and Blood Core had insisted on finding her back then. Psionics was, by its very nature, a channel to the past.
"Was that legacy... painful?"
She asked from afar.
Lynn did not turn back. He simply stood silently in the torrent of Psionics for a long, long time.
"Without experiencing it firsthand, who could know?"
In the end, Lynn did not answer her.
If so many things had already been destined, then there was no need to change them anymore. Let them be forgotten far away, becoming part of that distant past, and drift away on the wind.
The torrent of Psionics kept carrying him back toward the past.
And their legacy stretched much further back than Lynn had imagined. It passed through generation after generation of those who had attained the pinnacle of Psionics, through one shattered age after another, like endless leaves rustling down from the trees. As these scenes flashed past him, he truly came to understand the world beyond the dream.
It was like certain things: when you knew nothing about them, you indulged in fantasies, wondering whether a broader world awaited you outside, whether it was nothing but emptiness, or whether stars filled every corner.
But in truth.
It was like leaving your homeland and arriving in someone else's.
The same surging crowds, the same suffering of all living beings. Fundamentally, there was no difference at all.
The only difference was.
You were inside the dream.
They were outside it.
Countless ages receded, and