The "guest quarters" provided to them were a small, spartan room carved high in a graywood tree, accessible only by a rope ladder that could be pulled up. It was a clear message: you are here by our sufferance, and your safety is an illusion. A single window, little more than a slit in the wood, looked out over the silent, silver-lit settlement.
Sera stood at the window, her back to him, her posture rigid. The tension in the room was a physical thing.
"It was the only choice," Kael said, breaking the silence. He placed the rewrapped katana carefully against the wall. "We need what they have. Knowledge. Training."
"Training to be their weapon," Sera replied, her voice quiet but sharp. She turned, her violet eyes blazing with a frustration he rarely saw. "They do not see a person when they look at you, Kael. They see a divine-scale bomb they can aim at their enemies. Theron is no better than the Temple; he just wears a different mask."
"And what do you see?" The question left his lips before he could stop it.
The fire in her eyes banked, replaced by that deep, ancient sorrow. "I see a boy who should never have been burdened with this. I see a future drenched in blood, no matter which path we choose." She hugged her arms around herself, a gesture of vulnerability that felt more profound than any tear. "I have spent my life in a cage of divine making. The thought of trading it for one of mortal ambition is... suffocating."
Her words struck a chord deep within him. He crossed the small room, stopping a few feet from her. "Then we don't. We take what we need from them, and we leave. We use their training to get strong enough to walk our own path."
She looked at him, a sad, knowing smile on her lips. "You think it will be that simple? They will not let their prized weapon simply walk away, Kael. The moment you accept their training, you accept their leash."
Before he could answer, a sharp rap came at the door. Lyra entered without waiting for a reply, her silver eyes assessing them both, missing nothing of the charged atmosphere.
"Theron has decided not to wait for your consideration," she stated flatly. "Your training begins now. With me."
She led them down to a sunken clearing, a natural amphitheater where the black earth was packed hard from use. A dozen members of the Remnant were already there, watching with cold, curious eyes. They were a mix of ages, but all shared the same hardened look.
"Your first lesson is not about power," Lyra said, turning to face Kael. "It is about pain. The Temple will not fight you honorably. They will break your mind before they break your body." She gestured to a man with a shaved head and empty eyes. "Korbin is a Soul-Whisperer. His Path is a degraded branch of the Siren's. He cannot enchant a crowd, but he can shatter a single mind. He will not harm you permanently. Probably."
Before Kael could protest, a wave of psychic force hit him. It wasn't a physical blow, but an assault on his senses. The world twisted. The silver trees melted into screaming faces. Sera's form flickered, dissolving into a puddle of black blood. The whispers of the Mistress Path in his veins turned into shrieks of torment, urging him to lash out, to unmake everything.
He cried out, clutching his head, his vision swimming. The cold power surged, a defensive, wild reflex. Black frost began to crawl across the ground from his feet.
"NO!" Lyra's voice cracked like a whip. "Do not let it out! That is what they want! You must build a wall inside your mind. Your power is your fortress, not your army! CONTROL IT!"
It was the hardest thing he had ever done. The pain was excruciating, the hallucinations terrifyingly real. He felt his sanity fraying at the edges. He wanted nothing more than to unleash the void and silence the agony.
Then, through the psychic storm, he saw Sera. She was being held back by two Remnant warriors, her face a mask of fury and fear, her gaze locked on him. Her mouth formed a single, silent word.
Listen.
He remembered the cave. The wargs. The feeling of the cold thread, not as a raging torrent, but as a focused stream.
Gritting his teeth, he stopped fighting the psychic attack head-on. Instead, he turned inward. He found the seething, frozen core of the Mistress Path and did not try to push it down. He shaped it. He imagined it not as a wave, but as a wall, a dome of absolute, silent cold around the center of his consciousness.
The screaming in his mind muted. The horrific visions became distant, like a play on a faraway stage. He was still in agony, but he was himself. He was kneeling on the hard earth, sweating and trembling, but the black frost had receded.
Korbin grunted, a flicker of surprise in his dead eyes, and released the assault.
The sudden silence was deafening. Kael slumped forward, gasping, his body wracked with shudders.
Lyra looked down at him, her expression unreadable. "Adequate. For a first try." She then glanced at Sera, who had stopped struggling, her body sagging with relief. "It seems your anchor is more effective than our methods."
As Lyra walked away, leaving them in the clearing, Kael pushed himself to his knees. His head pounded, but his mind was his own. He looked at Sera, and the fear in her eyes was worth every second of the torment.
He had held the line. He had controlled it.
But as he saw the calculating looks from the surrounding Remnant, he knew Sera was right. This was not salvation. It was a transaction. And the price was being paid in pieces of his soul.