Izan woke up, his body jerking violently, muscles locking as pain shot up his spine. It felt like white heat going from his chest into and flowing into his skull.
Something was holding him down as he tried to sit up. It was as if he were being anchored to the ground.
Panic surged throughout his body. Axiom reacted instinctively in a desperate attempt to escape.
The backlash from the sudden surge didn't come as expected. Instead, the pressure dispersed. And was redirected until ultimately smothered.
Izan froze. "How did it not overflow like usual?"
Looking at his hand, he then stared at the stone ceiling. It wasn't the sky like he was used to.
It was a low room carved from pale rock. It was cool and dim away from the desert heat. Light was filtering from somewhere to his right, and indirectly. The smell was of salt and iron and something herbal.
He wasn't in the desert.
His fingers twitched. Sensation returning. Although his body felt heavy, he was feeling refreshed.
"You're awake."
The voice was coming from his left.
Izan turned his head. It was a broad-shouldered man who had an anchor resting beside him. It's black iron etched with seals that were flowing with Axiom. The weapon radiated weight, not the physical kind but the spiritual.
"You probably shouldn't move yet."
Izan swallowed. "Where am I?"
"Shelter, although temporary."
Izan still.
"...Who are you?"
"Rovan."
The name carried weight, too. Not reputation - authority. The kind that came from surviving things others don't
Izan's jaw tightened. "Where's my clan?"
Rovan didn't answer immediately.
The silence was enough of an answer for him.
"How come I no longer feel the constant burning in my paths?"
Rovan took a long pause and then said. "I sealed you. I'm purposely limiting your axiom reserves, as you can't control them; it's not a permanent fix. We will need to get your paths fixed eventually, but first, you need to learn to control a smaller amount."
"So you're keeping me from dying?"
"Yes, in a sense, the fractured paths could lead to death if not regulated."
"He's not exaggerating."
A younger man leaned against the door of the shelter, arms crossed. Clean cloth, Well-kept kept boots, and grey eyes that saw all it seemed.
Cael Vernos.
The Grey Eagle.
"You were minutes from cooking yourself alive when we found you," Cael continued. "Honestly, I thought you were already dead."
Izan stared at him. "You talk too much."
Cael smiled faintly. "You scream awfully loud for a nomadic warrior."
Rovan stood. "Enough."
Cael straightened immediately, his annoying fake smile fading. He stepped aside as Rovan moved towards the anchor.
"No, I can't live life like this. I wasn't supposed to use my power. "
Rovan studied Izan for a long time. Then he reached down and tapped the anchor lightly against the floor.
"You don't want freedom," Rovan said. "You want permission."
Izan still went.
"You were born with power you never learned to control, you let it run you. That ends now."
Izan glared at Rovan. "You don't know me."
"Perhaps, but I know fractured paths," Rovan replied. "And I know what happens when people mistake force for control."
Silence stretched.
Izan looked away and spoke again, quieter and more respectful now.
"If I stay," he said, "will you teach me how to use it?"
Rovan nodded once. "I'll teach you how not to die."
Cael chuckled. "High praise, coming from him"
Rovan shot him a look.
Cael shrugged. "Just saying. Most people do not get that offer."
Izan closed his eyes again. "...Fine," he said.
"Rest," Rovan said. "Tomorrow, we see how much of you survives discipline."
As Rovan turned away, Cael lingered.
"You're interesting," Cael said lightly. "Try not to die before you become of use."
Izan didn't respond.
But his fingers curled slowly into the fabric beneath him.
For the first time since the desert, it went quiet, and the world felt like it was moving once more.