Awareness returned to Alexander piece by piece.
First, the ache. A deep, marrow-deep exhaustion that made his very bones feel heavy. Then, the smell of dried blood. Finally, the cold press of silk sheets against his skin.
He was in his chambers, but the air was different. Tenser. The faint clink of armor from outside his door wasn't the casual sound of a passing guard. It was stationary. A sentry.
"You're finally awake." A voice remarked in his mind. It was clearer now, sharper, the psychic equivalent of a honed blade. A presence sitting in the front row of his consciousness. "Your body is disappointingly resilient. It seems I must work harder to leave my mark."
Crimson?
"The one and only. Take stock, Alex. Our little performance had a cost."
Alexander focused inward. The Soul's Ledger materialized, the numbers stark and unforgiving.
[Soul Integrity: 99% --> 88%]
[Resonance Affinity: 3% -->10%]
A cold knot tightened in his stomach.
Eleven percent. The number echoed in the hollow space where part of him used to be. This wasn't power - it was slow suicide.
"Eleven percent. A paltry sum for the lesson we taught them. Do not grow accustomed to the charity of the instance, vessel. This is the true cost of power."
The Affinity's jump to ten percent was a small, cold comfort, a testament to his vessel being forcibly expanded. He felt more… efficient. A finely tuned instrument for a monstrous hand.
"The channel is wider. The same torrent now costs less than it would have previously. Try to contain your enthusiasm."
Alexander was still unsure of how he got into his chambers. "The last thing he remembered was the fight with Lance... then a blinding rage that wasn't his own, and the world dissolving into crimson light.
"A worthwhile expenditure for the lesson it taught," Crimson mused, his tone one of dark approval. "They will think twice before prodding us again."
The door opened without a knock, saving Alexander from a reply. Master Eldrin entered, his worn leather satchel in hand. His kind eyes were shadowed, his movements slower, more deliberate.
"Prince Alexander," he said, his voice a gentle rasp. He didn't wait for permission, setting his bag down and beginning his examination. His fingers probed the fading bruises on Alexander's jaw, the tender skin over his ribs.
"You've been unconscious since yesterday. How do you feel?"
"Like I was trampled by a regiment," Alexander croaked, his throat dry.
"Apt." Eldrin's hands stilled for a moment. "Duke Lance has multiple complex fractures in his arm, leg, and ribs. It will be a long recovery, but he will keep his limbs. Executioner Ree…" The old man sighed. "He remains in a coma. The healers are hopeful, but his skull is a mosaic."
The weight of the words settled on Alexander. He saw the fear in Lance's eyes, felt the crack of his bones. He saw Ree flying through the air.
"Regret is a poison for weaker men," Crimson hissed. "They challenged a god and learned the price. The healer's hands tremble. Shall we give him a real reason to fear?"
No! Alexander barked back, the command weaker than he wanted.
Eldrin finished his examination, his expression unreadable. "The body heals, my boy," he said softly, packing his tools. "It is the spirit I worry for." He left without another word, the door closing on a silence that felt heavier than before.
The next visitor arrived as the afternoon sun cast long shadows. Duke Viktor filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light. He didn't enter fully, just leaned against the frame, his arms crossed. His gaze was not one of anger, but of intense, unnerving appraisal.
"Prince Alexander," he rumbled.
"Duke Viktor." Alexander pushed himself up, refusing to be seen lying down.
"I came to see the monster they're all whispering about," Viktor said, his eyes scanning Alexander from head to toe. "I must admit, I'm disappointed."
"Disappointed?"
"To be challenged by a boy, only to be snubbed for a… politician." Viktor's lip curled. "And now I find you here, looking more like a scolded pup than a world-ending threat. My curiosity is piqued." He pushed off the doorframe. "When you are whole again, seek me out. Let us see if your fangs can pierce true hide."
He turned and left, leaving behind the promise of a future confrontation.
Alexander's hands trembled slightly as he sank back against the pillows. Viktor's casual threat hung in the air, but it was the memory of Crimson's control that truly chilled him.
His heart was still thumping from the implicit threat when the door opened again. Nikolai.
His brother looked different. The usual smug mask was gone, replaced by a contemplative, almost weary expression. He pulled a chair to the bedside and sat, the silence stretching.
"Do you remember," Nikolai began, his voice unusually soft, "that time we were seven, and you fell from the Ol' oak in the gardens? I ran for help, but Father just stood over you and said, 'A king does not call for help when he falls, he stands up and lead by example.'"
The memory was a shard of a different life. Alexander nodded slowly. "I remember."
"I am sorry, Alex. Truly." Nikolai met his gaze, and for a fleeting second, Alexander saw something genuine there.
"But you have to understand. The court... it's a den of wolves. I had to be the heir. I had to be perfect. Showing any weakness, any sympathy for a... a flawed heir, would have been exploited. They would have seen a crack in our line and shattered it."
The confession was so unexpected, so alien, that Alexander could only stare. For a breathtaking second, he saw the ghost of the brother he'd trained with, confided in.
"He justifies his cowardice with pretty words," Crimson sneered. "He let you fall then, and he would let you break now. Let me wipe that sanctimonious look from his face."
Touch him and I'll throw myself from this tower." Alexander poured every ounce of his will into the mental command.
Before Crimson could retort it, Nikolai stood. The moment of vulnerability vanished as if it had never been. He patted Alexander's shoulder, the gesture condescending and final.
"But this? This power you've 'awakened'... it changes things. It makes you unpredictable." He gave a light, mocking smile. "And in our world, an unpredictable piece is a dangerous piece. So, I'm afraid you're on your own now, brother."
He left, the door clicking shut with an air of finality. The brief flicker of fraternity was extinguished, leaving Alexander feeling more isolated than ever.
"Finally. The pretense is over. Now you see them for what they are."
The last visitor required no announcement. The air itself grew cold when King Theron entered. He didn't look at Alexander immediately, instead walking to the window and staring out at his kingdom, his hands clasped behind his back.
The silence was a weapon.
"The healers say Lance's injuries are... precise," the King said, his voice calm and measured. "The bones were not just broken; they were shattered along specific fault lines."
The King paused for awhile, his focus on a fruit carriage being inspected. "Executioner Ree's armor had a handprint melted into the chest plate. Not burned, Alexander. Melted." He turned, and his eyes were not filled with rage, but with a blazing, intense curiosity.
Alexander said nothing. He could feel Crimson's interest sharpen, a predator noticing another hunter.
"Your power level is seventy, Alexander." Theron took a single step forward. "Seventy. Everything you have done since that moment—the spar, the tournament, this—is a statistical impossibility. It is unnatural."
He paused, his gaze dissecting his son. "The Temple demands an inquisition. Ree's family demands blood. They see a demon. A monster." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "I see a variable I cannot calculate. Where did it come from?"
This was the true danger. Not his father's wrath, but his intellect. His need to understand and control everything in his kingdom.
It was the most terrifying threat of all. His father wasn't afraid of a monster; he was fascinated by a weapon. And a king does not destroy a weapon of unknown power. He secures it, studies it, and points it at his enemies.
"Tell him nothing," Crimson commanded, his voice like iron. "Let the lion puzzle over the shadow. Fear of the unknown is a sharper weapon than fear of a known threat."
"I don't know, Father," Alexander said, his voice hoarse but steady, echoing his words to the guards after the instance. "I did some training. And I got... Stronger."
King Theron's eyes narrowed. A flicker of frustration, then a mask of icy calm descended.
"You will be moved to the North Tower. The view is less... stimulating. You will have guards. For your protection, and ours. You will learn to control this... anomaly. Because if it controls you again," he said, each word a chip of falling ice, "I will not hesitate to have you put down. Am I understood?"
It was not a question. It was a verdict.
"Perfectly, Father."
The King held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned and left. The room felt emptier, the silence now absolute and profound.
Alexander was alone. His brother had abandoned him. His father saw him as a dangerous equation. He had nearly killed two of the kingdom's most powerful men. Probably even killed one.
He looked inward, at the glaring 88%.The number seemed to pulse with Crimson's satisfaction.
"See how they scuttle?" Crimson's voice was a clear, dark river in the silence. "The wolf, the mouse, the lion... all trying to understand the earthquake."
A wave of pure, calculated malice flowed from the demon, so potent it was a physical pressure in Alexander's skull.
"No," Alexander whispered into the empty room. The word was a frail thing, but it was his.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if he could physically push Crimson out.
The memory of Lance's screaming, the sickening crunch of bone that wasn't his to remember - it played behind his eyelids on a relentless loop.
This wasn't strength. This was possession. He was gaining power, but losing himself, chunk by precious chunk.
He wasn't a wolf or a lion. He was the ground they were all fighting on, and Crimson was the fault line threatening to tear him - and everything else - apart.