The cave was colder the second night. Alpha woke with his back stiff from the stone floor, his breath misting in the dark. The waterfall outside roared faintly, a constant reminder that the world beyond still existed. But here, in the hollow where time seemed to hold its breath, he felt as though he had stepped out of that world entirely.
The skeleton remained seated, unmoving. It could have been a monument carved from bone and rust. Yet Alpha knew better now. Those sockets, hollow yet glowing faintly with blue fire, never stopped watching.
Alpha rose, the iron shard heavy in his hand. His stomach growled, a sharp reminder of hunger gnawing at him. He had only scavenged scraps from the fallen undead outside—barely enough to keep the ache at bay. But training came before hunger. He knew that instinctively.
The skeleton stirred. Bone scraped against stone as it rose. The broken sword slid from its lap into its hand.
Again, it took the stance.
Alpha swallowed hard and mirrored it. His legs trembled under his own weight. His shoulders burned. His grip faltered. The iron shard wobbled.
The skeleton adjusted its position slowly, precisely, almost like an instructor correcting a novice soldier. Step forward, knees bent, blade lowered at just the right angle. It moved without sound, yet its meaning was clear.
Alpha tried again. His stance improved, but still flawed. The skeleton's skull tilted, sockets dimming with faint disapproval. Then it moved—one fluid sweep of its broken blade, so fast the air hissed. The rusted weapon struck the stone wall and carved a line through it.
Alpha's breath caught. That rusted sword should not have been able to bite stone. And yet, it had. The Labyrinth twisted its rules even here. Strength was not in steel, but in will.
The skeleton returned to its stance. Waited.
Alpha grit his teeth, setting his legs firmer. He raised the shard higher, forcing his arms to stay steady. His lungs burned as he exhaled slowly, trying to control the tremor in his body.
This time, the skeleton gave the faintest nod.
Hours passed. The chamber echoed with the rhythm of their practice—silent gestures, mirrored movements, the whisper of blades slicing air. Sweat slicked Alpha's skin, his arms screaming in protest. Every muscle in his body begged him to collapse. But he didn't.
Because for the first time, he wasn't just surviving. He was learning.
When he finally stumbled, collapsing to one knee, the skeleton did not strike. Instead, it lowered its blade and returned to its slab of stone. Training ended not with triumph, but with silence.
Alpha panted, his chest heaving. His vision blurred. His iron shard slipped from his hand, clattering against the ground. Yet even in exhaustion, his lips twisted faintly—not into a smile, but into something sharper. Determination.
---
Later that night, Alpha sat at the mouth of the cave. The waterfall's mist cooled his fevered skin, droplets catching the faint light of the moon above. He stared at the Dreamstone he had scavenged earlier, its faint glow cradled in his palm.
Somvryn. That was the word the Veyres System had whispered when he first claimed it. A fragment of a monster's existence. A dream fossilized into crystal.
He turned it over in his hand, watching its glow pulse faintly, like a heart that did not belong to him. It was more than currency. More than power. It was proof. Proof that he had survived when others had not.
He wondered how many such stones he would need to live another day. To escape Viren. To escape the chains he could still feel around his soul.
The city beyond the Labyrinth whispered of Dreamstones as wealth, as power. But here, holding one in his hand after bleeding for it, Alpha understood the truth: they were life.
And his life had only just begun.
---
The skeleton had not spoken a word. Perhaps it never would. But its silence was heavier than any voice. Alpha had grown used to silence in the slave yard, yet this silence felt different. Not emptiness, but weight. Expectation.
Every nod, every tilt of its skull, every sweep of its broken blade spoke volumes. It demanded discipline. It demanded that he become more than a boy with scars and hunger.
Alpha clenched his fists. He would not waste this chance.
---
Sleep came fitfully. His dreams were shallow and restless. He saw chains snapping, faces he did not remember, shadows twisting into hollow-eyed corpses. And through it all, the skeleton's blue fire, watching him without judgment, without mercy.
When dawn came, Alpha rose with sore muscles and an aching body. He felt weaker than ever—and stronger than he had any right to be.
He stood, lifting the iron shard once more. The skeleton rose with him.
The lesson continued.
---
By the time the second day in Viren ended, Alpha was no longer a slave drifting through emptiness. He was a boy with a purpose. Fragile, uncertain, and small—but purpose nonetheless.
And in a world where even gods bound mortals in chains, that ember of purpose was enough to defy the dark.