Alex cut his hair because it was getting in the way.
Not symbolically. Not dramatically.
It kept falling into his eyes during training, sticking to his forehead when he sweated, catching on the collar of his jacket. Annoying. Inefficient.
He borrowed a pair of dull shears from the lodging keeper and stood in front of a warped mirror, the glass fogged at the edges. One clean cut became several. Long strands fell into the basin, dark and uneven.
When he finished, his hair was short—cropped close at the sides, just long enough on top to stay out of his eyes.
He looked… sharper.
More like himself.
Or less like who he'd been pretending to be.
He stared at his reflection for a moment, then turned away.
"Chaos," he said.
The dragon stirred.
(Not now.)
"Yes, now."
The training yard behind the lodging was empty—packed dirt, a few cracked posts, nothing to overhear. Alex rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of the blade at his side.
"I want answers."
Chaos exhaled slowly, a sound like stone grinding.
(You always do.)
"The heart," Alex said. "The chains. The system. Start talking."
Silence pressed down, thick and deliberate.
Then—
(No.)
Alex didn't blink. "No?"
(Explicit answers will get you killed.)
"That's not an answer."
(It is the only one you get.)
Alex's jaw tightened.
"You put your heart inside me," he said. "You chained something in my body. You let a system attach itself to my existence. You don't get to say 'no'."
Chaos laughed quietly.
(Ahead of schedule,) the dragon said. (Still impatient.)
"Stop deflecting."
(If I explain,) Chaos continued, ignoring him, (you will rush.)
Alex's grip tightened on the hilt of his blade.
"I don't rush."
Chaos's presence loomed, vast and cold.
(You absolutely do.)
Alex opened his mouth—
—and closed it.
Because part of him knew it was true.
"Then explain why restraint matters," Alex said. "Not what. Why."
A pause.
(Survival was never about knowing,) Chaos said. (It was about not being noticed.)
Alex let that settle.
"The chains," he pressed. "What are they sealing?"
(You.)
"That's not helpful."
(It is precise.)
Alex exhaled sharply through his nose. "And the heart?"
Chaos's tone shifted—subtly heavier.
(A guarantee.)
"Of what?"
(That you don't die easily.)
Alex's eyes narrowed. "That's it?"
(No.)
"Then—"
(Stop.)
The word wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
(You are alive because you did not push,) Chaos said. (You survived the year you lost because you endured instead of demanding answers.)
Alex felt a flash of anger—hot, sharp.
"I was chained," he snapped. "Drugged. Broken. That wasn't endurance."
(It was survival.)
Silence stretched between them.
Then Chaos spoke again, quieter.
(You are ahead of schedule.)
Alex stiffened. "Explain."
(Your body stabilized sooner than expected. Your control exceeds safe parameters for your age. Your mind did not fracture.)
"Because of you?"
(Because you did not resist everything.)
Alex looked away, staring at the dirt.
"So you're saying if I knew more… I'd ruin it."
(Yes.)
"And the system?"
Chaos paused longer this time.
(It is not mine.)
Alex's head snapped back. "Then whose—"
(Enough.)
The dragon's presence receded slightly—not anger, but finality.
(You do not need knowledge yet. You need time.)
Alex laughed, short and bitter. "That's convenient."
(Truth often is.)
He paced once, twice, then stopped.
"You're asking me to trust you."
Chaos didn't answer immediately.
(Trust is irrelevant.)
Alex frowned.
(Survival required restraint,) Chaos said. (Not faith.)
That hit harder than Alex expected.
"So I just… wait," Alex said. "Train. Pretend. Endure."
(Yes.)
"And when I turn sixteen?"
Chaos's voice sharpened.
(Then restraint becomes optional.)
Alex swallowed.
He hated this.
Hated the vagueness. The control. The sense that everything important was being decided around him, not with him.
But he also recognized something worse.
Chaos was right.
Every time Alex had pushed—every time he'd demanded more—something had gone wrong.
The kidnappers.
The church.
The chains.
He exhaled slowly.
"Fine," he said. "I'll wait."
Chaos's presence warmed, just slightly.
(Good.)
Alex sheathed his blade.
"One more thing," he said.
(Ask.)
"If I'm ahead of schedule," Alex said, "what happens if I slow down?"
Chaos laughed—low and amused.
(Then you might live long enough to matter.)
Alex didn't smile.
But he didn't argue either.
Later that night, lying on his bed, Alex reached up and brushed his newly cut hair.
Short.
Practical.
No loose ends.
He still didn't have answers.
But for the first time, he understood the shape of the question.
And for now—
That was enough.