Adrenaline still surged through Silas's veins as they returned to the inn, his heart pounding with the echoes of the alley ambush. Each step sent a sharp pain through his neck, a constant reminder of how narrowly he had escaped death. His mind was racing, replaying the events of the ambush in a loop he couldn’t shut off. The shadowy figures, the cold steel, the brutal efficiency with which Kael had dispatched the attackers—everything seemed surreal, like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

When they finally reached the quiet safety of their rooms, Kael turned to Silas, his expression unreadable. Uncle Chen followed closely behind, his face unusually stern. He could sense the calm before the storm was about to end and braced himself for what was coming.

Kael broke the silence first. “Sit down, Silas,” he ordered, his tone as sharp as a blade.

Silas did as he was told, wincing as the movement aggravated the wound on his neck. Kael remained standing, his intense gaze never leaving Silas’s face.

Before Kael could speak, Uncle Chen stepped forward, pulling a small vial from his belt. “Let’s take care of that wound first,” Uncle Chen said, his voice betraying a softness that his stern expression didn’t match. “This is a Recovery Salve—it’ll heal the wound quickly.”

Silas nodded, grateful for the relief. Uncle Chen uncorked the vial and applied the salve to the wound. The cool liquid soothed the burning pain instantly, and Silas felt the flesh around the cut start to knit together, the sharp sting fading into a dull ache. As Chen worked, Silas could feel the wound closing. Still, the sensation of something being left behind—something more than just the physical mark—lingered.

Once the salve was applied, Uncle Chen stepped back, and Kael took his place, his expression as hard as ever. “You had a moment of advantage,' Kael said, his voice hard. 'You could have ended it. You had the opening, the advantage, and instead of finishing him off, you hesitated. You slashed his arm.”

Silas swallowed, the weight of Kael’s words sinking in. He knew Kael was right. In that critical moment, he couldn’t follow through to deliver the fatal blow that could have saved him from harm.

Having set the salve aside, Uncle Chen now crossed his arms, his eyes filled with disappointment and concern. “Kael’s right, young master. When you’re in a fight for your life, there’s no room for hesitation. If you don’t take your enemy down when you have the chance, they’ll come back at you twice as hard. What you did—striking his arm—was reckless. You let him live, and he nearly killed you for it.”

Silas tried to respond, but the words stuck, heavy with the weight of his upbringing. He had been taught to value life, to understand the gravity of taking it—but in the shadowed alleys of Temptshire, that idealism felt almost childish.

“I…” Silas finally managed to say, his voice shaky. “I wasn’t ready to kill him. I thought—if I just wounded him, maybe—”

“Maybe what?' Kael cut him off, his voice like steel. 'That he'd just surrender? That he'd beg for mercy? This isn’t a sparring match, Silas. Out there, it’s kill or be killed. Those men didn’t come at us to scare us; they came to end us.”

Uncle Chen’s expression softened slightly, but his words were no less firm. “Young master, you’ve got the skills, and you’ve trained hard, but in the real world, that’s only half the battle. It’s your resolve that counts—the willingness to do what needs to be done.”

Chen paused, his gaze steady as he continued, “In assassin guilds, they train their recruits by making them fight each other to the death. It’s brutal—like throwing venomous insects into a pit and seeing which one survives. That’s how they hone their killing intent, by forcing it into them from the start. But you, young master—you can’t be brought up in the same manner. We won’t force you to kill, but you need to find that strength within yourself. The resolve to end a fight when it’s necessary. That’s something only you can develop.”

Silas felt a lump forming in his throat. The idea of killing someone still made him uneasy, but he couldn’t deny the truth in their words. The encounter had shown him how unprepared he was for the harsh realities of the world outside his sheltered life.

Kael’s expression shook his head slightly and sighed. “No one’s asking you to become a mindless killer, Silas. But you have to understand, when you’re faced with someone who’s trying to take your life, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes to survive. That doesn’t mean you should seek out violence, but when it finds you, you can’t afford to back down.”

Uncle Chen nodded in agreement. “It’s not about being a killer, Silas. It’s about protecting yourself and those you care about. The world is a dangerous place, and there are people out there who won’t hesitate to kill you if it means getting what they want. You have to be strong enough—ruthless enough—to face that reality.”

Silas lowered his head, the weight of their words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He knew they were right. His hesitation had almost cost him his life—and worse, it had put Kael and Uncle Chen in danger, too.

Uncle Chen’s tone softened as he approached Silas again, holding a different vial. “The wound will heal, Silas, but it will leave a scar. If you want, I have a Restoration Salve that can remove the scar completely.”

Silas looked up, his eyes searching Chen’s face. “Why would I want to keep the scar?”

Chen’s eyes were gentle, but his voice was firm. “A scar can be a reminder, a mark of the lesson you learned today. When you feel like you’re ready—truly ready to do what needs to be done—you can use the second salve to remove the scar. Consider it a way to shed your old self, the part of you that hesitated. When that scar is gone, it should mean that your naivety is gone with it.”

Silas nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what Chen was offering. The scar would be more than just a physical mark; it would symbolise his journey, a constant reminder of the resolve he needed to cultivate.

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“I'll keep the scar”, Silas said quietly, his voice hardening with resolve. 'When I’m ready, I’ll remove it.”

Uncle Chen smiled slightly and handed him the vial. “Then let this be the start of your journey. It’s a long road ahead, Silas, but you’re not alone. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Kael placed a hand on Silas’s shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. “You will be strong, Silas. We’ll make sure of it. But remember, strength isn’t just about your sword skills or your physical power. It’s about your mind, your will. When the time comes, you have to be ready to do what needs to be done. No hesitation, no second-guessing.”

Silas nodded, feeling the weight of their words settle deep within him. He knew that he still had a lot to learn and overcome. But with Kael and Uncle Chen by his side, he was determined to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As he lay down to rest that night, the pain in his neck was a dull throb, and Silas replayed the day’s events in his mind. He had been taught a harsh lesson that would stay with him long. But he knew it was a lesson he needed to learn.

His hand unconsciously moved to the wound on his neck, feeling the rough edges of the bandage that Kael had applied. It was a scar that would serve as a constant reminder of the consequences of hesitation, of the need to be stronger—not just in body, but in spirit.

And as sleep finally claimed him, Silas made a silent vow to himself: he would not hesitate the next time.

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

Silas stood before the mirror, gingerly touching the bandage on his neck. Yesterday’s events replayed in his mind—Uncle Chen’s stern yet supportive words, Kael’s harsh reality check, and the bitter realisation of his weakness.

Yet, another thought tugged at him, pulling his gaze to the modest-looking book he had bought from the merchant. It was unassuming on the small table beside his bed, yet it beckoned with an inexplicable allure. The memory of the warmth that had coursed through his veins when he touched it returned, more robust than before.

Curiosity gnawed at him, insistent and unyielding. As his fingers brushed the leather cover, the sensation returned—hot and feverish, coursing through his veins. The book seemed almost alive, resonating with something deep within him.

With a deep breath, Silas opened the book. The pages were yellowed with age, the ink slightly faded, but the text was clear. His eyes widened as he skimmed through the first few pages. There were intricate drawings and strange symbols he couldn’t decipher. Yet, as he continued reading, he found passages written in a language he could understand, albeit with some effort.

The introduction detailed ancient races, each with unique abilities.

Soulweavers, for instance, were humans who forged contracts with ethereal entities known as Soulbound Spirits, sacrificing part of their life force in exchange for immense power. The stronger the spirit, the greater the sacrifice—and the higher the risk of corruption, madness, or worse.

Silas’s grip tightened on the page as the implications sank in. He had known about Soulweavers—his father was one—but this book laid bare the actual costs and risks in a way his training had only hinted at. The words on the page painted a vivid picture of power, but the costs... they were steep. His father had always been careful and warned him of the dangers of power. Could he bear that same burden? What if he faltered? What if the power consumed him?

He shook his head and murmured, “Father is always cautious about his Soulweaver powers. He won't lose control that easily.” He had absolute confidence in his father’s mental acuity.

Next, the book described the Ashtrals, whose bodies became living weapons through intense discipline and the Rite of Ascension. In this ritual, they absorb the essence of a defeated foe or relic, evolving and gaining more power and lifespan. But too much power, too quickly, could lead to a loss of control or even madness.

Silas imagined the strength and discipline required to undergo such a transformation—and doubted if he had it within him. The thought of losing control, of becoming something monstrous, sent a chill through him. Did he truly have the willpower to endure such a trial? Or was he setting himself on a path that would break him?

The Abyssals wielded dream magic drawn from the Dreamscape, a plane where dreams and nightmares became reality. They made pacts with Dreamlords and gained higher Lucidity, the source of increased lifespans. But too much time in the Dreamscape could trap them in eternal sleep or, worse—turn them into nightmares.

Silas felt a shiver run down his spine as he read about the Abyssals. The idea of wielding dream magic was intoxicating, yet the thought of losing himself in the Dreamscape, of becoming a twisted shadow of who he was... That fear gripped him tightly. What if he couldn’t find his way back? What if he lost himself entirely?

He couldn’t help but curse. “Everything is so fucking risky. What am I supposed to do?”

Finally, he came to the Sprites. Born with an innate connection to a specific element, they formed bonds with Elemental spirits that granted them extended lifespans and control over their magic. Yet, overreliance on a single element could lead to physical or mental degradation.

The warmth that had surged through him when he first touched the book resurfaced in his thoughts. Could it be that he, just an ordinary human, had a connection to elemental magic? The idea seemed far-fetched, yet something deep within him responded to the notion, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

As he absorbed this information, a passage caught his eye—a single paragraph that made his breath catch in his throat. It spoke of an anomaly, a human who had somehow managed to tap into the powers of another race. The occurrence was rare and perilous, leading to instability, madness, or worse. Yet, for those few who succeeded, the rewards were unimaginable.

Silas’s heart raced, but not just with excitement—there was fear, too, raw and potent. Wielding multiple powers was thrilling, but what if it shattered him? What if the price was too high? His chest tightened as doubts swirled in his mind, each one a warning of the dangers ahead.

Closing the book, Silas felt his resolve harden. This path was dangerous, but he knew now he couldn’t turn back. The need to grow stronger, to prove himself, drove him forward. He would not be content to rely on the power of others—he would find a way to harness this power for himself.

As he tucked the book under his arm and headed for the door, the heat in his veins still simmered. Whether this path led to greatness or ruin, Silas couldn’t deny the fear gnawing at his resolve. But perhaps it was that very fear that pushed him forward. He wasn’t just chasing power—he was chasing the strength to conquer his doubts. Yesterday’s events made it clear that the thing he lacked most was willpower.

The risks stated in the book were enormous; failure meant losing everything, but returning now would mean surrendering to fear. Silas realised that he couldn’t live with that. Seeing this through would be his first step towards strengthening his resolve.