Esu walked away from the Storm Cliffs with nothing but stolen clothes and a dead man's name.
The wind power died ten minutes out. He crashed into the dirt, ribs screaming from Jide's punch, blood leaking from his mouth. The Fear Shard had cracked his soul open and poured in a thimble of Ase just enough to keep him alive, not enough to make him strong.
Layer 1. That was all.
He spat red and forced himself up. Dawn was three hours away. The enclave gates were two days' walk. No horse, no food, no water. Just pain and the echo of twelve dead men in his head.
Good. Pain kept you sharp.
He stripped Jide's face in the dark, rolled it tight, hid it in his waistband. The skin would rot in a day without blood ritual, but he needed it clean for the gates. He dragged the tunic tighter, smeared more dirt to hide the fit. Then he startedwalking.
The first day was hell.
His stomach clawed itself empty by noon. Legs shook. The broken ribs ground with every step. He found a stream, drank until his belly hurt, then threw it all up. Poison from the berries still lingered in his blood.
He slept in a ditch that night, curled under leaves, dagger in hand. Dreams came Jide's memories mixed with his own. Boardrooms became storm caves. Colleagues wore raider faces. He woke sweating, heart racing.
No free power. No easy layers. That was the rule.
Day two, he stole.
A trader's cart on the road old man, two guards napping in the shade. Esu waited until dusk, slipped in, took a waterskin, three yam cakes, a strip of dried meat. Left a silver coin from the raiders. Fair trade. He ate slow, hiding in bushes, chewing until his jaw ached.
Strength came back a little. Enough to keep moving.
He practiced the Ase at night. Sat cross-legged, breathed deep, tried to feel the tiny spark in his chest. It flickered like a dying coal. He pushed pain stabbed behind his eyes. Blood dripped from his nose.
Too soon. Body not ready.
He stopped. Patience. Rome wasn't burned in a day.
Night two, wolves found his trail. Three of them, eyes green in the moonlight. Esu climbed a tree, heart hammering. They circled below, snarling. He waited four hours, dagger ready, until they left.
No sleep. Just cold and fear.
Real fear.
The spark in his chest pulsed stronger for a second. Not a layer up just a taste. He smiled in the dark. Good. Fear was fuel. He'd bottle it later.
Day three, he reached the enclave walls at dawn.
The gates were already chaos. Hundreds of kids lined up sixteen to twenty, some with glowing scars, some plain like him. Guards in blue cloaks shouted orders. Outer hopefuls on the left, bloodline brats on the right.
Esu joined the left line, head low, Jide's face half-peeled and pressed against his own with spit and blood. It itched like fire, but held.
A guard eyed him. "Name?"
"Jide. Storm Runners clan. Got ambushed. Only survivor."
The guard grunted, stamped a wooden token. "Servant trial. Carry water, clean shit, maybe get noticed. Fail and you're out by sundown."
Esu took the token. No questions. Perfect.
Inside, the outer ring stank of sweat and hope. He found the servant dorm long house, straw mats, two hundred boys snoring. He claimed a corner, ate the last yam cake, then slept like the dead.
Woke to bells at noon.
First job: haul water barrels to the trial square. Twenty barrels, each heavy as a man. Esu's arms burned after five. Ribs screamed. Other servants laughed kids with thin wind or fire blood, showing off by floating barrels two at a time.
Esu kept his head down. Carried one by one. Slow. Steady.
By dusk, his hands bled. But he watched.
Watched the prodigies spar in silk robes. Watched elders on platforms, eyes sharp. Watched the banquet tents going up white cloth, gold trim, smell of roast goat drifting.
Tomorrow the real trials started. Beast wave. Pressure stairs. Blood duels.
Servants got to watch. Maybe carry the wounded.
Esu wrapped his ribs with stolen cloth, lay on the mat, stared at the roof.
Layer 1. Still.
Eighty years left on the clock.
He closed his eyes.
Tomorrow he'd steal fear the hard way.
One scream at a time.