The "Soul Hangover" hit Chase like a physical blow the moment he reached the top of the secret staircase.
His vision swam, the edges of the world fraying into static. Every muscle in his seven-year-old body felt as though it had been threaded with molten lead. The [Mirage of the Weak] had done its job—High Inquisitor Vane was currently a mile away, hunting a phantom—but the price was being extracted from Chase's very marrow.
[Status: Mana Depletion - 98%] [Physical Fatigue: Critical] [Warning: The 'Scabbard of Broken Oaths' is drawing from your life force to stabilize.]
The Fragile Mask
Chase stumbled into the main corridor of the North Wing, his hand white-knuckled as he gripped the wall for support. He looked like a dying candle. His white hair was matted with cold sweat, and his breathing came in shallow, ragged hitches.
To any onlooker, he was the picture of a pathetic, sickly orphan who couldn't handle the altitude of the floating academy. He was a lamb, shivering and broken.
But beneath his tunic, the scabbard pulsed with a cold, rhythmic heat. It was a lion's heart beating against a child's ribs.
An Unfortunate Encounter
"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."
Chase's heart nearly stopped. Standing by the entrance to the dormitory was Julian, leaning against a statue with a group of his lackeys. They were supposed to be in bed, but the alarms had clearly kept them up, and Julian looked like he was looking for someone to vent his frustration on.
"The 'prodigy' looks like he's about to faint," Julian mocked, stepping into Chase's path. "What happened, orphan? Did the big, scary alarms give you a heart attack?"
Chase didn't respond. He couldn't. His throat felt like it was filled with glass. He tried to brush past, but Julian put a firm hand on his shoulder.
"I'm talking to you, trash."
The Lion Stirs
Julian's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the exact spot where the scabbard was hidden beneath the cloth.
[Danger Level: Rising] [Instinct Triggered: 'Calamity's Spite']
For a split second, the "Soul Hangover" was suppressed by pure, ancient adrenaline. Chase's head snapped up. Even with his mana at zero, his golden eyes flashed with a predatory sharpness that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with will.
Julian froze. He felt a sudden, inexplicable wave of nausea. It was the feeling a prey animal gets when it realizes it has accidentally stepped into the den of a predator. His hand began to shake, and he instinctively pulled it back as if he'd been burned.
"Don't... touch me," Chase rasped. His voice was thin, but it carried the weight of a thousand-year-old threat.
The Collapse
Julian backed away, his face pale. "You... your eyes... what are you?"
But Chase didn't have the strength to finish the intimidation. The last of his energy evaporated. His knees buckled, and the world tilted sideways. As he fell toward the obsidian floor, a pair of indigo sleeves blurred into his vision.
"That's enough, Julian," a sharp, commanding voice rang out.
Lady Lyra caught Chase before his head hit the stone. She swept him into her arms, her silver eyes blazing with a fury that silenced the entire hallway. She looked at Julian, then down at the unconscious boy in her arms, her gaze lingering on the strange bulge beneath his tunic.
"Go to your rooms. Now," she commanded.
As she hurried toward her private quarters with Chase, she whispered into his ear, her voice trembling. "You little fool... you actually did it. You went for the Scabbard."
Behind them, Julian stood frozen in the hall, staring at his trembling hand. He didn't know why, but for a moment, he hadn't seen an orphan. He had seen the end of the world.