The Academy of Solara was the most powerful school of magic in the Empire. They were the ones who took children with the spark. They were supposed to be the teachers of the next generation of nobles, but in the slums, they were known as the "Soul-Snatchers." If they found a child with potential, that child was taken. They were never seen again. They became soldiers, or servants, or worse.Vargus had said his men saw a spark in Tiana. He had threatened to take her tomorrow. But it seemed the news of a "High Spark" in the slums had reached the Academy even faster."She is not a student," one of the robed men said. His voice was cold and bored. "But the reading is off the charts. If we bring a girl with this much raw mana back to the Headmaster, we will be promoted to Inner Circle members by morning.""What about the mother?" the second man asked. "She’s dying. She’s making a lot of noise.""The sickness is advanced," the first man said, waving a hand. "Just silence her. We don't want t

The slums did not have a name, but everyone called them the "Warren." It was a place of mud, broken wood, and the smell of sickness. Usually, the Warren was full of noise. You could hear men fighting over a crust of bread. You could hear women coughing in the dark. You could hear the rain hitting the tin roofs.But tonight, as Drogo Payne walked through the narrow, twisting alleys, the world was quiet. It was the quiet of a graveyard.Drogo moved like a shadow. His new boots, the fine leather ones he had taken from the dead Lord Vargus, made no sound on the wet ground. The heavy wool cloak hid the purple glow of his skin, but it could not hide the coldness he brought with him.As he passed, the puddles of water on the ground turned to thin sheets of ice. The small rats that lived in the trash scurried away, their tiny hearts bursting with fear. They knew a predator was coming. They knew death was walking on two legs.Drogo’s eyes were fixed on the distance. He could see his shack. I

Drogo’s reaction was not human. He didn't walk. He appeared in front of Tiana. One moment he was ten feet away; the next, he was standing between Tiana and the giant man.Karg’s hands reached for Tiana’s throat, but they found Drogo’s chest instead.Drogo grabbed Karg’s wrists."You are too slow," Drogo said.He twisted his hands.Karg’s screams filled the shack. The sound of bones shattering and tendons tearing was loud and rhythmic. Drogo did not stop until Karg’s hands were facing the wrong way, the bones sticking out through the skin.Drogo leaned in close, his glowing eyes inches from Karg’s face."You said my brother was a Null," Drogo whispered. "You said he was a bucket for trash."Karg was sobbing, his face twisted in agony. "Please... mercy...""I looked into the Chasm, Karg," Drogo said. "There is no mercy there. There is only hunger."Drogo placed his hand on Karg’s forehead. He didn't use the flame. He didn't use a spell. He simply used his raw strength to push. He pushed

The three men were gone. Jax was a shriveled husk. Karg was a broken mess of bone. Pip was nothing but gray ash blowing through the hole in the wall. The shack was quiet, but it was not a peaceful quiet. It was the heavy, suffocating silence that comes when death is standing in the corner, waiting for its turn.Drogo Payne stood in the center of the room. His hands were still trembling. Not from fear, but from the raw, dark power pulsing in his fingers. The purple glow of his veins was dimming, but the hunger in his chest was still there. It felt like a cold, hollow mouth, always open, always wanting to be filled."Drogo..."The voice was so soft it was almost a breath. It was Tiana. She was kneeling by the thin, dirty mat where their mother lay. Tiana’s face was pale, and her eyes were wide with a fear that made Drogo’s heart ache. She was looking at their mother, and then she was looking at him.Drogo walked over. Every step felt heavy. He looked down at his mother, Elara.She was

The ground beneath Drogo’s feet didn't just burn; it vanished. The gray dirt turned to a black, glassy liquid. The rusted iron pipes in the field melted and flowed like water.The shockwave of the blast knocked over the few dead trees that still stood miles away. The black fire hit the clouds, turning the falling rain into black soot that covered the area for miles.Drogo kept screaming. He felt the jagged shards of the slag leaving his blood. He felt the boiling lead being drained from his veins.After a minute that felt like a century, the fire died down.The Dead Fields were no longer a field. There was now a massive, steaming crater in the earth, fifty feet deep and a hundred feet wide. The edges of the crater were glowing with a dull, red heat.Drogo was standing in the center of the crater.He was naked. The noble’s cloak and the rags he wore had been turned to ash by the venting. His skin was pale again, though the black veins remained as faint, permanent scars.He fell to his