I woke up to the smell of pine needles and the feeling of emptiness.
It wasn't the emptiness of the void. It was worse. It was the absence of myself.
The Sealing Art the Mage had placed on me felt like a layer of ice wrapped around my soul. It blocked the connection between my Red Core and the rest of my body. My "Mid-Rank 1" strength was gone, leaving me shivering on the forest floor.
"He's awake," a voice noted.
I sat up, my head spinning. My "sight" flickered, the white particles of the world looking dim and ghostly through the filter of the seal.
We were in a clearing. To my left, Edgar sat on a log, sharpening his sword. His aura was calm, steady-the aura of a man who had made his choice and was sleeping soundly on it.
To my right, the Orange Mage paced. His core was a chemical fire, his aura looping with that same sickening delight.
"Good timing," the Mage said, looking down at me. "The arranged time is in an hour. The Court Mage will want to see you conscious."
"You're loud," I rasped. My throat felt like sandpaper. "And you smell like cheap perfume.
The Mage chuckled. "And you have a mouth on you. A shame. We'll probably have to cut that out first."
He crouched down, his face inches from mine. I couldn't see his features, but I could feel the heat of his Orange Core.
"You're a puzzle, little anomaly," he whispered. "A blind boy who sees magic. A six-year-old with a Red Core. The Governor is going to take you apart piece by piece to see how you tick."
I looked at him. I looked at Edgar.
I thought about the camp. I thought about my mother, safe in her tent, waiting for a son who might never come back.
And then, for some reason, I thought about an alley.
I thought about rain. I thought about a knife in my ribs. I thought about a bottle of vodka named Astra.
I had died once before because I refused to let a thug take what was mine. I had died standing up.
Did I come to this world just to fold now? I asked myself. To be a lab rat? To let some piece of garbage higher up dissect me because I was too scared?
No.
The fear in my chest hardened into something cold and heavy. It felt like a stone dropping into a pond.
I'd rather die, I thought. I'd rather burn out right here than let you put me in a cage.
I closed my eyes-not that it made a difference-and looked inward.
The Seal was a cage of orange mana wrapped around my heart. It was tight. It was solid.
But mana craves purpose. And right now, the ambient mana in the forest was just drifting, waiting for a command.
Come in, I ordered.
I didn't use my meridians; they were blocked. I didn't use my lungs. I used my Will. I pulled on the white dust floating in the air.
"What are you doing?" the Mage asked, sensing the shift in the air pressure.
I didn't answer. I pulled harder.
I forced the ambient mana through my skin. I rammed it directly into my blocked channels. It felt like shoving barbed wire through a straw.
Pain.
White-hot agony exploded in my arms and chest. My body screamed. But I didn't stop. I pushed the raw, unrefined mana against the Orange Seal.
Break, I commanded.
The Seal held for a second. Then, under the sheer chaotic pressure of the intake, it shattered.
CRACK.
The sound came from inside my chest. A shockwave of released energy rippled out of me, kicking up the dust in the clearing.
My Red Core roared to life. It didn't just spin; it screamed. It had been starved, and now it was gorging on the flood of mana I was pulling in.
"He broke it!" the Mage shouted, stumbling back. "How did he break it?"
I stood up. My legs were shaking, but I stood.
My aura exploded. It wasn't the steady "tight cloth" of a Mid-Rank 1 anymore. It was a jagged, chaotic storm. The Red Core was spinning so fast it was vibrating against my ribs.
Overdrive.
I was sucking in mana and burning it instantly, pushing my body past its limit. This was a wildfire.
My meridians began to heat up. I could feel them fraying, melting under the load.
"He's Overdriving!" the Mage shrieked, his voice cracking with disbelief. "A Rank 1 is Overdriving! He's going to explode!"
Edgar stood up, drawing his sword. HIs aura spiked-reflexive combat readiness. He took a step toward me, the intent to kill forming in his muscles.
"Don't!" the Mage screamed.
Edgar froze.
"Don't kill him!" the Mage ordered, backing away toward the tree line. "We need him alive! Capture him, you idiot! Just knock him out!"
Edgar hesitated.
I saw the conflict in his particles. His instinct said Kill the threat. His orders said Preserve the asset.
Orders won.
Edgar sighed. The killing intent vanished from his aura. The density in his muscles-the Iron Bone bracing-relaxed.
He sheathed his sword.
"Fine," Edgar grumbled. He walked toward me, his hands open, his stance loose. He looked at me like I was a tantrum-throwing toddler.
"Easy, kid," Edgar said, stepping into my range. "You're hurting yourself. Just calm down and-"
He was unbraced. He was arrogant. He thought he was handling glass.
I didn't calm down.
I reached out with my "Understanding". I saw the flow of mana in the air. I remembered the valley. I remembered Valen's swing. I remembered the shape of the wind.
I don't have Wind, I thought, my veins burning as they began to dissolve. But I have Rage.
I gripped my iron short sword.
I didn't store the mana. I didn't refine it. I took the torrent into my body and funneled it directly into the blade.
The iron turned red hot. The air around it distorted-not with the clean pressure of Rank 4 Aura, but with a jagged, unstable heat haze.
Raw Severing.
"Edgar!" the Mage screamed, realizing too late.
Edgar looked down. He saw the red light. He tried to bring his hands up. He tried to harden his skin.
Too slow.
I swung.
I put my life, my death, and my second chance into a single horizontal slash.
"Sever."
A crescent of jagged red energy ripped from the blade. It wasn't a clean cut. It was a tear. It screamed through the air like a banshee.
It hit Edgar.
Because he was unbraced, because he had lowered his Iron Bone defense to capture me, because of his hubris; the kinetic force hit him like a cannonball.
CRUNCH.
There was no resistance. The Red Arc shore through his leather armor. It shore through his ribs. It blasted him backward, his body folding in an unnatural angle as the force ravaged his internal organs.
Edgar hit a tree ten feet away and slid down, dead before he hit the ground.
The Red Arc didn't stop. It continued, wild and unstable, tearing up the turf as it raced toward the Mage.
The Mage shrieked, trying to raise a shield. But he just an Orange Core. He was slow. He was a glass cannon.
The edge of the arc clipped him.
It took his legs out from under him. He spun in the air, crashing into the dirt, his aura flickering out instantly as the shock of the blow stopped his heart.
Silence returned to the forest.
I stood there, my sword glowing cherry-red in my hand.
Then, the pain hit.
It wasn't an ache. It was a collapse.
Inside my chest, I felt my meridians-the delicate pathways that carried magic-wither and snap. They melted like wax in a fire. The connection to my Red Core shattered.
The power cut out.
I fell forward. My face hit the dirt. I couldn't move. I couldn't feel my arms. I couldn't feel the white particles anymore.
The world faded to grey, then to black.
And as the darkness took me, I had one final, satisfying thought.
Never folding.