Chapter 5: Beneath the Skin
Rayven stood shirtless in the cathedral's training chamber, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his back. The gauntlet pulsed with an electric hum as if alive—its blue glow brightening with each punch he threw at the reinforced dummy.
He didn't need to touch it—every blow landed from inches away, like the energy was leaping ahead of his fist.
Selene watched from the corner, arms folded, a slight nod of approval on her lips. "You're adapting faster than expected."
"Doesn't feel fast," Rayven grunted. "Feels like something's crawling under my skin."
"Because something is."
Rayven froze.
"…What?"
She stepped forward. "Your bloodline is ancient, Rayven. The city isn't just giving you power. It's waking up parts of you that were sealed. DNA. Memory. Instinct."
He looked down at his arm. Faint silver lines—like veins of light—spread from the gauntlet up his shoulder and neck.
Selene's gaze was calm, but serious. "This isn't just power. It's identity. The more you unlock, the more the Old You rises."
"Old me?"
"The original heir. The one they tried to erase."
Rayven stepped back. "I'm not him. I'm not some ancient warlord or chosen one—I'm just… me."
She didn't argue. "For now."
Meanwhile, in the city's lower district…
A new girl arrived at Eastgate University. Tall. Graceful. Dressed plainly, but with an elegance too sharp to be casual.
She gave her name to admissions: "Rhea Vale."
Transferred from nowhere. No records. No history.
But her real name wasn't Rhea.
It was Eiselle—the Watcher.
She walked among the students, eyes scanning, senses reaching. Her gaze flickered toward the skyline—toward the cathedral hidden between skyscrapers and churches.
She didn't need to see him yet. Not directly.
She could feel him.
The relic's awakening had created a ripple through the arcane Vein Lines, and Rayven's energy now burned like a beacon.
She pulled out her phone, not to call anyone—but to use its black crystal core as a surveillance lens.
The image of Rayven training in the cathedral appeared on her screen.
"Still raw," she muttered. "But he's close."
Then, she smiled faintly.
"Too close."
Back at the cathedral, Rayven slumped against the wall, his muscles twitching. "Tell me there's an off switch to this thing."
Selene tossed him a water bottle. "There isn't. You're not just training anymore—you're evolving."
He didn't like the sound of that. "I don't want to evolve into someone I don't recognize."
"Then learn to master him before he masters you."
The gauntlet suddenly glowed, brighter than before.
Rayven winced. "It's doing that weird humming again."
Selene stepped closer, her expression darkening. "That's not it. Something's interfering with your signal. Something's… watching you."
Rayven stood. "Another Echo Beast?"
She shook her head. "No. This is cleaner. Subtle. Human."
Just then, the cathedral's doors creaked.
They turned—but it was only Father Jorn, the old caretaker, hobbling in with a crate of candles.
"Sorry to interrupt," he wheezed. "But there's a message for you, Rayven. From someone named… Rhea Vale?"
Rayven blinked. "Rhea who?"
"She said you'd know soon enough. Asked if she could visit the cathedral sometime."
Selene and Rayven exchanged a glance.
Selene's eyes narrowed. "I want her watched."
Rayven nodded slowly. "I'll handle it. If she's here to play games, I'll figure it out."
But deep down, he felt it too.
Something was shifting.
Not just around him—inside him.
Later that night, as he lay in the old tower room above the sanctuary, Rayven stared at his hand. The mark had dimmed, but the gauntlet wouldn't come off anymore. It had fused with him.
He rolled up his sleeve.
The silver veins had spread.
They weren't just marks now—they pulsed faintly, syncing with his heartbeat.
Suddenly, his reflection in the mirror flickered.
He stood and stepped closer.
For a second, it wasn't him in the mirror.
It was the First Heir—taller, eyes sharper, dressed in arcane armor, standing in a field of flames.
Rayven staggered back.
The vision faded.
Just his own reflection again. Same scar on his brow. Same tired eyes.
But he whispered to himself:
"…Who am I really?"