Awakened in a Realm of Magic and Blood

Those Who Want More

The stew was warm.

That alone felt like a luxury.

Andrew cradled the chipped bowl in both hands, letting the heat seep into his fingers before lifting it to his lips. The liquid was thin, barely more than water tinted brown, with a few floating scraps that might once have been vegetables. Still, when he swallowed, his stomach clenched eagerly, accepting whatever it was given without complaint.

Around him, the hall hummed with quiet desperation.

No one spoke loudly. No one laughed. The scraping of bowls, the occasional cough, the shuffle of feet against stone, these were the only sounds allowed. Even Eli, usually incapable of staying silent, ate with uncharacteristic focus, his head bent low, shoulders hunched protectively over his portion.

Andrew noticed that too.

Food isn’t just nourishment here, he thought. It’s territory.

He finished half the bowl slowly, forcing himself to pace his bites. The hunger hadn’t vanished. It never truly did. But the sharp edge had dulled, replaced by a heavy ache that spread through his limbs.

And then the pain arrived.

It began as a whisper. A tightness beneath his ribs. A reminder.

Andrew froze, spoon hovering halfway to his mouth.

The fight from earlier had not been kind to this body. Adrenaline and urgency had masked the damage, but now, with his stomach partially filled and his guard lowered, the injuries demanded payment.

His vision blurred slightly.

“Hey.”

Eli’s voice was close.

Andrew looked up and found his friend watching him carefully, humor stripped away, eyes narrowed with concern.

“You okay?” Eli asked.

Andrew exhaled slowly. “I think my body just remembered it hates me.”

Eli snorted, but it came out strained. “You’re shaking.”

Andrew hadn’t noticed. Now that it was pointed out, he felt it, a faint tremor running through his hands.

“I’ll manage,” he said, though it sounded less convincing aloud.

Eli leaned back, glancing around before lowering his voice. “You pushed too hard today.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Everyone here has a choice,” Eli replied quietly. “They just don’t all choose to fight.”

Andrew met his gaze. “And you?”

Eli hesitated, then shrugged. “I choose not to die.”

Andrew almost smiled.

They finished eating in silence. When Andrew stood, the room tilted, just slightly. He steadied himself against the wall, jaw clenched, refusing to draw attention. Weakness here was not a private matter. It was an invitation.

They left the hall together.

The corridors of Ashwake House were dimmer now, shadows stretching long as evening settled in. Groups of orphans lingered in corners, murmuring among themselves. Andrew felt their eyes on him more than once. Curious. Measuring.

Word traveled fast.

They reached their sleeping area, a long room filled with narrow mats laid end to end. No walls. No privacy. Just bodies and breath and survival stacked together.

Andrew lowered himself onto his mat carefully.

The moment he lay back, pain exploded through his side.

He gasped, fingers digging into the fabric beneath him as his breath stuttered. His chest tightened, every inhale sharp and shallow.

“Idiot,” Eli muttered, already kneeling beside him. “You’re really not okay, are you?”

Andrew stared at the ceiling, sweat beading along his temples. “I’ve been better.”

Eli reached out, then hesitated, unsure where to touch without making it worse. “You should’ve told me.”

“And what would you have done?” Andrew asked. “Asked them for help?”

Eli’s mouth twisted. “Fair point.”

He sat back on his heels, studying Andrew with an expression that mixed frustration and something else. Something heavier.

“You fought today,” Eli said slowly. “Not like someone swinging wild. You knew where to hit. When to move.”

Andrew closed his eyes briefly. “I didn’t think about it.”

“That’s the scary part,” Eli said.

Andrew turned his head to look at him. “You said earlier that I’d lost my senses.”

Eli snorted. “You still might’ve.”

“But you don’t think I’m lying.”

Eli was quiet for a long moment.

Finally, he sighed. “I think… whatever happened to you, it broke something. Or maybe fixed something that was broken before.”

Andrew absorbed that.

“I don’t remember learning to fight,” he said. “But my body does. It reacts before I can stop it. Like instinct layered over confusion.”

Eli scratched his head. “Former you wasn’t like that. He avoided trouble. Talked his way out when he could. Ran when he couldn’t.”

Andrew winced. “That… tracks.”

“So imagine my surprise,” Eli continued, “when you stand up to Ashwake’s dogs and don’t get flattened.”

Andrew frowned. “Ashwake’s dogs?”

Eli leaned closer. “The bullies. They’re backed.”

“By who?”

“Older kids. Caretakers who look the other way. Sometimes people outside.” Eli’s voice dropped. “Ashwake House isn’t just an orphanage. It’s a sorting pit.”

Andrew’s pulse quickened. “Sorting for what?”

Eli shrugged. “Labor. Fighters. Servants. Anything useful. Anyone useless gets worked until they break or disappear.”

Andrew stared at the ceiling again.

“So Ashwake House is a cage,” he murmured.

Eli smiled thinly. “And we’re the rats.”

Silence settled between them, broken only by distant footsteps and the occasional cough.

After a while, Eli spoke again.

“The caravan,” he said. “If it’s real, it’s dangerous. People vanish when those things come around.”

“But they also leave,” Andrew replied. “Don’t they?”

“Some do.”

Andrew turned his head. “And those are the ones who want more.”

Eli met his gaze, something sharp flickering behind his eyes. “Or the ones who survive wanting it.”

Andrew shifted, pain flaring again, but he ignored it. “If there’s a test, I need to be ready.”

Eli laughed softly. “Ready how? You can barely sit up.”

“For now,” Andrew said. “But my body… it’s strange. It recovers faster than it should.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “That’s not comforting.”

“It’s useful.”

Eli leaned back, folding his arms. “So what’s your plan, mysterious memory-lost fighter?”

Andrew exhaled. “I watch. I learn. I don’t draw attention unless I have to.”

Eli grinned. “Too late for that.”

Andrew smirked faintly, then sobered. “And if there’s a way out, I take it.”

Eli looked away. “Everyone wants out.”

“Not everyone,” Andrew said. “Some people want control.”

Eli glanced back at him sharply. “You noticed.”

Andrew nodded. “There are people here who eat better. Stand straighter. Move like they belong.”

Eli chuckled. “Welcome to the hierarchy.”

They talked quietly as the night deepened.

Eli explained who to avoid. Who to tolerate. Which corners were safest. Which caretakers were cruel, and which were simply indifferent.

Andrew listened, committing it all to memory.

As fatigue finally dragged at his mind, he felt it again.

The strange calm.

When he focused, truly focused, the pain receded slightly. Sounds dulled. The world narrowed, as if something unseen wrapped around his awareness, insulating him.

Andrew frowned.

The sensation vanished the moment he tried to grasp it.

Later, he told himself. Figure it out later.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

He felt it before he heard the voice, the subtle shift in atmosphere, the way conversations died mid-whisper.

A caretaker stepped into the sleeping hall.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in clean robes that stood in sharp contrast to the rags around him. His gaze swept over the room with practiced detachment.

“Listen,” the caretaker announced, voice carrying easily through the space.

Bodies stilled. Heads lifted.

“There will be an inspection in the coming days,” he continued. “All residents are to remain compliant. Anyone causing trouble will be dealt with accordingly.”

A pause.

“And be advised,” the caretaker added, lips curling faintly, “that Ashwake House will soon be receiving… visitors.”

A ripple of tension ran through the room.

Andrew’s heart began to race.

The caretaker turned and left, his footsteps fading into the distance.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then whispers erupted like sparks catching dry straw.

Andrew closed his eyes.

The rumor was no longer a rumor.

The cage was about to crack.