Chapter 23: Between Two Souls

Darkness.

But it wasn’t the cold, suffocating darkness of the Deep Woods. It was the calm, starry expanse of the mindscape.

“Well, well, well.”

A deep, booming laugh echoed through the emptiness.

Arthur turned. Magnus Ashborn, the towering Ancestor with his mane of silver hair and burning crimson eyes, stood with his arms crossed over his armored chest. He looked thoroughly amused.

“I must admit, boy,” Magnus chuckled, “I calculated your odds of survival at roughly five percent. You continue to be a fascinating anomaly.”

Arthur glared at the giant. He didn’t feel like laughing.

“You left out a few minor details, old man,” Arthur snapped. “Like the fact that the ‘pressure’ would feel like being crushed in a grindstone. Or that I’d have to fight mutated monsters.”

“Details breed hesitation; besides, who knew that you would throw yourself in a spatial fracture?”

Arthur looked at him, dumbfounded.

Magnus’s expression grew serious, the amusement fading from his glowing eyes.

“However, you should be careful from now on.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, crossing his arms. “The seal is broken, and I can feel the mana.”

“You broke the seal forcefully,” Magnus warned, stepping closer. “Yes, the core is active. But your mana circuits—the pathways that carry the energy through your body—are completely incapable of channeling non-refined mana. You vented pure, unshaped mana repeatedly. If you do that again before conditioning your circuits, you will not just break a cane. You will detonate your own arms.”

Arthur frowned, the memory of every blast recoil flashing in his mind.

“You must stop brawling and start studying,” Magnus commanded. “You need to learn how to refine the flow and how to use it. Until then, absolutely no raw mana blasts. Understood?”

“Understood,” Arthur muttered.

“Good. Now wake up; you have been asleep for quite some time now,” Magnus said, before raising a hand. “Also, next time you will be meeting the members of the council.” He added, snapping his fingers.

SNAP. The starry void dissolved immediately.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Arthur’s eyes snapped open.

He wasn’t in the mud. He was lying on a soft mattress, staring up at a familiar wooden canopy. The faint, comforting scent of medicinal herbs filled the room.

Arthur tried to sit up, but a sharp, blinding pain tore across his chest. He gasped, falling back against the pillows. He looked down; his torso was wrapped tightly in thick, white bandages. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from the deep claw marks beneath them.

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He shifted his right leg. Aside from a bit of stiffness, the biting pain of his old injury was completely gone.

I’m alive, he thought.

His throat felt itchy. He turned his head and saw a silver bottle of water resting on the bedside table.

Arthur reached his right hand out to grab the cup.

He stopped.

His hand was shaking. It wasn’t a minor tremor. His fingers were vibrating violently, completely out of his control.

Arthur stared at his trembling hand. A sudden, vivid flash of the Deep Woods hit him—the deafening roar of the werewolf, the sickening crunch of bones, the hot blood soaking through his shirt, the absolute certainty he was going to die.

A dry, hollow laugh escaped Arthur’s lips. It sounded broken.

I thought I was fine, Arthur realized, clutching his trembling hand to his chest to force it to stop. I thought I processed it like a math equation. But the truth is, I’m still terrified.