Chapter Six: Remains of the weight
The forest did not return to silence after violence.
It pretended to.
Mist clung low to the ground, curling around blackened roots and shattered bark, as if trying to hide what had happened the night before. The air smelled wrong—not just of blood, but of something older, metallic and cold, like stone left too long in deep water. Birds did not sing. Insects did not stir. Even the wind moved carefully, whispering instead of breathing.
Lucius woke with a hand clenched around his chest.
Pain greeted him instantly—not sharp, not sudden, but heavy. A pressure behind his ribs, as if something unfamiliar had settled there and refused to leave. His vision blurred, then steadied. Above him, broken branches framed a strip of gray sky.
He inhaled.
The breath came too easily.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
He pushed himself up slowly. His muscles responded without protest, without soreness, without the usual resistance that came after exhaustion. His body felt… ready. Too ready.
Lucius frowned and looked down at his hands.
They were clean.
He remembered blood—thick, dark, steaming as it soaked into the forest floor. He remembered claws, teeth, the sound a monster made when it realized it was dying. He remembered screaming, though he wasn't sure whether it had been his.
Yet his hands bore no sign of it.
"Awake already?"
Mike's voice came from the left. The bard sat on a fallen log, lute resting against his knee, dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept at all.
Lucius scanned the clearing. Jak leaned against a tree, arms crossed, eyes closed but alert. Lucy knelt near a small fire, stirring something in a dented pot. Alicia stood slightly apart, wiping her blade with slow, methodical care.
All alive.
Relief washed through Lucius—followed immediately by guilt.
"How long?" he asked.
"An hour," Lucy said without looking up. "Maybe more."
Lucius tried to stand.
The world tilted.
Jak was there instantly, one massive hand gripping Lucius's shoulder. "Easy."
"I'm fine," Lucius muttered, though the words rang hollow even to him.
Lucy finally looked up. Her gaze sharpened—not with concern, but calculation. "No," she said. "You're not."
Lucius met her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You absorbed it."
Silence fell heavier than the mist.
Mike's fingers stilled on the lute strings. Alicia's blade paused mid-wipe. Jak opened his eyes.
Lucius swallowed. "Absorbed what?"
Lucy stood and approached him slowly, as if he were unstable ground. "The aura," she said. "From the rift-born creature. High-level. Ancient. You didn't just kill it—you took something from it."
Lucius's chest tightened again, responding to her words like a wound being pressed.
"I didn't mean to," he said.
"That's what scares me," Lucy replied.
She raised her hand, murmured a low incantation, and pressed two fingers lightly against his sternum. Magic brushed against him—testing, curious.
Lucius flinched.
Lucy recoiled as if burned.
Her breath caught. "That's not possible."
"What?" Mike asked. "What did you feel?"
Lucy stared at Lucius like she was seeing him for the first time. "Resistance," she said quietly. "Not active. Instinctive."
Jak frowned. "You saying he blocked your magic?"
"I'm saying his body did," Lucy answered. "Without permission. Without awareness."
Lucius felt cold spread through his veins. "Is that bad?"
Lucy hesitated.
"Yes."
She stepped back and began pacing. "Aura absorption always leaves residue—instability, emotional bleed, physical backlash. But in you…" She shook her head. "It's organizing. Settling."
Alicia sheathed her sword with a soft click. "Like it belongs."
Lucy looked at her sharply. "Exactly like that."
Lucius clenched his fists. The pressure in his chest pulsed once, slow and deep, like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
"I didn't ask for this," he said.
"No one ever does," Lucy replied. "That's the lie power tells."
---
They moved at noon.
No one wanted to stay near the rift scar longer than necessary. The ground there remained warped, as if reality itself had been bruised. Lucy insisted they circle wide, marking the area mentally but leaving no physical signs.
"Someone will come," she said. "Eventually."
"Empire?" Mike asked.
Lucy nodded. "Or worse."
They traveled in tense quiet. Lucius walked at the center of the group, hyper-aware of every sensation. His hearing felt sharper—too sharp. He caught the snap of distant twigs, the low hum of insects buried beneath bark, the faint echo of footsteps that weren't there.
Dragon pride, whispered a voice in the back of his mind.
He shoved the thought away.
Jak noticed first. "You're not breathing hard."
Lucius blinked. "What?"
"We've been walking uphill for an hour," Jak said. "You should be sweating."
Lucius wiped his brow.
Dry.
Lucy stopped. "Show me your eyes."
"What?"
"Now."
Lucius hesitated, then looked directly at her.
For a split second, his pupils narrowed vertically.
Alicia gasped.
Lucius stumbled back, heart hammering. "What—what was that?"
Lucy's face had gone pale. "Dragon blood," she whispered. "Active."
"I've always had it," Lucius said defensively.
"No," Lucy replied. "You've always carried it. This is different."
Jak's jaw tightened. "You saying the aura woke it?"
Lucy nodded slowly. "Or fed it."
Lucius felt sick.
---
Far away, beyond forests and ruined roads, marble halls echoed with quiet fury.
The First Prince of Dragonia stood before a wide obsidian window, hands clasped behind his back. The city below bustled—ignorant, obedient, alive.
A shadow detached itself from the corner of the room and knelt.
"Report," the prince said.
"A rift opened in the northern forests," the shadow replied. "Unregistered. High-level."
"And?"
"Aura disturbance afterward. Unusual. The signature does not match known Abyss worshippers."
The prince's fingers twitched.
"Survivors?"
"Yes. A small party."
The prince turned slowly. His eyes burned with restrained hunger. "Find them."
The shadow hesitated. "If this is another anomaly—"
"I said find them," the prince snapped. "Before the gods notice."
He faced the window again, jaw clenched.
Power was slipping through cracks he did not control.
And he hated that.
---
Night came faster than expected.
They camped near a stream, water running black under moonlight. Lucius sat apart, staring at his reflection.
It stared back wrong.
Stronger. Sharper. Older.
"What are you afraid of?" Alicia asked softly, sitting beside him.
Lucius didn't look away. "That this isn't temporary."
She nodded. "Good."
He frowned. "Good?"
"If you were hoping it would fade," she said, "you'd already be lying to yourself."
Lucius laughed bitterly. "You sound like you've done this before."
Alicia smiled faintly. "Something like that."
They sat in silence.
Across the fire, Lucy watched them, mind racing. Pieces didn't fit. Dragon blood shouldn't react this way. Aura shouldn't settle so cleanly. And Lucius—Lucius felt like a convergence point, not a coincidence.
Destiny, whispered the old texts.
She hated that word.
---
Lucius dreamed.
He stood before a vast darkness—not empty, but hungry. Something pressed against the other side, breathing slowly.
Chains stretched across the void, cracked and rusted.
Not evil.
Not good.
Just trapped.
A voice echoed—not in sound, but intent.
Freedom is not corruption. Power is not sin.
Lucius reached out—
And woke screaming.
The forest answered with silence.
Somewhere, far above mortal reach, gods stirred uneasily.
Something had shifted.
And it would not go back.