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Chapter 22: Taste 3

Chapter 22: Taste 3

The room was dark and suffocating. As Cal's awareness drifted into the memory, he found himself standing amidst an array of blades, suspended from the ceiling by thin strings. The steel glistened in the dim light, sharp edges reflecting fleeting glimpses of movement. Each sword hung at a different length, swaying gently in the still air, as if they were waiting, poised to strike. The silence was unnerving, almost a tangible presence that pressed down on the space.

In the middle of it all sat Beron, younger, unarmored, and impossibly still. His red hair was damp with sweat, even though the room was cold, and his face was a mask of concentration. His hands rested lightly on his knees, his breath slow and controlled. Cal could feel the tension in the air, the weight of every blade threatening to fall if Beron so much as twitched the wrong way.

Cal watched from the shadows, his presence a ghostly observer in this place of memory. It wasn’t his, and yet, he could feel the anxiety, the fear, and the discipline radiating from the boy. Every breath Beron took was deliberate, as if even breathing too quickly would disturb the fragile balance between life and death. Cal could sense the boy’s focus, his awareness of every blade, every string, and yet, he remained perfectly still.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly. Cal wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching, waiting. The darkness in the room pressed in on all sides, but Beron remained calm, unwavering. It was like he had become part of the room itself, in sync with the danger around him.

Then, without warning, Beron’s eyes snapped open. He looked straight at Cal. The boy’s gaze was sharp, as if he had known all along that someone was there, watching. But there was also confusion. Surprise flickered in his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to see Cal—he wasn’t supposed to see anyone. This was his space, his memory, his training.

For a moment, they locked eyes. Cal could feel the intensity of Beron’s spirit even in his youth. There was power here, raw and unrefined, but potent. The boy didn’t flinch or move, but there was a question in his eyes, one that Cal couldn’t answer.

And then everything shifted.

The room, the blades, the air—all of it twisted violently. The darkness shattered, spiraling out of control, pulling at the edges of reality. Cal felt himself spinning, the memory unraveling and reforming at a dizzying pace. It was disorienting, like being thrown into a storm, with no sense of up or down.

Suddenly, the spinning stopped, and Cal was surrounded by blinding white.

In the vast, featureless expanse, Beron was there again, no longer the boy but fully grown, his massive frame encased in heavy armor. His red beard was fuller now, his face lined with the marks of countless battles. The weight of time was etched into his features, but his posture was the same—seated, calm, and in control, even in the void.

Beron’s eyes opened again, just as they had before, but now they were different. Hardened. Aged. And they stared directly at Cal with the same intensity. But there was no confusion this time, no surprise. Only recognition and a steely resolve.

Cal stood there, silent, caught in the disorienting shift between past and present. The boy had become the warrior, and the warrior had seen him—truly seen him. The transition between the two was seamless and jarring, like two pieces of a puzzle snapping together.

In the whiteness of the void, there was only Cal and Beron, their eyes locked once more. But now, the weight of years and experience filled the space between them, and Cal could feel it like a physical presence—heavy, cold, and unyielding.

Cal’s confusion deepened as Beron casually stood, stretching his arms like he had just woken up from a nap. The casual demeanor felt surreal, as if Beron hadn’t just died in a brutal battle.

“What the hell is happening? How can you see me? Where are your memories?” Cal demanded, his voice sharp and frustrated.

Beron chuckled, running his fingers through his red hair with a sheepish grin. “Hello, Cal. Gotta say, it’s a little disappointing that you beat me.”

“What?” Cal’s eyes narrowed, his tone incredulous.

“I mean, after all my training, to be beaten by a near-naked man in a cave… embarrassing, really,” Beron continued, shaking his head with mock shame. “Though, in my defense, I was at a disadvantage. That silly ability of yours—the one that could perfectly counter my technique.”

He paused, looking at Cal with a disarming smile. “Well, nothing I can do about it now, huh?”

Cal’s mind raced. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how souls usually reacted to being consumed. They didn’t talk back. “What is happening? Explain!”

Beron’s expression shifted, becoming more serious. “You really are from another world, aren’t you?”

“Answer me,” Cal growled, tension building in his voice. This soul, this conversation—it was throwing everything off.

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“You’re so ignorant,” Beron said, almost amused. “Here, I’ll explain. I’m an Art user.”

Cal blinked. “So?”

Beron sighed, rolling his eyes as if he was talking to a child. “Soooo, I’m not a normal guy. I assume you know what an Art user is, but let me break it down for you anyway.” He leaned in slightly, his voice calm and measured. “I’ve spent my life channeling essence of a certain aspect through my body, through meditation. I can use essence with breathing techniques for combat and other applications. But that’s not the important bit.”

“Then what is?” Cal snapped, still not understanding.

Beron smiled again, but this time it was cold, almost predatory. “A person’s soul is supposed to be immutable. Well, I guess not in your case, since you’re eating mine right now, but typically, it is. Here’s the thing—a trained Art user is more in tune with their soul than anyone else. I’ve spent my entire life with essence, shaping it, nurturing it. That connection gives me… perspective.”

Cal’s eyes widened. “I still don’t get it.”

Beron’s voice lowered, his gaze locking onto Cal’s with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. “Understand this: I’ve spent my life training my Art, strengthening my soul, protecting it. I’m not just some unsuspecting victim, and I’m sure as hell not an amateur.”

The entire white space around them shifted. Suddenly, thousands of thin glass needles appeared, hanging in the air like a deadly constellation, all pointed directly at Cal. The air felt heavy with pressure, the translucent shards glinting with a dangerous light.

Cal’s breath hitched, his eyes darting to the floating needles. This isn’t possible. He’s dead. How is he doing this?

Beron smiled, his voice steady. “You’re not the only one with power, Cal."

Cal's gaze locked with Beron’s, and the weight of the moment pressed on him. Beron stood firm, his presence commanding even in this strange realm of souls. "So, if you want to consume me, take my memories, my life, my name, my history," Beron said, his voice steady, "then you sure as hell better be ready to fight for it."

Cal blinked. Something was wrong—he couldn’t feel his abilities. In this space, there was no core, no essence pulsing through his body, and, shockingly, no Mistress whispering in his mind.

“Wait,” Cal stammered, his confusion growing. “Give me a second…”

He delved deeper into his mind, searching for clarity. Without Mistress clouding his thoughts, something began to shift. Then, like sunlight cutting through fog, it hit him—his memories were returning. A face once blurred now came into focus. His sister.

“Abby,” he whispered, her name unfamiliar on his lips but suddenly so precious. How had he forgotten her?

Memories flooded back—his father leaving, his mother pushing him to the brink, forcing him out when he was only eighteen. Abby had been the only one who stayed by his side, the one who still believed in him, the one who loved him when no one else did.

He could hear her voice now, clear and unwavering. "Come on, Cal, get off your ass. You won’t accomplish anything sitting down. I need you, and even if you don’t believe it, you need me. We’re a two-for-one, remember?"

Grief, guilt, anger, and fear surged through Cal, emotions he hadn’t felt so vividly in what felt like years. Mistress had buried them deep, suppressing everything until he could hardly remember who he was. But now, those feelings broke free, too powerful to be ignored. He tried to push them aside, knowing this wasn't the time to unravel, but it showed on his face, pain etched into every line.

Beron tilted his head, noticing the change. "Scared, are we?" he asked, his voice steady.

Cal shook his head, his voice trembling. “No… no… I’m sorry, Beron. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Beron replied, his eyes narrowing.

“I know. I know.” Cal’s voice cracked as he spoke. “This demon, this beast, she’s been controlling me. I’m sure as soon as I finish here, she’ll take me again. My soul bends to her will.”

Beron paused, an expression of surprise flickering across his face. He looked at Cal, something shifting in his gaze. Then, with a slow resolve, Beron walked forward. The blades surrounding them moved with him, glinting in the white space. He placed a hand on Cal’s shoulder, his touch firm but not threatening.

“What did I just say?” Beron said, his tone gentle but insistent. “A soul is immutable. She can’t take what isn’t hers. So don’t let her. I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I know what obsession feels like. You have to fight it.”

Cal looked up, eyes wide. “Why are you helping me?”

Beron let out a dry laugh. “I’m dead. And despite your creepy nature and terrible social skills, you seem like a good kid. At least in here, you’re just a soul, like me. And if you were truly a monster, I’d know.”

Cal’s voice was soft, almost childlike. “What do I do?”

Beron sighed. “I don’t know for sure. Well…” He hesitated, then smirked. “Actually, I have an idea.”

Cal's heart raced. “What?”

“Unfortunately, it involves you eating me, so I’m not too keen on it.”

“Please,” Cal pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice.

“No,” Beron said firmly. “Instead of you using my memories, I’ll teach you myself. The best way to protect your soul is to adopt an Art. You’re a little old for it, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Cal blinked, disbelief flashing across his face. “You’re… going to teach me?”

“Yeah,” Beron said, his voice softening. “Everything I know.”

“But why?” Cal asked, his confusion deepening.

“Like I said, you seem good at heart,” Beron replied with a shrug. “Besides, if it means I can hold on a bit longer, then I guess I’m okay with it.”

Cal stood there, processing Beron’s words, feeling the weight of the moment. The white void around them seemed to stretch endlessly, but for the first time in what felt like ages, Cal wasn’t consumed by confusion or chaos. He was here, present, standing before a man who should have hated him for what he’d done.

“You’re really going to teach me?” Cal repeated, disbelief still hanging on his every word.

Beron smiled, a small, knowing grin. “Yeah. You need it. You’ve got a lot of power, Cal, but no direction. Power without purpose? That’s dangerous.”

Cal felt something stir in him. He had been running, fighting, surviving, but never really understanding. He didn’t even know who he was anymore. The memories of his sister were still fresh in his mind, but it was like they belonged to someone else. Abby, the one person he cared about, had been hidden behind a wall of pain and violence for so long.

Beron looked at him, eyes sharp. “You don’t even know who you are, do you?”

Cal shook his head slowly, the admission heavy on his shoulders. “No. Not really.”

“That’s okay,” Beron said, sitting down cross-legged on the white floor. “We’ll start there.”

Cal hesitated, unsure of what to do. But Beron motioned for him to sit, so he did. The room was silent for a moment, the tension slowly easing as the two sat across from each other.

“An Art isn’t just about power or combat,” Beron began, his voice calm and steady. “It’s about connection. To yourself. To the essence around you. To your soul. It’s the only thing that can’t be taken from you, no matter how much you lose. That’s why I spent my whole life mastering mine.”

Cal watched him intently, feeling like a student for the first time in ages. “I never had anything like that,” he admitted. “No Art. No purpose. Just… surviving. Even before this world.”

Beron nodded. “That’s where we start. You’ve been fighting and taking, but you haven’t been *living*. And to live, you need something to ground you.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, and Cal could feel something shift inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was Beron’s words or the strange peace of the white void, but for the first time, he felt like there might be a path forward—a way out of the chaos that had consumed him.

“So… where do we start?” Cal asked, his voice quieter now, filled with a tentative hope.

“With the basics,” Beron replied, his tone lighter now. “Meditation, control, focus. I know you’ve got that whole essence thing going on, but you’ve been letting it run wild. We’ll rein it in.”

Cal nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over him. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t fighting.

Beron smiled, that same knowing grin on his face. “Don’t worry, Cal. We’ll figure this out. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find out who you really are.”

The white space around them seemed to pulse gently, a rhythm that Cal hadn’t noticed before, but it was soothing. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the stillness wash over him, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of something like peace.

Beron’s voice broke the silence, soft but firm. “Now, focus. Breathe. This is where your journey really begins.”

And for the first time in a long time, Cal listened.