Kael didn't sleep.
The stranger's words replayed in his head on an endless loop: *worthless or priceless.*
At dawn, the academy stirred to life—the clang of the morning bell, students murmuring in the corridors, the scent of steamed grain drifting from the mess hall. But Kael wasn't in the mess hall. He was on the rooftop of the west dormitory, where the city's skyline stretched out in jagged layers of glass towers and ancient stone spires.
From here, he could see the outer districts where the smoke of early forges rose into the pale light. Beyond that, the massive outer walls shimmered faintly with barrier runes, keeping the city secure from what lay in the wilderness.
The seed inside him pulsed again, harder now. Not the gentle throb from before. This was faster, urgent—like a drumbeat driving him somewhere.
That somewhere was the Old Quarter.
He knew it before he even stood.
The Old Quarter was a labyrinth of abandoned streets on the edge of the city—a place swallowed by shadows long before he was born. Rumors said the city had simply built around it, leaving it to rot because something dangerous was buried there.
He climbed down from the roof and cut through the east gate, hood drawn low. The air in the Old Quarter was different—thicker, colder, heavy with the scent of damp stone.
The streets twisted without logic, walls leaning over the cobblestones like crooked teeth.
The seed thrummed faster.
Then he saw him.
The stranger from last night, standing beneath a broken archway. This time, the light caught his face—sharp angles, dark eyes, a faint scar across his jaw.
"You came."
Kael didn't waste words. "What do you know?"
The man's gaze flicked to Kael's chest, as though he could see the seed pulsing inside. "Enough to tell you that thing in you doesn't belong to this planet's cultivation framework. It's older. Rarer. And if you're careless, you won't live long enough to use it."
Kael stepped closer. "Then teach me."
The stranger's smile was humorless. "Knowledge has a price."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to survive."
Before Kael could ask what that meant, the ground trembled beneath them.
It started as a faint vibration—then stone cracked, dust rising from the street. From the shadowed mouth of an alley, something crawled into view.
At first, Kael thought it was a man. Then it unfolded—long limbs too thin for its body, skin like charred parchment stretched over bones. Its eyes glowed a dull red, and its mouth split too wide, revealing jagged, wet teeth.
"A Rift Wraith," the stranger said quietly. "Not supposed to be inside the walls. Which means someone let it in."
The thing moved fast—too fast. Kael barely had time to dodge as its claws raked across the wall behind him, leaving deep gouges in the stone.
The stranger's hand snapped out, and a curved blade unfolded from his sleeve. He moved like water, fluid and precise, cutting deep into the creature's side. Black ichor hissed on the cobblestones.
The Wraith shrieked, the sound scraping Kael's skull.
The seed inside him surged. Without thinking, Kael raised his hand.
A thin thread of light burst from his palm—pure, white-gold, laced with patterns he didn't recognize. The beam struck the Wraith's chest, and the thing convulsed, its body smoking as the light ate through it.
Then, just as suddenly, the light vanished, leaving Kael breathless.
The Wraith collapsed in a heap of blackened flesh.
The stranger turned to him slowly, his blade still dripping. "Well," he said, voice low. "Now I'm certain."
Kael's pulse hammered in his ears. "Certain of what?"
"That seed in you? It's not just ancient. It's *sovereign.*"
The word hung between them like a spark ready to catch flame.
Before Kael could ask, movement flickered at the edge of his vision—three figures standing at the far end of the street, faces hidden beneath metal masks. They didn't move closer, but he could feel their attention fixed on him like a blade's tip pressing against his spine.
The stranger followed his gaze. His jaw tightened. "We need to go. Now."
They ran, weaving through the crooked alleys until the masked figures were gone from sight.
When they stopped, Kael leaned against a wall, still catching his breath. "You still haven't told me your name."
The man hesitated. "Ravik. I was once part of something called the Outer Spiral. We collect things—people—outside the known cultivation spectrum. But that also means we have enemies who'd rather you never learn what you are."
Kael met his eyes. "And the masked ones?"
"Hunters," Ravik said. "They work for the Dominion. They want every sovereign seed under their control—or destroyed."
Kael's thoughts raced. "If they know about me—"
"They will," Ravik interrupted. "Today was just a taste. From now on, you're a mark. You either learn to use that seed, or it'll burn you out the first time they corner you."
Kael looked down at his hand, where the faintest trace of golden light still clung to his skin before fading completely.
Something inside him had woken—and there was no putting it back to sleep.
Ravik straightened. "Meet me here tomorrow at dawn. Bring no one. And if you see the Hunters before then—run."
Then, without another word, he melted into the shadows, leaving Kael alone in the ruined street.
The wind shifted, carrying with it the distant toll of the academy's midday bell. He realized, with a sudden sharpness, that his life inside those walls was already over.
What lay ahead wasn't classes or exams.
It was survival.
And maybe—just maybe—something far greater.