Pain had basically moved in with Arshin. Every damn morning, he was stuck in the training room with Mirza. Daily grind: harsher, nastier, meaner. But under all those electric punches and Mirza's growls? Truth hit hard—he was actually learning.
Kaweh, with his old-school physics brain, slowly got it: this raw, savage power? Not magic. Just energy. He learned to "circuit" it, steer it, and most importantly—ground it so he didn't toast himself.
One day, after he grounded another shock (and just wobbled instead of slamming into the wall), Mirza shot him a rare, eyebrow-raise kinda impressed look.
"Less pathetic," he muttered, corner of his mouth twitching. "Still… you're like a mute kid trying to scream. Real power? Needs a voice. Needs an identity. What you got… fake. A knockoff. Some parasite clinging to you."
Ouch. But Kaweh felt it. That blue power wasn't part of him. Just some relic-gifted junk, a cheap replacement for the strength he never had.
"Your bloodline? Fire runs in it, kid," Mirza said, lifting his little bottle. "Mirkaweh's fire. Burns the dark, doesn't burn everything like your runaway energy—yourself included. Until you kill that white noise in your head, you'll never taste the real fire."
Mirza wasn't here to teach him this foreign power. He wanted it dead. Out of the way. Make space for the real deal.
These thoughts trailed him across the courtyard until he ran into Bonyan. Second bro, sharp as hell, sporting that polished-diplomat smile.
"Heard you're leveling up with Mirza," he said, but his eyes locked on Arshin's bruised hands. "Careful. Father's worried. Freaked out about these flashy stunts attracting eyes we don't want. Eyes best left blind."
Double-edged. Support. Threat.
"Just tryna control it, Bonyan."
"Control?" Bonyan smirked. "Cute. Thought the goal was mastery. Control's for dangerous stuff. Like a predator. Mastery? That's for a Kavian." He dipped, polite, but message delivered: this power makes you a threat, not heir material.
That night, dorm room, alone. Arshin gripped the relic. Plan clicked. Blue dot in the library? Still pulsing. He needed answers. Why this alien energy? Why cling to him?
Using his new energy tricks—enough to hold a tiny spark for seconds—he tried to push into the relic, not just brush it.
Blue energy spun like a key in a lock.
Suddenly—bam. Not a map. A memory hit: a man in shiny, weird clothes sprinting a metal hallway under blinking red lights. Clutched a backpack like life depended on it. Behind him, heavy footsteps, screams in some alien language.
He hit a blue wall. Same as Arshin's power. Desperate, threw the backpack at the light. Shouted. And this time Kaweh got it: "Take it! Stop them!"
Then—darkness.
Arshin popped out, gasping. Memory. Last owner.
And that man… was him. Kaweh Karimi. Old world vibes, new world chaos.
This blue power? Not a gift. Not luck. A mission. A will.
[System Note: Integration: 72%. Foreign energy signature identified as [Designation: Azure Protocol]. Memory fragment recovered. New Objective: Decipher the message. Find the backpack.]
[Warning: Suppression of [Azure Protocol] may conflict with primary inheritance. Path divergence imminent.]