The cave was a throat of stone, deep and echoing. Water dripped like a slow heartbeat from jagged teeth overhead. Shadows clung to the walls as if alive, and the air thrummed with an ancient, smothering power.
In the deepest chamber, where light had long since died, a voice rasped through the dark. It was not loud, yet it filled every crevice, vibrating in the bones of the mountain.
"Where is Falmar?" it hissed. "Does the servant think himself beyond my wrath?"
From a pool of shadow, a second voice replied, smooth and cold as a blade. "He fears you, my lord. But he has strayed… distracted by lesser hungers."
A growl rumbled through the stone, shaking dust from the ceiling. "Fool. His command was simple: retrieve what was lost. Not gorge himself on mortals like a sewer rat."
"Shall I bring him back?" the second voice asked, hiding a thread of eagerness. "I will drag him here by the throat. His punishment will be… instructive."
The pressure thickened, smothering the cave into silence. For a long, suffocating moment, only the water's drip dared speak.
At last, the first voice answered, low and venomous. "Yes. Go. Retrieve him. And remind the servant what happens to those who forget their master's will."
The second voice hissed a laugh, sharp as a blade unsheathing. "As you command."
The shadows shivered. Something massive and unseen unfurled its limbs and slipped away, down into the mortal world.
Darkness swallowed the chamber whole.
SPLASH.
Ice water crashed over Damon's face. He jolted upright on the thin mattress, choking and flailing, heart hammering against his ribs.
Arthur stood over him, an empty bucket in hand, his expression utterly flat.
"Up," he said. "The day begins."
Shivering, Damon wiped the water from his eyes. "Ever heard of a wake-up call that doesn't involve drowning me?"
"You needed it," Arthur replied, already turning away.
By the time Damon stumbled into the kitchen, his clothes damp and his mood fouler, a crust of bread and a lump of pale porridge waited on the table. He ate without tasting. His thoughts kept circling the cave dream — or vision, or whatever it was. He didn't want to believe it meant anything. But the words clung like cobwebs.
The field behind the house glistened with dew. Cedric stretched lazily, his broad shoulders rolling like a lion rousing from sleep. Imogen sat cross-legged, eyes closed, perfectly still except for the faint twitch of her jaw. Luke lounged in the grass, tossing a pebble up and down, while Luna's steady gaze stayed fixed on the trees, as if searching for anything interesting no one else could see.
They all looked comfortable. Like they belonged. Damon felt like an intruder.
Arthur stopped him at the center of the field. "Today, you learn of the current that flows beneath reality. The same force that can extinguish the horror you faced, and the spark that let you wound it." His eyes held Damon's. "You will learn of Mana."
The word struck like a bell. Damon's retort died in his throat. The alley flooded back into his mind — the cold, the smile of the pale thing, the terror burning him hollow — and then that impossible surge. The warmth in his hand before the world cracked.
His pulse stumbled. So it wasn't just me losing it…
"It is a useful tool," said a soft voice at his ear.
Damon yelped, spinning. Lily stood at his side, hands folded in her sleeves, her face serene. He hadn't heard a single step.
"How did you—?"
"I have been here," she said calmly. "You were simply unaware."
Luke barked out a laugh, sitting up to watch. "This is priceless. Our big hero can't even sense someone standing next to him. How's he supposed to fight? Trip his enemies to death?"
Heat flushed Damon's face. "Say that again."
"Oh, I will," Luke said, grinning as he hopped to his feet. "You're dead weight. Arthur should've left you in that alley with the trash where you belong."
Damon's fists clenched. His chest buzzed with that same half-warmth, half-anger he felt before. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
"Don't need to," Luke shot back. "One look, and I can tell—"
"Enough."
Arthur's voice cracked across the field like a whip. Both boys froze, Luke's grin faltering.
"If you wish to fight," Arthur said coldly, "save it for those who would kill you. Until then, you will learn." His eyes pinned Damon, sharp as blades. "Starting now."
Arthur lifted a hand, and the air around it shimmered faintly, like heat rising from stone. "If you are ready, then touch the current. But know this — if you force it, if you lose control, it will consume you."
The field stilled. Even Luke's smirk faded.
Damon swallowed. "No pressure, huh?"
"On the contrary," Arthur said, eyes like stone. "There is only pressure."
The words pressed on Damon's chest like a weight. He stared at his hands, damp with nervous sweat, and for the first time it hit him — this wasn't a lesson. It was a test.
If I screw this up, I'm dead.
He took a breath. Tried to focus. The memory of the alley clawed at him, the image of that pale grin, those hollow eyes. His chest tightened.
Arthur voice, calm but firm, cut through the noise. "Center it. Feel it gather. Everything begins here." He tapped his chest.
Damon closed his eyes, feeling his heartbeat slam against his ribs. Was that it? Was that the current? Or just fear choking him?
He pushed. The pressure built — sharp, burning. For a moment, something sparked. His skin prickled, the air tingled, and a faint shimmer crawled across his palm.
His eyes shot open. Holy—
The shimmer sputtered. Then exploded in a useless puff of light, knocking him flat on his ass.
Luke burst out laughing. "See? Birthday candle. One second of flame, and poof."
"Shut your mouth," Damon snapped, surging back to his feet. Anger burned hotter than embarrassment now.
Luke raised his eyebrows, ready with another barb — but Arthur's stare cut him down.
"Mock him again, and you'll regret it," Arthur said simply.
The silence that followed was heavier than stone.
Damon's fists unclenched slowly. His chest still ached. His pride stung worse.
Arthur turned away, dismissing him as if the failure meant nothing. "Again."
For a moment Damon wanted to scream, to throw the training back in Arthur's face, to walk away. But he saw Lily watching him, quiet and unreadable. He saw Luna's sympathetic glance. Cedric's steady calm. Even Imogen, who hadn't spoken, tilted her head slightly as if judging whether he'd break.
Damon set his jaw.
Fine, he thought bitterly. Laugh it up. But I'll make it work. Somehow.
He dragged himself upright, staring at his trembling hands.
And as the morning sun burned higher, Damon prepared to fail again. And again. Until he didn't.