The voice echoed from the darkness, distant but sharp like a dagger cutting through silence.
More voices joined it—rising in layers, surrounding him. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing but darkness. No walls. No ground. No sky. Just an endless void. And in that void, figures began to take shape—shadows without faces, like half-finished people drawn from memory.
"You say you want to become stronger… to protect everyone… to protect our families…"
"But you're still weak."
Their words came with venom, spitting through gritted, unseen teeth. The figures stood all around him in a wide circle, slowly tightening, step by step. Hands raised—some pointing directly at him, others clenched into trembling fists.
"Just like that day," one of them hissed.
"You watched us die."
Sovereign's breath caught in his throat. He tried to speak, to step forward, but his body wouldn't move. It was as if the very air held him in place.
"You want to be a forge master?" another figure jeered. "You can't even forge a proper ingot!"
"You want to wield weapons?" a third mocked, its tone crueler than the last. "And yet not even Master Sidner wants to teach you!"
The accusations piled up, faster, louder, sharper—spoken in voices both strange and familiar.
"What are you going to do, Sovereign? Huh?"
"You'll always be weak."
"No…" Sovereign murmured, trembling. "No, I'm not—"
The darkness shifted again. Now the vague shadows began to sharpen, forming into people—real people. His mother. His father. Master Theodore. Master Theron's wife, Lisa. The parents of Axe. Rhett. Vale. Doran. Dozens more from the village. People he saw every day. People who had once smiled at him.
But now they looked hollow. Sunken. Dim. Faces grayed and blank. Voices cracked with pain.
"Are you going to watch us die too?"
"Can't protect us either?"
"You call yourself Sovereign… but you can't even protect your own people."
"Hey, young chief—can you protect us?"
"When you're not even strong enough to protect yourself?"
A woman stepped forward, her face half-lit by some unseen glow. Her mouth twisted with sorrow.
"We all had to give our lives for you to survive… and yet look at you. Still this weak."
Sovereign dropped to his knees, eyes wide, lips trembling.
"No… I didn't mean to… I didn't know…" he whispered. "It wasn't my fault."
The figures continued to close in, the circle tightening.
"I tried!" he shouted. "I tried to save everyone!"
Tears formed in his eyes.
"It was too strong…I was too weak…"
He clenched his fists.
"But I'm changing that," he said through his teeth. "I swear, I'm changing."
They kept staring.
"I'm trying to forge. I just started—I'll get better!"
"I haven't given up yet!"
"I'll convince him to train me!"
"I'll become stronger. I will."
His voice broke.
"I won't let anyone die again."
He collapsed forward, head touching the dark ground.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… all of you… I'm sorry…"
Then the darkness began to move.
Long tendrils, like smoke made solid, slithered up from the floor, wrapping around the silhouettes. One by one, the figures began to scream—not in anger this time, but in agony.
They cried out as the shadows pulled them apart, as if the night itself was tearing them from existence. Their screams echoed with torment, rising louder than ever before.
"No!" Sovereign shouted, eyes snapping open. "Let them go!"
He tried to run toward them, but his body wouldn't budge. He was frozen. Helpless again.
From the distance, something massive stirred.
Then came the beast.
Its form emerged slowly, step by step, from the far reaches of the void. A towering creature, its body coiled and hunched, with six massive tails lashing through the air. Fangs longer than Sovereign's body gleamed in the dark, dripping with something far too thick to be saliva. Its eyes, pitch black with glowing rings, locked onto him.
The beast roared—a roar so loud it shattered everything.
The void exploded.
And Sovereign screamed.
He shot up in bed, hand clutching his chest. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. Sweat soaked his skin.
For a long moment, he just sat there, head low, trying to slow the pounding in his chest.
"I'm sorry, guys…" he whispered, barely audible.
"I promise I'll get stronger. Not just for me… for all of you."
His eyes were wet.
"Master Theron… Vale… Doran…" He paused, swallowing hard.
"I'll protect your families. I'll honor your deaths."
He stared into the dark ceiling of his room.
"Please… just this once… forgive me."
Eventually, his breath steadied. The pain dulled. He lay back for a minute, eyes still open, trying to calm his racing thoughts.
Then he sat up again, forcing himself out of bed.
He moved in front of his jade mirror.
"How many days has it been?" he muttered. "Three? Four?"
He looked into his own eyes. The face was the same, but it wasn't him. Not really.
"Feels like it's been so long…"
His fingers ran over the scar on his shoulder—the one left by that beast. The reminder of how close death had come. Of how much he had failed.
"The nightmares are getting worse."
He took a deep breath.
"I need to become stronger."
He touched the scar again, slower this time.
"If I don't… I'm afraid I'll lose my mind."
The reflection offered him no answers.
"But I'm not giving up. I can't."
He turned away and left the mirror behind.
He went to the washroom. Cleaned his face. Mouth. Neck. The water was cold and sharp against his skin.
By the time he walked into the kitchen, the scent of food greeted him. His mother had cooked before leaving—fresh, warm, and carefully wrapped near the hot plates.
He smiled faintly.
After reheating the food, he ate quickly and quietly, his thoughts still lingering in the dream.
He washed his dish, dried his hands, and stood at the door.
Today, he had a plan.
He was going to the market first. He needed something… something that might finally convince Master Sidner to take him seriously.
Sovereign headed toward the eastern side of the village. The marketplace sat between the village's center and the east, and beyond it were several homes, the training grounds, and finally, Master Sidner's hut. Everything was in one direction—convenient enough.
After only a few minutes of walking, the market came into view. As always, it was bustling. Children ran between stalls, merchants shouted out the quality of their goods, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air.
Sovereign didn't spare any of it a glance. He had one goal in mind.
He weaved past a few carts until he reached a dark wooden building with a bright red sign carved in thick, bold letters:
The Flaming Bottle
Rumor had it this was the place to find the finest liquor in the entire tribe.
Sovereign didn't like liquor. It made him feel light-headed, dulled his senses, and pushed him to do things he normally wouldn't. But he wasn't here to drink. This was for Master Sidner.
He stepped inside.
A group of Titans wandered through the aisles, inspecting bottles and debating flavors. The atmosphere was thick with the smell of aged spirits and the low murmur of seasoned drinkers swapping stories.
Sovereign ignored them and walked straight toward the counter—which, rather ironically, was placed at the very back of the store.
Behind it stood a Titan woman, her posture confident but relaxed. Her skin had the smooth weathering of time, her hair graying at the edges. For a Titan, that likely meant she was a hundred and something years old—mid-aged, by their standards.
Sovereign approached politely.
"Hello, ma'am. How are you today?"
The woman smiled warmly. "I'm doing just fine, young chieftain. What brings you into my store today?"
"I'm looking for the finest liquor you have," Sovereign said plainly.
Her brow lifted slightly. "Oh dear boy, that'll cost you a pretty crystal, if I do say so."
He nodded. "That's fine. I'm pretty sure I'll have enough."
She chuckled, clearly amused. Then she called over her shoulder.
"Little Lena! Come here for a second."
After a moment, a door to the left side of the counter opened. A girl stepped out—likely her daughter, judging from the resemblance. She gave Sovereign a quick glance before slipping behind the counter to take her mother's place.
The woman stepped out from behind the counter and moved to the right side, unlocking another door.
"This way, young chief," she said. "We keep the good stuff in the back. Especially the ones infused with Vol. They need sealing so their essence doesn't leak out."
Sovereign followed her through the door.
The room they entered was small—barely enough space for five Titans to stand comfortably—but it was immaculately organized. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with bottles sealed in wax, jade, or thick glass. Each had a small tag hanging from its neck, marked with symbols Sovereign didn't recognize.
He said nothing. His eyes were drawn to the back of the room, where a jet-black chest rested against the wall.
It was made from Blackthorn Wood—rare, dense, and nearly impossible to acquire. Sovereign had read about it before. It was known for its essence-insulating properties, often used in the forging of high-grade weapons or rare relics. If something was sealed inside, it had to be valuable.
She walked toward it.
"Give me just a moment," she said, crouching beside the chest.
Sovereign watched silently as she placed her palm on the lid and began channeling her Vol. Her output shifted constantly—fluctuating high and low, then narrow and fine like threading a needle. It wasn't just raw power. It was control. She was inputting a precise series of changes—almost like a code.
After nearly a full minute, there was a faint click.
The chest hissed open.
A gentle wave of essence rolled out. It wasn't aggressive or overpowering, but it was undeniably potent. Inside were six bottles, perfectly arranged in two neat rows. The bottles were forged of deep jade, so dark they appeared almost black, with faint streaks of light running through them like veins of fire and smoke.
Each bottle was filled to the brim. One held what looked like the body of a snake coiled within it, another had vibrant Vol-infused herbs suspended in the golden liquid. Some had both—beast and plant materials slowly marinating, saturating the liquor with every drop of essence.
She looked back at him with a grin of pride.
"These six here, young chieftain, are the finest bottles we have in the entire store. Some were imported from other tribes, others crafted by one of our own—a master alchemist who makes liquor as a hobby. But don't let the word 'hobby' fool you. He's extremely talented. Each of these bottles was made using stage-three beast materials and stage-three Vol plants."
The stages of beast materials were based of the stage of the the beast. Plants on the other hand was based off the the flow and capacity of Vol within it.
Sovereign nodded slowly. "Perfect. Exactly what I need."
She gave him a knowing look. "As I said, though, it'll cost you."
He braced himself.
" Fifty first-class Vol crystals each."
His eyes widened. "Each?"
She nodded. "Normally, I wouldn't even offer all six at once. But for you? I'll make an exception."
Sovereign almost coughed up blood.
One third-class crystal was enough to buy a full meal in the village. One hundred of those made a second-class crystal. Fifty second-class crystals equaled one first-class crystal. And she wanted three hundred of them?
He blinked. Then smiled politely.
"Forgive me, ma'am. What was your name again?"
She chuckled. "Laquetta. Why do you ask?"
Sovereign took out a small notebook from his pocket, scribbled something down quickly, tore out the page, and handed it to her.
"Just so the guards know who to arrest for robbery."
Laquetta burst into laughter. "Oh please. You're the one robbing me. I'm practically handing these over for free."
He rolled his eyes but handed over the note, which simply read:
"Hey Dad, borrowing 300 first-class crystals. Don't worry, I'll pay you back… eventually."
—Sovereign
She raised an eyebrow as she read it. "You really are the young chieftain, huh using daddy's pocket?"
Sovereign shrugged. "What's the point of power if I can't use it to buy liquor for a drunk old man?"
Laquetta snickered, then carefully packed the six bottles into a sturdy but lighter wooden case. It wasn't Blackthorn, but it had enough essence-sealing to keep the liquor stable and enough reinforcement that Sovereign could carry it easily.
He took the case, nodded, and turned toward the exit.
As for the note she just need to visit the village hall to redeem it with his father.
He was definitely going to get yelled at later.
But this—this was necessary.
And with that, he headed toward Master Sidner's hut.
After another few minutes of walking, Sovereign arrived at Master Sidner's hut.
Just like last time, it took ten minutes of relentless banging for the door to creak open.
"You're back again, bastard," Master Sidner grunted, eyes bloodshot, stubble thicker than before.
Sovereign didn't react. Without a word, he took out the wooden chest and opened it, revealing the six high-grade bottles he'd spent a small fortune on.
"I brought you gifts. To show my sincerity."
Master Sidner blinked. His eyes darted to the bottles, then back to Sovereign, and a slow, amused smile crept across his face.
"Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Louise Mountain Wine… Blackthorn Liquor… Snow Demon's Tongue… Serpent Blood Wine… Hah! Even one I don't recognize."
He gave a low whistle.
"You came prepared. Good job."
Then he reached out, and with a swift motion of his Vol, the bottles floated from the box and zipped into his hut behind him.
"But the answer is still no," he said flatly. "I'll be taking these though."
Sovereign's jaw tensed, but he forced himself to stay calm. He looked Sidner straight in the eye.
"Please," he said quietly, "I'm begging you. I need to become stronger. I know I'm not my dad. And whatever he did to you in the past—please don't make that the reason you won't train me."
Master Sidner's smile vanished.
"This has nothing to do with your dad," he said after a long pause. "Or what happened back then. I just don't have the time or the patience to take on disciples. I don't need anyone."
Sovereign shook his head.
"Well, I need you. You're the best. And I need to become the strongest. I'm not going to stop asking until you agree to train me."
Sidner stared at him for a few seconds.
"You could bang on my door for a year and I still wouldn't train you," he muttered.
Sovereign smiled. "Guess we'll find out. I'll come back here every day, at this same time. Knock until you open."
Master Sidner narrowed his eyes.
"You're persistent, I'll give you that."
"See you tomorrow then."
The old man grunted, stepping back inside.
"At least he brought good liquor," he mumbled before slamming the door shut.
Sovereign turned and left, heading straight to the forge. There, he repeated his routine—failing again and again, refining, learning, and burning the process into muscle and memory.
The next day, he returned to The Flaming Bottle. This time, he didn't go overboard. He couldn't afford to. He bought only three mid-tier bottles, each worth about twenty second-class crystals. They'd still hurt his savings, but nowhere near the way the last purchase had.
He returned to Sidner's hut, knocked again, and handed over the liquor. Sidner accepted it. Still said no.
Sovereign went back to the forge. Kept training. Failed. Learned. Improved.
And again the next day. And the next.
That became his routine.
Every morning, he trained until his muscles were sore. Then he would visit Sidner—bearing liquor, getting rejected, and watching him from a distance. Every day, he stood outside Sidner's hut as the old man practiced alone, mimicking his forms, studying his footwork, observing the flow of his movements. Even if he wasn't being taught directly, he was still learning.
Three weeks passed like that.
Sovereign had also used the last of his potions. His body was now brimming with power, and he could feel it—he was close to breaking through. The edge of the second stage was right there. A little more effort, and he'd shatter it.
By the fourth week since the incident, he finally did.
He broke through.
He had opened his first node—the one just above his heart. His Vol now flowed more smoothly through his body, responding faster, sharper, more precise.
That night, he celebrated quietly with his family. His mother made his favorite stew. His father gave him a nod of approval. They didn't need words.
The next morning, Sovereign made his way to Master Sidner's hut again. But this time, he brought no liquor. His savings were gone.
Still, Sidner opened the door faster than usual—only one minute this time.
"Ugh," he groaned. "You again? You effing bastard, won't you leave me alone?"
"Nope," Sovereign grinned. "You're my best shot at becoming strong. How could I ever leave you alone?"
Sidner stared at him. Then sighed.
"…Fine. You win."
Sovereign blinked.
"Think of it as a congratulations for reaching the second stage," the old man said. "I'll take you in as my student."
Sovereign's heart surged with joy. But Sidner wasn't done.
"Three times a week. No more than that. And every time—every single time—you're required to bring liquor. Don't come empty-handed."
Sovereign beamed. It was a rare, genuine smile.
After all the pain, all the work, all the guilt—he was finally making good on his promise.
He was growing stronger.
Not just for himself.
But for all the ones he failed—and the ones he still had left to protect.