Damon's eyes lingered on the rod, its reflection burning back at him.
"Too bad," he murmured, voice low. "I didn't get his name."
He turned, walking out of the cave, the glow of the crystals painting his path in fractured light. He walked slowly, letting the radiance slide across his skin. At the threshold he stopped, looked back once—no words, just a long, quiet glance—and kept going.
The ache hit suddenly. His ribs tightened, fire spreading under his skin. Damon groaned, clutching his side, the short rod heavy in his other hand. Each step dragged, his mind replaying the fight. " Would Nervana take him now?" He thought.
The massive stone seal loomed ahead. It opened on its own.
Daichi was still there, still planted in front of the seal, and the moment he saw Damon he sprinted forward. He jumped, hitting Damon with full warmth and worry, and Damon's lungs protested. The sudden pressure lit his chest in fresh pain. He groaned, then laughed anyway as Daichi's tongue licked his cheek—messy, earnest, alive.
Solaren stood by the door, smiling faintly. Pride in silence. No questions asked. No explanations given he just gave Damon space.
Damon didn't offer any either. "Can you open a portal to the castle? I can't walk much."
Solaren shook his head. "I can't open portals. But I can carry you." He didn't make Damon argue. He simply lifted him, cradling him as if he were weightless, an old instinct that made Damon feel small in a way that was safe. Daichi's body rippled into wolf form. Solaren ran—not the way he ran when the world was ending, but fast enough to make the halls blur and the air feel cleaner.
Back in his room, Damon collapsed onto the bed, Daichi pressed close.
Nyra and Queen Thessa arrived first. Nyra wrapped her arms around him, a hug that tried to hide her fear. Damon watched their faces and tried to make sense of the way their eyes carried something unsaid, like news too heavy to be spoken yet. He thought, dryly, "Yeah I almost died, again but...why are they acting stranger? Or did I hit my head too hard." The Queen sat on his bed.
Draven and Bravira came next. Bravira closed the door behind them, arms crossed, the line of her mouth somewhere between stern and satisfied. Draven leaned his back against the door, one foot set casually on the wood. His back resting against it.
"Before I decide whether to congratulate you or lecture you," Bravira said, "tell us what happened."
Tolrex slipped in before Damon could answer, a shadow with purpose. He handed over a narrow vial, glass humming faintly. "This will heal you inside. No hospital required." Tolrex said. "Drink."
Damon drank. The bitter taste twisted his face.
He winced, wiped his mouth, and began to speak. He told his mother about the crystals and the man and how the fight never gave him space to breathe. He kept his voice even, even when his hands remembered the weight of the rod and the reach of the blade.
Thorpax arrived with the kind of silence that makes rooms adjust. Damon mentioned that one of Solaren's lessons had saved him, and Draven nodded once.
"Lucky indeed," Draven said.
Damon set the short rod on the bedsheet, letting everyone see it. "It only shows the sword when my will is strong enough," he said. "It's not a blade you can force."
He spoke about the man—the way he moved, the way his eyes carried time—and admitted he was one of Sora's men, one of the protesters at the start of the incident.
Queen Thessa's gaze sharpened with memory. "Then he is being punished," she said. " By the Eternal One. He must have been trapped there for a long time."
"That's what he said," Damon answered softly.
He turned to Bravira, a trace of mischief returning. "I'm waiting for my congratulations."
Her mouth curved. "You did well."
Draven pushed off the door and stepped forward. "You're growing," he said. "Fast. It's been four months since your eterna awakened and you've reached what takes others years—even the talented."
Thorpax cut in. "Growth always comes at a cost. You awakened — fifty‑four men died. You grew stronger — you battled a demon in a forbidden state. You grew again — you fought a man lifetimes old. Every bit of power demands blood."
Everyone said nothing. The air in the room seemed too thick to breathe.
Bravira added, "Like Resonant Stride, your stride must never falter."
Damon looked up, exasperated. "I literally almost died, and you're still telling me there's more."
Nyra laughed.
The Queen silenced them gently. "Regardless of what your tutors say, I am proud of you."
They left him to rest. Nyra punched his shoulder playfully on the way out — pain shot through his bone — she laughed as she disappeared.
Seren and Meryen found their way in before the room went quiet. They greeted Nyra at the threshold and then angled to Damon, both standing with the alert curiosity that made inventors look like they were mid-spark even when still.
"We want to design a weapon for you," Seren said.
"I already have one," Damon answered, nodding to the rod. "It's… particular."
"Which is why you need another," Seren countered. "If your will unlocks your sword, assume there will be nights your will is exhausted."
Meryen added, "We'll study your fights and craft something that fits your movement, not just your power."
Damon considered the exhaustion sitting in his bones. "You're probably right,". Then he thought "How did they know about the will?"
"Heal well" they said turning to the door.
"Check the crystals in the cave," he said. "While I fought the keeper, none of them broke. Not one. They took impacts that should have shattered them and barely flinched. They felt like walls—indestructible, or at least close to it."
Seren tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. "We could test them."
Meryen nodded. "Since you unlocked the cave, the gems yours to do with as you please."
Then Damon clutched his stomach. "I'm fairly certain I'm moments away from eating my own left arm. Please—food."
They laughed, promising to send a maid.
Damon eased back, slow and stubborn, until the pillow accepted his weight. He exhaled like they finally gave him permission to.
Damon fell asleep earlier than usual. Daichi lay across his chest, head tucked near his mark. He was like the kind of guardian that breathes when you breathe.
Some hours later, Daichi heard something he didn't expect. Damon's heartbeat stumbled—one beat that felt wrong, like a chord played too hard. Daichi stirred, raised his head, waited.
It happened again.
Damon woke with a sharp intake, hand flying to his chest. The rhythm corrected fast—too fast—but the correction didn't bring relief. Pain dashed through him with precision, not a single place spared. It was the kind of pain that organizes itself, moves with intent. His body felt wrung out from the inside.
"Damon?" Daichi's voice cracked in the quiet. Damon tried to answer but his attempt dissolved. The sound wouldn't form.
Daichi leaped off the bed, body flaring back into wolf shape mid-step. "I'm getting Tolrex!" he barked, already at the door. "Stay alive!"
Left alone, Damon tried to stand. He rolled, slipped, and hit the floor hard. The floor cold against his cheek, sudden iron taste in his mouth, sweat stung his eyes.
The impact didn't cause the pain, it just woke a deeper layer of it. Every inch of him shouted—the kind of shout that has no voice, so his body had to endure the noise. He reached for the chair, fingers closing around the edge, and even his hands throbbed as if bone and tendon had been replaced with wire.
His blood didn't feel like his. It moved in the right direction but felt wrong, an added weight like something newly born had joined the stream. He could sense it—an introduction he hadn't asked for—threading itself through his veins.
The next heartbeat struck, not like his rhythm but as command. His body answered with a full surge. Pain started at the legs, climbed to his core, then his neck, and crowned at his skull.
He grabbed for breath and found the mark on his chest glowing, Light Eterna responding in a quiet flare.
He looked at the tattoos "Please... don't"
His arm tattoos stayed normal. That didn't stop the pain, but it made a small second inside it, a brief moment of relief in the chamber of pain called his body.
His vision blurred. The blur thickened. The edges of his room seemed like they had no corners.
He had time for one thought, stripped of everything but truth.
"Am I dying?"
Darkness answered. The room fell away—not downward, not sideways, just gone.
Lights out.