Zane lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the window. His body was still, but his mind refused to quiet. Sleep hovered just beyond reach, taunting him, slipping away every time he closed his eyes.
He turned over, pressing his palms into his face. For the first time since entering the dungeon, he wasn't surrounded by mist or monsters. No claws. No screams. Just silence. He should have felt relief. Instead, the quiet made it worse. It left too much space for his thoughts.
Adrian's voice echoed in his head, the ragged way he had called for help even as blood dripped down his arms. Lyra's choked gasp when her blade slipped, her leg giving out under her, the sound of her breath hitching when she tried to stand. The way she had screamed when her arm—
Zane's jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He forced the memory down, but it clawed back up anyway. Her blood staining the stone. Her body twisting as if time itself had slowed, every fraction of a second burned into him.
And all he could do was watch.
He rolled onto his back, staring into the darkness. They had survived. Barely. But the truth was cruel. It hadn't been because of him, not really. It had been chance, desperation, something breaking inside him that unlocked a power he didn't even understand. If that hadn't happened, if luck hadn't intervened…
They would be dead.
Adrian, bleeding out on the floor. Lyra, torn apart by claws. And him, left with nothing but the silence of his failure.
The thought made his chest tighten until it hurt to breathe.
He had promised himself before, quiet, vague promises about survival, about protecting his sister, about adapting. But this was different. This wasn't about vague hope. This was about what he had seen. What he had almost lost.
Zane sat up slowly, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His hair fell across his face, black and white strands catching the pale light. He remembered Kane's sharp look when they'd returned, the suspicion in his eyes when he saw Zane's changed form. That wasn't going away. More questions would come. Harder ones. And Zane didn't have answers.
But he had something else.
Resolve.
He let the words form silently in his mind, sharp as a blade's edge:
Never again.
Never again would Adrian bleed while he stood by, powerless. Never again would Lyra's scream echo in his ears because he wasn't strong enough to stop it. Never again would they face death because he couldn't shoulder the weight.
He would take it all. The pain. The burden. The power. Whatever it cost.
"As long as I'm alive…" He whispered the words into the empty room, his voice low, steady. "…no one will harm them. Not while I can still breathe."
The words pulsed through him like an Oath. Not bound by the system. Not inscribed in glowing runes. Not magical. Just his vow. His truth.
The room was still. Silent. But in the quiet, he felt it settle deep inside his chest, a fire that would not go out.
Zane lay back again, staring into the dark. His body remained still, but his heart beat with unshakable certainty.
Sleep never came. Only the weight of the promise he had carved into himself.
Lyra Blessborne
Lyra lay curled beneath the blanket, but there was no warmth in it. Her body was whole again, every cut sealed, every bone restored, but the memory of the pain lingered. She could still feel the moment it happened, the monster's claw lunging, the flash of agony, the sudden emptiness where her arm had been.
She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter, though her skin wasn't cold. It was fear. No worse than fear. It was helplessness.
She had always prided herself on being sharp, quick, and prepared. Her daggers had never failed her. But in that instant, all of it had meant nothing. If Zane hadn't… if he hadn't changed, if he hadn't become something beyond understanding—
She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.
Zane.
He had screamed her name like the world itself was ending. She had never heard his voice like that, raw, desperate, terrified. It haunted her more than the pain, more than the blood. Because it meant she had pushed him to that point, dragged him into a place where losing her was almost real.
And Adrian. She could still see him stumbling, sparks gone, skin pale from blood loss. Still trying to fight even as his knees buckled. She hated it. She hated watching them bleed, hated knowing that her own weakness had forced them to risk everything.
She stared up at the ceiling, her hand tightening on the hilt of the dagger she'd tucked under her pillow. Sleep felt impossible. Her mind replayed every mistake, every strike she hadn't seen coming, every second too slow.
It wasn't just Zane who needed to be stronger. It was her.
"I won't let it happen again," she whispered into the darkness.
Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out, steady, certain.
"I don't care what it takes. I'll never let myself be that helpless again. Not if it means they'll suffer for it. Not if it means Zane screams like that again."
She closed her eyes; the vow burning bright inside her.
She pressed her palm over her heart, steadying her breath.
Whatever this world threw at them next, she would meet it with her blades drawn and no hesitation. Because she refused to be the weakness that broke them.
Sleep didn't come for her either. Only the weight of her vow, sharp and unyielding as steel.
---
The Stormwell estate was quiet. Midnight stillness clung to its marble halls and towering spires, the world hushed under a pale wash of moonlight. Servants slept. Guards patrolled lazily, their armor clinking softly. Everything about the night whispered peace.
Except Adrian's room.
Inside, the air stirred. At first, it was subtle, a faint tug, like the room was breathing. Then it grew stronger. The mana thickened, vibrating with a strange pulse, drawn from every corner of the estate. It flooded through the walls, the floor, the very stone itself, converging on the boy lying asleep in his bed.
Adrian's body remained still, but the world around him did not. Lightning flickered faintly in the air. A sudden gust of wind whipped through the chamber, though no window was open. Frost crept along the glass panes, spreading in jagged patterns.
Mana bent around him. All of it.
The quiet shifted into a roar. Lightning cracked. Wind howled. Ice spiraled upward in jagged shards. A storm was being born, wild and unchained, its core wrapped around the sleeping boy.
Adrian floated inches above his sheets, his limbs limp, his face slack with the peace of dreams. But the world outside his body answered him as though he were a god.
The storm swelled until the walls could no longer hold it.
It exploded outward.
A blinding flash of light and sound tore through the estate, ripping stone from its foundation, shattering towers, flinging debris across the gardens. The shockwave rattled the city itself, echoing like thunder across the night sky.
Half the Stormwell estate was gone in an instant.
And in the center of the devastation, untouched, Adrian floated in the eye of the storm. Lightning coiled lazily around him, arcs of white fire sparking off his skin. Winds swirled but never touched him. Shards of ice orbited him like a crown, glittering in the moonlight.
He looked serene. Untouchable. A sleeping storm.
The ground outside shook with rushing footsteps as guards, servants, and even Kane and Adam Stormwell themselves poured into the ruined courtyard. Their eyes widened at the sight: a boy suspended in the air, a hurricane of mana bowing to him.
Mouths dropped open. Gasps filled the air.
And then—
Adrian's eyes snapped open.
For a heartbeat, they glowed with a furious blue. Lightning cracked the earth beneath him, wind howled high above, frost split stone. And then, as if commanded by that single look, the storm vanished.
The winds stilled. The frost melted. The ice shattered into mist.
Silence.
Adrian landed softly on the rubble, bare feet touching stone as though he had never left the ground. His breathing was calm, almost lazy. The only sound was the faint crackle of residual mana fading from his skin.
He blinked once, expression unreadable, then looked around at the crowd.
Dozens of eyes locked onto him, guards frozen mid-draw, servants pale as ghosts, Kane himself standing rigid, unable to mask his shock.
No one spoke.
They simply stared, wide-eyed, mouths agape, at the boy who had destroyed half the estate in his sleep.