The morning sun, a hesitant intruder, cast long shadows across Victor Volkov's chamber. The residual ache in his bones was a dull thrum against the cacophony of his reawakened mind.
Memories sharp, vivid of his past life as Edric Thornwell, once a mere reader of tales, now mingled with the harsh reality of his new existence.
He was Victor Volkov now. A warlock in the making. A pawn in a story he now intended to rewrite. The clarity he felt was almost disorienting.
He remembered Lucas's spectral form an echo of guidance amid the storm of his awakening and the chilling pronouncement of his destiny: an intermediate boss, fated to fall, destined to die after losing the only true companion and mentor he'd ever have.
But a fierce resolve lit within him. Lucas would not suffer that fate. Victor would protect him, this ghostly enigma who had seen beyond his madness and into his core.
"Lucas," Victor called out, his voice still rough, a raw contrast to the calm now settling over him. He pushed himself upright from the plush cushions of his bed, the silk sheets rustling softly like fallen leaves in autumn.
The opulent room, lavish and towering, stood as both a gilded cage and a platform of potential, a reminder of the immense wealth and influence the Volkov family wielded.
Near the ornate window, a faint shimmer stirred the air.
Lucas appeared his form composed of faint moonlight and lingering regrets, materializing with a soft, wistful sigh. "You are awake, young master. And… different."
Lucas's spectral eyes, wise and weary, examined Victor, noting the subtle firmness in his posture, the sharpened intent behind his gaze.
"I have much to learn, Lucas," Victor said, his voice gaining steadiness. "And I need your guidance. Teach me this 'black magic' you spoke of. Teach me how to control the darkness before it consumes me."
The words felt like treason, treason against a world that revered the light and rejected the shadows. But Victor knew, with a chilling certainty, that embracing the darkness was his only way forward, his path to resistance, to survival.
Lucas's ghostly frame pulsed slightly with surprise. "Black magic?
But you have only just begun to accept your warlock heritage. To already seek its mastery…" He hesitated, something like pride flickering in his eyes. "Very well. But be warned, Victor, this path is steeped in danger. Black magic draws from negative emotions. To wield it is to teeter on the edge of corruption."
"I understand," Victor replied, gaze unwavering. "
But I will not fall. I will master it. And I will learn swordsmanship too. If I'm to move through this world unnoticed, I need a disguise. Swordsmanship alongside this 'Auror' you mentioned can serve as my mask."
He clenched his fist, envisioning the swirl of dark energy, the sleek arc of a blade, the art of hiding in plain sight.
Just then, the heavy oak door creaked open. Elias Volkov, Victor's father, appeared, framed in the brighter light of the hallway, his face etched with that familiar blend of exhaustion and unspoken concern.
Victor hadn't uttered the word "Father" in years not since his mother passed. The memory stirred something deep and aching.
"Victor," Elias began, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, "I heard about the… incident at the banquet. What happened? Your outburst, the… scene you caused."
His eyes swept over Victor, then paused on the empty space where Lucas lingered silent, unseen.
"Are you quite well?"
Victor met his father's gaze. A strange warmth flickered within him at being addressed so plainly. "Father," he said, the word unfamiliar yet deeply fitting. Elias's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his expression shifting surprise, perhaps even vulnerability, briefly surfacing.
It had been so long since Victor had said that word. The subtle change in Elias's demeanor felt like a gentle tug on something fragile between them, an invisible thread, tentative and real.
"I apologize for my behavior, Father," Victor continued, his voice steady, respectful, yet resolved.
"But that man insulted my mother. He spoke vile lies about her. I couldn't just sit there and let it stand."
Elias's brow furrowed. A man of dignity, of quiet strength, he had always struggled to reach Victor, especially after his wife's death, when the boy had spiraled into odd behavior and turmoil that seemed like madness.
"He insulted your mother?"
Elias echoed, his voice softening. "Victor, you know those rumors are baseless. Your mother…" He faltered, the grief still sharp despite the years. "She was a remarkable woman."
"Exactly," Victor replied, his voice carrying a conviction Elias hadn't heard before. "And I won't let anyone tarnish her name. I wasn't acting out of madness. I acted to protect her memory."
Elias looked at him carefully, the tension behind his eyes giving way to thought. Something had changed, Victor's anger had transformed. It was no longer reckless fire, but focused heat.
This was the moment an opening to rebuild, to reshape what had been broken. Elias studied the young man before him, trying to see the boy he once knew.
Gone was the wild unpredictability, replaced by clarity and resolve. "Swordsmanship," Elias murmured, recalling Victor's earlier mention.
He had once dissuaded Victor from pursuing combat, believing it too brutal for his fragile health. But now...
"You want to train with the sword?" Elias asked, the question layered with surprise.
"Yes, Father," Victor confirmed, a rare smile forming at the edge of his lips. "It will help me discipline both body and mind."
The invisible thread between them tugged again, subtle, soft, yet real. A faint shimmer, an ethereal blue line, began weaving between father and son, glowing with tentative trust.
Elias, never one to offer his approval lightly, gave a small nod. "Very well, Victor. If this is what you truly want, then you shall train. I will speak with your brother, Gideon. He is a skilled swordsman."
As Elias stepped away, Lucas's form flickered gently. "A wise decision, young master," he murmured. "A father's acceptance is a powerful shield."
Victor turned his eyes to where his father had stood, a quiet satisfaction blooming in his chest. The first blue thread had been spun. Delicate, yes but real.
The path ahead would be long, filled with danger and doubt, but for the first time, Victor felt something different. Not just fear or obligation.
He would not merely survive this world. He would carve his place in it. He would protect those who mattered.
Starting with the ghost who had become his unexpected guide.