The corpses of the outlaws had long since cooled, but the prince still felt their heat on his skin.
Each time he closed his eyes, he saw them die again—souls ripped into black flame, faces collapsing into hollow husks. The silence of the wastes was merciless, pressing the truth upon him: he had killed, and in killing, he had lived.
His stomach churned as he trudged through the jagged gullies of the borderlands. He wanted to believe he was still himself, still the weak boy who once hid from sparring grounds and courtly sneers. But every step said otherwise. His muscles no longer ached. His cuts had sealed. His very blood hummed like molten metal coursing through veins.
And the Codex was always there, waiting, whispering.
"You are restless," it said, a murmur curling around the back of his skull. "Do not mistake your unease. It is not grief that gnaws at you. It is hunger. A body awakened must be fed."
He clenched his fists, muttering into the wind, "Shut up."
But he could not. He knew it. The Codex was part of him now, as close as marrow, as inseparable as breath.
Hours passed beneath the gray sky, until he reached a cracked plateau where the land dipped into a hollow scattered with bones. The stench of rot clung to the air. Scavenger birds wheeled overhead. Something had died here—many things.
That was when he heard it.
A low growl, ragged and guttural, from within the bone-strewn hollow.
He froze. From the shadows of a broken carcass, a beast limped forth—a gaunt, wolfish creature with mangy fur and fever-bright eyes. Its flank was torn, ribs exposed where scavengers had gnawed. Yet it still dragged itself forward, jaws snapping with starving fury.
The prince's breath quickened. His first instinct was to back away, but the Codex purred with interest.
"Perfect. Not man this time, but beast. Hunger has many flavors, little vessel. Do you not wish to know what waits beyond mere essence?"
He grit his teeth, staring at the creature as it staggered toward him. "I don't… need this."
"You do," the Codex countered, silken and certain. "Listen well. When flesh carries blood rich with power—blood forged by nature, by battle, by heritage—I may take more than life. I may weave that bloodline into your marrow. You need only open yourself."
"Bloodline… fusion?" The words tasted alien. Dangerous.
"Yes. Their traits can be yours. Their instincts, their gifts. Imagine, child—wolves' senses, serpents' venom, even the wings of eagles. All the strength your siblings were born to mock you for, now yours to devour."
The wolf snarled, dragging itself closer. The prince's pulse thundered. He could flee. He could strike. He could choose nothing. But then the memory returned—the laughter of assassins, the jeers of brothers, the moment the blade nearly cut his throat.
Survive, the Codex whispered. Or die.
The beast lunged. His body moved before his thoughts caught up—sidestepping, grabbing a shard of bone from the ground, driving it upward into the wolf's throat. The creature shrieked, blood spraying across his arm. He staggered with the weight, pushing it down, until its frantic thrashing stilled.
Silence. He knelt over its body, breath ragged, hands slick with gore.
And then the Codex pressed closer, its voice low and eager.
"Do it now. Draw it in. Do not resist."
His hand trembled as he pressed it to the beast's chest. He expected warmth. Instead, cold fire flooded his veins as the Codex pulled. Essence bled upward, but this time it was different—thicker, heavier, threaded with something primal. The wolf's life did not merely unravel—it sank into him, anchoring, clawing, fusing.
Pain ripped through him. His back arched, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. His vision blurred. For an instant, the world sharpened to unbearable clarity—each gust of wind, each speck of dust, the faint flutter of wings overhead. His eyes burned, and when he blinked, the puddle before him reflected something monstrous: pupils slit, irises glowing faintly with a predator's gleam.
He stumbled back, clutching his face. His ears rang with phantom growls. His nose filled with scents too sharp, too vivid—the stench of rot, the tang of blood, the faint musk of the wolf's fur.
And then it was gone, leaving only the echo.
He collapsed to his knees, shuddering. "What… what have you done to me?"
The Codex's laughter curled around him, dark and soft. "I did nothing. You opened the door. That beast's senses are yours now. Do you not feel it? The world is no longer dull. You see more. Hear more. Smell more. This is only the beginning."
The prince stared at his trembling hands, veins flickering with faint black light. His body still hummed with the wolf's lingering essence, his heart racing with instincts that were not wholly his.
A thrill coursed through him—exhilarating, terrifying. Was this strength? Or corruption?
"I… can't…" His words faltered, tangled in horror and awe. "I can't let this consume me."
The Codex only hummed, smug and patient. "And yet, you already hunger again."
The wind shifted suddenly. His new senses prickled—air pressure dropping, the faint scuff of footsteps against stone. He froze, blood running cold.
Voices drifted across the plateau, sharp and disciplined, nothing like the raiders' raucous noise. Men moved with the silence of predators.
"Search here," a low voice commanded. "The prince should not have survived. End him if you find him."
His heart lurched. The assassins had come.
And this time, they knew exactly who they were hunting.
The prince pressed himself low against the jagged stones, breath shallow. His ears rang with the assassins' approach—not only from the sound of boots on gravel, but from the new, alien clarity burning through his blood.
Each step snapped like a drumbeat in his skull. He could count them: three… no, four men fanning out across the plateau. Their voices were low, clipped, threaded with the confidence of predators certain of their prey.
His heart hammered. He remembered the last time he had faced assassins. He had hidden in shadows, praying they would not notice him. He had been weak then, little more than a sacrifice cast into the wastes.
But now… now his body hummed with the wolf's essence, every nerve alight.
The Codex whispered, sly as smoke:
"Do you hear them? The shift of leather, the scrape of blades, even the sweat rolling down their necks. This is the beast's gift. And you are its master."
He clenched his fists, nails digging crescents into his palms. Master? Or victim? He didn't know. All he knew was that fear gnawed at him, cold and unrelenting. If they found him, if they struck swiftly enough—would even this newfound strength save him?
One of the assassins spoke again, closer now. "His trail ends here. Spread out. He cannot have gone far."
The prince's pulse spiked. He crouched lower, forcing his breath to slow, his chest to still. Yet the wolf's senses betrayed him—he could smell them, the metallic tang of oiled steel, the faint musk of their sweat, the acrid smoke clinging to their clothes from long nights on the march. The sharpness made his mouth water, his stomach twist. He hated it—hated the hunger curling inside him at the scent of living essence.
"They'll kill you if they find you," the Codex crooned, its tone almost gentle. "But you… you could devour them first. Imagine their strength flowing into your limbs, their skills sinking into your marrow. Would you still be the weakest prince then?"
He shook his head violently, whispering to himself. "No. I can't… I won't…"
And yet his body betrayed him. His vision sharpened, tracing the faint shimmer of heat rising from their forms. His muscles tensed, eager, his claws itching to tear.
A pebble shifted to his left. His head snapped toward it instinctively. One of the assassins was already crouched at the edge of the plateau, peering down, eyes scanning the shadows. Another moved behind, circling, a hunter tightening the snare.
The prince's breath caught. He was trapped.
The Codex's voice pressed harder, relentless. "You cannot run. You cannot hide. Choose, vessel. To devour… or to die."
The assassin at the ledge narrowed his eyes. His gaze swept closer, closer—until it snagged on the faint glow in the prince's irises. For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
Then steel hissed free of a sheath.
"There," the assassin barked, lunging forward.
The prince's body moved before thought could catch it, driven by a mixture of instinct and terror. He surged upward, the wolf's essence exploding in his veins, and for the first time in his life, he moved faster than a trained killer.
The fight had begun.