*Brrrr…*Click…
The faint, rhythmic hum of mechanical whirring echoed in the distance, barely reaching Jinn's ears as he lay in his bed, staring silently at the ceiling above.
Outside, beyond the walls, the low mechanical soundscape of machinery servants carried on with their nightly tasks—clipping hedges, tilling soil, repairing stone paths, watering glowing trees.
All of it was constant.
Mechanical.
But inside his room, the stillness felt far louder.
His mind wasn't on the machines.
Not on the hums.
Not even on his aching body.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
They were back in the courtyard.
Back in that conversation with Merilyn.
Her words still clung to his memory, resonating with a weight he couldn't quite shake.
"Eidra exists in all things—in every breath we take, in every stone we walk upon, in every strand of your being. It is not something to be conjured… it is something to be remembered."
Jinn narrowed his eyes slightly at the ceiling, lost in that echo.
"Then that means even the food we ate earlier… that was Eidra, too?" he murmured to himself, the idea strange yet oddly fitting.
His mind drifted, unconsciously, to the dinner they'd shared.
He remembered the warmth of the bread, the golden crust breaking apart in his hands, its soft center melting against his tongue.
He remembered the meat—roasted to perfection—tender, spiced, bursting with flavor unlike anything he'd ever had back in the slums or orphanage.
He remembered the laughter—
real laughter
around the table.
Not forced.
Not guarded.
A smirk crept onto his face, not from the food, but from the fragile, glittering image that formed in his head.
That future.
A life beyond these walls.
A life beyond chains.
A world where he and his friends weren't merely surviving—
but living.
Free.
Freedom.
Sweet Freedom.
Eating meals like kings not as a rare mercy, but as a way of life.
Laughing under open skies, never again fearing the sound of boots behind them.
No whips.
No collars.
No brands.
That was the future he wanted.
No—
That was the future he would claim.
*Ruffle…
He slowly raised his arms above him, fingers spread wide against the shadows of the ceiling.
Then, with a quiet grunt, he curled his fingers into a fist and pulled them back down to his chest—clutching it tightly.
It was a symbolic gesture, and he knew it.
But somehow, it helped.
It was like yanking a dream from the clouds and pulling it into his chest—into his core—where it could burn and live as fire.
That dream… it belonged not just to him, but to all of them.
To Ophelia.
To Hector.
To Orin.
To Vox.
To Kain.
To Verhedyn.
To Everyone.
They'd all shared that dream, even if it had gone unspoken.
And it was that shared dream that made him keep walking, even when the path burned his feet.
It was that same dream that steadied his hand when he'd lifted a sword against Venedix for the first time, knowing it could be the end of him.
And it was this fire,
...this yearning,
that gave him the will to try something few dared to try.
To awaken Eidra.
His Eidra.
Not Venedix's.
Not inherited.
But Innate.
*Exhale…
He inhaled deeply through his nose, then exhaled slowly, grounding his thoughts.
Merilyn had said it began with intention.
With focus.
With belief.
So he focused.
He concentrated not on the act, but on the feeling.
The warmth he'd felt in every moment of defiance.
The trembling strength that had carried him when Nevi was slain.
The raw, bitter grief that had pushed him to survive.
The courage he had found when he was left with nothing but fear and the broken, scarred hands of a child who had seen too much.
He closed his eyes and reached inward.
And then…
He felt it.
A flicker.
Not like fire.
Not like lightning.
But like something else.
Something alive.
Something ancient.
Something watching.
He extended his arm again—slowly—this time letting his focus pour into it, guiding that inner force like a current down his shoulder and toward his fingers.
At first, it was just a warmth.
But then, it moved.
Like a serpent slithering through his bloodstream.
Coiling.
Winding.
Throbbing with purpose.
It danced beneath his skin, not burning, but simmering.
Sharp and serpentine.
Both chaotic and controlled.
And then, suddenly—
*Fsssshh!
A flash ignited in his palm.
A translucent light shimmered into existence—like a mirror turned liquid, swirling and bending light in impossible ways.
At the center of it was a black flame—obsidian in color, twisting with slow, hypnotic motion.
*Crack!!*Bang!!
Electricity burst outward in jagged red arcs, snapping across the air around his hand like wild threads of violent lightning.
His eyes widened.
The energy pulsed like a heartbeat—angry, radiant, alive.
"So this… this is my Eidra…" he whispered, breathless, voice tinged with awe.
But even as he stared, something felt strange.
The mirror-like structure that hovered around the flame began to ripple, distort.
As he peered deeper, drawn to the hypnotic dance of the obsidian core, something shifted inside him.
His chest tightened.
His breath hitched.
And then—
*Spk-kkrrt!
"Ah—Argh!" Jinn gasped as pain lanced through his chest like a spear.
He clutched it instinctively, body curling inward, vision flickering.
The pain wasn't from the outside—
it was coming from within.
It felt as if the Eidra was rejecting him.
Or perhaps… warning him.
That he wasn't ready to bear it.
Just as suddenly as it struck, the pain faded.
His breathing slowed, and his vision cleared.
But the mirror structure was gone.
All that remained now was raw, pulsing crimson energy.
Electricity crackled across his hand violently, and there was nothing calm or composed about it anymore.
It pulsed erratically, like a heartbeat out of sync.
Where had that other form gone?
That ethereal, almost alien energy—
what happened to it?
He stared at his hand, chest still rising and falling with labored breaths.
"…Was that… the true form of my Eidra?"
He wasn't sure.
The moment had slipped away from him, buried beneath something far more wild—far more volatile.
And yet, even as the energy began to fade—dispersing like smoke—he didn't feel regret.
Only awe.
Only hunger.
Hunger to learn more.
To master it.
To wield it properly.
To become strong enough to never fear it again.
*Exhale…
His head fell softly back against the pillow.
He knew he needed rest.
Tomorrow, everything would begin.
Swordsmanship with Zendrell.
His friends under new mentors.
A new chapter of training,
of purpose,
of survival.
But for now… he closed his eyes.
And let the warmth of his Eidra carry him into sleep.
A warmth that promised pain,
yes—
but also power.
And hope.