Alistair's eyes snapped open. The notification still shimmered in his vision like fire carved into glass.
[Ding! Soul Vassal Candidate identified.]
He focused on it, and the system responded. Another status window appeared—not his, but another's.
Name: Kaelen Dusk
Age: 19
Realm: Initiate
Trait: Predator's Instinct
Attribute: Hunter's Sense (Low)
Talent: D-Rank
Alistair studied it in silence. A D-rank talent. By this world's measure, Kaelen was unremarkable. Yet the system had chosen him. His lips curved slightly. So this is how my vassals will be found.
He rose, brushing dirt from his clothes, and turned his gaze toward the treeline. "Come out, Kaelen Dusk."
The name cut through the night like a blade. Hidden in the shadows, Kaelen froze. His pulse quickened. How did this boy—this unawakened—know his name? And why did his words feel like a command rather than a request?
Hand tight on his sword hilt, Kaelen stepped from the darkness. His amber eyes flickered warily as he studied the shack, then the youth who stood before it. Alistair's violet eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, deep and hungry. Authority radiated from him, unearned yet undeniable. Kaelen felt his skin prickle.
Alistair's gaze caught the Ash Serpent insignia on Kaelen's coat. "So Varin sent you," Alistair murmured. "To kill me, or drag me back."
Alistair's gaze hardened. If Kaelen had not been marked as a candidate, Alistair knew he would have needed to kill him to keep his secret.
Alistair's voice cut through the silence. "Tell me, Kaelen… what is it you desire?"
Kaelen blinked. Desire? No one had ever asked him that. He had only ever survived. His lips parted, but no words came.
Alistair stepped forward. The air thickened, the Hunger of the Void flickering in his gaze, sharp enough to carve bone. "I will tell you mine," he said softly, his voice laced with steel. "I don't crave thrones or crowns. What I want is the strength to protect whatever I desire, to bend fate so I can live by my own rules. Not content with scraps, not bound by slums, kingdoms, or empires. I will forge an order whose strength will be enough to reshape the world from the shadows. And I need you, Kaelen Dusk. I need your blade and your eternal loyalty. In return, I, Alistair, offer not only power beyond anything you thought possible, but a front‑row seat to witness it all."
Kaelen's breath caught. His knees trembled. The hunger in those eyes was monstrous, terrifying… and beautiful. He needs me, the words echoed in his mind. No one had ever said that to him. Not his parents. Not his brothers in the pit. Not Varin. But this boy did. And yet, a bitter thought gnawed at him—how could someone like him, weak and replaceable, possibly aid a man with such vast ambition? What kind of power could this stranger truly grant him to bridge that gulf?
Alistair's eyes sharpened, cutting deeper. "Pledge to me your body, your soul, and your mana. Bind yourself to me, and together we will shape a new order hidden from the world's gaze. This is your chance, Kaelen. In serving me, you will find purpose—and the strength to live unbound by the laws set forth by others.."
By the time Alistair's words ended, Kaelen was already on his knees. His sword hand shook, his eyes wide with awe and fear. His legs had given out beneath the weight of the choice laid before him.
Alistair turned away. "Go," he said coldly. "You have until this time tomorrow night to decide." And without another word, he disappeared back into the shack.
Inside, he reopened the hovering pane and reread the lines beneath Kaelen Dusk's name—Predator's Instinct. Hunter's Sense (Low). A tracker. Good. He stripped the cot and bundled every cloth heavy with his own scent, leaving them piled inside the shack like bait. Then he dunked himself in the rain barrel, scrubbed away sweat and blood, and smeared himself from neck to boots with cold, wet earth until his scent was gone. Only the clothes in the shack still smelled of him.
He climbed the black pine that overlooked the clearing and settled into the branches to watch. If Varin sent more than one Initiate, he would intervene. If Kaelen turned back to his master, he would abandon this candidate and move on. Either way, tonight would tell him exactly what kind of man Kaelen Dusk was.
—
Kaelen staggered back through the slums, though his feet did not take him to the Ash Serpent headquarters. Instead, he climbed to a high outcropping where one could see all of Grey Terminal sprawling below, its maze of fires and shacks glowing faintly in the night. He stared down at the filth and the misery he had always believed would be his grave.
Freedom… tied to chains. To give up my freedom to gain it. Is this what it means?
His thoughts churned as the night deepened. He was so lost in weighing his choice that he stayed awake through the long hours, not even noticing when the sun began to rise. Only when footsteps approached did his mind snap back. Kaelen's hand went to his blade, but he stopped when the scent reached him. Another Ash Serpent. One of Varin's enforcers: Dorn, a heavy-set Initiate known more for cruelty than skill.
"Boss wants you," Dorn growled. "Now."
Kaelen followed, though his gut twisted. When they reached the top floor of Varin's stronghold, the air grew heavy. Varin stood with his back to them, looking out over Grey Terminal like a lord surveying his domain.
"Well?" Varin asked without turning. "Where is he?"
Kaelen swallowed. "I… haven't found him yet."
The words had barely left his mouth before pain exploded in his stomach. Dorn's fist had driven into him, lifting him from the ground. He crashed to his knees, gasping. Varin turned, seized him by the hair, and forced him to look up.
"You have until morning," Varin hissed, his voice low and venomous. "Find him, or I sell you back to the pits in Karness. And this time, you won't be fighting against mere beasts and unawakened. You'll be thrown in against mana beasts. Let's see how long you last, then."
Recalling the fightingpits made Kaelen's blood run cold. Memories of chains, blood, and betrayal crashed back into him. His fists clenched. With this his path was clear.
—
Dorn was sent with him as insurance. The two Initiates walked in silence through the wet streets. Kaelen deliberately slowed his pace, circling through alleys and side paths, trying to buy time until nightfall. When the time came, he led Dorn towards the Alistair, when the shack came into view, his heart pounded. He knew what he had to do.
In one fluid motion, he drew his blade and swung for Dorn's throat.
Steel met steel. Dorn had drawn in time, his sword locking against Kaelen's. Sparks flew in the night.
"I knew you'd try something," Dorn sneered. "Varin warned me. Tell me, how much did that noble pay you to betray us?"
Kaelen's eyes widened slightly. Noble? So Alistair truly was a noble. The word carried all the weight of his hatred for those who had bought and broken boys like him in the pits. Yet instead of weakening his resolve, it hardened it. If this noble wanted him, then perhaps his path had finally come. "You wouldn't understand," he growled.
They clashed. Sword against sword, blow for blow. Dorn's strikes were heavy, each one crashing down like a hammer meant to break bone. Kaelen moved with desperate speed, his Hunter's Sense guiding him just enough to slip past killing blows, sparks flaring each time their blades met. The wet ground turned to sludge beneath their feet, each step a struggle to keep balance as steel howled in the night.
Dorn drove him back, his blade cutting shallow wounds into Kaelen's arms and ribs. Kaelen countered where he could, slashing for the legs, twisting his body to strike at openings, but Dorn's strength dwarfed his own. Every parry sent shocks down his arms, every clash drained more of his stamina.
Minutes stretched into an eternity. The clash of steel rang in his ears, his vision blurred from exhaustion, and the taste of iron filled his mouth. His sword felt heavier with each swing. Finally, Dorn's crushing overhead strike shattered his guard and knocked his weapon into the mud. Kaelen staggered back, chest heaving, unarmed.
Dorn's smile widened. "This is where it ends."
Kaelen's knees shook. So this is it? he thought bitterly. The key to changing my fate lies only a few steps away, and I die here in the mud? After everything? The thought tore through him, heavier than his wounds. Helplessness pressed down on his chest like a weight, threatening to smother him. For a moment, despair clawed at his throat.
On the cusp of death, something in him roared to life. His Predator's Instinct surged; the pain numbed. His senses sharpened until every ragged breath, every heartbeat of Dorn's was clear. A beast's snarl ripped from Kaelen's throat as he lunged barehanded, no longer fighting like a man but like a cornered animal.
Dorn thrust his sword toward Kaelen's heart—but Kaelen twisted, the blade plunging into his chest just above where it would have killed him. The pain screamed through him, but he couldn't feel it. He moved closer to Dorn as the sword dug deeper into his chest. He crashed into Dorn, seized his wrist, and, with a savage roar, sank his teeth into his throat and ripped.
Blood sprayed. Dorn's body fell twitching into the mud.
Kaelen staggered backward, crimson dripping from his mouth, the sword still buried in his flesh. His eyes locked on the shack ahead. Every step was agony. He forced himself forward until his legs betrayed him. Crashing to his knees, he dropped low and dragged himself through the mud, crawling inch by inch toward the shack.
What Kaelen did not know was that Alistair had orchestrated this night. After reading Kaelen's status, his trait and attribute, Alistair understood how the boy tracked. So he had stripped off his scented clothes, left them in the shack, bathed, and smeared himself in mud to mask his presence. Then he had hidden high in the trees, waiting, watching to see what Kaelen would do and what kind of man he was.
It had all gone according to Alistair's plan. After their first meeting, he had walked into Grey Terminal cloaked and hooded, spreading whispers among shopkeepers that an Ash Serpent enforcer had been bought off by a noble with violet eyes. He knew the rumor would reach Varin and that Kaelen would be tested. This not only worked create a divide between Kaelen and Varin by making his deision easier, but it also served to test how his potential first soul vassal would react in when backed against a corner. Leaving his scented clothes in the shack and masking himself with mud, Alistair had set the trap, content to risk Kaelen's life if it meant learning the truth of him. He was ready to step in if needed, as he wasn't sure how many people Varin would send but he knew sending too many awakeners would draw attention and he could miss his chance to acquire a good bargoning chip in Alistair. In the end, Varin sent Dorn. And after watching the fight, he was content with what he saw.
Just as Kaelen's hand was about to reach for the door, a voice came from behind him.
"Have you made your decision?"
Kaelen froze. Then he looked back. Alistair stood there, not in the shack but behind him, violet eyes gleaming.
"H-how?" Kaelen gasped.
"I wanted to see what you were made of," Alistair replied calmly. "The fight, the blood, the choice—you've shown me everything I needed to know." He was content with what he saw.
Kaelen's body trembled. He forced himself up to one knee despite the sword in his chest. His voice cracked, but the words were clear. "Yes. I accept. I pledge my body, my soul, and my mana to you. May they be yours until death and beyond."
Alistair's eyes sharpened, his hunger flaring like fire. "Then rise, Zephyros. That is your new name—a new beginning."
The night convulsed. Magic circles of violet light whirled around them, runes burning into the earth. Mana surged, crashing like a storm, flooding into Kaelen's broken body. The sword embedded in his chest wrenched free and dissolved into motes of light. His wounds closed, his flesh reforged, his frame growing stronger, sharper. His eyes glowed with primal light.
On his palm, a sigil etched itself: a violet sword piercing downward into a circle of darkness, an amethyst gem blazing at its hilt.
[Ding!]
[Soul Vassal Acquired]
Kaelen—no, Zephyros—rose to his feet, reborn.