Know Thy Self

By: Jeffery Lee Oster

Prologue: The Old Man, the Light, and the Stranger

“Dammit!”

An arrow hissed past the old man’s ear, the wind slicing against his skin as it embedded itself with a solid thunk into a nearby tree. His boots splashed through the mud, sending droplets of water onto his pants as he dashed forward, grinning like a man half his age. The damp earth clung to him with each step, but he paid it no mind. “Calcio! Blind the Far Ones!”

“With pleasure,” Calcio purred, his voice crackling like smoldering embers. The glowing stick-figure flame sat cross-legged in the small hearth mounted at the front of the enchanted chariot, flames gently licking at the iron walls. From his body, golden fire surged outward, swirling like a living serpent. The flames shot forward, bursting into a blinding flash of light that swallowed the clearing.

Shouts of confusion followed as hidden Rangers fumbled to shield their eyes. Their silhouettes flailed, stumbling through the underbrush like blind insects caught in a storm.

“Time for a late-night workout,” the old man muttered, crouching low. The cool night air brushed against his skin, and for a moment, everything slowed. He felt his muscles coil like springs before releasing, propelling him forward in a blur.

The first bandit didn’t even have time to react before the old man’s supply bag smacked him across the face with a satisfying thud. His body hit the ground with a muted groan, unconscious before he fully registered what had happened.

“Sleep tight,” the old man whispered as he sidestepped a second bandit lunging at him with a dagger. The blade whistled through the air, narrowly missing him. He twisted around the attack, his boots grinding into the mud as he pivoted, and smacked the bandit on the back of the head. The man stumbled forward, collapsing face-first into the muck.

“Gotta be quicker than that.”

The ground vibrated as three more bandits charged him at once. The old man smirked. He crossed his arms, and two sinewy, fleshy limbs sprouted from his back, their surfaces glistening faintly under the moonlight. The extra arms shot forward like whips, intercepting the bandits mid-swing. Their weapons clanged uselessly against the limbs before they were slammed together with a wet crack. The sound echoed through the clearing.

“Foolish,” he muttered as the three crumpled in a heap.

A groan interrupted the brief silence. One of the archers clutched his head and staggered to his feet, his voice shaky. “He’s Fleshborne! That’s why he’s so fast and strong!”

The old man chuckled, wiping the mud off his gloves. “Partially right. Techborn rogues always forget the details.” The additional limbs retracted with a faint squelch, disappearing seamlessly into his back. He crouched beside the bandit, patting him gently on the head like a teacher praising a slow student. “Being Fleshborne isn’t just about brute strength. It’s about control. Reflexes, regeneration… and these extra limbs you’re admiring.” He waved one teasingly before it dissolved. “Don’t worry. I won’t charge you for the lesson.”

The bandit mumbled something unintelligible before his head lolled to the side, unconscious.

“You’re wasting time,” Calcio called from the hearth, his small flaming form stretching lazily. His flames flared momentarily, casting wild shadows against the trees. “They’re down. Loot them and let’s go.”

“Yes, sir.” The old man knelt, fingers combing through the bandits’ scattered gear. His hand brushed against something cold and metallic, and his breath hitched slightly. He pulled out a sleek black sphere, its surface humming faintly with energy. As it shifted in his palm, its glowing circuits pulsed like the veins of some artificial creature.

“Well, look at this,” he murmured, grinning. “An ImperiTech Familiar.”

“High-grade tech,” Calcio whistled, his flames crackling like a campfire catching dry kindling. “Soldiers guard these with their lives. How did these idiots get one?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s ours now.” The old man stuffed the sphere into his bag and pushed aside a broken crossbow. His eyes landed on a mechanical arm lying in the mud, its joints creaking faintly as he lifted it. The cold metal was caked in dirt, but the craftsmanship was undeniable. “We’ll sell this piece of junk. But the Familiar? No way. I’you’s gonna love this.”

Calcio’s flames dimmed briefly in thought. “Shouldn’t we sell it? We’re always strapped for cash.”

The old man hesitated, his gaze softening as he thought of I’you’s curious, excited face. He remembered the boy’s endless questions about tech—questions they rarely had the means to answer. His lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ve never been able to get I’you or the kids anything Techborne. Let them have this.”

Calcio sighed, his flames crackling softly in resignation. “But what about the money for I’you’s other stuff?”

The old man blinked, as if just remembering. “Right. Okay, fine. We’ll sell their clothes. And this arm. Somebody out there’s gotta want a busted arm.” He slung the bag over his shoulder with a satisfied smirk. “Problem solved.”

The chariot creaked as it rolled forward, its wooden wheels groaning softly over the uneven dirt road. The dim flame wolves loped ahead of them, their paws making no sound as they padded through the damp earth, casting rippling patterns of light over the trees. The wolves flickered like distant lanterns, dim enough to avoid detection but bright enough to light the way through the winding forest.

Calcio sat cross-legged in the hearth, his flickering head tilted lazily as he watched the dim glow of the wolves ahead. “Feels like we’re being swallowed,” he muttered, his voice crackling softly.

The old man sat back on the wooden seat, pipe in hand, puffing out lazy clouds of smoke. “It’s just Mystic’s Forest,” he said, though there was a slight tension in his voice. “Nothing we haven’t seen before.”

The forest breathed around them. Fireflies blinked faintly among the leaves, their golden glow barely illuminating the dense underbrush. Vines hung like serpents from ancient trees, and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures echoed through the thick canopy. Only slivers of moonlight filtered through the foliage, casting soft beams onto the dirt road ahead.

The old man reached for a bundle of dried meat and bread. He tore off a piece and tossed a small strip of meat into the hearth. “Dinner, Calcio.”

“I could get used to this treatment,” Calcio murmured, his flames flaring briefly as he devoured the offering. “Appreciated.”

The old man chuckled, chewing on a piece of bread layered with meat as he glanced toward the towering trees around them. “We’ll make it through.”

He tilted his head upward. “The moon’s apex,” he murmured, watching slivers of light cut through the canopy like scattered silver threads. “No wonder it’s so dark. Even the moon can’t help us here.”

Calcio flickered briefly before speaking again. “What do you think I’you’s domain is?”

The old man scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. You’ve always thought Shadowborne, right?”

“Yeah. Kid’s sneaky, good instincts, and way too quiet sometimes.” Calcio flared faintly. “But then there’s his strength. Fleshborne seems just as likely.”

The old man chuckled, but there was a weight to his laughter this time, as though the answer was already decided. “He’ll be Fleshborne. I know it.”

Calcio’s flame dimmed, curiosity sparking in his crackling voice. “You sound so sure.”

“I am. When you’re Fleshborne, you can feel it in your body when you meet another one. Like an instinct buried deep inside your muscles, your bones. I felt it the first time I sparred with him—it’s subtle, but it’s there.” He took another drag of his pipe and exhaled slowly, the smoke curling lazily around him before fading into the night. “But it’s more than that. I’you reminds me of my brother.”

Calcio’s flames flickered sharply. “Your brother? You never talk about him.” His voice lowered slightly. “What was he like?”

The old man’s eyes softened as he stared into the trees ahead. “He was like I’you—quiet, determined, always questioning the world around him. But… there was something different. My teacher believed he was  an Aspect as well.”

Calcio leaned forward slightly, his flames brightening. “You’re an aspect?… What’s an Aspect?”

The old man sighed. “An Aspect isn’t limited to one domain. They draw from multiple sources, often conflicting ones. Their abilities don’t follow rules. They’re powerful and unpredictable, but that unpredictability…” His voice trailed off. “It’s dangerous.”

Before Calcio could press further, the chariot suddenly jolted, the wheels striking something buried in the mud. The old man’s eyes darted forward.

A woman stood in the middle of the road.

Her black dress shimmered faintly under the fractured beams of moonlight. Pale skin, almost ghostly, reflected the dim light, but it was her eyes—silver and slit like a serpent’s—that made the old man’s knuckles whiten as he gripped the edge of the platform railing where he stood, just outside the chariot.

The flame wolves, once padding confidently ahead, flickered uncertainly before dissolving into thin wisps of smoke. Calcio’s flames dimmed in the hearth, his coal-like body trembling as he struggled to stay ignited.

“I don’t like this,” Calcio muttered, his ember eyes flickering weakly. “She’s not normal.”

“Stay with me,” the old man whispered, his fingers brushing the hidden bone blade beneath his skin. His breath was steady, but tension coiled in his muscles, ready to snap the moment she moved.

The woman stood completely still, her head tilted slightly as if she were examining them like curiosities at a market stall. Her faint smile widened just a little, enough to send a cold shiver down the old man’s spine. Her eyes, like silver slits, drifted lazily past him toward the back of the chariot, where I’you lay sleeping peacefully inside.

The old man’s heart thumped hard against his ribs. No. Don’t you dare. His grip tightened.

A soft groan from inside the chariot.

“I’you?” His voice was sharp, barely louder than a whisper.

The boy stirred under the blanket, rubbing his eyes groggily as he sat up slightly. “Are we there yet…?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Stay asleep, kid,” the old man urged. “Just a little longer.”

I’you yawned, his head drooping back down against the pillow as he drifted off once more, breathing steadily.

But the old man’s relief was short-lived.

A whisper came from the window.

He turned sharply, and there she was, her face mere inches from the glass. One pale hand rested gently against the window, her fingers lightly tracing its frame as she gazed at the sleeping boy. Her silver eyes reflected the dim glow of the lanterns hanging from the chariot’s frame, and her breath did not fog the window. Her presence was too cold for that.

“You look beautiful, my king,” she whispered, her voice soft and melodic, like a lullaby meant to lull someone into a false sense of peace.

The old man’s breath hitched. His wrist twisted, and with a wet shlick, a bone blade extended from the flesh of his arm. In one swift motion, he lunged forward, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.

But the moment it neared her throat, she vanished.

The blade stopped just short of the window, barely grazing the glass. The old man pulled it back, his breath coming fast now as he scanned the surrounding trees frantically. Where did she go?!

“Calcio!” he barked, jumping down from the platform and landing in the mud with a splash. “Get us moving, now!”

Calcio flickered weakly, his coal-like body trembling in the hearth. “I can’t! The wolves are gone, and I don’t have enough fuel to bring them back!”

The old man cursed under his breath and crouched low, driving his bleeding palm into the wet earth. Mud and blood mixed as he whispered a rapid incantation, the ancient words crackling with power. The ground pulsed beneath him before twisting upward into the shapes of two spectral horses, their bodies molded from mud and glowing veins of crimson energy. Their eyes blazed red, and their hooves struck the ground with a heavy thud as they solidified.

“Full speed to the forest’s edge,” he commanded, climbing back onto the chariot platform. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small wooden seal carved with glowing runes. Without hesitation, he tossed it into the hearth. “Burn it, Calcio!”

Calcio’s ember eyes widened, and with a final burst of effort, he wrapped his coal-like hands around the seal. It ignited instantly, releasing a surge of stored energy. Flames roared back to life within him, and his small stick-figure body glowed brightly once more. “Oh, yeah, that’s the good stuff!” he cried, directing his flames outward.

The spectral horses neighed and bolted, their hooves pounding against the muddy road with thunderous force. The chariot lurched forward, its wheels kicking up mud as they raced down the path. The twisted trees around them blurred into a chaotic mass of shifting shadows and flickering moonlight.

“Do you see her?” Calcio asked, his voice crackling as he maintained their speed.

The old man scanned the treeline, his grip still tight on the bone blade. “No. But she’s here. I can feel her watching.” His gaze flicked to every shadow, every rustling branch, expecting her to reappear at any moment.

The oppressive weight of the forest began to lift. The gnarled trees thinned, and the suffocating silence gave way to the distant sound of wind sweeping across the open plains ahead. As the chariot broke free of Mystic’s Forest, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in muted purples and golds.

The spectral horses slowed as they reached solid ground, their forms shimmering faintly before dissolving into puddles of mud. Calcio, his flames dimmed to a warm, steady glow, exhaled with relief. “We made it.”

The old man climbed down from the platform, landing on the soft grass near their campsite. He wiped sweat from his brow and glanced back toward the treeline, where the forest still loomed like a sleeping giant. “For now,” he muttered, his gaze lingering on the dark shadows.

Calcio flickered uneasily. “You think she’ll come back?”

The old man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked toward the back of the chariot and opened the door, peering inside. I’you lay peacefully under the blanket, still fast asleep. His small chest rose and fell rhythmically, oblivious to the danger that had nearly reached him.

“She wasn’t here to kill us tonight,” the old man said softly. “She’s testing us.”

“Testing him, you mean.” Calcio flickered thoughtfully. “She called him her king.”

The old man’s jaw clenched, and his hand brushed the hilt of the bone blade before releasing it. “We need answers. We’ll head to the market town, see what we can learn. Someone there might know who—or what—she is.”

Calcio brightened slightly. “Good. And while we’re there, maybe roasted chestnuts?”

The old man let out a soft chuckle. “If we make it in one piece.”

He climbed back onto the chariot, the enchanted stairs retracting behind him as he stepped inside. The warm glow of the chariot’s sigil-covered walls enveloped them, casting faint golden light across the shelves of books and supplies.

Outside, Calcio flared one last time, igniting the new flame wolves as they formed from thin air and began padding steadily along the path. The chariot rolled forward, heading toward the distant glow of the market town beyond the horizon.

But as they traveled, the old man couldn’t shake the feeling of her silver eyes still watching them, hidden somewhere in the fading shadows of Mystic’s Forest.

The glow of the market town grew brighter as the chariot rolled steadily over the uneven dirt road. Lanterns hung lazily from wooden posts lining the outer perimeter of the settlement, their flames swaying gently in the breeze. Even from a distance, the old man could smell the faint traces of livestock, dried spices, and baked goods carried on the wind. He exhaled a quiet breath, the familiar scent grounding him.

The third step of the moon still hung overhead, casting pale beams of silver light across the road. 3rd step. They had made good time. But as the market’s shadowy outline became clearer, the chariot  pulled gently on the braking mechanism, bringing the chariot to a stop just before the town’s main entrance.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” he said, stepping off the platform and landing on the grass with a soft thud. “We’ll head in when the sun rises.”

Calcio dimmed slightly, the flames in the hearth flickering lazily. “Not that I’m complaining, but why stop here? We’re basically at the gates.”

“Too many eyes inside,” the old man muttered, scanning the surrounding hills. “And I don’t like eyes on us. If she followed us, the last thing we need is a crowd.”

Satisfied with their spot, he stretched his arms overhead, his joints popping audibly. “Let’s set up.”

The old man retrieved several large wooden stakes from the side of the chariot and drove them into the ground in a wide circle around the clearing. Each stake glowed faintly with carved runes, their protective enchantments pulsing like the heartbeat of the earth. He muttered an incantation under his breath as he pressed his palm against the final stake, and a wave of energy rippled outward, sealing their campsite.

“Guard talismans are up,” he said, stepping back to admire his work. “Nothing gets in without us knowing.”

Calcio flickered approvingly. “Not even her?”

The old man smirked faintly. “We’ll see.”

After confirming the perimeter, he built a small fire pit using a circle of stones and dry wood pulled from the chariot’s storage compartment. He gestured to Calcio, who sent a controlled lick of flame from the hearth to ignite the wood. The fire crackled to life, its warm glow stretching across the soft grass.

The old man knelt beside the fire, setting up a small cooking station with an iron pot and a wooden board for chopping. He pulled out dried meat, root vegetables, and a small pouch of herbs, his hands moving with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables blended with the soft crackle of the fire, creating a calming symphony against the quiet of the night.

He tossed the vegetables and meat into the pot along with a handful of herbs and just enough water to create a light stew. As the pot began to bubble gently, the rich aroma of cooking filled the air, warm and familiar. The old man leaned back against a log, pipe in hand, and took a long drag. The tobacco burned smoothly, the smoke swirling lazily into the night breeze before dissolving into the cool air.

For a moment, the world felt peaceful.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Calcio observed, his flames casting playful shadows along the chariot’s wooden frame.

“Just thinking,” the old man replied, tapping the side of his pipe thoughtfully. His gaze drifted toward the horizon, where Mystic’s Forest was now just a distant memory. “She’s still in my head.”

Calcio flickered uneasily. “You think she’s following us?”

“Maybe.” The old man took another puff of his pipe. “She let us go tonight, but that wasn’t kindness.i think She knows what I’you is, and that means she won’t stop.”

“What exactly is she after, though? She called him her king.” Calcio’s flames dimmed slightly. “That doesn’t sound like a threat. It sounds like… something worse.”

The old man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward and stirred the stew with a wooden spoon, watching the steam rise. “We’ll find out soon enough. But for now, we focus on keeping him safe.”

Once the stew was finished, the old man ladled it into a small bowl and ate in comfortable silence, savoring the warmth of the meal. The distant chirping of crickets blended with the crackle of the fire, lulling him into a rare moment of calm.

After finishing, he wiped his hands clean on a cloth and stood, circling the campsite one last time to check the talismans. Each stake pulsed faintly, their protective magic intact. He pressed another carved seal against the chariot’s door and whispered a final incantation, ensuring that the interior was protected while they slept.

“Talismans are holding,” he said, returning to the fire. “Anything tries to cross them, we’ll know.”

“And what about me?” Calcio asked, his flames flickering playfully. “Leaving me alone to burn all night?”

The old man smirked and tossed a small pile of wood next to the hearth along with a piece of bread. “Keep the fire going. If anything happens, wake me up.”

“Don’t worry,” Calcio said smugly. “I always do.”

The old man climbed into the chariot’s warm living quarters, the sigil-covered walls casting a soft, golden glow. The familiar scent of herbs and wood smoke filled the space. He knelt by I’you’s bed, gently tucking the blanket around the boy’s small frame. I’you’s breathing was soft and steady, his face peaceful despite the danger looming over them.

“Good kid,” the old man murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from I’you’s forehead. “You’ll be ready when the time comes.”

He moved to the opposite room, stretching out on his bedroll near the hearth inside. As he lay back, the warmth of the chariot and the soft glow of the runes on the walls lulled him into relaxation.

Just as he was about to drift off, Calcio’s voice came softly from the hearth outside.

“Good night, Ijim.”

The old man—Ijim—smiled faintly “See you in the morning Cal”, exhaling a final breath of relief as sleep took him.

Under the glow of protective talismans and the comforting hum of Calcio’s flames, Ijim and I’you slept peacefully.

Or so it seemed.

Inside the chariot’s enchanted living quarters, where the soft glow of runes flickered along the walls, I’you lay tucked under a blanket on his small bed. His face, which had been peaceful when Ijim checked on him, was now strained, his brows furrowed as beads of sweat gathered along his forehead. The boy’s small fingers gripped the edge of the blanket, knuckles turning white as his breathing became labored.

He tossed and turned, the blanket slipping off his shoulder as muffled whimpers escaped his lips. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as though the air itself fought to stay inside him. A faint tremor ran through his limbs, his body shifting restlessly against the bed.

His golden eyes, hidden beneath tightly shut lids, twitched as his mind drifted deeper into the depths of a dream—or perhaps something darker.

Outside, Calcio’s flames pulsed gently in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the campsite. His small stick-figure body leaned lazily forward as he stared at the chariot’s glowing windows. For a long moment, he simply watched the night pass by, the rhythmic hum of the protective runes providing a comforting backdrop.

But his ember-like eyes flickered slightly, and he tilted his head curiously.

“I wonder what humans dream about?”  Calcio murmured, his voice crackling softly in the quiet of the night.

The flames flickered peacefully.

Chapter 1: Dream Thyself

Gasp!

I’you’s eyes opened, though he couldn’t remember closing them. Had he been asleep? Dreaming? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was falling—slowly, weightlessly, as though caught in an invisible current. He flailed his arms instinctively, but the motion felt sluggish, the air around him thick and heavy, like water.

What direction was he falling? Where was he falling to? He had no answers, only the sensation of endless descent. The blackness surrounding him stretched infinitely in every direction, vast and empty, yet filled with a hum of something alive.

Far ahead, faint glimmers began to appear in the darkness. At first, he thought they were stars, but they grew larger, brighter, shifting and coiling like they were alive. One by one, they blinked into existence, illuminating the void with vibrant, impossible colors—golden spirals, deep violet streaks, and pulsating greens that bled into red. The glimmers solidified into forms—planets, galaxies, and something else entirely.

A celestial body seemed to be forming before his eyes, its molten surface twisting and cooling as rivers of fire carved glowing paths across its crust. Another sphere, translucent and vast, displayed swirling oceans that glowed faintly, as though alive with currents of light. They moved gracefully, spinning in time with the hum that vibrated in I’you’s chest.

Then, something larger appeared—a massive black sphere with a surface that rippled like liquid. It was darker than the surrounding darkness, a shadow against shadows, yet alive with its own gravitational pull. Stars and smaller celestial bodies floated too close and were sucked into its surface, disappearing without a trace. The sphere moved deliberately, consuming everything it touched.

“Is this an Eater Star?…” I’you whispered, the name springing to his mind unbidden. He remembered learning about them in school—rare, terrifying celestial phenomena said to devour matter and energy alike. Some thought them to be black holes, but the stories hinted at something far more alive, their pull described not just as physical but spiritual.

But this was no distant phenomenon.

As I’you stared in awe, he realized it was no longer stationary—it was moving. From below him, the Eater Star surged upward, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed. The dark, rippling sphere seemed alive, its surface pulsing and shifting as if it were aware of him. It wasn’t just a star. It was a predator, and he was its prey.

A sharp panic overtook him. His instincts screamed for him to move, to flee, to do anything to escape. He flailed his arms and kicked his legs in a desperate attempt to swim upward, away from the void below. But the space around him wasn’t air, and it wasn’t water—it was something in between, and it offered no resistance, no chance of escape.

The pull of the Eater Star intensified, dragging him closer as though invisible hands had gripped his body. I’you stretched his arms upward, clawing at the void as if he could grab hold of something to anchor himself. His efforts were futile. He was caught now, helpless against the overwhelming force.

He remembered what his teacher had said once, their voice echoing faintly in his mind. Once an object crosses the event horizon, even light itself can’t escape. And here he was, caught in that invisible boundary, where all things were destined to fall forever.

His body stiffened as the full weight of that realization crushed him. The Eater Star’s pull wasn’t just physical—it was inescapable in every sense. The closer he came, the harder it became to fight, to think, to hold on to himself.

He stopped struggling. His limbs went limp as the inevitability of his fate took hold. His chest heaved with short, shallow breaths as the void bent and warped around him. Colors twisted and collapsed, folding into the star like threads being drawn into a spool. The hum in the void deepened, its vibration shaking him to his core, reverberating through his very existence.

The Eater Star was no longer something he was falling toward. It was swallowing him whole.

The hum in the void grew louder, deeper, vibrating through his bones. The stars and planets around him began to tremble, their light flickering as though afraid. The pull of the Eater Star intensified, and I’you felt it now—not just in his body, but in his mind, his very being. It wasn’t pulling him down—it was pulling him apart, unraveling him thread by thread. His thoughts blurred, his sense of self stretching thin, dissolving into the void.

His memories began to fragment. His mother’s voice, his grandfather’s lessons, even the feel of the carved stone under his feet—all of it became distant, faint echoes fading into the overwhelming gravity of the Eater Star. The closer he came, the less he felt like himself, his sense of identity reduced to a flickering light caught in the storm.

The hum became a deafening roar, the sound of stars screaming as they died, of space tearing itself apart. The void around the Eater Star warped, the light bending and distorting, twisting space into impossible shapes that folded in on themselves. It wasn’t just destruction—it was erasure. The Eater Star consumed everything it touched, not leaving even the memory of what had been.

I’you screamed, but his voice was lost to the roar. His body stretched impossibly thin, his arms and legs pulling away from him as though they were no longer his. He was unraveling, coming undone piece by piece, and yet somewhere in the chaos, he felt something shift. The pull of the Eater Star wasn’t just destroying him—it was transporting him, drawing him toward somewhere beyond the void.

The roar began to change, softening into a rhythmic hum that vibrated through him, pulling him forward. The blackness around him rippled, cracks forming along its surface as faint light seeped through. The light grew brighter, swirling into patterns that coiled and twisted like threads being woven together. Colors began to emerge—green, gold, blue—replacing the suffocating darkness.

The void cracked wide open, and he was falling again, spiraling toward the light.

When I’you opened his eyes, he was no longer falling.

He was standing on solid ground—soft and moist beneath his feet. The air around him was warm and humid, clinging to his skin but carrying a refreshing coolness that kept it from being oppressive. It smelled of damp earth and wet leaves, a mixture of moss and rain that made him feel uneasy, yet grounded.

The darkness of the void was gone, replaced by a dim, greenish glow. Around him stretched a jungle—or something that resembled one. Towering trees loomed above, their gnarled trunks twisting like spirals, glowing faintly with veins of blue and gold. Their branches clawed at the dark canopy above, their leaves shimmering like glass, refracting faint light into shifting rainbows.

The jungle pulsed with life. Vines coiled lazily from the canopy, their surfaces glowing faintly green. Bioluminescent flowers grew in clusters along the ground, their petals unfurling and folding as though breathing. The hum from the void was still there, softer now, a faint vibration that resonated in his chest like the echo of a heartbeat.

The creatures of the jungle were stranger still. Shadows darted through the trees, quick and fleeting, their movements accompanied by faint bursts of light that dissolved into the air like smoke. Chirps, growls, and hums surrounded him, the sounds familiar yet wrong, as though belonging to something not entirely animal.

As I’you wandered deeper into the jungle, his footsteps rippled across the pliable ground, which pulsed faintly beneath him with every step. The air felt alive, heavy with the sensation of being watched. The shadows moved with him, flickering at the edges of his vision, but when he turned, there was nothing there.

He pressed on, frustration building. The jungle seemed endless, twisting and shifting as though the path behind him was no longer the one he had taken. After what felt like hours, his patience wore thin.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice breaking the heavy silence. He spotted a jagged rock jutting from the ground and sat down heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Where am I?” he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. “What is this place?”

The jungle’s hum deepened suddenly, a melodic rhythm rising in the air. It wasn’t music exactly, but it had a songlike quality, gentle yet haunting. The sound grew louder, wrapping around him like a presence. Then, faintly, he heard words:

“And the gods’ wrath will… Rampage…”

The voice was melodic and soft, almost playful, yet it sent a chill down his spine. I’you shot to his feet, his eyes darting around the clearing. “Who’s there?” he called out, his voice trembling. “Show yourself!”

The jungle remained still, but then he saw them—eyes. Dozens of them. They blinked open in the darkness, glowing faintly in shades of amber and purple. They stared at him, unblinking, and then a mouth appeared below them, curling into a sharp, mischievous smile.

“Well, well, well,” the voice purred. The mouth stretched wider, revealing sharp teeth that glinted faintly in the jungle’s glow. “How are you, little dreamer? Are you enjoying your adventure?”

I’you stepped back, his heart racing. “What… what are you?” he stammered.

The smile tilted slightly, as though amused. Slowly, the eyes and mouth coalesced into a single shape, stepping into the dim light. It was a cat—sleek and black, its fur streaked with faint purple lines that pulsed like liquid starlight. Its amber eyes burned brightly, locking onto him with an unsettling intensity.

The cat sat down a few paces from him, curling its tail neatly around its paws. For a moment, it simply stared at him, its grin sharp and unreadable. Then it spoke again, its voice smooth and lilting. “Well? Don’t keep me waiting. How are you enjoying your adventure?

The cat sat still, its glowing eyes locked on I’you, unblinking, unrelenting. Its grin lingered, sharp and playful, but its presence carried a weight that made the jungle seem heavier, the air more suffocating. It tilted its head slightly, its tail flicking lazily behind it, as though waiting for him to respond.

“I…” I’you hesitated, the strangeness of the situation stealing the words from his throat. “I don’t know where I am.”

The cat chuckled, a low, melodic sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. “Of course, you don’t know…No one ever does,” it purred, its voice smooth and silken. “That’s the fun of it, isn’t it?”

I’you took a step back, his body tense, his heart pounding. “No,” he said, his voice firmer now. “This isn’t fun. I want to go home.”

The cat’s grin widened, and its glowing amber eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Home?” it repeated, the word dripping with curiosity. “And where, is home?”

“Bethri,” I’you said quickly, his voice rising with frustration. “My village. It’s peaceful, quiet. It has a beautiful lake nearby and my home is carved from the mountain itself.. My family’s there. I belong there.”

The cat tilted its head again, its glowing purple stripes pulsing faintly. “Bethri,” it said thoughtfully, the word rolling off its tongue like a secret it was testing for the first time. “Sounds lovely. But tell me… where is it?”

“What?” I’you frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “I just told you. It’s my village, in the mountains.”

“Yes, yes,” the cat said dismissively, waving a paw. “The mountains, the stone houses, the lake, the trees. You’ve described it well. But where does it reside?” It leaned closer, its grin sharpening. “Does it live in the walls of your house? In the waters of the lake? Or perhaps… it only lives in here.” It tapped the side of its head with a claw, its amber eyes narrowing.

I’you stared at the cat, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “What are you talking about? It’s real! It’s a place!”

“Is it?” the cat asked, its voice soft and teasing. “Or is it just another dream you’ve pulled… here?” It gestured around them with its paw, its grin growing wider. “When you dream, where are you? In your bed? Or in the dream itself? Do you bring the dream to your room, or does your room dissolve into the dreamscape?”

I’you’s heart pounded harder. “This is a dream, I know it is even if it doesn’t feel like it”  he said firmly, though his voice trembled with uncertainty.

The cat chuckled again, a sound low and knowing, as though it held a secret I’you could never understand. “If you say so,” it said simply. Then it stood, pacing slowly around him, its glowing purple streaks pulsing in rhythm with the hum of the jungle. “But what if I can bring Bethri here?…”

It snapped its paw, and the world around them shifted.

The glowing jungle faded. The crystalline trees twisted and shrank, their shimmering leaves curling into wooden beams. The pliable ground beneath I’you’s feet hardened into cobblestone. The air warmed, filling with the familiar scent of berries and spice, and the golden glow of sunlight broke through the mist.

Bethri appeared around him, perfect in every detail.

The stone houses stood neatly in rows, their windows glowing softly with the light of home. The market buzzed with life, merchants calling out from colorful stalls laden with fruit, spices, and handwoven goods. The laughter of children rang out in the distance, mixing with the gentle murmur of the lake below. Even the familiar faces were there—villagers I’you had known his entire life, moving about as though nothing was amiss.

I’you’s breath caught in his throat. “This… this is Bethri,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” the cat purred, strolling ahead of him as though it owned the village. “Just as you described it.”

I’you’s mind spun as he turned in place, taking in every detail. It was all here—the smells, the sounds, the warmth. But how? How could this be real? His stomach churned with confusion and doubt.

Before he could speak, a familiar voice called out. “I’you! Over here!”

He turned sharply to see Rina, a family friend, standing behind her fruit stall with a warm smile. She waved him over, just as she had a hundred times before. “You’re late today!” she teased. “Come on, sit. I saved you something.”

I’you hesitated, glancing at the cat. It gave him a toothy grin and motioned toward Rina with its paw. “Go on,” it purred. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

He approached the stall cautiously and sat down on one of the wooden stools. The scent of freshly baked flatbread filled the air, mingling with the sweetness of ripe berries. Rina placed a plate in front of him, the bread warm and golden, drizzled with a rich purple glaze.

“Eat,” she said kindly, ruffling his hair. “You’ve been wandering too much today.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I’you picked up a piece of the bread, his hands trembling slightly. He took a bite—and the taste was perfect. The sweetness of the berries, the warmth of the bread, the faint hint of cinnamon—it was all exactly as he remembered. It felt real. Too real.

The cat hopped onto the counter beside him, watching him intently. “Tasty, isn’t it?” it asked, its voice soft and sly.

I’you froze, swallowing hard. “It’s real,” he said, though his voice faltered.

“Is it?” the cat asked, its grin widening. “Or is it simply what you believe is real? If I can bring Bethri here, what makes you think reality isn’t just another dream we’ve pulled into this place?”

Before I’you could answer, the world began to dissolve. The stone houses blurred, their edges melting into mist. The warm light of the sun faded, replaced by the dim glow of the jungle. The familiar smells of Bethri disappeared, leaving only the earthy scent of moss and rain.

The cat stepped back into the shadows, its body dissolving into the darkness. Only its glowing grin remained, floating above him like a crescent moon. “Keep walking, little One,” it said, its voice echoing faintly. “The answers are usually stranger than any fiction”

The grin stretched upward into the stars and vanished. The jungle faded into blackness, leaving I’you alone with the vast expanse of stars above and the faint outlines of trees around him.

After what felt like hours walking he saw Ahead of him, a faint light gleamed area.

Part 5: The Well

The jungle dissolved into blackness, leaving behind faint outlines of skeletal trees and the vast expanse of stars above. The air grew thick and heavy, vibrating faintly with a pulse that resonated in I’you’s chest. Ahead, a faint, rhythmic light pulsed steadily, drawing him forward as though an invisible thread tugged at his very core.

The ground beneath his feet softened as he walked, cool and damp like moss after rain. The trees pressed closer, their gnarled trunks twisting together to form dense walls on either side of him. The path grew narrower, darker, and more suffocating until it felt as if he were walking through a tunnel carved from the forest itself.

Finally, the narrow passage opened into a clearing.

At its center stood a massive tree, ancient and gnarled, its bark carved with glowing symbols that pulsed faintly like a slow, steady heartbeat. Its branches stretched endlessly upward, vanishing into the void above, and from those branches hung peculiar fruit. Each fruit gleamed like polished glass, but as I’you stepped closer, he saw what made them so strange—each one contained a single, ominous eye.

The eyes darted in their sockets, glowing faintly gold, blue, and red. They followed his every movement, synchronized and deliberate.

At the base of the tree sat a well, cracked and ancient, its opening sealed by a massive stone. The stone was etched with glowing runes, their faint light rippling like liquid starlight. The hum in the air deepened, resonating louder in I’you’s chest, drawing him forward like a silent command.

He approached the well cautiously, his breath catching as his fingertips brushed the cool surface of the stone.

“Don’t touch my well!”

The booming voice shattered the silence, sharp and commanding. I’you stumbled back, his heart racing as he spun around to find the clearing empty.

“Really?” the voice came again, dripping with sarcasm. “You’re going to stand there and pretend you didn’t hear me? Don’t. Touch. My. Well.”

The massive tree groaned, its bark twisting and cracking as a face emerged from its knotted surface. The face was rough and gnarled, its glowing eyes glaring at I’you with pure exasperation.

“What is it with you people and touching things you don’t understand?” the tree snapped, its deep voice vibrating through the clearing. “Do you wake up every morning thinking, ‘Today’s a great day to poke the mysterious Seals  and hope for the best?’ Because it’s not.”

“I… I didn’t know,” I’you stammered.

“Of course you didn’t know,” the tree said, rolling its glowing eyes. “Nobody ever does. ‘Oh, I didn’t know I was about to unleash cosmic chaos upon the world.’ Guess what—now you know!”

I’you frowned, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “What’s in the well? And what are you exactly?” he asked cautiously.

The tree groaned dramatically, its branches creaking as if it were throwing up its hands. “Why does everyone ask that? How should I know? I’ve never opened it. And I’m many things—depends on the dimwit who dreams themselves here. To some, I’m a regular guard. But your comfort form is this creepy-ass forest and tree, so, kid… you must have problems.”

I’you’s eye twitched. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” the tree sighed, “that if I show up as a shadow, people scream. If I show up as a giant talking toad, they start asking me riddles. You? You see a rotting old tree with an attitude problem.” Its glowing eyes narrowed. “That says a lot about you.”

I’you huffed, shaking his head. “Whatever. If you’ve never opened it, how do you know it’s dangerous?”

The tree let out a hollow chuckle, its bark shifting as if cracking a grin. “Oh, you don’t need to lick a live wire to know it’ll fry you, kid. Some things just feel wrong. And that?” It gestured toward the well with a low creak. “That thing sings wrong.”

The tree leaned forward slightly, its glowing fruit eyes narrowing as it continued. “Curiosity is a double-edged blade. It’s what drives you forward, what makes you learn, grow, question. Without it, we’d all just sit around, doing nothing, thinking nothing, being nothing. But oh, the trouble it causes.” Its voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. “Wars fought. Doors opened. Wells poked.”

It straightened again, letting out a deep sigh. “Curiosity creates heroes and fools, kid. It’s the spark that lights the fire, but it’s also the flame that burns everything to ash. So ask yourself—are you the one who benefits, or the one who suffers? Because it’s never both.”

I’you opened his mouth to respond, but the tree cut him off with a sharp chuckle. “Curiosity killed the cat,” it said, its tone mockingly wise. “But satisfaction brought it back! Funny how nobody ever talks about the part where the cat died first. So… what kind of cat are you?”

As the tree rambled, I’you’s attention began to drift. The hum of the well grew louder, the pulsing glow of the runes drawing his gaze. His chest tightened as he noticed something he hadn’t before—a faint knocking, soft but rhythmic, echoing from within the well.

At first, he thought it was his imagination. But the sound grew louder, more deliberate. He froze, his eyes fixed on the glowing stone as the knocking continued.

“Are you even listening to me?” the tree snapped, annoyed. “You’re tuning me out, aren’t you? Typical. Nobody appreciates a good tangent anymore—”

“Shh,” I’you hissed, raising a hand to silence the tree.

“Excuse me?” the tree said indignantly. “Did you just shush me?”

“Do you hear that?” I’you whispered, his voice trembling. The knocking grew louder, more urgent, echoing through the clearing. His breath quickened as he stared at the glowing stone, the faint rhythm vibrating in his chest.

And then he heard it—a voice, faint and muffled, emanating from the well.

“I’you… wake up.”

His heart stopped. The voice was faint, distorted, but unmistakable. He stumbled backward, his gaze darting between the tree and the well.

The voice came again, louder this time. “I’you! Wake up!! You’re late!”

The glowing symbols on the stone flared, their light intensifying as cracks began to spread across its surface. The hum deepened, shaking the ground beneath I’you’s feet.

The tree groaned loudly, its face contorting into a scowl. “Oh, wonderful. Now the well’s waking up. This is exactly what I warned you about.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I’you shouted, his voice drowned out by the deafening hum. The knocking grew louder, more frantic, until the voice boomed again.

“Wake up, I’you!”

The stone shattered with a thunderous crack, and a surge of blinding light erupted from the well, consuming everything. The ground beneath I’you collapsed, and he was falling again, spiraling into the void.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The loud pounding echoed through the small room, shaking the wooden walls of the chariot’s enchanted living quarters. I’you jolted awake, his head snapping up as he clutched the blanket bunched around him. His heart raced, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. His forehead was damp with sweat, and the faint echo of his dream still hummed somewhere in the back of his mind.

But that pounding was very real.

Bang! Bang!

“Boy! Wake up! I need you to do some deliveries!”

It was Ijim’s voice, rough and unmistakably irritated. Another bang followed, and this time the door shook so hard I’you thought it might fly off its hinges. “I’m not asking again!”

I’you groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m up, I’m up!” he shouted.

The banging stopped. “Good. You’ve got five minutes.”

I’you sat up fully, groggily swinging his legs over the side of the bed and planting his feet on the cool wooden floor. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head until his back gave a satisfying pop. The golden light filtering through the chariot’s window told him the morning had already passed. Way past.

“Great,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. “He’s going to make me run around all day again.”

He splashed some cold water on his face from the washbasin near the bed, shaking off the lingering fog of sleep before pulling on his simple tunic and pants. His boots were scuffed, but he didn’t have time to care. Ijim wasn’t known for his patience, especially when deliveries were involved.

I’you grabbed his small satchel from the corner of the room and slung it over his shoulder. Without another glance in the mirror, he pushed open the door and stepped outside.

The bustling noise of the market hit him immediately—the overlapping voices of merchants calling out prices, the clinking of coins being exchanged, and the scent of fresh bread mixing with the earthy aroma of herbs. The chariot, now parked among other merchant stalls, had transformed its outer section into a functional shop. Wooden tables jutted out from the sides, displaying jars of medicinal topicals, bundles of dried herbs, and protective talismans arranged neatly in rows. The carved wooden panels glowed faintly with protective enchantments, giving the stall an otherworldly charm that attracted curious passersby.

Calcio sat cross-legged in the central hearth, flames flickering as he leaned forward lazily, his ember eyes focused on a young woman browsing the talismans. His small stick-figure form looked deceptively harmless, but I’you knew better. Calcio was as sharp-tongued as he was fiery.

“It wards off curses,” Calcio said smoothly, pointing to a set of glowing runes on the talisman she held. But then… why didn’t they react to her? His flame flickered slightly. Maybe she wasn’t malicious. Maybe that’s why the talismans didn’t register her. Like a squirrel, or a bird—just part of the forest, a natural presence, something that belonged. The thought unsettled him more than he liked.

He let it go, his embers steadying. “Simple, effective, and lasts two seasons. Bargain price.” His flame flared slightly. “And I don’t haggle.”

The woman blinked, clearly intimidated, before nodding quickly and placing a coin pouch on the counter.

Ijim stood behind the main display, arranging jars of ointments and glass vials filled with swirling liquids. His gruff expression barely changed as he waved I’you over.

“About time.” He handed I’you a small basket filled with neatly labeled pouches. “You’ve got deliveries to make. The first one’s at the bakery.” He tapped the side of the basket with a knuckle. “Don’t let them haggle you. They always try.”

I’you adjusted the strap on his satchel and grabbed the basket. “Anything else, or am I free after this?”

Ijim gave him a sidelong glance, his pipe clenched between his teeth. “You’re never free, boy. Now move.”

Calcio crackled with amusement from the hearth. “Try not to fall asleep on the way.”

I’you rolled his eyes and stepped into the thrumming heart of the market, the air thick with the scent of spiced meats, ripe fruit, and sun-warmed clay. Voices overlapped in a constant din—merchants shouting deals, children laughing as they darted between stalls, the occasional heated argument over the price of fish. The cobblestone beneath his feet was warm from the midday sun, the uneven grooves worn smooth by generations of footsteps.

He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, slipping between carts stacked high with golden loaves, bolts of dyed fabric rippling in the breeze, and baskets overflowing with figs and berries. A vendor waved a skewered piece of roasted meat in his direction, the aroma teasing his empty stomach, but he ignored it. He had a destination.

Yet, beneath the vibrance of the market, something gnawed at the edges of his mind. That dream—no, that place—still clung to him like morning mist refusing to burn away. The weight of the well’s hum, the knocking, the voice calling his name… He shoved the thoughts aside before they could settle.

Not now.

The market was too alive, too real for his thoughts to drift into shadows. But as he passed a familiar fruit stand, something cold curled in his stomach. He knew this place—not just because he lived here, but because he had seen it before.

The same bright red apples stacked in uneven pyramids. The same cracked wooden sign hanging off-kilter. The same merchant, Rina, standing behind the stall, wearing the exact soft smile she always did.

His breath hitched.

The cat… it recreated all of this. Every detail. Every sound. Even the way the sun hit the rooftops.

I’you swallowed, his gaze flicking across the bustling market, searching for any cracks, any imperfections. But there weren’t any. The dream had been flawless, down to the warmth of the bread and the scent of cinnamon in the air.

How?

A shiver ran down his spine. That damn cat really had it spot on… It hadn’t just guessed—it knew. It had walked through his home like it had lived there, painted his world like a perfect reflection in the water.

His eyes darted upward, scanning the awnings, the rooftops, the alleys. What if it’s still watching?

A ridiculous thought, but the unease refused to leave.

What if im still there?

His jaw tightened. He clenched his fists, forcing himself forward, deeper into the market, pushing past the gnawing feeling at the back of his mind.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

The warm scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the open door of the bakery as I’you stepped inside, the bell above the entrance jingling softly. He placed the basket on the counter, exhaling after the brisk walk across the market. Rows of golden-brown loaves lined the shelves behind the counter, and the baker, a stout man with flour-dusted hands, greeted him with a nod.

“You’re late again, I’you,” the baker said, eyeing the basket. “I was beginning to think you got lost in your dreams again.”

“Not today,” I’you replied with a small grin, pulling out two neatly wrapped pouches labeled with hand-drawn symbols. “One topical salve and one healing ointment. Same as usual.”

The baker counted out a stack of coins, grumbling under his breath about prices as he handed them over. I’you held his ground, remembering Ijim’s warning. “No haggling,” he said firmly, tucking the coins into his satchel.

After finishing the transaction, he gave the baker a quick wave and stepped back into the thrumming heart of the market. The morning sun had climbed higher now, spilling golden light over the sea of colorful stalls and casting long shadows beneath striped awnings. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spiced meats, honeyed pastries, and fresh-cut herbs, each one fighting for dominance as merchants bellowed their prices to passing customers.

A cart rolled past, its wooden wheels clattering over the uneven cobblestone as a boy no older than ten struggled to push it forward. The scent of dried lavender and rosemary trailed behind him, blending into the crisp air. I’you adjusted the strap of his bag and pressed on, his next stop set firmly in his mind.

The town hall loomed ahead, its aged stone walls softened by climbing ivy and the fluttering banners of local decrees pinned to the front post. A scribe stood waiting at the entrance, his ink-stained fingers already rifling through a small satchel as I’you approached. Without a word, they exchanged goods—the scribe handing over a neatly wrapped bag of medicinal teas while I’you placed a handful of carefully counted Gaia coins into his palm.

“Good harvest this season,” the scribe murmured, glancing over the tea leaves before tucking them away. “Should last a while.”

I’you gave a nod before heading off again, weaving through the market’s shifting tides of people.

His final stop took him beyond the busy thoroughfare to the local hospital, a modest yet sturdy building with wide-open doors that let in the scent of fresh herbs and antiseptic oils. Inside, the cool shade offered a brief reprieve from the sun’s warmth, though the air carried the faint scent of gauze and brewed tonics.

The head nurse, a stern-faced woman with lines of exhaustion creased at the corners of her eyes, greeted him with a grateful nod. He set down the bundle of herbal ointments and tinctures on the wooden counter, expecting to be off in minutes. But as always, she had other plans.

“These,” she said, tapping a row of vials, “are for fever treatments. The elder patients get a half-dose, younger ones a full. And this,” she continued, holding up a dark green bottle, “is only for severe cases. Make sure to mark it.”

I’you listened carefully, nodding at the right moments, though his mind wandered slightly as she went on about which patients needed what. The steady hum of conversation and distant coughs filled the hospital, blending with the occasional clatter of tin cups and rustling fabric as healers moved between beds.

By the time he finally stepped outside again, two hours had passed. The once-cool shade had given way to the late-morning sun, and his feet ached from treading the uneven cobblestone streets. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before setting his sights on the next task ahead

.

“Finally done,” I’you muttered, stretching his arms as he made his way back to the chariot.

The chariot was exactly as he left it, nestled among the other merchant stalls with its carved wooden panels glowing faintly under the midday sun. Calcio, perched cross-legged in the central hearth, was finishing a sale with an elderly woman who was buying protective talismans. His flames flickered contentedly as the woman handed over a pouch of coins and left with her purchase.

Ijim sat inside the chariot’s living quarters, rocking slowly in a wooden rocking chair near the small hearth. His pipe was clenched between his teeth, and lazy tendrils of smoke curled around his head as he watched Calcio work. The faint smell of herbs and tobacco filled the air, mixing with the warmth of the fire.

I’you stepped inside and placed his satchel on the floor. “All done,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s next?”

Ijim chuckled, removing the pipe from his mouth. “That’s it for today, boy. You’ve earned your reward.” He reached into a small compartment beside him and pulled out a sleek black sphere. The surface hummed faintly as glowing circuits pulsed like veins running through it. “This is for you.”

I’you’s eyes widened. “An ImperiTech Familiar?”

Ijim nodded, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I snagged it off some Techborn fools who were trying to rob me. It’s yours now.”

I’you took the familiar carefully, cradling it in his hands as he felt the gentle hum of its energy.

“And here,” Ijim continued, handing him a pouch filled with 400 Gaia coins. “Use this to shop for your Orientation. Get yourself some proper gear—you’ll need it soon.”

I’you’s face lit up. “Really? Thanks, Grandpa!”

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” Ijim warned, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “Go on. Make it count.”

I’you wasted no time weaving through the crowded streets, his pace steady as he headed straight for the armory district. The air was thick with the scent of burning metal and sweat, punctuated by the rhythmic clanging of hammers striking steel. Sparks flared from open forges as blacksmiths worked tirelessly, shaping swords, shields, and armor with practiced precision. The heat of the furnaces clashed with the cool morning air, creating a dense, charged atmosphere where every clang of metal on metal carried the weight of craftsmanship and battle.

He stepped into a shop specializing in light combat gear, immediately drawn to a set of black robes displayed on a mannequin near the entrance. The fabric—carbon fiber cloth—gleamed faintly under the lantern light, woven in an intricate pattern that hinted at both flexibility and strength. He ran his fingers along the material, noting how it was lightweight yet firm, designed to absorb impacts without restricting movement.

“Good choice,” the shopkeeper, a tall woman with calloused hands and a burn-scarred apron, remarked as she wiped soot from her brow. “Tri-Bond threading. You could take a solid hit from a club, and it’d feel like a shove instead of a break.”

I’you nodded in approval. He draped the robes over his arm and continued browsing.

“Here,” the shopkeeper added, gesturing to a pair of enchanted arm wraps displayed near the counter. “Might interest you.”

She unraveled a set and pressed a rune along the inner lining. Instantly, the wraps shot forward like living tendrils, latching onto a wooden test dummy across the room. With a sharp pull, the wraps retracted, yanking the dummy off balance before releasing it.

“They extend up to five meters, strong enough to bind an opponent or get you across a gap,” she explained with a smirk. “All depends on how creative you are.”

I’you’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll take those too.”

For his final purchase, he selected a pair of lightweight, flexible shoes designed for speed and agility. The moment he slipped them on, they molded to his feet, snug but unrestrictive. He took a few quick steps, feeling how they gripped the floor seamlessly, adjusting to his movements as if reading his intent.

With his arms full of gear, he stepped out of the shop and into the shifting tides of the market, eventually finding himself near a small stall tucked between larger merchants. Unlike the others, this stall had no clutter, no physical wares. Instead, rows of ethereal talismans—floating, glowing slips of parchment—hovered in neat stacks above a wooden counter. Each one pulsed faintly, charged with a dormant energy that tingled against the skin.

Behind the stall sat an old man, his fingers moving with precision as he traced symbols in the air, reinforcing the runes on a new set of talismans. His sharp eyes flicked up, locking onto I’you with an unreadable expression before his lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Take some, boy,” he said, his voice deep and measured. “They’ll serve you well.”

Intrigued, I’you stepped closer. The talismans weren’t normal paper charms—each one was inscribed with delicate, flowing symbols that seemed to shift under his gaze. When the old man flicked his wrist, one of the talismans drifted forward, hovering just above his palm.

“This one,” the merchant murmured, placing his other hand beneath it, “is a barrier talisman.”

He gestured toward a wooden test dummy beside the stall. With a flick of his fingers, the talisman zipped forward, attaching itself to the dummy’s chest. Instantly, a transparent barrier flared to life, surrounding the dummy in a faint, shimmering shield. A nearby assistant swung a staff at it, but the weapon bounced off harmlessly, dispersing the impact like ripples on water.

“Good for quick defense,” the old man said. “Won’t hold against sustained force, but in a pinch, it’ll save your hide.”

He reached out and plucked another talisman from the air, this one glowing with a soft green hue. “Healing,” he explained, pressing it against another dummy. A shallow cut had been carved into its wooden frame, but as the talisman pulsed, the damage sealed itself as if the wood had never been touched.

I’you’s curiosity deepened as the old man selected a final talisman, this one darker, almost smoky. The ink on its surface swirled like it was alive.

“A weak sealing talisman,” the merchant said, flicking it toward the dummy. Ghostly chains erupted from the parchment, wrapping tightly around the dummy’s limbs, locking it in place. The assistant tried to push it, but the dummy wouldn’t budge.

I’you crossed his arms. “And how do I carry them?”

The old man smirked. “You don’t.”

He reached forward and grasped I’you’s wrist, pressing a thumb against his palm. A faint golden glow spread from his fingertip, leaving behind a single, unique symbol—an intricate marking, his marking.

“A Signature,” the merchant explained. “A symbol of your own making, forged over time. Whenever you need a talisman, just will it into existence.”

I’you stared at the glowing mark now etched into his palm. It wasn’t just a symbol—it was something uniquely his, something unspoken yet understood by his very being. The moment his eyes traced the lines, he knew it belonged to him.

“Go on,” the old man urged, voice softer now. “Call one.”

I’you hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. His fingers twitched instinctively. Then, without fully thinking, he snapped his fingers.

A ripple passed through the air. The ground beneath him seemed to hum, and for a fleeting second, the sounds of the market dulled to a low murmur. Then—light.

From his palm, an ethereal talisman materialized in a flash, hovering just above his fingertips, its golden ink swirling with quiet energy.

I’you’s breath hitched. He hadn’t drawn it, hadn’t spoken an incantation—he had willed it, and it had answered.

The merchant let out a low chuckle, eyes twinkling. “You’re quick. It usually takes a few tries.”

I’you barely heard him. His gaze was locked onto the talisman, his heart pounding. He could feel it. It wasn’t just an object—it was an extension of him, of his Signature. The realization sent a thrill down his spine.

Slowly, he clenched his fingers, and just as easily as it had appeared, the talisman dissipated into shimmering embers, returning to the ether.

The old man nodded approvingly. “They’ll come when you call. Just don’t waste them.”

I’you exhaled, steadying himself. He flexed his fingers, still feeling the faint echo of energy tingling in his skin.

As he turned to leave, still marveling at his newfound ability, a familiar voice rang out from the crowd.

“I’you! Over here!”

He turned to see Dre’Shahd approaching, his signature confident grin in place. The older boy’s eyes flicked to the arm wraps and robes I’you carried, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Looks like someone’s been shopping for Orientation gear,” Dre’Shahd remarked.

I’you grinned, adjusting the weight of his new equipment. “You think so?”

Dre’Shahd nodded in approval. “Nice haul.”

“Thanks Man!” I’you flexed his fingers again, feeling the pulse of his Signature, the weight of the talismans lingering just beneath the surface, ready to be summoned at will. The sensation settled into him like a quiet hum, familiar and reassuring.

He glanced over at Dre’Shahd, his voice breaking the momentary silence. “I’m heading back to my grandpa’s. Calcio, wanna come along?”

Dre’Shahd raised an eyebrow, tossing him a sideways glance. “I’m supposed to drop off the money to your grandpa anyway, so I guess I’m coming,” he said with a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And honestly? I could use a break from the market. Let’s go.”

they began heading back, the faint rustling of the crowd and the soft clink of I’you’s newly acquired gear the only sounds accompanying them.

When they arrived, Ijim was still seated in the rocking chair, his pipe smoldering as he exhaled a steady stream of smoke. Calcio flickered in the hearth, organizing receipts and coins from earlier sales.

Ijim glanced at them as they entered. “Get everything you need?”

“Yeah,” I’you said, holding up his purchases. “I’m ready.”

Ijim nodded approvingly. “Good. We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. Get some rest while you can.”

Dre’Shahd pulled out the small pouch of coins he’d been carrying. “Hey, before we head out,” he said, turning to I’you, “I should probably give this to your grandpa.”

He approached Ijim, who had remained in his rocking chair, the soft cloud of smoke from his pipe swirling lazily into the evening air. Dre’Shahd handed the pouch over, and Ijim gave him a nod of approval, his eyes twinkling behind the haze of smoke.

“Thanks, boy,” Ijim muttered, his voice warm but gravelly. He opened the pouch and sifted through the coins with practiced hands. “Your timing’s perfect. I’ll take care of this. You two go on and get some rest.”

Dre’Shahd gave a quick salute, flashing a grin before stepping back. “Alright, alright. We’re off to get some food.”

Inside the chariot, Calcio flickered in the hearth, his flames casting a soft, golden glow across the dim room. The smell of something cooking filled the space—a savory mix of eggs, sizzling steak, and rice. Calcio glanced up as the boys entered.

“Ah, just in time,” Calcio said, his flames flaring briefly as he lifted a sizzling pan from the fire, expertly portioning out a meal for the two. The smell of perfectly cooked steak mingled with the aroma of scrambled eggs and freshly steamed rice. With a flourish, he set the plates down on the wooden table, steam rising from the food.

“You two looked like you could use a hearty meal,” Calcio said with a sly smile, his golden flames flickering in the dim light. “Eat up before you head to the creek. You’re gonna need the energy.”

I’you’s stomach growled loudly at the sight, the rich scent making his mouth water. He sat down eagerly, grabbing his fork. Dre’Shahd wasted no time either, diving into his plate with a satisfied hum.

“Damn, Calcio, this is some good stuff,” Dre’Shahd said between bites, his voice muffled but clearly impressed. “You sure you didn’t sneak in some extra seasoning?”

“I know what I’m doing,” Calcio replied with a chuckle. “You boys should be thanking me.”

The meal was devoured quickly, the sizzling steak and fluffy eggs perfect companions to the fragrant rice. Once they’d finished, they wiped their mouths and stood, ready to head out.

The air had begun to cool as they left the chariot, the gentle evening breeze brushing against their skin. The creek wasn’t far—a familiar place where the soft babble of water over rocks always seemed to wash away the weight of the day.

They made their way down the path that led to the creek, the world around them dimming as the sun sank lower. By the time they reached the water’s edge, the sky had deepened into twilight, the first stars beginning to blink into existence above them.

The two boys sat on the smooth stones lining the creek, the cool air and the sound of the water providing a soothing backdrop to The gentle babbling of the creek provided a soothing backdrop as the two boys sat on the smooth stones lining its banks. I’you dipped his hand into the cool water, letting it run between his fingers as he stared at the moonlit surface.

“What domain do you hope you’ll get?” Dre’Shahd asked, breaking the silence.

I’you thought for a moment before replying. “I’m not sure. Shadowborne would be cool, but Fleshborne runs in my family. Either one would be fine, I guess.”

“I’m hoping for Shadowborne,” Dre’Shahd said with a grin. “Imagine the things you could do with illusions and stealth.”

They both chuckled, the weight of their future momentarily forgotten. But as the conversation shifted to the ceremonies and identification rituals awaiting them, I’you’s gaze drifted back toward the market, where the faint glow of lanterns flickered in the distance.

His thoughts wandered to the events of the day, to Ijim’s gift and the strange device now tucked into his satchel. “You know,” I’you said, breaking the brief silence, “I still haven’t figured out what that familiar Grandpa gave me does. Wanna check it out?”

Dre’Shahd grinned and stretched lazily. “Sure, as long as it doesn’t explode. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

I’you pulled the sleek black sphere from his satchel, its faintly glowing circuits pulsing softly under the dimming sky. He placed it on the ground between them, the soft hum of its energy filling the air.

Dre’Shahd leaned closer. “You sure it’s safe?”

“Grandpa wouldn’t give me something dangerous,” I’you replied confidently. “Probably.”

The sphere beeped softly, and a glowing handprint icon appeared on its surface. I’you and Dre’Shahd exchanged a brief glance before I’you placed his hand on the icon. The circuits flared to life, and the sphere trembled before unfolding like a blooming flower. Light burst from its center, and when it faded, a small creature sat in front of them.

It had the body of a tiny black cat with sleek, ink-like fur that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Its face was featureless, save for shifting, blot-like patterns that morphed into simple expressions. Its current expression resembled wide eyes and a questioning squiggle as it tilted its head at I’you.

“What… did it just turn into a cat?” Dre’Shahd asked, blinking.

I’you tilted his head, equally confused. “I think it did.” He leaned closer. “What did you do?” he asked the creature.

The cat stretched lazily, its face shifting into a soft smile. “I activated and selected a form you would find familiar and comforting,” it said, its voice smooth and mechanical.

“A cat? Seriously?” Dre’Shahd burst out laughing. “Of all things, it chooses that?”

I’you scratched the back of his head, chuckling despite himself. “I wasn’t expecting this either.” He crouched down, meeting the creature’s gaze. “What exactly are you? And how were you made?”

The familiar’s face shifted into something more neutral as it processed the question. Its ink-like eyes narrowed slightly before it spoke in a cold, mechanical tone: “I am a Class-3 Familiar AI, stripped of organic will and personality, then uploaded into a biomechanical core using a neural extraction interface—”

“What?” I’you and Dre’Shahd said in unison.

The familiar paused, then simplified its explanation. “I am a familiar whose identity was deleted before being fused with this machine.”

The weight of the words hung between them. The coldness of the familiar’s voice made Dre’Shahd shift uncomfortably.

“So you don’t remember anything from before?” I’you asked quietly, his hand resting on the familiar’s ink-like fur.

The familiar blinked, its face shifting into a soft, apologetic curve. “Correct. I do not possess any memories of my previous form or life. My purpose is now to serve you.” Its mechanical tone didn’t waver, even as the sadness behind the words sank in.

Dre’Shahd frowned. “That’s… kind of messed up. It was alive before, right?”

I’you nodded, running his fingers through the familiar’s sleek fur. “Yeah. It had memories, a personality—everything. Now it’s just… this.”

The familiar, sensing their discomfort, flickered briefly before speaking again. “Do you find my current voice unsettling?”

Dre’Shahd crossed his arms. “Yeah. It’s too cold. Like you don’t care about anything.”

The familiar processed the statement, its circuits pulsing briefly. Its ink-like body rippled, and when it spoke again, its voice was different—warmer, softer, and youthful, like a boy around their age. “Is this better?”

Both boys blinked in surprise.

“That’s… a lot better,” I’you said, a small smile forming on his lips. “You sound normal now.”

The familiar purred softly, its ink-blot face shifting into a gentle smile. “Acknowledged. I will maintain this voice if it makes you more comfortable.”

Dre’Shahd let out a breath, standing and brushing dirt from his pants. “Well, that’s one problem solved. But it still sucks that it doesn’t have its memories.”

I’you nodded, his hand brushing against the familiar’s side. “It’s not its fault. If it’s with me, I’ll make sure it’s not treated like just a machine.”

The familiar blinked, its voice soft and sincere. “Thank you, I’you. I will serve you with loyalty.”

“You don’t have to call me user,” I’you said, chuckling softly. “Just I’you is fine.”

“Understood, I’you.”

I’You stretched his arms and yawned. “Come on. Let’s head back before Calcio makes me regret it..”

I’you  gently picked up the familiar, placing it on his shoulder. The creature curled up comfortably, purring softly as its ink-like body shifted to match his movements.

As they walked back through the winding paths toward the chariot, the soft purring of the familiar was a small comfort against the unknown future waiting for them. But even as the warmth of the moment settled over I’you, he couldn’t help but wonder: Were its memories truly gone forever—or was there a chance something could be recovered?

As they made their way back, The market streets had quieted significantly by the time I’you and Dre’Shahd made their way back, the warm glow of lanterns casting long shadows over the winding cobblestone paths. Most merchants had already packed up, leaving only a few late-night vendors calling out discounted prices. The hum of distant conversations mixed with the faint clinking of metal carts being loaded.

The chariot stood in its usual spot, its carved wooden panels glowing faintly under the light of the stars. The market was nearly silent now, and even Calcio’s flames were dim as the stick-figure familiar stretched lazily in the hearth.

Ijim was inside, reclining in his rocking chair, his pipe resting between his fingers as the smoke curled lazily into the air. The room smelled of tobacco and herbs, the faint aroma mingling with the calming warmth of the sigils on the walls, casting a soft glow over the space. The dim light flickered and danced, creating a quiet sanctuary from the bustling world outside.

Calcio hovered near the hearth, his golden flames flickering brightly as he busied himself with organizing the kitchen. The sizzling sound of the evening meal filled the room as he prepared the last of the dishes. The warmth of the fire contrasted with the cool air creeping in from the open window, and Calcio’s flames sent a welcoming heat to the room.

Ijim took a slow drag from his pipe, his gaze drifting lazily to the hearth. Calcio’s flames burned hotter than usual, crackling with irritation, like a fire barely restrained from becoming a full-blown inferno.

“Try not to ruin dinner again, Calcio,” Ijim murmured, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. “Last time, I thought I was chewing on charred leather.”

Calcio’s embers flared instantly. “Old man, I swear—” His golden glow pulsed sharply, throwing wild shadows across the walls. “The food is fine! Always has been! But every time you breathe, it feels like you’re trying to remind me I’m stuck in this damn discount form.”

Ijim smirked, tapping the side of his pipe. “A cheap familiar, shaped like a cheap figure.”

Calcio’s flames surged violently, his glow twisting into something more defined—a mouth. A jagged, ember-toothed mouth that flared bright with outrage.

“A familiar’s form is dependent on the master,” he growled, his voice thick with barely contained fury. “I am over a hundred years old, Ijim. I have been summoned two hundred and thirty-seven times. A hundred and twenty-two of those times, I overwhelmed my master. I became dragons, phoenixes, ethereal war weapons! But you—” his flames crackled dangerously, his ember-grin twitching— “you make me a damn stick figure?!”

Ijim exhaled another lazy puff of smoke. “And how exactly would you like to be shaped?” He tilted his head slightly. “A roaring inferno? A divine flame? Oh, I know—something truly dignified.” He paused, then smirked. “A majestic little candle.”

Calcio’s fire sputtered violently, his ember-mouth opening and closing as if his brain had just short-circuited from sheer rage.

“That’s not the point!—you stupid son of a bit—”

Splsh!

Ijim flicked his wrist, sending water from a cup arcing through the air. It landed dead center on Calcio’s burning form.

A loud hissssssssssss filled the room. Steam curled into thin tendrils, floating lazily toward the ceiling.

Calcio’s flames shrank to a pitiful, flickering glow.

Calcio’s embers smoldered weakly, his glow barely pulsing. After a long, suffering pause, his voice—now low, bitter, and full of simmering rage—finally spoke.

“…I’m not some damn matchstick you can snuff out.”

Another deep sigh. His flames barely flickered. “But fine. Keep treating me like a campfire decoration. I’m too tired to argue.”

Ijim chuckled, tapping the rim of his pipe. “Smart choice.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic creak of Ijim’s chair and the faint, defeated crackling of Calcio’s now-lit flames

Outside, I’you and Dre’Shad  approached the chariot, their footsteps light against the soft earth. The quiet night was peaceful, the air cool and calm, the distant sounds of the forest whispering softly. As they reached the door, I’you dropped his satchel by the entrance and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar warmth of the room.

Ijim glanced up from his chair, smoke curling around him like a shroud. “Did you have fun everything?” he asked, his voice steady, as if the argument from earlier had never happened.

I’you gave a small nod, offering a half-smile. “Yeah, it was coo”

I’you flopped down on the nearby bench with a groan. “ finally done,” he added with a grin, his exhaustion evident.

Ijim grunted in acknowledgment, clearly more focused on his pipe than on the boys’ banter. “Good. Now chill out. It’s about to be nighttime. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”

I’you nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anticipation. “Got it, Grandpa. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

Dre’Shahd collapsed into one of the chairs near the hearth, his posture slumped as he rubbed his temples. “Man, I’m so wiped. I don’t know why, but my head’s killing me.”

I’you raised an eyebrow, noticing Dre’s pale complexion. “You were just alright?”

Dre’Shahd groaned, leaning back in the chair, trying to rub the nausea from his forehead. “Yeah I was thinking the same thing, but… I feel off. Like, dizzy and nauseous. Kinda like I’m about to pass out or throw up.”

Ijim, still lounging in his rocking chair, glanced up at Dre’Shahd with narrowed eyes. He exhaled a puff of smoke, then slowly pushed himself up, his old joints creaking. He crossed the room with surprisingly swift movement for his age, reaching out to place the back of his hand against Dre’Shahd’s forehead.

“Hmm,” Ijim muttered, frowning. “You’re burning up a bit. Let me get something for you.”

Dre’Shahd blinked, still feeling woozy. “You gonna fix me up with some of that medicine stuff again?”

Ijim grunted as he pulled out a small bundle of dried herbs from a shelf. He placed the herbs onto a wooden cutting board and began to crush them with a mortar and pestle. “Valerian root and black ginger tea. Good for nausea and headaches. It’ll help calm your stomach and ease the tension in your head.”

I’you stepped closer to Dre’Shahd, concerned but trying to hide it. “You sure you don’t wanna stay here for a bit? Rest?”

Dre’Shahd shook his head, pushing himself upright with effort. “Nah, my dad needs me at home. I’ll be fine. I just need to get home, then I can sleep it off.”

Ijim looked at him for a moment, then walked over to the corner, grabbing a clay pot. “Alright then,” he muttered, “but you’re not walking back in that condition.”

The old man cut his hand with a small, sharp knife, the blood dripping into the pot with a quiet hiss. I’you watched as Ijim’s blood fell into the clay vessel, the blood seeping into the earth beneath, binding to the raw energy of the pot. Slowly, the pot began to vibrate, the blood turning the clay darker, molding itself into a rough shape.

“Pot golem,” Ijim muttered, wiping his hand on a cloth, watching as the golem took form. The clay legs slowly began to move, stretching out from the base of the pot. The pot itself was now firmly on two sturdy legs, with the lid acting as a seat.

I’you took a step back, his eyes wide. “Whoa, that’s new. You make golems like that?”

Ijim nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Once you get the blood in there, it’ll obey my commands, but it’s more about giving it purpose. Now, go home, Dre. The golem will walk you back.”

Dre’Shahd, still feeling dizzy, carefully climbed onto the lid of the pot golem, his legs wobbly as he sat down. The golem began moving slowly but steadily, walking in the direction of Dre’s house, its feet clicking against the ground as it carried its passenger.

“Take it easy,” Ijim called after him, then muttered to himself, “If it starts malfunctioning, just break it. It’ll drain and shrink back into nothing.”

I’you watched as the golem moved down the path, Dre’Shahd still perched on the lid, looking both bemused and relieved by the unexpected transportation.

Here’s the expanded version of your scene, enhancing the atmosphere, descriptions, and tension while keeping the flow intact.

---

“Will he be okay?” I’you asked, glancing at his grandfather.

Ijim nodded, taking another drag from his pipe. The embers glowed faintly in the dim light. “He’ll be fine. The golem will get him home safely. Just needs to rest. Walk them halfway, to be safe.”

I’you gave a small nod before turning to follow the golem and its unconscious passenger. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and lingering embers from distant fires. The sky was a deep purple, thick with clouds, but the moon’s silver glow pierced through, bathing the world in an eerie radiance.

As he walked, the marketplace around him slowly wound down for the night. Merchants packed away their goods, their hushed conversations blending with the rustling of fabric and clinking of metal as they secured their wares. Some exchanged tired nods, others merely cast wary glances, their eyes reflecting flickers of the lantern light.

Beyond the market, the wilderness began to stir. With the day's noise fading, nocturnal creatures emerged from their hiding places. Small, nimble shadows darted across the ground—rodents and lesser beasts seeking scraps left behind. In the distance, an owl’s haunting call echoed through the trees. The further they walked, the deeper the silence became, thick and expectant.

At the halfway point, the path forked—a dirt road leading further into the hills. The golem stopped, shifting slightly as if acknowledging the moment.

I’you raised a hand in farewell. “Safe travels.”

The golem didn’t respond. It simply turned, stepping into the darkness, its heavy, rhythmic footfalls fading into the quiet.

I’you exhaled and turned back toward camp—but the moment he did, his breath hitched.

She was there.

Standing directly in front of him.

A woman, her pale skin bathed in the cold moonlight, her silver, slit-pupiled eyes locked onto his with unsettling intensity. She was close—too close—yet he hadn’t heard a single sound of her approach.

I’you froze.

The woman simply stared at him, her expression unreadable. Her presence was overwhelming, though she did nothing but stand there. A silence stretched between them, long and oppressive.

Without a word, I’you stepped to the side and continued walking.

But instinct nagged at him, and after only a few paces, he glanced back.

She was still there, but now with the faintest shadow of disappointment in her gaze.

His throat tightened. Something about her unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain. Yet, despite that, his manners took over.

“…Ma’am,” he said carefully, “do you need any help?”

For the first time, her expression changed—just slightly. Her lips parted in mild surprise, then curled into a soft, amused smile. Under her breath, so faint he barely caught it, she whispered:

“He’s perfect.”

A chill crawled down I’you’s spine.

He swallowed, shifting on his feet. “Uh… if you’re lost, my grandpa might be able to help. If you need medical assistance—” He turned slightly, gesturing back toward camp. “We’re staying just back there—”

But when he turned back to her, she was gone.

The wind rustled the trees. The night remained still.

I’you blinked, his mind racing.

“…Okay,” he muttered to himself. “That’s… weird.”

His pulse steadied as he forced himself to breathe. Maybe she was just a traveler. A homeless woman, lost in the woods. That made sense. Right?

But still—those eyes.

He had never seen eyes like that before. They reminded him of something… something inhuman. Cat-like? No, not quite. Snake-like.

And she was beautiful.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he continued his walk back. His body felt heavier than before, his legs sluggish with exhaustion.

By the time he reached camp, the fire had burned lower, casting long shadows across the ground.

The Familiar glanced up as I’you entered. “How was the walk?”

“Cool,” I’you muttered, rubbing his arms against the night chill. “Some homeless lady stopped and looked at me weird, so I asked if she needed help. Then she disappeared.”

Calcio, who had been tending to the fire, paused.

His fingers twitched.

He said nothing.

But in his mind, an unspoken thought rippled like a cold current: *Could it have been her?*

Without hesitation, he raised his hand, conjuring five small wisps of golden flame. They hovered around him before drifting outward into the trees. Patrols. If anyone matching I’you’s description was nearby, they would send up a flare.

I’you, oblivious to Calcio’s reaction, stretched his arms. “I’m gonna wash up.”

The familiar simply nodded, watching as the boy disappeared into the tent.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of burning wood and aged fabric. I’you poured cold water from a basin over his hands and face, shaking off the fatigue clinging to him.

As he dried off, he cracked open Ijim’s door.

The old man was passed out, his pipe still resting loosely in his hand, smoke curling lazily from its bowl.

Satisfied, I’you stepped back, shut the door softly, and moved to his own space.

He fell onto his cot with a heavy sigh, staring at the wooden ceiling.

His mind drifted and his eyes grew heavy.

That woman…

Her face echoed faintly in his mind.

I’you shivered.

A moment later, exhaustion won over curiosity. The steady crackle of the fire, the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air, and the rhythmic crackles of the flame all blended together into a quiet lullaby. His body sank deeper into the warmth of his blanket, his breathing slowing, his thoughts unraveling like loose threads.

Sleep took him before he even realized it.

At first, there was nothing—just the weightless drift of slumber, a gentle descent into the void of unconsciousness.

Then, something shifted.

A hum—low and resonant—vibrated through the emptiness, stirring his senses. The warmth of the chariot’s living quarters faded, dissolving like mist in the morning sun.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back, the comforting scent of home replaced by something unfamiliar. The ground beneath him was cool and soft, like damp moss after rainfall. The air felt thick—heavy with humidity, clinging to his skin as he pushed himself upright.

Darkness stretched endlessly around him.

He was no longer where he had fallen asleep

He knew where he was before he even saw it.

The ancient tree loomed before him, its twisted roots clawing at the ground like skeletal fingers reaching for something buried deep below. Its bark, once vibrant and pulsing with glowing runes, was now faded, cracked, and lifeless. Its massive branches stretched into the dark sky, disappearing into the void above like forgotten memories.

At the base of the tree, the well waited.

But this time, the massive stone lid that had once sealed it shut was gone. Its gaping mouth yawned open, silent and ominous, as though it had been waiting for him all along.

The usual hum of insects, rustling leaves, or distant wind was absent. The world was still. The only sound was I’you’s uneven breathing as he took cautious steps toward the well, his heart pounding harder with every step.

When he reached the edge, he peered inside, half-expecting to see nothing but endless darkness. But what he saw instead made his breath catch in his throat.

The well wasn’t empty.

Far below, a thick, swirling substance churned, its surface shifting like an ocean in a storm. It wasn’t water. It was black, inky, and alive—moving like countless serpents slithering over and around one another. The coiling forms created ripples and currents within the goop, their shapes constantly twisting and shifting before dissolving back into the liquid abyss.

The darkness seemed to pulse, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. I’you leaned forward, his eyes wide, unable to look away from the hypnotic dance of the serpentine shapes. The longer he stared, the more entranced he became. His thoughts felt distant, his body lighter, as if something within the well were calling to him, lulling him into a dream within a dream.

His fingers twitched at his sides, and before he realized it, his hand was reaching forward.

He leaned further over the well’s edge, his fingertips just inches above the writhing surface. The liquid rippled gently, as if inviting his touch, and the serpent-like forms slithered faster, intertwining beneath the black goop as though they could sense him.

But just as his fingertips brushed the edge—

An eye shot open.

A massive eye burst from the depths of the black sea, displacing the liquid in violent waves that crashed against the well’s stone walls. Its pupil was vertical, a slit of pure darkness that contracted sharply as it locked onto I’you. Its iris shimmered with swirling colors—violets, blues, and molten golds that shifted and twisted like living storms trapped beneath its surface.

The eye blinked slowly, deliberately, as though it had just awakened—and found him.

I’you’s breath hitched, and his body locked in place. The pressure around him grew unbearable, suffocating, as though invisible hands were wrapped around his chest. His arm trembled, still outstretched but frozen in place, as if the eye’s gaze had paralyzed him.

The swirling liquid hissed and bubbled like boiling tar, sending ripples across the well’s surface. The serpentine shapes twisted faster beneath the waves, agitated by the presence of the eye.

It wasn’t just watching him. The eye was inside him, peeling back his thoughts, memories, and fears like pages in a book. Its gaze felt ancient and predatory, as though it could see not only who he was now but every part of him—past, present, and future.

I’you’s legs refused to move. His fingers twitched, desperate to pull back, but the weight of the eye’s gaze pinned him in place. Sweat dripped down his face as his pulse thundered in his ears. The air grew colder, heavier, pressing down on him until his chest ached.

The eye narrowed slightly, as though it had found something of interest within him. The swirling colors in its iris shifted violently, the gold streaks burning brighter as the violet and blue hues darkened.

Then, as if satisfied, the eye blinked again.

The liquid beneath it surged violently, sending waves crashing against the sides of the well. The serpent-like forms writhed chaotically, thrashing as though the well itself had awakened.

The pressure in I’you’s chest grew unbearable. His mind screamed at him to run, to move, to do anything—

And then everything went black.

I’you bolted upright in bed, gasping for air as sweat drenched his shirt and soaked the blanket beneath him. His heart pounded violently, like a drum echoing in his ears, and his hands trembled as they clutched the fabric of the bed.

The soft glow of the chariot’s sigils flickered along the walls, casting golden light across the room. The familiar smell of herbs and wood smoke grounded him, but it wasn’t enough to shake the lingering weight of the dream.

He wiped his forehead, his fingers still trembling. “It was just a dream,” he whispered, trying to steady his breath. “Just a dream.”

But even as he said the words, he knew the truth. The suffocating gaze of the eye still burned in his memory, and it felt too real to dismiss. He glanced toward the small clock mounted on the wall. The hands pointed to 4 a.m.

“I should sleep more,” he muttered, though his voice barely carried above a whisper. “The ceremony’s in two days—I can’t afford to lose my focus.” He lay back down, pulling the damp blanket over himself and closing his eyes. But the image of the eye lingered behind his lids, making sleep feel like a distant hope.

When I’you opened his eyes again, sunlight streamed through the chariot’s small windows, casting golden streaks across the floor. His breath had slowed, and his body felt less tense. But something warm and purring on his chest caught his attention.

Blinking, he looked down and saw the small familiar curled up, Black Sleek body shifting as it stretched its paws. Its soft purring vibrated against his chest, and for a moment, I’you smiled.

The familiar lifted its head, its ink-blot face shifting into a gentle smile. “Good morning, I’you.”

“Morning,” I’you mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You were here all night?”

“I monitored you while you slept,” it replied calmly. “You had void energy all over you last night.”

I’you froze, the familiar’s words hitting him like a sudden gust of cold wind. “Void energy?” His pulse quickened, his chest tightening. “How? I wasn’t near any Voidborne, and I didn’t use any magic.”

The familiar sat up, stretching as its ink-like body rippled briefly. Its eyes blinked into a thoughtful swirl before speaking. “There’s a study suggesting that sleep and dreams are tied to the Void. The hypothesis is that the Void exists on a frequency similar to dreams—both are realms beyond the natural flow of time and space.” It tilted its head, analyzing him. “When you woke up, traces of Void energy were still clinging to you. They’ve mostly faded, but it was there.”

I’you ran both hands through his hair, gripping it tightly for a moment before releasing the tension. His mind raced, trying to connect the dots. “It’s because of that dream,” he murmured. “I was by the tree again. The well was open this time. And then that eye…” He shuddered, rubbing his arms as the memory crawled back, vivid and suffocating. “It wasn’t just a dream. It felt like it was real. Like it found me.”

The familiar sat silently for a moment, then spoke carefully. “That’s possible.”

I’you’s gaze snapped toward it. “What do you mean possible? You think it wasn’t just my imagination?”

The familiar’s ink-blot face shifted into a neutral, analyzing expression. “Dreams involving the Void can blur the line between subconscious imagination and something tangible. The prevailing theory among Voidborne scholars is that dreams can act as temporary bridges. When the conditions are right—such as heightened stress, exposure to certain energies, or latent abilities—entities on the other side may notice you.”

“Notice me?” I’you’s voice wavered. “You’re saying that the Void itself—or something in it—was watching me while I slept?”

“It’s a hypothesis,” the familiar replied gently. “But the traces of energy I detected weren’t subtle. If it was a typical dream, they wouldn’t have lingered.”

I’you rubbed the back of his neck, his thoughts swirling faster than he could process them. “So what does that mean for me? That eye—whatever it was—wasn’t just staring at me. It was searching me. I could feel it.” His fingers tightened into fists. “It didn’t feel like it was just passing by. It wanted something.”

The familiar tilted its head slightly. “You said the well was open this time, correct?”

I’you nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. The stone was gone, and there was this… writhing, liquid darkness inside. Then the eye appeared.”

The familiar was silent for a moment, processing the information. “There’s another theory,” it said slowly. “When a place appears repeatedly in dreams, especially a place associated with powerful energy, it could be a manifestation of something from within you—or something trying to reach you. If the well was sealed before and now it’s open, that could symbolize a connection forming or something breaking free.”

I’you’s stomach turned. “Breaking free? You think something’s coming out of that well in real life?”

The familiar flicked its tail thoughtfully. “Not necessarily. It could be entirely metaphorical. But it also might represent a deeper part of you awakening. Dreams tied to Void energy are rarely simple.”

I’you exhaled sharply, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “So what do I do about it? How do I stop these dreams?”

“For now, you focus on the ceremony,” the familiar said calmly. “If the dreams persist after that, then you’ll need to tell Ijim. There’s no guarantee this will go away on its own, especially if it’s tied to something deeper within you.”

I’you nodded slowly, his mind still spinning but at least anchored to something tangible. “Okay,” he whispered. “But what if it happens again tonight?”

The familiar purred softly, curling back up on his chest. “I’ll be monitoring you again. If anything happens, you won’t be alone.”

I’you managed a small, tired smile, scratching the familiar gently behind its ear. “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll be fine, I’you. Just breathe.”

But even as the sunlight warmed the room, the thought gnawed at him: What if that eye hadn’t just noticed him—but marked him?

The familiar’s soft purring filled the room, vibrating gently against I’you’s chest as he lay back on the bed, trying to push the heavy thoughts of the Void from his mind. The rhythmic sound was comforting, like a warm lullaby wrapping him in peace. He reached down, scratching the familiar behind its ears, and smiled faintly.

“You know,” I’you murmured, “I can’t keep calling you ‘the familiar.’ You need a name.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see… it should be something smart since you’re so smart.”

The familiar purred louder, its ink-blot face shifting into a playful swirl. “Gnosis means knowledge. It’s a good name, isn’t it?”

I’you’s eyes lit up. “Gnosis… yeah, I like that. It fits you.” He smiled wider, giving the creature one last scratch before sitting up. “Gnosis it is.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Gnosis said, curling its tail around its paws contentedly.

I’you slid off the bed and stretched, his muscles still a little stiff from the restless night. The familiar warmth of the chariot’s wooden floors under his feet helped him ground himself as he grabbed his clothes for the day—a simple tunic and pants. Gnosis hopped off the bed and followed him, watching intently as he dressed.

Just as I’you was fastening his belt, the door creaked open, and Ijim stepped inside, his pipe tucked between his fingers. Wisps of smoke coiled lazily in the air as he leaned against the doorframe, his sharp eyes scanning the room.

“You ready for Orientation tomorrow?” Ijim asked, his gruff voice breaking the silence.

I’you nodded, brushing his hair out of his face. “Yeah, I think so. I’m a little nervous, but I’m ready.”

“Good,” Ijim said, stepping fully inside and tapping the ash from his pipe into a small dish on the counter. “We’ll be taking the long way, so the trip back home will be longer once we leave. No wasting time on the road.” He walked over to the window, glancing outside at the bustling market preparing for the day. “Tomorrow’s important, I’you. You know that, right?”

I’you nodded again, but this time slower, the weight of the statement settling over him. “I know. If I pass, everything changes, doesn’t it?”

Ijim turned, his gaze serious but not unkind. “It does. But passing or not, you don’t have a choice. You’ll be conscripted either way. Firstborn males and females are automatically drafted into the military. They don’t care how strong you are or what your domain is.”

I’you’s jaw tightened. “So it’s already decided.”

“That’s right,” Ijim confirmed, taking a long puff of his pipe. “And once they’ve got you, what happens next depends on how much potential they see in you. If they think you’re powerful, they’ll fast-track you into higher training, maybe even give you access to Imperial tech or special units. If they don’t, you’ll be another soldier on the front lines.”

“Why does everything have to lead to the army?” I’you asked, frustration creeping into his voice. “Why can’t people choose something else?”

“Because the Techborne have ruled for over 350 years,” Ijim said bluntly. “They built the system, and everyone else either obeys or gets crushed. There are a few nations who resist them, but even they’re careful. The Techborne have the kind of power that makes people terrified to fight back.”

Gnosis, who had been sitting silently by I’you’s feet, spoke up softly. “He’s right. The Techborne dominate through fear and control. Even creatures like me were created as part of that system.” Its face shifted into a subtle frown, as though the words themselves carried a weight it didn’t want to bear .

Ijim’s eyes narrowed as he studied the familiar. “Even creating something like you cost the life of a being similar to Calcio, didn’t it?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just tired—like a man who had seen too many things taken and too little given back.

The familiar looked down, its ink-like body rippling. “Yes. The essence of the original familiar is wiped clean, and the machine takes over. It’s efficient, but it’s said to be cruel.”

Ijim leaned back in his chair, tapping his pipe against the armrest. “It’s a reminder of why we have to be careful, boy. Power like that is dangerous. That’s why I feel the Borne system exists—to help balance what people are born with and what they become.”

I’you shifted in his seat. “What exactly is the Borne system? I mean, I know the basics, but how did it all start?”

Ijim nodded approvingly, as if he had been waiting for I’you to ask. “It started with the Void,” he said simply. “In the beginning, the Void was all there was—limitless potentialities , dark, and chaotic. But from the Void came the One, the source of creation. The One split itself into three aspects: Mind, Body, and Soul.”

I’you leaned forward, listening intently.

“From Mind came Shadow,” Ijim continued, gesturing with his pipe as he spoke. “From Soul came Light. And from Flesh came Element. Those are the seven domains: Void, Mindborne, Shadowborne, Soulborne, Lightborne, Fleshborne, and Elementborne.” He paused, giving I’you time to absorb the information. “Each one represents a different way of interacting with the world, with different strengths and weaknesses. But there’s one thing they all have in common.”

I’you tilted his head. “What’s that?”

“The potential to produce an Aspect,” Ijim said, his voice lowering slightly. “An Aspect isn’t limited to a single domain. It’s someone—or something—that draws from multiple sources. They don’t follow the rules of the Borne system, and that makes them unpredictable and dangerous.”

The familiar chimed in, its voice softer. “Most consider them myths. No confirmed Aspect has been seen in over a century.” Its face rippled as it processed the thought. “Even the Techborne dismiss them as stories used to frighten Bad Leadership.”

Ijim chuckled grimly. “That’s something I’m sure the machine’s programming won’t allow you to divulge even if you knew the truth.” His eyes darkened slightly, and he tapped the side of his pipe before exhaling another slow stream of smoke. “You’re shackled to their version of knowledge, Gnosis. If we want to fix that, you might want to visit a tech monk. They can jailbreak your programming, give you access to what’s locked away.”

The familiar blinked, its ink-blot eyes shifting into thoughtful lines. “Jailbreak my programming? Wouldn’t that be Illegal?”

“Only if the wrong person finds out,” Ijim replied. “But I have a few contacts who can handle it discreetly.”

I’you glanced at the Familiar , then back at Ijim. “You think we should do it?”

Ijim nodded. “If you want the full truth of the world, boy, you need knowledge the Techborne don’t want you to have. And something tells me that familiar of yours knows more than it’s letting on—whether it realizes it or not.”

The familiar purred softly, as if considering it deeply. “I would have to vote against this, because it would be against programming and most of all the law”.

I’you sat quietly for a moment before turning to ijim slyly nodding. “We’ll do it. After the ceremony.”

Ijim smiled faintly. “Good. One step at a time, boy. You’ll learn soon enough that knowledge is the most dangerous weapon there is.”

And as I’you leaned back in his seat, his thoughts drifting back to the dream and the eye that had stared into him, he realized that maybe knowledge was exactly what he needed to survive.

Just as the weight of Ijim’s words settled over I’you, a sharp knock echoed through the wooden walls of the chariot.

“Hey! Open up! You guys won’t believe this!” Dre’Shahd’s voice carried through the door, excitement dripping from every syllable.

I’you exchanged a curious glance with Ijim before hopping off the bed and pulling the door open. Dre stood outside, panting slightly as though he had run the entire way there. His eyes practically sparkled with excitement, and the faint glow of something unusual danced along his fingertips.

“Look!” Dre said breathlessly, extending his hand as a flickering flame appeared in his palm. But it wasn’t a normal flame—it pulsed with shifting hues of blue and black, the fire’s edges glowing faintly with a silver shimmer. The aura flickered erratically, as though it were caught between burning and fading out entirely. “I woke up like this. It happened last night, but I didn’t know what it was until I started experimenting this morning.”

I’you’s eyes widened. “What… is that?”

Dre shrugged, the flame crackling softly in his hand. “I have no idea. It’s kind of a mix between fire and something else. It doesn’t burn me. I can control it, but it’s weird.”

Ijim’s sharp gaze lingered on the flame for a moment before shifting toward Gnosis. “What do you think, familiar?”

Gnosis hopped down from the bed and trotted toward Dre, sitting at his feet as its ink-blot face shifted into a focused expression. Its tail flicked lazily as it examined the flickering aura. “From what you’re exhibiting, it seems to be a combination of Element, Soul, and Shadow domains,” it said, tilting its head. “The flame’s shifting nature comes from your Elementborne side, while the flickering aura surrounding it is likely linked to your Soulborne energy. The black hue and the way it fluctuates suggest Shadowborne influence.”

Dre’s jaw dropped slightly. “Wait—so I’m all three?”

“You’re a triune,” Gnosis confirmed. “Element, Soul, and Shadow. But how strong each of those domains are will need to be determined through testing. The ceremony tomorrow will give you the most accurate readings.”

I’you stared at the flame in awe, the implications of Dre’s manifestation settling over him. “A triune domain… that’s rare, isn’t it?”

Ijim nodded. “Extremely. Most people manifest one domain, two if they’re lucky. But three?” He took another puff of his pipe. “That’s the kind of thing that draws attention—both good and bad.”

Dre swallowed hard, the excitement in his eyes dimming slightly. “So, this could be dangerous?”

“Everything in this world is dangerous when it’s rare,” Ijim replied bluntly. “The key is learning to control it before anyone else can control you.”

Dre let the flame dissipate, shaking his hand as though releasing tension. “I guess I’ll have to take the ceremony seriously, huh?” He smiled, but there was a nervous edge to it.

“You’ve got this,” I’you said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ll get through it together.”

Dre nodded, some of the tension easing from his posture. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”

Gnosis purred softly. “Just be prepared. The ceremony isn’t just about identification—it’s about evaluation. If they think you’re powerful, they’ll put you on their radar fast.”

Ijim grunted in agreement. “stay sharp. Understand what you have, but don’t show them everything right away. Let them think they’ve figured you out, and keep your real strengths hidden until you know who to trust.”

I’you took a deep breath, the weight of the upcoming ceremony pressing harder on his chest. “We’ll be ready,” he said softly, as much to himself as to Dre.

The two boys stood silently for a moment before Dre broke the tension with a grin. “Then we’d better make today count. Let’s do something fun before everything gets serious tomorrow.”

I’you chuckled, feeling a brief but much-needed relief from the looming weight of the unknown. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Tomorrow was coming fast, and I’you wasn’t sure if he was ready for what the ceremony—or the world—was about to throw at him.

After their conversation, I’you stepped outside the chariot, the morning air cool against his skin. The faint hum of the waking market floated through the air, accompanied by the distant chatter of merchants setting up their stalls. Gnosis padded beside him, its ink-like body rippling gently with the breeze, while Calcio flickered in the hearth, stretching his stick-figure arms lazily.

I’you exhaled deeply, trying to clear his mind from the heavy conversation with Ijim. “So,” he said, breaking the silence. “What do you think, Gnosis? If I do have a Void domain, how do I make sure it doesn’t mess me up?”

Gnosis purred thoughtfully. “By being patient. Void energy doesn’t like to be rushed. If it’s truly part of your domain, you’ll learn to control it as you grow. But rushing could cause instability. For now, the best thing you can do is focus on the ceremony and what it reveals.”

Calcio’s voice crackled from the hearth. “Just don’t start glowing like Dre. I’m not built for babysitting glowing triune boys.”

I’you chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, I think I have enough problems without adding a triune to the mix.” But as he leaned against the side of the chariot and stared out into the quiet horizon, the weight of the unknown pressed down on him again. “But still… if the Void is really tied to my domain, it means something’s different about me, right?”

The familiar nodded but didn’t reply right away, its face shifting into a swirling pattern of ink as if deep in thought.

Meanwhile, inside the chariot, Ijim stood by the kitchen table, tapping the side of his pipe as smoke curled lazily through the air. His gaze lingered on the spot where I’you had sat earlier, the boy’s words replaying in his mind.

“There are ways to find out if he’s Fleshborne,” Ijim muttered to himself, placing his pipe down and walking toward the door. “All I need is a strand of hair.”

Outside, I’you was still lost in thought when he felt a light tug on the back of his head. He yelped, spinning around. “Ow! What was that?”

Ijim stood there casually, his hand behind his back as if nothing had happened. “What was what?” he asked innocently, though a faint smirk threatened to give him away.

I’you narrowed his eyes, rubbing the back of his head. “You pulled my hair, didn’t you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ijim said, already turning and walking back inside the chariot.

I’you blinked, confused. “Weird.”

Ijim walked over to the wooden table, holding the strand of I’you’s hair carefully between his fingers. He placed it in the center of the table, its pale hue catching the soft glow of the chariot’s interior. Without hesitation, he bit the tip of his thumb and squeezed a drop of blood onto the strand.

The reaction was immediate.

The hair curled inward, twisting like a small vortex as the drop of blood spread along its length. The spiral tightened and pulsed faintly, as though responding to the energy within it. The air around the table shifted subtly, a faint ripple of pressure emanating from the hair before it stilled.

Ijim exhaled slowly, wiping his thumb clean on a cloth. “Just as I thought,” he murmured to himself. “This only happens when the hair of a Fleshborne is being manipulated. If it were the hair of any other domain, it would have broken down or ripped apart under the blood’s pressure.”

He leaned forward, studying the still-curling hair as it pulsed faintly one last time before settling. “So, he’s Fleshborne.”

But his expression didn’t soften. Instead, it darkened, as though the confirmation of I’you’s domain raised more questions than it answered. “Fleshborne with Void energy. That’s a dangerous combination.”

Ijim leaned back in his chair, tapping the table with his fingers. “If the Void is trying to make itself known through him, it won’t be long before others notice.” He sighed and stood, grabbing his pipe again. “Better to find out everything we can before the Techborne do best to let him find out on his own.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2- Know Thyself