The palace maze didn't like noise.
Every shout Ragor barked came back wrong, bouncing off pillars and vanishing into side corridors that weren't there a second ago. Lantern light wobbled across polished stone, stretching shadows into long, ugly shapes that made Mirro's skin crawl.
"Spread out!" Ragor yelled again.
"No—don't spread out!" Tava snapped back at the same time.
Borrik hesitated in the middle of the court, fists clenched, looking between them like a confused dog waiting for two masters to agree.
Mirro was already halfway to panic.
"It moved," he said. "I swear it moved. It was there and then it wasn't and that's not how things work."
Ragor swung his hook-axe through empty air. "You're letting your head rot, Mirro. Whatever it is, it bleeds. Everything bleeds."
Zairen watched from the shadow of a collapsed pillar, unmoving.
Their voices were… loud. Messy. Full of gaps. He felt the rhythm of them, the way fear sped some heartbeats and arrogance slowed others. Ragor's confidence made his steps heavier. Mirro's fear made his erratic. Tava's magic pulled heat into patterns that were sloppy but sharp enough to burn.
Borrik was simple. Forward. Always forward.
Zairen shifted his weight.
Stone didn't complain.
Ragor took a step toward the corridor where Zairen had vanished moments earlier. "Lanterns up," he ordered. "If it's hiding, we flush it out."
Tava muttered something unpleasant and flicked her wrist. A thin ember-thread flared to life, stretching from her fingers like a glowing wire.
"Careful," she said. "This thing's not stupid."
Mirro laughed once, high and broken. "You noticed?"
The ember-thread hissed as Tava swept it across the floor. Light crawled over tiles and pillars, burning away darkness inch by inch.
Zairen retreated deeper into shadow, his form compressing instinctively as light pressed in. His armor flowed, edges softening, body thinning to fit where stone met vine. The heat brushed him, but it was nothing like the Crucible. Just irritation.
He circled.
Slowly.
The palace guided him without effort. He slipped through a side passage, crossed behind a broken statue, and emerged near the far edge of the court without making a sound.
Ragor turned just in time to see a shadow detach from the wall.
"THERE!" he roared.
Borrik charged.
He didn't think. He never did. His boots slammed against the tiles, fists swinging wide, aiming to crush whatever stood in front of him.
Zairen didn't dodge backward.
He stepped inside the swing.
Borrik's punch tore through air. Zairen's shoulder clipped the brute's ribs as he passed, light as a whisper but precise. Bone cracked—not broken, but enough to steal breath.
Borrik staggered, surprise flashing across his face.
"WHAT—"
Zairen was already gone.
Ragor cursed and brought the axe down in a heavy arc. The blade bit stone, sparks jumping as the hook lodged deep.
"Damn it!" Ragor yanked, boots slipping.
Mirro screamed.
Not words. Just sound.
Tava flung a burst of fire without aiming. The flame splashed across a pillar, scorching vines and sending smoke curling upward. The heat lit the court in harsh orange for a second.
Zairen crossed the open space in that instant, using the chaos as cover. He leapt, claws scraping briefly against stone as he vaulted over the pool, landing behind Mirro.
Mirro felt it before he saw it.
The air changed.
Cold pressed against his spine.
He turned—
—and Zairen was there.
Close.
Too close.
Mirro's knife clattered from his hand.
"Please," he said, and it came out wrong, half a breath, half a sob.
Zairen hesitated.
The word was unfamiliar.
The sound pattern lodged somewhere new.
Please.
Mirro backed up, heels slipping on the polished floor. "I didn't want to come here," he babbled. "I told them. I swear. I just needed money. Just enough—"
Borrik roared and charged again.
Zairen moved on instinct.
His tail split, blade-edges flashing. One precise sweep cut across Borrik's thigh.
Blood sprayed hot and bright.
Borrik collapsed with a howl, the sound shaking dust from the pillars.
Ragor finally wrenched his axe free. His grin was gone now. "Alright," he said lowly. "Enough games."
Tava's ember-thread thickened, heat intensifying as she drew more power than was safe. "Don't let it touch you," she hissed. "Don't let it close—"
Zairen didn't retreat.
He advanced.
Ragor swung with everything he had. The axe whistled through the air, heavy and fast.
Zairen Blinked.
Not away.
Above.
He reappeared mid-air, limbs extended, shadow compressing for impact.
He crashed down on Ragor's shoulders.
The force drove both of them into the ground. Stone cracked outward in a spiderweb.
Ragor screamed, the sound tearing itself out of his chest.
Zairen's claws pierced through leather, muscle, bone.
Not killing yet.
Learning.
Tava screamed and unleashed the ember-thread directly into Zairen's back.
Fire washed over him.
His armor thickened, shadows folding tight. Pain flared, sharper than before. He rolled off Ragor, smoke rising from his plates.
Tava staggered, breath ragged. "Why won't you burn?!"
Zairen straightened.
Slowly.
Mirro tried to run.
Zairen caught him with a single motion—tail wrapping around his ankle, yanking him flat. Mirro hit the floor hard, breath exploding from his lungs.
"NO—" Mirro gasped.
Zairen crouched over him.
Mirro looked up into those eyes—slit and reflective, catching lantern light like broken mirrors.
"I'm sorry," Mirro whispered.
Zairen tilted his head.
The sound again.
Sorry.
He understood tone, if not meaning.
Behind them, Ragor wheezed, blood pooling beneath him. Borrik groaned, clutching his leg. Tava backed away, magic flickering, eyes wide with a mix of terror and rage.
Zairen placed a claw against Mirro's chest.
Heartbeat.
Fast.
Irregular.
Mirro squeezed his eyes shut.
Zairen struck.
It wasn't violent the way humans expected violence. It was efficient. A clean thrust, shadow-blade slipping between ribs and stopping the heart instantly.
Mirro's body jerked once.
Then went still.
The court fell silent.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Something changed.
Warmth flooded Zairen, not heat, not pain. Information poured into him in fragments—balance, gait, limb coordination, the way lungs drew air, the way a throat shaped sound.
A voice—not external, not a system—rose from instinct.
Humanoid structure recognized.
Template partially integrated.
Zairen staggered.
He dropped Mirro's body, claws digging into stone as he steadied himself. His chest felt wrong. Tight. Full.
He inhaled.
Air filled him in a way it never had before.
A sound escaped his throat.
Rough. Broken.
"…ha…"
Tava froze.
Ragor's eyes widened in horror.
"It—" Ragor croaked, blood bubbling at his lips. "It made a sound."
Zairen straightened.
His shadow shifted, subtly. The outline of his torso smoothed. His posture changed, barely, but enough.
He looked at his claws.
At his hands.
He tried again.
"…h—hello?"
The word came out warped. Wrong. But it was a word.
Tava screamed.
Borrik passed out from blood loss.
Ragor laughed weakly, hysteria creeping in. "You're—hah—you're talking now?"
Zairen turned his head toward Ragor.
His voice scraped like metal dragged across stone.
"…learned."
The lanterns shook in Tava's hands.
Zairen took one step forward.
Ragor tried to crawl back.
The palace watched.
Moonlight rested on the pool, unbothered.
The hunt was no longer theoretical.
And Zairen—now with a voice, however broken—advanced toward the remaining humans, instincts burning hotter than ever.
---