They camped in a clear pocket near the surface ruins, resting before the return. The mist outside had thinned.
Thalos sat beside Mirae, a shared fire crackling low between them. She was unusually quiet.
He finally broke the silence. "Why'd you really ask me to come?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "Because I knew you wouldn't complain. Wouldn't panic. Would follow through even if it got ugly."
Thalos stared into the fire. "You think that's a compliment?"
"I think it's rare."
They didn't speak for a while.
Eventually, she passed him a wrapped biscuit from her pack.
"Here."
Thalos blinked. "Is this… an apology?"
"No. It's just food."
He accepted it anyway.
And in the quiet that followed, something shifted, not trust, not quite. But recognition. Respect forged not from words, but blades and blood.
...
They had sealed the fracture.
The corrupted leyline was stabilized. The residual fog of mana that hung over the Hollow had started to dissipate. Thalos stood on shaky legs, watching the others patch wounds and pack supplies.
It was supposed to be over.
Until the ground trembled.
A new pulse of dark energy rolled through the trees, carrying a sharp static charge that prickled their skin. Saelin froze mid-movement.
"That's… not normal," he said.
From the treeline ahead, a tall figure emerged. Hooded in shadow, draped in what looked like ceremonial cloth, but wrong, twisted, tattered, drenched in arcane corruption. Where its face should be, a polished black mask sat, etched with a single glowing rune: an eye.
"A Warden," Saelin whispered. "A Hollowborn fragment took shape…"
"I thought sealing the fracture would stop this," Mirae muttered.
"Most of the time, yes. But sometimes the residual soul matter anchors. This one's fully formed."
The creature didn't hesitate. One moment it stood there, still as a statue, the next it blurred forward, faster than they could react.
Vaela barely leapt aside as a long, jagged limb cleaved into the ground where she'd stood. Bren roared and charged with his hammer, landing a blow to the creature's midsection.
It didn't flinch.
Instead, it flung him across the clearing like a ragdoll.
"Spread out!" Mirae shouted, activating a rune on her boots that surged her sideways. "Aim for the knot under the ribline!"
Thalos blinked sweat out of his eyes and drew his blade.
His blood felt like fire in his veins. His reserves were low, his body bruised, but there was no time to think.
Only move.
He triggered Blood Step, appearing behind the creature in a flicker. His blade carved toward the soul knot, aiming fast and low but the Warden twisted, catching his wrist mid-swing.
Crack.
Pain exploded up Thalos' arm.
He didn't scream.
He reversed the blade in his other hand and struck upward, clipping the edge of the knot. Not enough.
"Thalos, down!" Mirae's voice cut through the chaos.
He dropped as a streak of wind-infused steel flew past, carving into the Warden's upper shoulder and staggering it momentarily. Mirae closed the gap next to him, breathing hard.
"You alright?"
"Not really."
"Good. You're still conscious."
Behind them, Saelin began chanting faster, building a containment ward. Vaela unleashed another volley of binding arrows, each one glowing with suppression runes. One landed true, rooting one of the Warden's legs to the ground for three heartbeats.
"Go!" Mirae said.
Thalos surged forward, ignoring the pain. His Shadow Slash flared to life dark mana spilling from his blade in a curved arc.
This time it hit.
The Warden reeled back.
Mirae followed with a wide crescent slash, opening a glowing wound across its torso. It howled not with a voice, but with psychic pressure. They stumbled from the backlash, vision swimming.
But the Warden wasn't done.
In a final act of desperation, it unleashed a nova of corrupted energy. Everyone was thrown back. Thalos crashed into a tree, ribs shattering. He collapsed, unable to breathe, blood bubbling in his throat.
Everything blurred.
Shapes moved. Voices shouted.
Then, darkness.
He drifted.
Pain floated around him like a second skin.
He felt hands, pressure, something cold being pressed to his lips.
Time passed.
He wasn't sure how long.
Then, light.
And Mirae's voice.
"Hey. You still in there?"
He blinked. The ceiling above him was wood, carved with bloodline sigils. An infirmary. Clean, warm. Safe.
"You took the hit head-on," she said, sitting in a chair beside the cot. "If Saelin hadn't cast a barrier at the last second, you'd have been reduced to smoke."
Thalos tried to speak. Failed.
She handed him a damp cloth.
"Don't try to talk yet. Healers said your lung was half-punctured. And your ribs are cracked in three places."
He breathed, slowly. Pain flared but manageable.
"Mirae…"
"You saved us time," she said. "You drew its attention. You helped us kill the damn thing. It wasn't flashy. But it mattered."
He gave a slow nod.
Her expression softened a little. "You didn't have to take that risk, you know."
"I did," he rasped.
She stared at him.
Then sighed. "You're stubborn."
"You picked me."
"I did. And I'm not regretting it."
Later that day, the rest of the team came to check in.
Bren had bruises but grinned like it was nothing. "You fought like a madman, low-blood."
Vaela handed him a bundle of herbs. "For the pain. Also… thanks."
Saelin stood at the door, arms crossed. "You bought us a clean shot. That's more than most would've done."
When they left, Mirae lingered.
"I put in your merit credit," she said. "You'll get the full sixty once the report clears."
"Good," Thalos mumbled. "I need a chamber. And a cultivation art."
She hesitated. Then sat again.
"You earned more than points, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"You fought beside us. Bled with us. That matters. You're not just some quiet first-year anymore."
He smiled, just a little.
"And me?"
"I don't know," she said, standing. "Maybe we're friends now. Or something close."
He nodded.
"Thank you."
"Don't get sentimental," she said but her voice was warmer. "Just rest up. I'll see you next time."
...
The infirmary ceiling had grooves.
Tiny carvings shaped like stylized bloodline crests, most of them old, faded with time. Thalos had counted them more than once.
Eighty-seven.
He'd spent five days under the careful watch of the academy's medics, wrapped in wards, soaked in bitter tinctures, and lectured by a healer who looked like she could snap him in half for forgetting to breathe correctly.
Still, the pain dulled with time.
His ribs weren't stabbing him every time he moved now. The bleeding had stopped, and the lung reinflated. The soreness in his shoulder and back would linger, but the worst was over.
He was alive.
Barely.
But alive.
He lay in bed, not sleeping, not moving, just thinking.
The final clash replayed over and over again in his mind.
The Warden. Its precision. The traps. The pressure. The panic.
The truth was brutal: he wasn't strong enough.
Not yet.
He'd done what he could. Positioned himself properly. Used his mobility. Backed up his team. But he was outpaced by every one of them in some way, Vaela's precision, Bren's durability, Saelin's fast-cast rituals. Even Mirae's movement eclipsed his.
And when it came to raw output?
He had too few tools.
"Too little," he muttered aloud, voice still a bit rough. "Too few."
He needed better burst power. He needed a real ranged option. He needed—
"—a full-time healer, if you keep fighting like that."
Thalos blinked and turned his head.
Mirae stood at the doorway, holding a cloth-wrapped box and two metal cups.
"You awake or brooding?" she asked, stepping in without waiting for permission.
"Bit of both."
"Thought so." She placed the cups on the bedside table and pulled up a chair. "Brought blood broth. Spiced. It's trash, but better than what the infirmary gives."
He accepted the cup, sipped.
It was awful. Rich. Metallic. Bitter with dried garlic root.
"...Thanks," he croaked.
Mirae gave a small grin. "You're welcome, low-blood."
He rolled his eyes. "Really?"
"You fought like a noble-born berserker out there. Don't worry, your reputation is safe."
"Yeah, lying in bed is really going to sell that image."
She chuckled and leaned back. "So. You almost died. How are you feeling?"
"Like I didn't deserve the sixty merits."
"That's a stupid thing to say."
"I mean it."
He looked down at the cup.
"I got caught. I slowed everyone down. I barely managed to hurt the thing."
"You helped kill the Warden. You drew aggro when we needed breathing room. You fought until your ribs shattered. That's more than most would've done." She paused. "More than a lot of students could have done."
Silence lingered between them.
Then Thalos said quietly, "But I still lost control."
Mirae didn't interrupt.
"I couldn't keep up with the pressure. My mobility slipped when it mattered. I needed backup to survive."
"And that's a problem?"
He hesitated.
She tapped her fingers against the side of the chair. "You're not supposed to solo missions, Thalos. That's not how team paths work. You're a spellblade, not a god."
"Still."
"You want to improve, right?"
He nodded.
"Good. Then stop beating yourself up for being human. Or vampire. Whatever."
He managed a faint smile. "You're a terrible motivational speaker."
"Thanks. I moonlight as a cynic."
They drank in silence for a moment, and then Mirae cracked open the box she'd brought.
Inside were small scrolls, mostly training papers.
"Assignments?" Thalos asked.
"Sort of. Notes from the instructors. They said when you're up, you can return to light movement drills. Nothing high-intensity until your vitals are cleared."
She handed him one of the sheets. It was stamped with a rune:
RECOMMENDATION:Skill Efficiency Studies
Instructor:Master Ilven
Summary:Consider refining activation speed and mana flow through repeat drills. Focus on recovery windows and attack feints.
"Efficient follow-through," he muttered. "Of course."
"You're fast. But your transitions are still unpolished."
"I know."
He leaned back against the headrest, mind swirling.
So many gaps.
His Shadow Slash lacked stability under fatigue. Crippling Mark still failed half the time under pressure. And Blood Step, while clutch in moments, was draining if chained in a prolonged fight.
Even his Blood Enhancement wasn't integrated fully into his flow.
No wonder he hit a wall.
He needed cleaner execution. Better stamina cycling. And most of all, he needed more options.
"I'm going to ask about illusion-based feints," he murmured. "Could blend with my cursecraft. And maybe I can find a supplementary body technique to bridge my weak spots."
Mirae raised an eyebrow. "Planning your syllabus from a hospital bed?"
He looked at her.
"...I don't want to end up here again."
Her smile softened. "Fair."
She stood, slinging her satchel over one shoulder.
"Rest. Then train. You'll be up before you know it. There are more missions ahead."
He nodded.
"Mirae?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
She glanced back, eyes unreadable.
Then gave a lopsided smile.
"Get strong, Thalos. Or next time, I'll be the one dragging you out."