The Blood of Vampire: Chapter 5 - The Forge of the Blood-Weaver
The derelict factory became Jatex's grim training ground—the Forge of the Blood-Weaver.
He spent weeks practicing the terrifying technique he had discovered: the Siphon of Grief. It was a torturous, self-inflicted ritual.
To stabilize his Weave, he had to summon the memory of Aeliana's death—the white light, the sound of her vanishing, the utter betrayal of his father—and deliberately feed that fresh, searing agony to the Thirst.
Each successful Siphon brought agonizing control. His Shadow-Blood Weave began to change. It no longer flowed like the pure, icy current of a traditional Vaelanar. It became dense, turbulent, and dark, like polluted water—a spiritual medium unique to him. He was becoming the Blood-Weaver, the first of his kind, a creature of self-consuming trauma.
He found he could use the grief-fueled energy for more than just survival. He could subtly warp the physical world around him.
Speed: A brief spike of self-grief made his speed explosive—a silent, black blur.
Defense: He learned to instantly harden the air around him, forming temporary shields of compressed Shadow-Aethyr.
But the price was devastating. Every Siphon left him psychologically numb. After a week, he couldn't recall Aeliana's voice; he could only recall the energy of her death. After two weeks, the face of the foundry worker he murdered became a blurry, indistinct shape.
One evening, he was practicing a defensive weave when Elder Kael's spiritual projection finally pierced the region's geomantic fog. It was not a violent assault, but a cold, dismissive observation.
You believe you have mastered a new form of power, child. You have only mastered a new form of consumption. You are still the failed vessel. Your power is your agony, and agony is fleeting.
The telepathic whisper vanished. Jatex felt a cold terror that bypassed the numbness. Kael wasn't wrong. His power was finite; it was tied to the well of his soul. When the soul ran dry, only the predator would remain.
He emerged from the factory, leaner, colder, and terrifyingly efficient. He left the north and headed for the central mountains. The Wards were the only answer. They were the key to ending the curse, or the key to a power strong enough to break the Vaelanar forever.
He no longer cried. He simply Weaved.