Power never asked permission.
It collected payment.
Lucien Arvayne learned this on the third night after his first manipulation.
The headache began as a needle.
Sharp.
Precise.
Right behind his eyes.
He lay still in his academy dorm bed, blanket pulled neatly to his chin, breathing slow and controlled. Moonlight slipped through the narrow window, painting pale lines across the stone floor.
Ignore it, he told himself.
He had endured worse.
The needle became a spike.
Then a drill.
Lucien's fingers twitched beneath the blanket. His jaw clenched hard enough to ache. The pain wasn't physical—not entirely. It pulsed in rhythm with his thoughts, flaring whenever his mind drifted too close to the Shadow Avatar.
A mistake.
His vision blurred.
The room tilted.
And then—
He was falling.
The nightmare did not bother with symbolism.
It was literal.
Lucien stood in the void of his inner consciousness, but it was wrong now—fractured. Cracks ran through the colorless space like broken glass. Through them, he could see memories bleeding out.
Earth.
War rooms.
Phone calls that ended nations.
And Astraeon.
The academy halls.
Class F.
His sister's scraped knee.
Blood on stone.
In the center of it all stood the Shadow Avatar.
But it wasn't looking at him.
It was looking around.
Lucien tried to speak.
No sound came out.
The Avatar turned slowly.
Its eyes—his eyes, yet not—held no recognition.
Only evaluation.
The cracks widened.
Something pulled.
Hard.
Lucien woke up choking.
He sat bolt upright in bed, clutching his head as white-hot pain detonated behind his eyes. His heart hammered violently, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
Sweat drenched his nightclothes.
"…hnng—!"
He bit down on the sound, forcing it back into his throat.
Not here.
Not now.
The system flared into existence unbidden, its presence harsher than before.
—WARNING—
—SOUL INTEGRITY: 61%—
—AVATAR SYNCHRONIZATION STRAIN EXCEEDING SAFE LIMITS—
—RECOMMENDATION: REDUCE AVATAR AUTONOMY—
—FAILURE TO COMPLY MAY RESULT IN PERMANENT FRACTURE—
Lucien stared at the glowing warnings through blurred vision.
61%.
Lower than he had expected.
Lower than he liked.
He pressed his palm against his forehead, breathing slowly, forcing the pain down through sheer will.
So that's the price, he thought calmly, even as nausea churned in his stomach.
The system waited.
For fear.
For hesitation.
Lucien gave it neither.
Acceptable losses, he decided.
The pain receded slightly—as if offended.
Morning came without mercy.
Lucien attended class with dark shadows under his eyes and a slight tremor in his hands. He leaned heavily into it, letting his steps falter, his expression grow pale and fragile.
Perfectly believable.
"Are you sick?" Eliane asked softly as he took his seat.
Lucien managed a weak smile. "J–just a headache…"
Not a lie.
Just incomplete.
Instructor Rolfe barely noticed. He droned on about basic mana circulation, already resigned to the mediocrity of his students.
Lucien took notes carefully.
Not because he needed them.
Because it helped him stay anchored.
Each word written was a reminder of where he was.
Who he was pretending to be.
The headache pulsed again.
Lucien's pen paused for half a second.
Too long.
He resumed immediately.
No one noticed.
Lady Evelyne did.
She noticed that evening.
Lucien sat at the dinner table of the Arvayne estate during a brief return visit, posture a little too stiff, appetite noticeably reduced. He pushed food around his plate more than he ate.
His sister chatted happily beside him, oblivious, occasionally stealing from his plate with a grin.
Lucien let her.
Normally, he would smile faintly.
Tonight, his expression lagged a fraction too long.
Lady Evelyne's eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
She said nothing.
She never did.
But when Lucien stood too quickly afterward and swayed, she was already there.
A steadying hand on his shoulder.
"You are unwell," she stated quietly.
Lucien flinched, then nodded.
"I–I'm fine, Mother…"
A pause.
Her grip tightened just slightly.
"You are not," she said. Not a question.
Lucien looked down.
The mask slipped for a breath.
Just a breath.
Lady Evelyne saw it.
Not weakness.
Strain.
"You will rest tonight," she said. "No studying. No academy preparation."
Lucien hesitated.
Then nodded obediently.
"Yes, Mother."
She released him.
But her gaze lingered as he walked away—sharp, thoughtful, dangerous in its own way.
Lucien felt it on his back.
She's watching more closely now, he assessed.
Not a problem.
Just a variable.
That night, Lucien did not sleep.
He monitored.
The Shadow Avatar moved through the academy's forgotten spaces, but its movements had changed.
They were no longer purely efficient.
It paused sometimes.
Observed things that were not immediately useful.
A spider rebuilding its web after patrols passed.
A discarded letter, half-burned, containing a confession no one would read.
A locked room it had no reason to enter.
Lucien felt the pauses like tiny tugs on his consciousness.
Why are you stopping? he thought, directing the question along the link.
The response came slowly.
Not in words.
In impressions.
Pattern deviation, the Avatar conveyed.
Unaccounted variables.
Interest.
Lucien's headache spiked sharply.
He hissed softly, gripping the edge of his bed.
Interest?
That wasn't supposed to be there.
Avatars were tools.
Extensions.
Not—
Lucien focused, tightening the central link, reasserting dominance.
The Avatar stilled instantly.
But something lingered.
Not defiance.
Awareness.
The system reacted at once.
—NOTICE—
—AVATAR INDEPENDENT COGNITION INCREASING—
—CURRENT STATUS: WITHIN TOLERANCE—
—PROJECTION: FUTURE AUTONOMY POSSIBLE—
Lucien exhaled slowly through his nose.
Pain flared, then dulled.
He considered the implications carefully.
Independent cognition meant adaptability.
Creativity.
Unpredictability.
All of which were advantages—
In the wrong hands.
In his hands?
Potential.
Dangerous potential.
Lucien lay back against his pillow, staring into the darkness.
His head throbbed.
His soul ached.
And yet—
He felt alive in a way he hadn't since before his first death.
Power always costs something, he reflected.
The question is never whether to pay—
A faint smile touched his lips.
Only whether the return is worth it.
Somewhere deep beneath the academy, the Shadow Avatar tilted its head, studying a reflection in dark water.
Not because it needed to.
Because it wanted to.
Lucien felt the curiosity ripple through the link.
He didn't suppress it this time.
"…That's dangerous," he murmured softly to himself.
A pause.
His smile sharpened just a little.
"Interesting."