The morning light was weak, filtered through the shattered windows of the old hall where Arlen and Lira had taken refuge. The events from the previous night left him restless, yet something within him refused to settle. He could feel it — an undercurrent moving through his body that had nothing to do with exertion, mana, or fatigue. It was older. Ancient.
He glanced at his own hands, noting a faint shimmer along his veins. The glow was subtle at first, like a trick of the light, but it spread quickly, tracing paths across his arms and chest like glowing threads of ice and lightning intertwined.
"Arlen… your veins…" Lira's voice trembled slightly. She had noticed it before he even did.
Arlen flexed his fingers, watching the glow pulse in sync with his heartbeat. It wasn't just light — it was movement, almost alive, like something embedded deep within him was stirring.
"It's… nothing," he muttered, trying to convince himself, though his own pulse betrayed his uncertainty.
A sudden, distant sound made him pause. A whisper, or maybe a fragment of one, carried across the hall — broken, disjointed, almost like a phrase cut mid-sentence. He couldn't understand it, but it pulled at the edges of his mind.
Not instinct… he realized, instinctively ducking as an invisible force struck the floor where he had just stood. The fragments within him vibrated violently, responding to a presence he couldn't yet see.
He barely had time to react as a figure lunged from the shadows — a corrupted beast, malformed and wreathed in dark mana. Its attack was sudden, violent, and precise. Arlen didn't think. His frost flared, lightning tracing sharp arcs across his arms, and the beast was thrown back, smashed against the crumbling stone wall with no conscious effort on his part.
Lira's eyes widened.
"Arlen… you didn't even—"
He shook his head, confused, watching as the beast twitched, convulsed, and fell still.
"I… I didn't do that," he whispered, voice low. The pulse of power inside him was overwhelming. "Something else… moved me."
It wasn't instinct. It wasn't skill. It was as if a fragment of a life long past had reached out and acted through him, pulling at the strings of reality itself. He could feel it in his bones, in the flicker of lightning that danced without thought, in the cold frost forming in precise patterns along his skin.
"Arlen?" Lira's voice brought him back. Her hand was on his shoulder. "Are you… okay?"
He looked at her, trying to form an answer, but the sensation inside him was still thrumming — alive, aware, and yet incomplete.
The hall was silent again, except for the faint echo of that fragment stirring. He could sense it now, deep in the back of his mind — dormant yet awake, waiting.
That wasn't me… Arlen realized, shivering despite the warmth of the morning. Something else is here. Something I don't control… yet.
The aftereffects were more than physical. His senses felt heightened, his awareness stretched thin across the room. Every sound, every shadow, every flicker of light drew his attention involuntarily. It was exhausting, but exhilarating in a way he couldn't explain.
"We should move," Lira said softly. "Whatever that was… it's not gone."
Arlen nodded, reluctantly acknowledging her wisdom. But deep down, he knew this was only the beginning. Something inside him had awakened, and the fragments had begun their subtle, merciless work.
And I don't even know what I'm capable of yet…