[Note from the Haelionthyne, the Original Author of The Hybrid: Chasing Destiny: This novel is only published and freely available to read on My Patreon, Royal Road and Tapas. Support me directly with your readership there. No other websites or reading platforms have my permission, express or blanket, to publish my novel or distribute it further.]

“She summons magic from the heart, Oswin!” Elise hissed incredulously at the placid mage.

“Truly?” he replied, indicating with his hands for the sorceress to calm.

“Why are you not surprised?” she asked frowning, partially annoyed by his non-reaction to her discovery.

“I have had my suspicions and theories, but nothing I could prove,” he pondered out loud.

“Explain,” Caeden asked, placing Ava’s delirious body on his bed and left her to Adept Graeyson's ministrations.

“Well, wielders manifest elemental magic from the arms, while Psionic magic is manifested from the head. Arcane magic is summoned from both, depending on the spell,” Oswin began.

“Summoning magic from the heart is not just unusual, it should be improbable! Should it not?” Elise interrupted. She was teetering on a precipice of disbelief and denial.

“Normally, I would agree. But Ava has indicated a few times that she sees spirits inhabiting the heart. It would not be outside the realm of possibility that she is using a different form of magic, though she does not seem to be immune to its effects as a typical wielder would be,” Oswin declared, staring at Ava curiously.

Caeden frowned in confusion, unable to comprehend what Oswin was trying to say. Curse these magic wielders and their complicated explanations.

“What…?” he began.

“Creation Magic! He is suggesting that Ava is manifesting the ice magic from her soul. Impossible!” she blurted, then stilled and pondered, lifting a slim hand to her chin. “Though it would explain so much. Perhaps Eliza can determine the truth of it, she has a better sense for these types of things.”

“I prefer her to focus on understanding that ash creature first. Ava's magic can come later,” Caeden pressed.

“Perhaps, a discussion left for another place… Your Grace,” Graeyson gritted between his teeth, before catching himself and correcting his irritation. “This topic is disturbing my patient.”

Ava moved restlessly on the bed and there was panic in her eyes.

“No,” she mumbled and reached out to no one in particular. “Don’t leave me alone!”

Caeden moved to her and took her hand. She squeezed his with what little strength she had left. Her eyes slowly found him in her haze, and she calmed enough for Graeyson to continue re-stitching her wound.

This will not do. He had seen similar behaviour among knights who lost their charges. Ava was not coping well with her losses and was becoming clingy and over-protective to the point of endangering herself. It would be difficult to account for someone who acted so irrationally in battle.

Would she recover enough to attend Ser Derric’s funeral? Perhaps that would give her the closure she needs.

“Before I leave, Your Grace,” Oswin whispered next to him. “I did some digging while Grand Master Gildaen was out on assignment. It seems both rumours are true regarding Shaennen, his former apprentice. He died before his execution and the corpse was burned in a pyre. What Gildaen kept of his remains disappeared a few days after. Witnesses stated that he was distraught upon discovering their disappearance. It was concluded to be theft. Nothing was found to indicate there was anything more to it.”

Caeden moved Oswin further away from Ava and the group. The mage’s revelations were disquieting to say the least. There were few aberrations powerful enough to survive both death and the pyre. Such beings were veritable plagues from myths dating back to Ancient Times. If there was indeed more to it than theft, Shaennen would not simply be a lost and restless soul; he would be a walking curse.

“Find me everything you can about him, Oswin. Everything! No matter how trivial.”

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The scorching heat from Ser Derric’s funeral pyre was punishing, worsening the drier air. Caeden stifled his discomfort as he threw frankincense into the flames. As the knight's commanding officer in life, it fell to him to officiate the funeral. He had had so many of these lately; each one never seemed to get any easier. It was hard to continue through the funeral rites while the family members mourned. But such was his duty; his knights and their surviving loved ones deserved their honour.

Ser Derric’s funeral had been highly attended. He had heard the knight had been considered a hero in the common quarter – a local boy with no connections who managed to impress a prince and become his royal guard.

Anger swirled in his chest. An avoidable death. A good man – an honourable knight taken from his retinue due to blind ambition. He had wished Morley had kept some of the revelations of his investigation to himself until after Ser Derric’s funeral.

Caeden watched the flames until a movement in the doorway of the nearest tower caught his eye. A figure in a hooded purple cloak appeared momentarily before disappearing from view.

Beast did not share his master’s need to remain hidden though, he sat half-visible in the doorway, pulling tufts of shedding fur from his side.

He was afraid she would not have had the strength to attend, but he should have known nothing would keep her from attending if she set her mind. Though not confident enough to attend in full view.

As the mourners filed out from the rooftop courtyard, he stepped down from the dais and made a beeline for Ser Derric’s parents. The knight’s mother reached for his hands, and he took them into his own.

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“I thank you, Your Grace,” she mumbled tearily. “You honour our son. He was so proud to fight by your side.”

“The honour was mine, Milady Tandre,” he responded, giving her hands a comforting squeeze.

“A shame the girl, Ava, couldn’t make it,” she whispered, her brown eyes growing dark with despair.

Caeden looked at the entrance to the tower, Ava was still there, hiding. Is she close enough to overhear?

Ser Derric’s mother followed his gaze.

“Ah, that’s good,” she heaved a sigh of relief. Her demeanour changed, becoming lighter and throwing off the misery that threatened to overwhelm her. “Would it be possible to meet her, Your Grace?”

“She is still very weak. Perhaps, when she recovers and things calm down,” Caeden explained awkwardly.

“Yes, yes. I understand. Please let her know we don’t blame her. Our Derric trusted her and said she had a good heart. He believed she was touched by the Divine - that Holden and Fern sent her to us to help fight against the evil growing ever-present. I wished to share his faith in her. We hear such terrible tales.”

Caeden wanted to know more about these tales, but Milady Tandre doubled over as a fit of sorrow racked her body. Overwhelmed with such grief, she could no longer speak comprehensively through the wails if she tried. Her husband took her into his arms and directed her to the exit, tilting his head in greeting as they left.

Perhaps, it would be wise to visit the city guard to better understand what was happening in the Common Quarter. He was missing something. He was sure of it.

He moved to the entryway of the tower. Beast halted his grooming to watch his approach, a tuft of loose fur dangling from his maw. Ava sat on the floor next to the entryway, holding an open canteen. She was shivering slightly but seemed more lucid than she had been these past few days, though saddened and morose.

She sealed the canteen, moved to stand and struggled. Caeden bent down to assist her up. At his touch, she stiffened against him – rejecting his help. This again! But she softened against his arms a moment later, leaning onto him to haul herself up.

He could not say why, but her compliance alarmed him more than her rejection. He shoved the feeling away, imagining things in her irrational behaviour.

“I will escort you to your room,” he muttered. It was in fact still his room, but he had found elsewhere to bunk down when he needed the rest.

“No! I – I’m tired of rooms and beds,” she said, her eyes drifting away from his.

She was lying. Yet he could not determine the reason for it. Nor did he want to fight her over it. When she recovered and was stronger, then they could bicker. Perhaps I should take her to one of the garden courtyards for fresh air instead?

“I would like to go to the Fountain if you don’t mind,” she suggested weakly.

Caeden hesitated. Something was off. He wanted to say no, but that place was possibly the most secure room that Castle Caedence had. Nothing untoward could happen there unless they invited it in.

“Is – it still singing to you?” he asked uncertainly.

“No, not for a while. But being close to it comforts me,” she whispered, her eyes were heavy.

Perhaps they could sit there until she drifted off to sleep.

He led her through the castle to the room and they sat at the base of the stairs, staring at the still waters of the fountain.

This place was still so oddly peaceful and despite it losing its healing properties, the room still felt magical. Perhaps it was why he and Kael had chosen it as their secret place. That and only a few people could get past the door’s charm. The room was like a space all its own, separate from the world and its problems just beyond the door.

Ava rested her head on his shoulders and sighed forlornly. She unsealed the canteen again.

“You want some?” she asked.

Caeden shifted, slightly discomforted. He did not want to disturb or change her position at his side, but he was hyper-alert to her closeness. Something that did not make him squirm this much before.

“Uh – no thank you,” he grunted. “I think I need something stronger than water.”

“Me too,” she replied.

She lifted the canteen under his nose, and he caught a whiff of an Everard Red. He lifted a querying eyebrow.

“Have you been raiding the kitchens again?” he smirked.

Embarrassment coloured her pale cheeks as she averted her eyes. Kael’s guards reported she had been taking food from there but did nothing more suspicious than pilfer an extra bite to eat.

“If you want something, just ask,” he said. He took the canteen and swallowed a big gulp.

He looked the canteen over, grimacing. The wine was familiar but held a slightly unusual aftertaste. Everard must have pushed out a bad batch, or Ava must not have chosen a good bottle. He did not take her as knowledgeable about such things. Either way, it was having the desired effect. He felt his body ease as the alcohol slid down his throat.

She took the canteen from him, took a small sip, and then placed it back in his hands. She snuggled deeper into him. He sipped steadily from Ava’s canteen and relaxed.

“Tell me about your vision for your Empire. The fountain sang about it and Kael said something similar, but I would like to hear it from you,” she mumbled.

Caeden laughed, mortified.

“Kael mentioned it?” he asked, surprised that his brother remembered it at all.

“Not much, he said you are an idealist.”

It seems time and experience had made Kael as much a pessimist as it had made me. They shared that dream as children. Both of them built on and expanded each idea. It was disappointing to learn that Kael was now distancing himself from it. But was I not doing so myself as well?

“It is a childish and naïve dream,” he started, gazing in her expectant eyes and continued. “It was a lot easier to imagine the Empire being a land of plenty for everyone back then – human, dwarf, elf, beastkin and orc. If they made this place their new home, they could have what they needed if they worked towards its prosperity. A nation for all.”

“And it is not so easy to imagine now?” she asked. There was a hint of sad disappointment in her question.

“I learned quickly that the Empire will cleave very tightly to tradition, even when it hinders great progress in the long run. And I have pushed back so many orc raids at the coast that I have become cynical of their race. They do not pillage out of necessity, they do it out of malice. A show of strength over those they consider weak, taking gold and riches they could not hope to use. The Guild does not trade in stolen goods and bringing such business to The Marketplace damned them all the more in my eyes.

“It would take lifetimes to undo such strict traditions and overcome the bad blood between the races to come just a little close to having a unified nation together,” he said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the stairway.

“Then why not start with yours?” she asked.

She made it sound so easy. Doing so would start a war with the nobility, who wanted things to stay as they were, with themselves and their families remaining in power. Bringing in outsiders would be a threat to them and all they hold, diminishing their reach and influence. She was right though, the Empire had stagnated since the Great War, if he wanted change he could not balk at the first signs of resistance and leave the problem for others to fix.

His head fell heavily onto his chest, and he stiffened with unconcealed alarm. He shook the fog from his mind. Odd. He did not feel this tired before. He tried shifting Ava gently off his shoulder and found she would not move.

“I need to stand. I think I need some air,” he mumbled groggily.

“That probably would not be wise. You might hit your head when you pass out,” she said as she moved to her feet.

Caeden’s heart hammered in his chest as his eyes dropped to the canteen. Disbelief curled through his mind.

“What have you done?” he pressed, pulling on her arm.

“I am leaving. This mission is mine and mine alone. I no longer need you or your people’s assistance. You will all just end up dying anyway,” she said, her voice broke but held her conviction.

She shrugged off his hold and walked to a pattern in the wall. It gave way when she touched it, revealing a door into the darkness.

Caeden had never seen anyone not of the same blood instruct the charm like that. It was not the same request to open that had been passed down through the generations of his family, it was a command.

She retrieved her bow and quiver from a hiding spot and walked through it.

Panicked, he tried to shake the effects of the drug away and push himself to a stand, only to flop back to the ground. Frustrated, he gritted his jaw and growled, forcing his body to comply.

“Ser Derric’s death was not your fault!” he groaned out.

He lurched forward, but it was useless. His limbs could no longer hold up his weight.

“No, but I was still the reason he died. You will be safe without me here. Stay and build the empire of your dreams. That is your destiny.” Her voice echoed back as she and Beast disappeared into the darkened tunnel.

His anger raged uncontrollably as he lost consciousness. Accursed woman! My destiny is not yours to decide!