It had been two full weeks since that fight with the Lichguard.

Two weeks since I first felt the Chimera raging beneath my skin.

Two weeks since, I felt the annoying hum of the cursed sword. And two weeks since I had last heard Fern.

—Fern?

I’d called his name more times than I could count, but the answer was always the same: silence. No whisper, no sign, nothing. Just an empty stillness that left me feeling more unsettled with each passing day. Was it Fern I could still feel, or was it the Chimera? I wasn’t sure anymore.

That doubt was becoming a problem. It threw me off during our daily meditations, where I was supposed to focus on facing the infused beast and finding a way to control it. But my thoughts kept drifting back to Fern. Was he still there? Could he hear me? The worry pulled me away from what I needed to do, and the goal—making any kind of progress with the beast—felt farther away every time I tried.

Outside our makeshift headquarters, the City of Dust was no longer quiet. Laska and the others had put down the remaining two Lichguards, which calmed almost all the aggressive spirits, turning this half-ruined scavenging trip into a bustling mining town. At least fifty of the men from Ash now roamed these streets daily, shoveling Pillar dust into carts to send below through the elevator down to the Academy. Their loud banter echoed through the arches, giving the dead city a second life of sorts. Even the spirits, the peaceful ones, were a little less shy. They wouldn’t speak to us, but some would play music.

Despite that first infusion, I couldn’t replicate my transformation since. Meanwhile, Waelid had managed it—twice, if his bragging was true. He’d stroll around with that smug grin, casually mentioning how “controlled” he felt when he tapped into his phoenix blood. I’d roll my eyes and pretend not to care, but it still gnawed at me. What’s ironic is he never mentioned when I had tried to attack him.

Most days, the Major had us clearing out pockets of the remaining angry spirits or practicing meditation techniques. It was boring, and I would complain, but without having Fern to complain for me, everything just felt quiet.

Waelid was still an enigma; he was smug and a jerk at one moment but never truly showed me any hate. I couldn’t forget what he did, but it was getting harder to hold onto my hate. Several times over the past few days, he had saved my skin from blindsided attacks.

I’d hit a mental block. I couldn’t get to this ‘heightened’ state that Major kept preaching about. I would have given up on trying it, but when I witnessed Bartholomew, Al, and even Laska experience their internal bonding…I was convinced it was possible. But I couldn’t focus on myself. My mind was clouded and restless. I found myself brooding over Fern’s absence more than I cared to admit. I felt impatient and wondered how the investigation was going below in the Academy. And I felt worried about whether Noah was still truly himself.

I was idly tapping a foot against a broken step when the Major wandered up, his gloves tucked into his belt. “You’re off in your head again, recruit.”

I shrugged. “Just thinking.”

He regarded me with a raised brow, then jerked a thumb toward an old fountain that looked like it hadn’t seen water in a century. “Well, quit it—Waelid’s waiting. We’ve got a lot to do before we challenge the floor boss. Better you figure out what’s holding you back sooner than later. Hopefully, tonight is the night you both ‘breakthrough.’”

I wanted to snap a witty reply but bit it back. He was right. I needed to break through this. Maybe if I bond with the Chimera I will find Fern. A hollow ache gnawed at my chest. The City of Dust was busier than ever, yet I felt more alone.

I walked to the sound of singing bowls echoing through the crumbling halls. Major Philip had set up an open space in our camp’s large plaza.

Waelid and I knelt on worn mats. A large group of miners hovered around us, looking on with hushed curiosity. Half of them had musical bowls and were instructed by the Major to create a sound for us to focus on. It was the same routine as yesterday: focus on breathing, clear our minds, and tap into whatever beast lived inside the blades still lodged in our chests.

Major Philip paced between us, arms folded. “Bartholomew, Al, and Laska have all bonded with their infused beasts. I realize they are older, but you can learn this technique too. It didn’t happen by accident. They learned to meditate, to face their darkness and rage.”

He paused, glancing meaningfully at the spot just below our ribs where the daggers had pierced our hearts. “These little blades you’ve got in your chests aren’t just souvenirs. They hold the essence of the beasts’ blood in place. Kind of like a prison cell.”

The Major gestured toward the Academy below. “Every student who undergoes a blood infusion has a small blade embedded in their chest cavity. Its purpose is simple—it keeps the beast in check.”

He glanced at me, measuring my reaction before continuing. “You might recall seeing the upperclassmen transform during the first trial. They all wore masks, didn’t they? Those masks aren’t just for show. They’re a direct manifestation of the dagger in their chest. A tether, of sorts, to the soul trapped within the blade.”

He paused, his voice turning heavier. “This isn’t something you’d have learned about until your first infusion. After all, it’s not exactly easy to convince someone that stabbing a shard of metal into their heart is a necessary step. And unless you happened to see an upperclassman without their shirt, you’d never notice the scar.”

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The Major’s gaze hardened. “But the truth is, the mask is a reflection of the dagger’s purpose. It binds the beast within you and reveals the nature of the soul it traps.”

He looked over at me and shook his head. “You, lad, are a conundrum. Usually, after the first transformation, you can transform again.” He shrugged. “Oh well, once you make the bond with the Chimera, you’ll for sure gain your transformation power again. Now, focus on the sound, and this time, we have more tricks up our sleeve.”

A group of miners that Major Philip had recruited for help came up to our camp holding a large duffle bag.

Major Philip stood at the perimeter, arms folded. “Tonight’s going to be different. No quick sessions. No skipping out early. We go until dawn or until you two cross the threshold.”

Major Philip’s voice cut through the ringing tones of the singing bowls. “Here’s the key: empty your mind, focus on your breath, what kind of breath? Longer out-breath than in, that's what. When the beast’s presence surges… don’t flinch. Follow it without letting it drown you.” He tapped his chest.

Both Waelid and I were still having trouble reaching that…state. But Major seemed determined tonight.

The miners set up rows and rows of strange-smelling incense. Then, I felt small pricks on the back of my neck, Laska and Al were piercing our flesh with small needles. The hum of the bowls lulled me into a state near sleep. My mind wandered to Fern, but I clamped down on that swirl of frustration and worry. If I was going to find him, I had to push through whatever mental block kept us apart.

—I’ll do this, Fern, I thought. Just hang on.

Steadily, my breathing slowed, each inhale drawing me further from the noise of the second-floor city. The chatter of passing miners, the clang of distant carts hauling Pillar dust—all of it faded as I sank inward. I just focused on the hum of the bowls. A rush of cold pulsed along my veins, like something was stirring under my skin.

I exhaled slowly, chasing that quiet void at the edge of my awareness. Then, the world around me collapsed to a low hum of metal bowls and the beating of my own heart. Darkness pressed in, and my mind tumbled down deeper than I’d ever dared to go before.

——

Darkness closed in, and for a terrifying beat, I felt like I was floating in a void. My throat constricted, my lungs tightening as though there wasn’t enough air left in the world. Then, just as abruptly, color and light burst around me, and I was no longer in the ruined city of Dust at all.

I stood in a wide, sunlit park. Familiar faces surged around me—friends and classmates from my old high school—every one of them dressed in homemade armor, cloth robes, and foam weapons. My stomach twisted; I knew this park. The grass was lush and smelled of fresh-cut clover. My heart pounded as I realized exactly which day I was reliving.

A much younger me, around twenty, rushed by in a cheap-looking wizard’s cloak. My little brother, Noah, only thirteen then, chased after me with a staff that sported a giant styrofoam gem glued to the top. I recognized the bright grin on his face and the fierce concentration in his eyes. We were participating in the Northeast Dragon-Moore Campaign. It was a live-action role-playing event we looked forward to every year. We spent weeks on our costumes and practicing strategy with our guild.

—Why here? Not this memory…

The older me—the real me—stood off to the side, watching events unfold like a ghost. No matter how many times I’d tried to bury it, this day loomed large in my nightmares. I felt an icy sweat at the base of my neck.

“Got you cornered, o’ Great Summoner!” Noah crowed, brandishing his staff. A group of giggling onlookers cheered him on. My younger self took a dramatic stance, swirling around his cloak with an over-the-top flourish. Foam swords clashed; bright plastic gems flashed in the midday sun. For a moment, the scene brimmed with carefree laughter.

Then I saw them—my parents—sitting on a wooden picnic bench nearby. They were waving half-filled soda cups, clearly a bit tipsy but all smiles. My mom caught my eye and gave a lazy salute, while my dad just laughed and shouted encouragement to me and Noah.

“Get him, Magelord Noah!” Dad hollered, raising his cup. He wore a battered baseball cap on backward. Mom had a paperback fantasy romance on her lap, the corner dog-eared. Both of them exuded warmth and joy, the sort I’d rarely seen anywhere else in my life. My gut twisted—knowing how soon that joy would vanish.

Eventually, my younger self and Noah declared a truce with the enemy guild for the day. Our friends dispersed to pack up foam shields and wizard hats. We jogged over to the picnic bench, out of breath and sweaty. Mom ruffled Noah’s hair; Dad patted me on the shoulder. The faint smell of cheap beer hung around them, but they were in high spirits.

“You two looked epic!” Mom teased, glancing at her tattered paperback. “I kept imagining you were real knights fighting over a princess.”

Noah stuck out his tongue. “I’m no knight, I’m the Magelord!”

Dad chuckled, scooping up a handful of trading cards he’d been organizing. “Well, fearless mage, time to load up. I don’t wanna miss a game night at the card shop. It’s round-robin night!”

My younger self hesitated, glancing at the watch on his wrist. I remembered exactly what I’d been thinking back then: Let’s linger a bit longer. I don't want this day to end. But Dad was insistent, claiming we had to go. We all packed up the LARP gear and walked to the car.

A sinking dread pooled in my chest as I watched the scene unfold. I wanted to scream at myself—Don’t get in. Stay. Wait just five more minutes. But this was a memory set in stone.

The twenty-year-old version of me motioned my dad and mom to sit in the back seat. They had been drinking, and I had to drive. We drove off, the four of us chatting and laughing. Mom ribbed Dad about his chances at the card tournament while Noah babbled about new spells he wanted to try in our next LARP session. The memory pulled me along, powerless to stop what came next.

I sat in the car between my parents in the back seat. My presence was unknown to them. I was just a visitor of a memory. Twenty minutes in, traffic thinned, and the sun dipped behind heavy clouds. The road became clear. We were on the long road home, the kind of road where you saw someone's headlights before you saw them. My younger self, who was driving, took his eyes off the road and turned around.

“Dad, you gotta see this pic of Noah one of the guys took. Doesn’t he look badass?”

“Son!” A horn blared from nowhere, metal screamed against metal, and everything spun in a sickening spiral. The world lurched.

I watched it happen from two perspectives: as the driver, my heart punching against my ribs, and as an outside observer, horror flooding every cell. The car flipped. My mother’s neck snapped with a sound I’d never forget. The car skidded, and the crunching sound of metal against the road pierced my ears. The car slammed into the guard rail. We were upside down. The radio had cut off, and the only sounds I heard were the oil dripping from the car and Dad crying. He was pinned, his body twisted at an unnatural angle as he clawed toward Mom.

“No…no,” He pleaded softly before he lost the breath in his lungs. I saw my younger self crane my head towards him. He was already gone. I looked up at Noah sitting in the passenger seat. Noah’s eyes locked onto mine, the real me, not the younger me that existed in this memory. For one excruciating second, I saw movement behind his eyes. It was like he saw me there and that there was something else in his eyes. Then he passed out in pain.

There was blood. So much blood. My vision blurred, tears stinging my cheeks as I relived the moment I realized Mom was gone. I looked up at my younger self and saw me panic. My chest had caved in, crushed by more than just the metal. I tried to scream for help, for anyone, but my voice choked.

Time splintered. Then, the memory became blurry, the harsh scene fading like a smudged watercolor. I felt the phantom weight of twisted metal lifts off my shoulders. My ears rang. I tried to yell, but the sound refused to come out.

Suddenly, a hand yanked me backward, pulling me free of the wreckage—yet no wreckage remained. The park, the car, my family… all of it crumbled into blackness. I stumbled, collapsing onto my knees in darkness, gasping for breath.

My head swam, tears stinging my lashes. The final horror of that crash pulsed like a raw nerve, and I realized I was trembling from head to foot. But someone held me upright—a figure in the dark, face half-lit by a flickering candle.

“Erik.” It was Fern’s voice, quivering with relief and exhaustion. “I’ve been looking for you… everywhere.”

I tried to speak, but only a broken sob escaped. My nightmare had finally spat me out—and now I stood in a silent void with the friend I thought I’d lost.

"Fern, I thought...I thought something happened to you with the Chimera."

"It did...but Dog saved me." He held up a sword. The cursed sword. The one I had been missing in the real world. It was here? Inside me?

"But...but...how? How do you have that sword? And what do you mean Dog helped you? That old man? He's here too? Just how many things are inside me!?" I said, feeling invaded.

Fern laughed and then shook my hand. "It's good to interact with someone again."