Chapter Two — The Weight That Remains
Morning did not cleanse the forest.
Sunlight filtered through broken branches, catching on dried blood and torn cloth, illuminating what the night had done rather than hiding it. Birds returned cautiously, their songs hesitant, as if unsure whether the land was safe again.
Lucius woke with a sharp intake of breath.
Pain greeted him immediately—not sharp, but deep. The kind that settled into bone and muscle, reminding him that something had been taken and something else forced in its place.
He lay still, staring at the canopy above, watching leaves sway gently. For a moment, he didn't remember where he was.
Then the memories came.
The rift.
The creature.
The heat.
The roar that hadn't sounded human.
He sat up too quickly and paid for it with a wave of dizziness.
"Easy," Lucy said.
She was beside him, kneeling, her staff resting against her shoulder. Dark circles lined her eyes, and her usually composed expression was tight with restrained worry. She held a small waterskin out to him.
Lucius accepted it silently and drank. The water tasted faintly metallic, like it had been boiled too long.
"How long?" he asked.
"A few hours," Lucy replied. "You collapsed just before dawn."
He nodded, then noticed the rest of the clearing.
The bodies were gone.
Not buried—burned.
Ash piles marked where the mercenaries had fallen, stones arranged in simple markers. A crude symbol had been carved into a tree trunk nearby: the Mercenary Guild's mark for the dead.
Lucius swallowed. "Jak?"
"Alive," came a voice.
Jak sat a short distance away, leaning against a tree, his massive frame wrapped in layers of cloth. His left arm was bound tightly, shoulder immobilized. His face was pale, but his eyes were clear.
"Barely," Jak added. "Whatever that thing was, it didn't play fair."
Mike hovered near the edge of the clearing, tuning what remained of his lute with hands that still shook. He didn't look at Lucius—not directly.
Alicia stood watch, sword drawn, scanning the forest like she expected it to tear open again at any moment.
Lucius pushed himself to his feet.
His legs held—but the ground felt… different. Firmer. As if he could feel the roots beneath the soil, the weight of stone deeper below. It unsettled him.
Lucy noticed. "Don't overexert yourself."
"I feel fine," Lucius said.
It was a lie.
Inside, something coiled tightly, restless. A presence he couldn't name. It wasn't speaking, but it watched, like a great eye behind his thoughts.
"What happened to the… thing it left behind?" he asked quietly.
Lucy hesitated.
"You absorbed it," she said. "Or it bonded to you. I've never seen that happen so cleanly."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," she said carefully, "that if it had rejected you, you would have died screaming."
Mike finally looked up. "That's supposed to make us feel better?"
Lucy ignored him. "Auras are unstable remnants. Even seasoned mages don't touch them unless they know the risk. You didn't even hesitate."
Lucius frowned. "I didn't choose it."
Lucy studied him for a long moment. "That might be worse."
They broke camp in silence.
No one wanted to linger.
The forest felt wounded, mana still distorted in places, air thick with residue that made Lucy visibly uncomfortable. They followed a narrow trail leading east, toward the nearest trade road—and the closest Mercenary Guild outpost.
Lucius walked at the back.
Not because he was weak—but because he didn't trust himself at the front.
Every sound felt louder. Every shadow seemed deeper. His senses were sharper in a way that made his skin crawl. Once, when a branch snapped behind him, his hand was on his sword before he realized he'd moved.
This isn't normal, he thought.
Equivalent exchange demanded payment.
He just didn't know what he'd lost yet.
---
They reached the road by midday.
Stone markers lined the path, etched with old imperial symbols—Dragonian, by the look of them. Alicia slowed when she saw them, her expression unreadable.
"That's empire territory," Mike said. "Technically."
"Technically?" Jak muttered.
"Borders shift," Mike replied. "Especially when the empire decides they do."
Lucy frowned. "We should be careful. If word of last night spreads—"
"It will," Mike interrupted. "People don't miss mercenary bands disappearing."
Lucius stopped.
Something tugged at him.
Not a pull—pressure.
He turned slowly.
The forest behind them looked ordinary. Too ordinary.
"Lucy," he said quietly. "Is there still Abyss residue here?"
She closed her eyes, extending her senses.
"…Yes," she said after a moment. "Faint. Fading."
Lucius nodded. "It's watching."
No one asked what it was.
They moved faster.
---
By evening, the outpost came into view.
A fortified stone structure, half-inn, half-keep, with banners bearing the Mercenary Guild crest fluttering above iron-reinforced gates. Smoke curled from chimneys. Laughter drifted faintly through the air.
Life.
Inside, the contrast was jarring.
Warm light. The smell of stew and ale. The low hum of conversation. Mercenaries from all walks of life filled the hall—scarred veterans, fresh-faced recruits, mages, scouts, sellswords.
Lucius felt eyes on him the moment they entered.
Not recognition.
Instinct.
A veteran near the hearth narrowed his eyes. A mage stiffened subtly. Even the guild clerk paused mid-sentence.
Lucy leaned closer. "Your aura's leaking."
Lucius stiffened. "I'm not doing anything."
"I know," she said. "That's the problem."
They registered the dead.
The clerk—a woman with iron-gray hair and sharp eyes—listened without interruption as Lucy recounted the events. Her expression hardened with every word.
"Abyss rift," she said finally. "That close to a trade road."
"And monsters capable of wiping a full band," Lucy added.
The clerk's gaze slid to Lucius. "And him?"
Lucy hesitated. "Survivor."
The woman nodded slowly. "You'll be compensated. But understand this—if the empire hears about uncontrolled rifts, they'll intervene."
Alicia's jaw tightened.
"And if they don't?" Mike asked.
The clerk's smile was thin. "Then the gods will pretend not to see."
That night, Lucius couldn't sleep.
The room was small, shared with Jak, who was already snoring softly despite the pain. Lucius lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The presence stirred.
Pride, it whispered—not in words, but in feeling.
He clenched his fist.
"I didn't ask for you," he muttered under his breath.
The presence did not leave.
Far away, beneath the Dragon Throne, a prince knelt before a mirror of black stone—watching ripples spread across its surface.
"Interesting," the First Prince murmured.
And somewhere beyond the sky, a Higher God turned its gaze—not toward the forest, but toward the boy who had survived it.
The world had noticed Lucius.
And it would not look away again.