CRACK.
CRACK.
The sound didn't just wake Vesperyn—it rattled through the floorboards and into his teeth.
"Darian, stop it," Ves groaned, dragging the thin blanket over his head. "Go hit a tree or something. Let me sleep."
The noise stopped.
For a moment, there was nothing. The kind of silence that felt wrong even through half-sleep.
Then the blanket was yanked away.
Vesperyn squinted against the sudden light.
This wasn't his room.
There was no Darian.
Harlen stood over him, holding a practice sword made of dark, scorched wood. He looked exactly like someone who hadn't slept.
"Scars look good," Harlen said, nodding toward Vesperyn's arm.
Ves glanced down. The skin was pink and puckered, tender but clean. The green paste had done its work. Whatever rot had been there was gone.
"Want to train," Harlen went on.
"I'm planning on sleeping," Ves muttered, reaching for the blanket again.
Harlen didn't move.
"Funny," he said. "But this isn't a charity. You don't work, you don't eat, and the Echoes get a fresh snack tonight."
He turned and pointed with the sword. "Mash is on the table. Boil it. Bring it outside. Don't spill it—I'm low on salt."
Vesperyn cursed under his breath but didn't argue.
Ten minutes later, he stood over a sputtering hearth, stirring a pot of thick grey mush that smelled exactly as bad as it looked. His stomach twisted with hunger anyway.
He carried two bowls out onto the porch.
"Here," he said, thrusting one toward Harlen. "Eat, Gramps."
Harlen took it without comment.
They ate in silence. Wind rattled faintly against the metal plates of the hut.
Vesperyn watched Harlen between bites. The old man's eyes never rested. They drifted from tree to tree, like he was counting threats no one else could see.
Vesperyn set his bowl down.
"Let me make something clear first," Ves said. "I'm not from here. My world didn't have monsters or Paths. Everything there was… normal. So I want you to tell me what this place is."
Harlen took a slow, deliberate swallow of the grey mash, the sound of his chewing loud in the small, quiet space of the porch. He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand so calloused it looked like leather, then finally turned his head to look at Vesperyn.
"Hmm," Harlen muttered, more to himself than the boy. "That explains the stupid questions."
He snorted softly, a sharp, dry sound that had no humor in it. He set his empty wooden bowl aside, the thunk of it echoing against the floorboards. Leaning back against the support post, he let his gaze drift back toward the tree line.
"No monsters. No Paths. No Echoes. Let me guess—people mostly killed each other in boring ways instead. Steel in the gut over a patch of dirt or a bag of coins? That's about it?"
Vesperyn hesitated, the memory of his village—his quiet, mundane village—feeling like a dream that was already beginning to rot. "…Mostly."
"Figures," Harlen muttered, reaching into his pocket for a piece of dried root to chew on. "Worlds like that never last."
Vesperyn stiffened. The way the old man said it made his entire life feel insignificant. "What do you mean, they never last?"
Harlen took his time answering. He watched a bird—something with too many wings and eyes—streak across the grey sky before he spoke.
"You won't get what I'm saying now," Harlen continued, ignoring the look on the boy's face. "But you'll eventually. For now, you need to understand that this world isn't interested in your survival. It's not easy to even exist here if you're powerless. You aren't just in a forest; you're inside a machine."
He gestured vaguely at the sky, the ground, and the very air between them.
"We have thirteen absolute Laws. Authority, Death, Desire, Evolution… they aren't just ideas here. They're the gears. The things that keep the world from flying apart into chaos. If a person is born with the right blood—the right 'frequency'—they can tap into one of those Laws. They get a Pathway. They stop being a person and start being a god-ling. A Noble."
Harlen leaned forward, poking at Vesperyn's bandaged arm with a dirty, jagged fingernail. Vesperyn winced, but Harlen didn't pull away.
"But the Paths are heavy, Ves. They aren't meant for human shoulders. Most people aren't built to carry the weight of a Law. That's what an Echo is—a Pathway user whose mind cracked under the pressure of the power they tried to hold. They didn't die properly. The Law just… spilled over. It hollowed them out and left a skin-suit driven by nothing but a memory of hunger."
He looked Vesperyn in the eye.
"In this world, blood is everything. The Nobles keep the Paths in the family like a hoarded treasure. They spend centuries refining the genes, making sure the power stays behind high walls and golden gates. And The Laws don't care about experience. They want youth. If you're past your seventeenth winter and the spark hasn't hit, it never will. You're right in the sweet spot where the soul is soft enough to mould."
Harlen stood up, the wood of the porch groaning under his weight.
"What happens if I refuse?"