*Knock Knock*
A dull thud echoed through the small dining room, cutting through the warm clatter of spoons against plates. Steam curled up from a pot of porridge, and the faint scent of fried eggs lingered in the air. Lydia pushed her chair back, ready to rise, but her mother’s hand shot out, fingers tightening around her wrist. “I’ll get it,” she said softly, already moving toward the door. Her palm lingered on the handle. “Yes? How can we help you?” A deep voice responded from the other side, calm but heavy. “Greetings. We’re here for the name Adrian Alexander.” The door creaked open, and the morning light revealed two men in black suits, polished shoes reflecting the dust of the road. Their white ties were crisp, one wore sunglasses, while the other wore a hat. “That’s my son,” his mother answered warily. “I hope there’s no problem?” From the table, Adrian and the others leaned forward, the food was temporarily forgotten. The taller of the men inclined his head. “We come on government order. We have reason to believe your son is… an awakener.” The word dropped like a stone into still water. Adrian’s mother stepped aside quickly. “Please, come in.” “Adrian.” Her voice carried across the dining room, tight with unease. Jordan, his father, was already standing, his broad shoulders tense, while he rose too, his chair scraping the floor. “Kids, take your food to your rooms,” His father ordered with a firm voice. The younger ones didn’t argue, they hurriedly gathered their plates and scurried away, glancing back with wide eyes. The two strangers entered, movements precise, like men used to being obeyed. “Sit, please,” His father gestured with a polite tone, although still wary of these strange men. They lowered themselves into the chairs opposite Adrian’s family. “You know why we’re here,” the first man with his hat on began, his voice low and deliberate. “A report came in of a young awakener in this town. A fortunate sign, transcendents are rare these days…” He paused, letting silence hang. “But…” His words lingered. “But what?” Adrian’s mother pressed, her hands twisting in her lap. The man removed his shades, his eyes dark and steady. “But new transcendents often lose control.” His father brow furrowed. “Lose control, how?” Though his boss, the police chief, had hinted at this before, his father wanted to hear it from the government itself. The man folded his hands. “When awakening begins, their spiritual sensitivity spikes. Some see things not meant to be seen. Some hear voices. Some can’t sleep at all. If they fail to stabilize, best case, they burn out and die. Worst case… they descend into madness. Or mutate into monsters.” His tone dropped, heavy as iron. “Last month, a girl in Riverford lost control, she ran mad. Her summons destroyed her home and… slaughtered her family.” Adrian’s mother gasped, her hand flying to her lips. His father arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close. But Adrian himself tried to remain calm. His gaze met the man’s. “There must be a way to prevent this.” The second man, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “Yes, there are potions that helps digest your power quickly. We offer tools to help you rise above your power before it consumes you. The government maintains a vast supply, especially tailored for beast-type awakeners.” Adrian narrowed his eyes. “By offer, you mean you want me to work for you.” The man smiled faintly. “Sharp boy" He said, and continued, "Yes. But it isn’t by force. As long as you’re registered with the government or a recognized church, no one will trouble you. If you go through the church, they may help, but expect strings attached. And if you choose to remain independent, you’ll pay for every potion you use out of pocket.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice is steady and his words are enticing. “With us, the government offers more. Your family will have twenty-four-hour protection, police watching from the shadows here in MoonBrook or any city you move to. If danger comes, squads will be dispatched immediately. On top of that, one pound monthly as your base pay, bonuses for your contributions, and even a new apartment in a safer district.” From the hallway, Theron and the others froze, eyes wide. One pound every month? That’s practically noble living! Their hearts raced at the thought of such wealth. Clara, too young to understand a word of it, simply mirrored her siblings, mouth agape, eyes shining, because that’s what the big ones were doing. Even Jordan and his wife exchanged stunned looks. Protection, money, status, it was more than they had ever dreamed of. Adrian, for the first time, felt his heart stir with temptation. The two men rose smoothly, buttoning their jackets. “We’ll take our leave now, Mr. Adrian. Think carefully, we will be back in three days.” The door clicked shut behind them. Silence clung to the room until Theron burst forward, eyes shining. “Bro! You have to consider this crazy offer!” “Theron,” His father voice cut sharp, though his own hands trembled slightly, “It’s your brother’s decision. Don’t push him.” “Your father’s right,” their mother added, still pale from the shocking truth. “We can’t let him sacrifice his life for our enjoyment.” “I know, I know…” Theron muttered, shoulders slumping, his excitement drained into guilt. But his eyes still glowed with longing. “Still… one pound a month. Do you know how insane that is? That’s twenty years’ wages for an ordinary man, without eating food or drink. Bro… that’s basically wealth. At this point, i am beginning to think school is a scam, being a transcendent is the way out.” Lydia rolled her eyes at her third elder brother, her lips curling into a mocking smile. “Good thing you weren’t the one who awakened. You’d probably lose control the very first day, blinded by money before you even saw your power.” Her jab cut sharp at Theron’s obvious greed. Adrian and his parents had to press their lips together to keep from laughing, while Clara, the baby of the house, burst into giggles without even understanding, delighted just because the others were. Theron’s face flushed crimson, and for a moment it really looked like steam was hissing from his ears. “You dare say that again?” he growled, fists clenched. With a squeal, Lydia darted behind their mother’s back, sticking her tongue out at him like a cheeky imp.
Latest Chapter
Tallying the cost
The phantom chill of the God-Anchor was a new constant in Adrian's bones, a deep-seated cold that even the morning sun couldn't touch. The brand on his soul that mark of attention from the Hungry Void, thrummed with a low, persistent frequency, a reminder that their victory had come with a price far beyond the battlefield. He sat on the edge of his bed, the silence of the mansion pressing in on him. His first coherent thought wasn't of strategy or power. It was of Alan. He pulled up the System interface, his focus sharp. [Core Character: Alan - The Mystic Maestro - STATUS: COMPROMISED] The red, flashing text sent a jolt of cold dread through him, sharper than any magical chill. "System, full report on Alan's exposure and current status," he commanded, his voice tight. A flood of data streamed through his consciousness, grainy images of Alan's desperate flight through the archives, the collapsing bookshelves, the final, brutal look of comprehension on Sister Anya's face before Alan
Once the issue is all over, we can go back to being enemies
The silence after the rift closed was a physical thing, thick and heavy as wet wool. It was broken by the small, helpless sounds the vessel-boy made, shivering against the obsidian stake. Finn was the first to move, scrambling up the black steps with a knife to saw at the thick chains.Adrian didn't move. He stood over the spot where Mordian had been erased, the God-Anchor cold at his feet. The internal wound from using it was a hollow ache, a piece of him scooped out and fed to the silence. But beneath that, a new, deeper cold was settling in. The brand.It wasn't a pain. It was an awareness. A fixed point in the geography of his soul, a icy pinprick that felt like a distant, unblinking eye had just taken note of his coordinates.Boots scuffed on the stone behind him. He didn't need to turn. He knew Maria's step."You look like shit," she said, her voice rough. She came to stand beside him, looking down at the empty space where the ritualist had been. Her arm was bleeding from a deep
The Vessel
Adrian's boot hit the first step of the black altar. The stone wasn't cold. It was a void, sucking the warmth from his soul. Each step upward was a fight against the hook in his core, the hungry void above pulling him in while the dead weight of the Anchor tried to drag him down.He was halfway up when a wave of force slammed into him, not from the rift, but from the side. It wasn't physical. It was a command, written in pure will.STOP.Adrian staggered, his head ringing. At the top of the platform, Brother Mordian had turned from the raging pillar of green light. His eyes were no longer human. They were pools of the same oily blackness as the rift, his tattooed skin cracking like dry earth, leaking that same void. He held one hand toward the rift, sustaining the connection, and the other was now pointed at Adrian.YOU ARE THE KEY. YOU WILL BE THE GATE. The words weren't spoken; they were branded directly into Adrian's mind.The pull intensified. Adrian grunted, driving the base of t
Don't let it touch you!
The world broke with a sound like a mountain dying.One moment, the only noise was the wind and the distant, maddening drums from the basin below. The next, a concussion of force slammed into the ridge, so visceral it felt like a physical blow. The air didn't just grow cold; it became thin, starved, as if the life was being sucked out of it.Adrian's knees buckled. A white-hot brand seared the core of his being, the psychic hook the Reclamationists had embedded in him was no longer a tug, but a chain, and something on the other end was yanking with the force of a collapsing star. His vision swam, the grim faces of his pack smearing into a blur. For a terrifying second, he wasn't on the ridge. He was nowhere. A vast, gray, silent nothingness pressed in on him, and at its heart was a single, overwhelming sensation: Hunger. It was a cold, simple, and absolute need to consume, and his soul was the brightest thing on the menu.On the Sunken Altar below, the gaunt figure of Brother Mordian
The Bleeding Land
Two days of hard marching north-east had stripped away the familiar. The rugged but life-filled foothills of the Serpent's Teeth gave way to a blighted expanse that seemed to suck the very vitality from the air. The ground was a cracked, grayish-purple, like old, clotted blood. Sparse, twisted trees clawed at a sky the color of a day-old bruise. There was no birdsong, no scuttling of insects. Only the moan of a wind that carried the taste of ash and ozone.The Howling Peak army moved through this desolation with a grim, focused silence. The initial energy of their departure had been replaced by a wary tension. Their enhanced senses, a gift from Adrian's ascension, were now a curse, amplifying the wrongness that permeated everything."It's not just dead," Bella murmured, her boots scuffing the brittle ground. "It's... infected. The earth is in pain. It's screaming, but the sound is too high for anyone but it and I to hear."Adrian felt it too, a constant, low-level psychic static that
Alan has been discovered
The polished marble floors of the Eldrige Mage College’s main concourse had never felt so much like a pane of thin ice over a bottomless chasm. Alan walked with his head down, the hood of his apprentice robes pulled up, a single student among a river of them flowing between lectures. But where their minds were filled with spell matrices and alchemical formulas, his was a tangled snare of hyper-vigilance and remembered terror.Every reflection in a window was a potential enemy. Every snatch of conversation was a coded message. The System was silent, but its lessons were etched into his nerves. He saw the world as a spy now, and the picture was terrifying.He felt it first—a subtle, probing pressure against the mental shields the System had taught him to maintain. It was a feather-light touch, a psychic tendril searching for a crack. It was the same feeling he’d had in the Weeping Stone, just before Sister Anya had grown suspicious. They were here. They were using magic to find him.His
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