The rain had stopped by the time Elias gathered what little he owned.
A change of clothes. The medallion Maren had given him. Nothing else. Everything he'd ever possessed could fit in a small leather satchel stolen from a dead merchant three years ago. Or weeks ago. Time was still confusing.
He stood in the doorway of the abandoned stable one last time, looking at the pile of straw that had been his bed, the cracked walls that had sheltered him. Not much. But it had been his.
"Thank You," he whispered to the empty air. "For this place. For keeping me safe."
Silence.
Then, softly: "You are welcome, My son."
Elias smiled—that new smile, the real one—and closed the door behind him.
* * *
Maren waited at the city's eastern gate, leaning against a weathered stone pillar with the casual confidence of someone who'd spent decades not needing to prove anything to anyone. Two horses stood behind her, saddled and ready.
A notification appeared:
═══════════════════════════════════════
✧ DISCIPLE IDENTIFIED ✧
[NAME: Maren Holt]
[RANK: Saint - Third Rank]
[ASPECT: Sovereign Mirror (Armory Type)]
[POWER LEVEL: 7.5/10]
[TITLE: Instructor of Aspencrest Academy]
[YEARS OF SERVICE: 20]
━━━ ACCOMPLISHMENTS ━━━
Authorities Sealed (Class 3): 47 Pact Bearers Defeated: 203 Disciples Trained: 89 Cities Liberated: 8 Class 2 Dominations Fought: 5
(Assisted Transcendent disciples in sealing)
━━━ SOVEREIGN MIRROR ABILITIES ━━━
⚔️ Reflection/Inversion Shield
⚔️ Crystalline Light Blade
⚔️ Pact Severance
⚔️ Authority Sealing (Class 3 Only)
⚔️ Healing Light
⚔️ Flash Step
✧ STATUS: Allied ✧
═══════════════════════════════════════
She looked up as Elias approached. Her eyes—sharp, calculating, but not unkind—swept over him once.
"You came."
"You doubted?"
"Most Awakened hesitate. They have lives. Families. Reasons to stay." She pushed off from the pillar. "You don't."
The words should have stung. They didn't. She was right.
"Is that why Sanctus chooses people like me?" Elias asked quietly. "Because we have nothing to lose?"
Maren's expression softened, just slightly. "He chooses people like you because you have everything to gain. Come. We have five days of riding ahead. Plenty of time to answer your questions."
She handed him the reins to a gray mare. Elias stared at the horse.
"I've never ridden a horse."
Maren's lips twitched. Almost a smile. "Then this will be educational."
* * *
The first hour was torture.
Elias had survived three years in the spiritual realm fighting demons. He'd faced Gregor Vess and lived. He'd killed eighty-three free-floating demons in Ashwell and changed the city's atmosphere.
But he could not, for the life of him, figure out how to sit on a horse without feeling like his spine was being systematically demolished.
Maren rode ahead, back straight, posture perfect, completely at ease. She didn't look back. Didn't offer advice. Just rode.
Elias gritted his teeth and held on.
After the second hour, his body started to adjust. Muscle memory from the trial—the constant combat, the endless adaptation—kicked in. His hips learned to move with the horse's rhythm. His legs found the right pressure. His hands relaxed on the reins.
By the third hour, he wasn't fighting the horse anymore. He was riding it.
Maren glanced back. Raised an eyebrow. Said nothing.
They rode in silence through medieval countryside. Rolling hills. Stone farmhouses with thatched roofs. Narrow dirt roads winding between fields of wheat and barley. Occasionally, a farmer would look up from his work, see them, and quickly look away.
Elias saw it—the subtle change in their expressions. Not fear, exactly. Respect? No. Recognition.
They knew what Maren was. What he was becoming.
* * *
They made camp that first evening in a small clearing off the road. Maren built a fire with practiced efficiency—three strikes of flint, kindling positioned perfectly, flames catching immediately.
Elias watched her work, then asked the question that had been gnawing at him since Ashwell.
"Why couldn't I burn the demons attached to people?"
Maren didn't look up from the fire. "Because they're protected by free will."
"What?"
She sat back, firelight dancing across her scarred face. "The demons you killed in Ashwell—the free-floating ones—they exist independently. No human consent. No invitation. They're parasites. Vermin. You can burn them because they have no right to be there."
She pulled out a piece of dried meat from her pack, tore off a strip with her teeth. "But the demons attached to humans? Different story. At some point, consciously or not, that person opened a door. Made room. Gave permission."
Elias frowned. "So... they wanted the demon?"
"Not necessarily. Most don't even know what they're inviting in. A man nurses his anger long enough, refuses to let it go, feeds it—eventually, an anger demon finds a home. A woman obsesses over what others have, compares herself constantly, drowns in envy—a jealousy demon settles in. They don't want the demon. But they created the space for it."
She leaned forward, eyes intense. "And because the human's will is involved—even if they don't realize it—you can't just burn the demon off. You'd be violating their free will. Sanctus doesn't work that way."
Elias's hands clenched. "So what can I do? Just... watch people suffer?"
"You can help them choose to close the door."
"How?"
"Truth. Most people don't even know the demon is there. They think the anger is just 'who they are.' The jealousy is 'natural.' The lust is 'normal.' You show them the truth—that it's not them, it's something feeding on them. And you give them an alternative."
"Sanctus."
"Sanctus," Maren confirmed. "If they call on Him, genuinely, He breaks the attachment. The demon loses its grip. Then you can burn it."
She tossed another branch onto the fire. Sparks spiraled upward into the darkening sky.
"That's why you can't do this alone, Elias. You need wisdom. Discernment. Training. At Aspencrest, you'll learn how to identify which demons can be burned immediately and which require a different approach. You'll learn how to speak truth without condemnation. How to offer hope without manipulation."
Elias stared into the flames. "And if they refuse? If they don't want to let go of the demon?"
Maren's expression hardened. "Then you move on. You can't save everyone. Some people love their darkness more than they fear it."
The words settled heavy in Elias's chest.
He thought about the people in Ashwell. Henrik. Lady Mira. Thomas. They'd wanted freedom. Chosen it. But what about the others? The ones who'd seen him, heard whispers of change, and turned away?
"That's the hardest part," Maren said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "Not the fighting. The letting go."
They sat in silence after that, watching the fire burn low.
* * *
Over the next four days, Maren taught him more.
Not just about demons. About everything.
She told him about the seven continents. Kragaspekt, where dinosaurs still roamed and men hunted them with primitive but ingenious weapons. Theodoria, with its amphitheaters and pyramids. Eldivarn, the medieval continent they traveled through now. Nexaspire, the technological marvel where Eliana lived. Aqualythe, eighty percent underwater. Zephyndiv, floating impossibly in the sky. Shadruin, where catastrophes struck without warning and people built their lives around chaos.
Then, she told him about them: the princes. Seven of them, each ruling a continent, each embodying a fundamental corruption. Malphas of shadows. Mammon of greed. Belial of lawlessness. Asmodée of lust. Léviathan of envy. Belzébuth of gluttony. Belphegor of sloth.
"And above them?" Elias asked.
"Satan," Maren said simply. "The first rebel. The one who fell from the highest place."
"Can he be killed?"
"No. Only a Divine can face him. And even then, not to kill. To push back. To resist. To maintain the balance until the end."
"The end of what?"
Maren looked at him. "Everything. But that's not your concern yet. Right now, you need to focus on becoming more than an Awakened with a fire you barely controls."
On the third day, she explained the ranks.
"Awakened is just the beginning," she said as they rode through a dense forest. "You've opened your eyes. You can see what others can't. Your Aspect has manifested. But you're raw. Untrained. You fight on instinct."
"What comes next?"
"Ascended. You learn to discipline your Aspect. To use it with precision instead of desperation. Your body adapts. Your aura becomes identifiable. But more than that—" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "—your heart begins to change."
"Change how?"
"The corruption inside you—the anger, the bitterness, the selfishness that everyone carries—it starts to burn away. Not because you're trying to be good. Because Sanctus is purifying you from the inside out."
Elias thought about the trial. The demons whispering lies. The way their words had hurt because part of him believed them. The slow realization that their voice wasn't his voice.
"And after Ascended?"
"Saint. That's where I am now." Maren's voice carried weight. "To become a Saint, you have to surrender something fundamental. A pillar of your identity. Something you've built your life around. Vengeance. Ambition. Fear. Pride. You offer it up, and Sanctus takes it. And in its place—" She smiled faintly. "—He gives you something better. Wholeness. Authority. The ability to seal Class Three demons."
"What did you surrender?"
Maren was quiet for a long moment. "My need to be in control. I spent fifteen years trying to save everyone through sheer willpower. Failed more times than I can count. Almost burned out completely. Then Sanctus asked me: 'Will you trust Me with the outcomes?' And I finally did."
She looked at him. "That's when everything changed."
"And beyond Saint?"
"Transcendent. Supreme. Divine. Each level requires something more. Each level changes you more deeply. But those are conversations for later. Right now, you need to focus on surviving the academy."
"Is it dangerous?"
Maren's laugh was short and humorless. "Not in the way you think."