Sorrin did not lift his head. He kept his face buried in his hands, the rough texture of his palms a grounding sensation against the smooth, cold panic rising in his chest. The hospital room was silent save for the faint, distant murmur of Solamen's sky-traffic.
Renn waited. He didn't press, didn't fill the quiet with one of his remarks. He simply sat on the edge of the bed, his back straight despite the bandages wrapping his ribs, and gave the silence the weight it deserved.
Finally, Sorrin dragged his hands down his face and looked up. His eyes felt raw. "The voice in the ruins," he began, his own voice sounding distant and cracked. "The one that called itself the World Tree. It has a name."
He took a breath, the antiseptic air doing nothing to clear the phantom scent of old parchment and dust from his memory. "I found it in a book of myths. A story about a deity from the old ages. Her name was Veylara."
Renn's expression didn't change, but a stillness came over him, the kind he got when he was sensing something far beyond the walls of the room.
Sorrin leaned forward, the words coming faster now, a torrent held back too long. "According to the myth, she brought a 'seed of creation' to the world and planted it to save humanity from itself. That seed became the World Tree. But it wasn't enough. The Tree couldn't reach its full potential on soil and water alone."
He paused, the next part catching in his throat. "So she gave herself to it. She let its roots grow through her, impale her, until her blood became its sap and her soul became its consciousness. The book said she's bound to it, guiding it."
He looked at Renn, whose pale, unfocused eyes seemed to see right through him, into the memory he was about to share. "Renn… when I touched that branch, the vision I had… it wasn't just a nightmare. It was the same story. A smaller tree, a meadow… and a root that pierced my chest. I felt it. I saw the blood pooling on the grass. It wasn't just a vision. It felt like… a memory."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. It pressed in on them, thick with the impossible truth of Sorrin's words. Renn slowly lifted a hand to his own bandaged torso, his fingers tracing the edge of the gauze.
"A god," Renn whispered. The words were barely audible, yet they filled the room. "A god's soul, borrowed or fractured, is living inside you."
Sorrin flinched, the statement hitting him with the force of a physical blow. "I don't know if—"
"It makes a horrifying kind of sense," Renn cut in, his voice low and intense. He finally turned his head fully toward Sorrin, his gaze sharp and piercing. "Your life flow. The reason it could circulate was because it was being guided by something that has been part of the world's ultimate life flow for centuries. Veylara." He shook his head slowly, a mix of awe and terror on his face. "Sorrin, we were wrong about the Council. If they found out, they wouldn't just lock you in a lab. A living link to the World Tree? They would dissect you. They would peel you apart piece by piece to understand what you are."
A cold dread, sharper than any fear he'd felt in the dungeon, seized Sorrin. He had been a contractor, a man with a gun and a ledger. Now he was a relic, a key, a thing to be broken open. The goal had shifted. This was no longer just about getting answers. It was about survival.
"Odria, then," Sorrin said, his voice hardening into resolve. "The Grand Academy is the only place with knowledge that deep. And they're not the Council. They hoard information, but don't weaponize it."
"They might," Renn countered grimly. "But at least they'd study you before they disassembled you. The problem isn't the what, Sorrin. It's the how. The Aurelian Spire isn't a public archive you can just walk into. It's the most secure collection of knowledge in the world. Getting in is next to impossible."
Sorrin's newfound resolve wavered. He thought of the building's immense, root-carved walls, a fortress made in the image of the very thing he was trying to understand. "Aurelian Spire? You mean the library that the Grand Academy possesses? How do we get in?"
"There is one way," Renn said, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "It's not for nobles or sponsored scholars. It's a loophole in their ancient charter, a tradition they're forced to uphold. Once a year, they hold the Open Examination."
Sorrin stared at him. "An exam?"
"Not for writing essays," Renn clarified. "It's a test of affinity. They search for raw, undiscovered potential. Unique affinities, strange blessings, prodigies from the gutters. They throw a few hundred aspirants into a trial, and the few who come out the other side are granted admission and a sponsorship. It's the only door they leave unlocked for people like us."
The hope felt fragile, brittle. Sorrin thought of his entire life, defined by what he lacked. He had always been the one without Flow, the one who had to rely on his wits and his weapon. "Affinity? Renn, what affinity do I have? I have a voice in my head and a power that nearly killed me when I used it. I can't control it. I can't even summon it."
"Not yet," Renn said, and for the first time since the conversation began, the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint, familiar smirk. It didn't reach his eyes, but it was there. "The next exam is in six months. That gives us time."
"Time for what?"
"To train," Renn said, his voice ringing with a certainty that Sorrin couldn't feel. "You have the rarest power source in the world flowing through your veins. It's time you learned how to use it without letting it tear you, or the world, apart."