The days after the sparring match passed in a strange quiet. Draven did not corner Varek again. He did not shove him in the corridors or mock him in the training yard. He watched from a distance with cold eyes and said nothing, and that silence was more unsettling than any insult. Varek knew what it meant. Draven was planning something big. He sat on his bed late one night with the Gnarl curled beside him and the weight of the quiet pressing down on his chest. The blood bond hummed under his skin, a faint pulse that never quite went away, and through it he could feel Azrath-Kai's slow ancient patience waiting for him to speak. "He is going to do something soon... i can feel it," Varek said. "He has been too quiet. Draven is not the kind of person who lets go of a grudge." [You are right. I can feel his hostility even from here, he is planning to harm you, not just to humiliate you, he also want to harm you.] "Then I need to see what it is before it happens." [You will need to bo

Varek threw himself into the training. Every night, after the Academy emptied and the streets went quiet, he slipped out the back gate of the Soren manor and walked the dark road to the Beast Graveyard. The Gnarl padded beside him now instead of hiding in his coat. It had grown to the size of a large dog, its black fur sleek and its limbs thick with muscle, and it moved through the shadows like a piece of the night itself. [You are getting faster,] it said as they passed through the eastern gate.[Your body is changing, the blood bond is making you stronger.] "I can feel it," Varek said. "I do not get tired as quickly. I can see better in the dark but my head still hurts from the last vision." [The pain will never fully go away but you can learn to manage it.] They reached the graveyard and Varek sat down in the cold grass. The moon was a thin sliver overhead and the wind moved through the dead weeds like a whisper. He closed his eyes and reached forward with his mind, not pull

The flame haunted him. Varek sat through his classes the next day with the warmth of it still tingling in his palm. The training master droned on about beast formations and tactical retreats, but Varek heard none of it. He kept flexing his fingers under the desk, remembering the tiny flame that had danced in his hand. It had been small, weak and barely enough to light a candle but it was his. It was real fire, earned through real sacrifice, and it had answered his call. The memory of his mother's bread was still fresh in his mind. The warm kitchen, the flour on her hands. The taste of honey and yeast. Azrath-Kai had given it back to him, whole and unbroken, and he had wept with relief when the warmth flooded back into his chest. The loophole worked, he could trade memories and still get to keep them. But the cold weight was still there. Every time he breathed deep, he felt it pressing against his lungs like a stone lodged behind his ribs. He had borrowed eight visions now. Weeks o

Varek did not make any move. The old man stood at the edge of the treeline with his hood pushed back and his sharp pale eyes fixed on Varek like a hawk studying something small and curious. The grey dawn light fell across his lined face and silver hair, and there was something in the way he stood, perfectly still and perfectly calm, that made Varek's skin prickle. "Who are you?" Varek called out. His voice was steady but his heart was beating hard against his ribs. The Gnarl had gone very still beside him, its red eye fixed on the stranger. The old man did not answer right away. He looked at the Gnarl for a long moment, then back at Varek. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, like stones grinding together at the bottom of a stream. "I have been watching you for some time, Varek Soren. You and your creature. You are not what the world thinks you are." Varek felt a chill run down his spine. "You did not answer my question. Who are you?" "I am someone who knew your fat

Varek could not stop thinking about the journal. He sat through his classes the next day with his father's words burning in his mind like a fire that would not go out. The training master called his name twice before he heard it. "Soren! Are you deaf or just stupid?" Varek snapped his head up. The master was glaring at him from across the training yard. The other students were also staring at him. Draven smirked from his spot near the weapons rack. "Sorry," Varek mumbled. "I did not sleep well." "Clearly. Maybe if you spent less time dreaming and more time training, you would not be the worst fighter in this Academy." The master shook his head and turned away. "Pair up for drills. Soren, you are with Valerius. Try not to embarrass yourself." Draven's smirk widened. He picked up a practice sword and walked toward Varek with the lazy confidence of someone who knew he was going to win. "Try not to cry this time, Pest Tamer." Varek stood and picked up his own practice sword. He d