Dependents, my words are for you, and you alone.

The intimacy of human connection,

It is cherished at the core,

Yet is infected,

The cruel design of the universe contradicts.

∟[Progenitor of Sentiment]

──────────────────────

…

…

…

Jett found himself lying in the thick, comfortable mud of his Soul Realm.

From the ground, he could see a plethora of black stars blinking in the white sky's radiance.

But one new star now stuck out more than the rest.

Weird lines also faintly littered the pristine sky like a spiderweb.

As Jett stood up, no mud had clung to his skin.

A piercing cold sent a pleasant shiver down his body as wet earth flooded his sinuses.

When he imagined his dagger, it appeared in his hand.

When he imagined Maros, Mattias, and Joanne, they appeared.

Jett imagined lots of things and then made them disappear with a passing thought.

The ability to have total control over everything was…

'Exhilarating.'

But when one could do everything and anything, what should they do? Jett felt lost in his power.

The Soul Realm was massive, yet empty.

It all depended on him.

He was curious about what would happen if he ran through the white mist that clouded his surrounding vision.

'It's a large realm. There has to be something out there.'

Jett began to walk, the mist moving around him as he left behind his previous comfort; the area where the door and reflective metal sheet stood.

But he found nothing. At least, he found nothing he didn't create himself.

This was his Soul and his alone.

As Jett walked, he began to imagine himself in front of the Mound, the center of the world.

Darkness covered the torn soil that he stood upon.

An impossibly large, sublime pillar of stone stretched past the clouds, casting a great shadow while distorting his perception.

With nothing else to do, he began to climb.

He imagined convenient rocks and footholes, taking a firm grip and pulling himself up.

Though his efforts were entirely fruitless; such a massive mountain could never be summited, even in his own Soul.

For that's what he believed.

But that was also part of the allure. It was a time-sink.

Jett became lost, completely engrossed in the climb. There was merit to the mundane and monotonous struggle.

"Wake up," a voice enveloped throughout the misty world, its echo bouncing between every particle of the fog.

The Mound began to quake, throwing off his balance as an avalanche of stone plummeted towards Jett.

Gripped to the side of the mountain, he imagined the Shacktown door; it appeared.

Jett looked below him, jumping into the darkness the door held inside.

***

The brown-haired boy opened his eyes to his room.

He sat up in his bed.

To his side stood Joanne.

"You were told not to mess around in the Soul Realm," she said sternly.

Though Jett didn't feel entirely guilty, he understood his folly.

"I apologize."

Joanne sighed, "It's for your own good, not mine. Get up, Maros needs you."

Joanne promptly exited, leaving Jett alone to ready himself.

Jett had grown leaps and bounds in the past half year.

Under Joanne's tutelage, he had gained a general understanding of the wider world. It wasn't a rudimentary education either.

He had managed to learn in 6 months what took noblemen 3 years.

Despite the rigorous schedule, Jett did manage to thrive as Maros had promised.

Much to the surprise of Joanne, he rarely struggled with the tasks he was given, absorbing information like a sponge along with an impressive aptitude for adaptivity.

However, he also maintained a curiosity only a sponge could contain, leading to barrages of questions along with the poking and prodding of rules.

Most noticeable of all were the habitual changes.

Basic manners and societal etiquette were difficult to teach.

In line with expectations, Jett had struggled the most with these concepts.

Yet even that was still with relative ease.

His nail chewing persisted however

'Old habits die hard.'

Not to mention his remarkable combat ability and control over Soul.

But Jett still had a long way to go to be of real use to Maros.

What piqued his interest the most was undoubtedly the hidden knowledge of Soul.

To keep others down, the strong tried to hide information regarding Soul and its properties from as many as possible.

This was fair to an extent; it kept the masses from chasing power through murderous rampages.

However the nobles and upper class had easy access to this information.

They were active in human trafficking, using their riches to gain power through the auction, like how Jett was sold.

Jett got a kick out of it, mostly because the knowledge that others' Souls resulted in power was quite common in Shacktown.

As a pseudo-upper class member himself, Jett learned that there were certain levels of Soul amount and control.

They went:

Dormant → Released → Acolyte → Stalwart → Maven → Paragon

Due to the Soul Storm, Jett was flooded with Soul, causing it to be released.

Then from his duels with the prisoners over the past half year, he had gained enough experience controlling Soul as well as an overall reserve increase to be an Acolyte.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

But Stalwarts like Joanne and Mattias went through more drastic changes.

Jett didn't know the specifics of how, but he knew that one at this stage would manifest an Imprint, a black tattoo that could channel Soul into a unique ability.

Mavens included the Five of Strata like Maros. They could do any number of things with their total mastery of Soul. they could bend the flexible power source into anything.

Then Paragon, a pristine title reserved only for the strongest. Particularly relegated to Kings or other great leaders of influential nations. Their power was anything if not unfathomable.

After donning his normal dress-shirted outfit, he exited his room and went down the stairs to the foyer.

Along with Maros, there was another next to him.

"Keeping your dogs in the house, Maros? You made me sleep in the damn shed!" a rash woman's voice exclaimed.

Maros paid no mind to the woman's arrogance, his eyes focused on the incoming Jett.

"Jett, this is Valeria. She will be helping you learn how to use twin daggers. She's another… you, you could say," Maros said.

"And what am I, exactly?" Jett asked with a tinge of annoyance and sarcasm.

"A dog," Valeria stated as she grabbed Jett by the wrist, dragging him out of the front door, and then around to the house's backside.

It was a flat lawn of decent size, with a very humble garden on the far ends of the fence.

Valeria herself had a long, flowing mane of fiery reddish-auburn hair.

She boasted a tall, alluring figure bolstered by her robust and vigorous appearance, accentuated by her rogueish dark leather attire.

Her face was sharp and mean, and her pale skin was unblemished.

She lightly threw Jett forward, who barely managed to remain on his feet.

Then she tossed two wooden daggers on the ground in front of him.

Valeria took out two wooden shortswords, "I use these. They're basically the same thing as dual daggers. Not really. You'll figure it out."

The announcement instilled no confidence in the confused Jett.

"The best way to learn is through combat. Sparring is the best we'll get for the time being. So we'll spar until you get it. No fancy book techniques, this is real shit," Valeria declared. "No Soul usage though."

Jett picked up the two wooden daggers, which were of surprisingly similar weight and feel to his real dagger.

The addition of a second dagger would open up a plethora of new options for him, where he had previously felt handicapped.

It would take some time for him to adapt; Jett's left hand was not nearly as precise or strong as his right.

Valeria wasted little time, getting straight into sparring action.

Her movements were loose and fluid, yet ludicrously powerful, with each clash devastating Jett.

It took everything out of him to maintain the tempo of battle, yet his attacks were often futile.

His opponent remained nonchalant despite her control over the battle, starting idle chatter as if it were nothing.

"So, what cesspool did Maros drag you from?" Valeria barked with a grin.

"Shacktown…" Jett struggled to reply, entirely engaged in the battle.

Valeria sent a sturdy slash, which Jett barely managed to deflect. "Damn, he went low this time. He got me as an orphan in the Lower City," she admitted

"So… there's others?" Jett barely squeaked out.

Valeria took his lapse in attention for weakness, kicking Jett square in the chest, sending him backward, but he quickly rolled with the momentum back onto his feet, panting in exhaustion.

"A couple of others. You aren't the first mutt bound to Maros, maybe the most pampered. Though you might actually deserve it. Even I can see your potential clear as day."

'Why is she so obsessed with this dog analogy?'

Jett supposed that in essence, it was an accurate depiction of their relationship.

He was subservient and dependent on Maros. Just like a dog, he was held on a tight leash, along with listening to every command.

"You could run off, couldn't you? Why stay with him?" Jett asked as they slowly reentered the flow of combat.

Valeria sighed, "A stupid matter of honor and respect. I owe my life to him whether I like it or not. You should just come to terms with it."

Valeria lunged forward, slashing with both swords at the same time to break his guard.

Jett responded with a sidestep, then dashed forward into an exchange of attacks and deflections.

He could tell she was going easy on him. The control she had over every exchange was palpable, even to the inexperienced Jett.

"Besides, wouldn't it be funny to see Maros as King?" Valeria smirked.

'What?'

Jett slowly came to a stop as confusion washed over his face.

"That's what all this is about? A bid for the crown?" Jett backed off as he exclaimed.

The spar came to a sudden halt.

Irritation began to build on Valeria's face.

"He… never told you?" she said in a low voice, barely holding in a flood of anger.

"Uh... I had a shallow idea... from context clues," Jett said, scratching the back of his neck

Valeria dashed back into the battle, the poor Jett barely being able to defend himself.

She stayed silent for the rest of the bout, her attacks growing in power, exponentially fueled by rage.

For the grand finale, a single, undodgeable upward slash forced Jett to block, crossing both of his daggers in a reverse grip.

The connection of the devastating blow resulted in both daggers snapping.

Jett found himself several meters in the air, flying backward across the lawn.

He took a brutal tumble, lying on his back as his chest bobbed up and down for air.

"Stop for today, meet again tomorrow. I'm going to talk to this fucker," Valeria called out to the defeated boy as she stomped off.

Jett sat in silence under the setting sun, where the stars began to peer out from behind the curtain of light.

'Why the hell did she take her anger out on me?' I'm the victim!'