CHAPTER 2:

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“Like the phoenix rising from the ashes,

the soul has the power to transform and renew.

It is through the fires of change that we are reborn,

emerging stronger, wiser, and more resilient than before.”

-Excerpt from The book of the Phoenix

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Malakai's eyes fluttered open to darkness, the cold and damp seeping into his bones as he lay on the hard stone floor. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was or how he got there. The last thing he remembered was the cathedral, the Dragon Knight standing over him, the searing pain in his chest...

He jolted upright, his hand grasping at his chest, expecting to find a gaping wound, blood pouring from his body. But there was nothing. Just the cold dampness of water soaking through his tunic.

Water, not blood. If it were blood, it would have congealed by now, sticky and thick.

Malakai frowned, trying to make sense of it all. Was it just a dream? A vivid, terrifying nightmare brought on by exhaustion? Maybe he had simply passed out while resting, and his mind had conjured up the rest.

He reached out into the darkness, feeling around for his whip, for anything familiar. But his fingers brushed against something else, something rough and jagged. A stone of some kind. He fumbled with it, trying to discern its shape and size, when suddenly, it began to glow. A faint, ember-like light, as if it were a piece of charcoal just beginning to ignite.

Malakai nearly dropped it in surprise but managed to keep a grip on it. Holding it up, he used its meager light to examine his surroundings. And that's when the smell hit him. Not the incense and dust of the cathedral, but something far fouler. The stench of waste and stagnant water.

He was in a sewer.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. How did he get here? What happened after he lost consciousness? Did someone move him? Or did he somehow stumble here on his own?

Questions swirled in his mind as he slowly got to his feet, his muscles protesting the movement. The glowing stone cast eerie shadows on the damp walls, the sound of dripping water echoing in the silence.

Malakai needed to find a way out of there. To get his bearings and figure out what was going on. He held the stone aloft, using its light to guide his steps as he began to explore the sewer tunnel.

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Malakai squeezed through the broken section of the sewer wall, ignoring the indignant squeaks of the rats as he disturbed their domain. The breeze that had drawn him here grew stronger as he emerged into what appeared to be the basement of an old apothecary. The musty smell of dried herbs and rotting wood filled his nostrils, a welcome change from the stench of the sewers.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Malakai took in the scene before him. A large portion of the floor above had collapsed, taking with it a section of the roof. Moonlight filtered through the holes, casting an eerie glow over the wreckage. Furniture, shattered and splintered, lay in heaps among the debris, mixed with shards of glass and the remnants of long-forgotten potions.

Malakai picked his way carefully through the rubble, mindful of the unstable footing. A cloth bag, half-buried beneath a pile of wood, caught his eye. He tugged it free, surprised to find it mostly intact. It would come in handy for carrying any supplies he might find.

As he continued to search, a glint of light reflected off the surface of some books protruding from the debris. Malakai pulled them out, brushing off the dust and grime. "Fallen Stars & Constellations: Basic principles" and "An introduction to alchemy," the titles read. He was surprised they had survived the destruction around them, and he decided to take them with him. The other books seemed less useful, and he left them behind. If this place proved safe, he could always come back for them later. If not, he wouldn't have time for leisurely reading anyway.

Malakai turned his attention to the shelves that still clung to the walls, their contents scattered but not entirely lost. He found a few jars of herbs, their labels faded and illegible. He was no expert, but he thought they might be edible. Better to take them and find out later than to leave them and regret it. A jar of viscous oil also caught his eye, and he grabbed it, thinking it might be useful for starting a fire. A scrap of metal nearby could serve as a makeshift flint and steel.

As Malakai scanned the room for anything else of value, his gaze was drawn upward to the partially collapsed floor above. The wood around the edge looked rotted and fragile, and he doubted it would support his weight. But a rope, coiled in the corner, gave him an idea.

Malakai fashioned a crude knot and tossed the rope over a beam that looked sturdy enough to hold him. It took a few tries, but eventually, the knot caught, and he gave it a firm tug to test its strength. Satisfied, he began to climb, the rough fibers biting into his palms as he pulled himself up.

His lungs were straining from the exertion, and his arms protested the sudden onrush of dander and dust as he scraped them on the splintered wood while hauling himself through one of the many holes.

As Malakai emerged onto the floor above, his suspicions were confirmed. The faded wallpaper and crumbling plaster told him he was in an abandoned house, likely on the outskirts of town in one of the dilapidated ghettos that had sprung up near the city walls.

He moved from room to room, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. In the kitchen, Malakai found a couple of recipe books, their pages yellowed and brittle with age. He added them to his growing collection, thinking they might come in handy if he needed to forage for food.

His heart leaped as he spotted a jar of mixed tree nuts tucked away in the back of a cupboard. It was a lucky find, and he silently thanked whatever gods might be watching over him. The nuts were a welcome addition to his meager supplies.

But beyond that, the house yielded little of value. Everything else had either rotted away or been picked clean by scavengers long ago.

Malakai was about to leave the apothecary when a flicker of movement caught his eye through a hole in the wall. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he strained to see what was out there. Slowly, cautiously, he crept closer, peering through the gap.

Figures in robes moved about in the moonlight, their movements fluid and almost unnaturally graceful. They seemed to glide rather than walk, their feet making no sound on the cobblestones. A chill ran down Malakai's spine as he watched them, a primal sense of danger screaming at him to run, to hide.

Malakai had learned to trust that feeling, that gut instinct that had kept him alive this long. He started to back away from the hole, moving as silently as he could. But in his haste, he failed to notice the weakened floorboards beneath his feet.

With a sickening crack, the wood gave way, and He was falling. He hit the ground below with a jarring thud, the impact driving the air from his lungs. Pain lanced through his ankle and wrist as he landed in a heap of rubble and debris.

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For a moment, Malakai could only lie there, gasping for breath, waiting for the world to stop spinning. But the fear was still there, urging him to move, to get away. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his limbs.

He limped back towards the sewers, every step an agony. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, the taste of blood in his mouth from where he had bitten his tongue. But he kept moving.

Making his way through the winding passages, retracing his steps to a place he had found before - a small, secluded alcove with a heavy metal door. It had seemed secure then, a place to rest and catch his breath. Now, it felt like a sanctuary.

Slipping inside, Malakai pulled the door shut behind him. It took all his strength to slide the heavy bolt into place, the metal scraping and grinding against the rusted frame. But finally, it was done. He was sealed in, safe for the moment.

Malakai slumped against the wall, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. The pain was a dull, persistent ache now, the adrenaline of the chase wearing off.

He strained his ears for any sound of pursuit. But the only noise was the steady drip of water and the scurrying of rats in the shadows. It seemed the robed figures hadn't heard the commotion of his fall, or if they had, they hadn't bothered to investigate. Probably assumed it was just another part of the building collapsing in on itself.

Malakai let out a shaky breath, followed by another, feeling some of the tension drain from his muscles.

He couldn't help but wonder what the hell he had gotten himself into. Waking up in a strange place with no memory of how he got there, stumbling across those eerie robed figures, injuring himself in a fall... it was all so surreal, like something out of a fever dream.

But the pain in his wrist and ankle was all too real, as was the gnawing hunger in his belly. He hadn't eaten in god knows how long, and the few nuts he had found in that jar weren't going to sustain him for long.

Malakai needed to come up with a plan, some way to get out of this place and find help. But right now, all he could think about was sleep. His eyelids felt like lead weights, and his body ached with exhaustion but his mind was racing. He needed to distract himself until his mind became as tired as his body.

With a sigh, Malakai reached into his pack and pulled out the book about stars, hoping to distract himself from the throbbing pain in his leg. As he flipped through the pages, a section caught his eye - one on the effects of fallen stars. Intrigued, he settled in to read, opening his jar of food while using the glowing stone to illuminate the text.

The words on the page were dense and complex, but Malakai found himself drawn in nonetheless. The book described fallen stars as manifestations of raw magic from the astral plane, a plane which connected all the worlds in existence, the star's power capable of awakening abilities and knowledge within those who absorb them. Malakai furrowed his brow, trying to wrap his head around the concept. Magic? Astral planes? It all seemed so far-fetched, like something out of a fantasy book.

He was about to give up and switch to the second book when a particular image caught his eye. It was a picture of a rock, just like the one he held in his hand, but glowing blue instead of red. Malakai held the stone up to the page, comparing the two. Could it be a coincidence? Or was there something more to this strange, luminous object?

A sudden thought struck him. What if he could absorb the magic of the fallen star, just like the book described? What if this stone was the key to unlocking hidden powers within himself?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Malakai brought the rock to his mouth and gently bit down. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen - a rush of energy, perhaps, or a sudden influx of knowledge. But nothing changed. The stone remained cool and inert against his tongue.

Malakai was about to spit it out in disappointment when the rock suddenly burst into flame. He yelped in surprise and pain, tossing it across the room as the fire singed his fingers. The stone clattered to the ground, the flames sputtering out as quickly as they appeared, leaving only a dull, pulsing glow in their wake.

His heart pounded in his chest, too frightful to retrieve it. Malakai stared at the smoldering stone, his mind reeling. What just happened? Did he really just set a rock on fire with his teeth? The whole thing seemed absurd. Maybe the events of the day were finally catching up to him, the exhaustion and pain taking their toll on his sanity.

Malakai shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was too tired to make sense of any of this right now. The stone, the book, the robed figures - it was all too much to process. He needed rest, a chance to recharge and gather his wits.

With a groan, Malakai stretched out on the hard ground, using his pack as a makeshift pillow. The stone glowed softly in the corner, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He closed his eyes, trying to block it out, to shut out the whirlwind of questions and doubts. He lay there in a state of half sleep, half racing thoughts until...

A flicker of light caught his eye, pulling him from the depths of a restless sleep. At first, Malakai thought it was just a trick of the mind, a lingering remnant of a half-remembered dream. But as he blinked away the fog of slumber, the light grew brighter, more insistent.

It wasn't the harsh, searing glare of a torch or the cold, clinical brightness of an electric bulb. Instead, it was an ethereal glow, suffused with the soft, warm hues of a sunrise - gold, rose, and the faintest hints of lavender. The air around it shimmered with heat, but it wasn't the oppressive, stifling warmth of a furnace. It was more like the comforting embrace of a loved one, the kind of warmth that seeped into your bones and chased away the chill of loneliness.

As Malakai watched, transfixed, the light began to take shape. Wings unfurled with a sound like the rustle of silk, delicate and yet impossibly strong. The fire that formed its body was alive, pulsing with an inner rhythm that seemed to echo the beating of Malakai's own racing heart. It was a mesmerizing sight, both beautiful and terrifying in its intensity.

And then, with a sudden jolt of recognition, Malakai realized where he had seen this creature before. The phoenix from the church, the one he thought had been slain by the Dragon Knight. If he was still here, alive and breathing, then it made sense that the phoenix would be too. But why here, in this dank and dreary sewer?

Malakai opened his mouth to ask, but the words died on his lips as the phoenix fixed him with its gaze. Its eyes were like molten gold, ancient and knowing, and Malakai felt as though it could see straight into his soul. A wave of emotion washed over him, a heady mix of awe, reverence, and a strange sense of familiarity. It was as if the phoenix was calling to him, reaching out across the vast expanse of time and space to touch something deep within his being.

Without quite knowing why, Malakai found himself moving towards the phoenix, drawn like a moth to a flame. The fire of its body didn't burn him as he approached, instead enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and light. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, a sensation of pure, unadulterated bliss that filled him from head to toe.

The fire of the phoenix swirled around him, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. But even as Malakai reveled in the warmth and comfort of its embrace, he felt a sudden sense of loss, a deep, aching emptiness that threatened to consume him.

He realized, with a start, that the phoenix was withdrawing, its essence coalescing back into the rock that had been at its core. The light that had filled the room, that had filled his very being, began to fade, and Malakai felt a rising panic in his chest.

"Wait!" he cried out, his voice raw and desperate. "Please, don't go!"

Malakai reached out, yearning to grasp onto the phoenix, to keep it close and never let go. But his fingers passed through the flames, and a searing pain erupted in his palm, as if he had plunged his hand into a scorching furnace.

A gasp escaped Malakai's lips. The rock, which had been suspended in the air mere moments ago, had transformed into a streak of pure, blinding light. It streaked through the air, moving with a speed that defied his ability to track it, and before he could even react, it collided into his palm with a force that sent him reeling.

Malakai cried out, more in shock than pain, as the energy poured into his body through his hand. His palm throbbed with a white-hot intensity, but even as he gritted his teeth against the sensation, he felt an undercurrent of exhilaration, a rush of power and knowledge that was unlike anything he had ever encountered before.

More streaks of light slammed into his palm, one after the other, the intensity of the energy becoming overwhelming. Nausea gripped him, a violent churning in his gut that forced him to his knees. Malakai collapsed onto the cold, damp stone, pressing his forehead against the rough surface in a desperate attempt to find relief.

Notifications flooded his vision, an incomprehensible deluge of text and numbers that danced before his eyes. Malakai tried to focus, to make sense of the information, but it blurred together, a jumbled mess that his fragile, overloaded mind could not begin to process.

A sudden, violent heave wracked his body, and Malakai retched, his stomach clenching painfully as the world spun around him. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the chaos.

Even as Malakai clung to the last edges of consciousness, fighting against the darkness that threatened to claim him, a final notification flashed before his eyes. Through the haze of pain and confusion, he caught a glimpse of it.

His level had increased.