Damian woke to the sound of rain tapping against the slanted roof, softer now, almost thoughtful. The candle beside his bed had melted down to a shallow pool of wax, long dead. The smell of smoke and damp earth lingered in the air.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. The room felt smaller, heavier. A draft slipped through the cracked window, stirring the faded curtains. Everything looked as it always did the crooked chair by the wall, his boots by the door, the faint ring of mold where the ceiling leaked and yet something was wrong.
Too still.
He reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed. It was folded neatly, the way his mother used to do when he was a child. But she hadn't come into his room for weeks; her cough had kept her downstairs. His pulse quickened.
"Mother?" His voice was low, hoarse from sleep. No answer. Only the whisper of rain on wood.
He swung his legs off the bed, feet hitting the cold floorboards, and pulled on his boots. "Mother?" he called again, louder this time, but even as he spoke the word, he knew she wouldn't answer.
The kitchen was empty.
The fire had long burned out. The pot sat cold on the hearth, its thin stew untouched. The wooden spoon rested across the rim like she'd set it down and forgotten it mid-motion. Her shawl hung by the door, dripping slightly, as if she'd worn it and come back but the floor beneath was dry.
He felt it then that hollow weight in the air, the kind that presses against the ribs.
The chest by her bedside was open. A few of her things were missing a worn pair of gloves, a rosary with the beads worn thin, a tin of dried herbs. But on the table beside it sat an envelope, the edge of it darkened by candle smoke.
Damian's breath caught. His hands trembled as he reached for it.
The handwriting was hers careful, slanted, familiar. His name written in full. Damian Vale.
He sat slowly, the old chair creaking under him, and broke the seal with his thumb. The paper crackled softly in the quiet room. He read;
If you ever find this, Damian don't hate me for leaving first.
There's something wrong with the river. It's not rising. It's breathing. The mayor's men keep feeding it not gold, not soil, but people.
They call it payment. I call it fear.
If they come for you, run. Don't look back. Don't use whatever it is you have. Power that listens will one day speak, and you won't like what it says.
Go to Asterion. There's a man there, Father Tomas once said he was a scholar. He'll know what to do.
Love, always. - Mother.
The words blurred as his eyes filled. He pressed his hand against the page, as if the ink might still be warm.
The room seemed to tilt around him.
He stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor, and stumbled to the door. The yard outside was drenched in mist, the grass silvered by rain. The world felt too quiet even the river's endless hum was softer, like it was waiting.
"Mother!" His voice cracked. "Mother!"
He ran toward the road, boots sinking into the mud. The mist swallowed everything beyond a few yards. The mayor's men had passed through the day before their wagons deep with crates and sacks. She wouldn't have gone with them. She wouldn't.
He sprinted toward the market square.
By the time he reached the town, his breath burned in his chest. Tyre looked different now emptier, like the color had been leeched from the world. Stalls half-collapsed, shutters drawn, puddles gathering like mirrors in the street. People moved in silence, heads bowed, avoiding each other's eyes.
He caught the scent of smoke and brine. A few vendors lingered under their canopies, faces pale, watching him with something between pity and fear.
"Marta!" he called, spotting her by the fish stand. She was old, wrapped in a soaked shawl, her wrinkled hands moving slow over the day's meager catch.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. "Damian Vale." Her voice quivered. "You shouldn't be out."
"Have you seen my mother?" He tried to keep his tone steady, but the question tore out sharp. "She left the house last night. Maybe before dawn. Did she come here?"
Marta hesitated, her mouth opening, closing. Around them, a few other townsfolk stilled, pretending not to listen.
"Answer me," he said, stepping closer.
"Damian…" She lowered her gaze. "Go home, child."
"Tell me!"
Marta's lips trembled. "She came by early. Said she was meeting the mayor's men."
His stomach dropped. "Why?"
The woman wrung her hands. "Said she meant to settle your debts. Said she couldn't have them taking you next."
He felt the ground shift beneath him. The rain had started again thin, cold needles striking his skin. "Where did they go?"
"The river," someone muttered behind him.
He turned. A man carrying a sack of grain met his gaze for an instant before lowering his eyes. "They took three last night," he said. "The mayor's orders."
Damian's hands clenched. "Three?"
The man nodded. "Said the flood grew worse. Needed another offering."
Damian's heart stuttered. "You mean…?"
No one answered.
The market seemed to hold its breath. The sound of rain filled the silence, relentless.
He looked from face to face, searching for denial, for anyone to say the words weren't true but they all looked away.
Marta's hand brushed his arm, tentative, trembling. "She was brave," she whispered. "Said she'd rather the river remember her than see it take you."
The world blurred around him.
He stumbled backward, the letter still clutched in his hand, the ink running where the rain struck it. His mother's handwriting dissolved before his eyes her voice vanishing into the storm.
He turned and ran.
The road to the river was a trail of mud and water, every step sinking deep. The sky had turned the color of slate, heavy with unspent rain. The river ahead roared louder than he'd ever heard it, its surface a frenzy of gray and black, like something alive was turning beneath.
Damian stopped at the bank, chest heaving. The air smelled of rot and salt.
The rope was still there the thick, water-swollen line they used to lower offerings or salvage wood after floods. It hung slack now, swaying gently in the wind.
He stepped closer. There were footprints in the mud small, bare, half-washed away by rain.
His mother's.
A sound left him something between a cry and a breath. He dropped to his knees, the mud swallowing his boots, and stared at the water.
The river didn't move like it used to. Its flow pulsed inward, as if inhaling. The surface swelled, then sank, as if it were breathing, just like she'd written.
"Where is she?" he whispered. "Where is she?"
The water gave no answer, but the current changed a ripple curling toward him, lapping against the bank like a whisper.
He took a step back, chest tightening. The river smelled wrong, metallic.
He thought of the collectors' boots, the wagons, the empty ledgers. Of her hands cracked, trembling, warm against his face. Of her last words, the ones she never spoke aloud.
And something inside him broke.
He screamed her name. The sound tore from him, raw and hollow. The river shuddered a deep vibration that ran through the ground, through his bones.
For a heartbeat, the rain froze midair. Then it fell all at once heavy, violent, blinding.
He staggered, gasping, eyes wide. The world around him had gone quiet again no birds, no insects, only the echo of his own voice bouncing off the water.
And deep beneath the river's surface, something stirred.
[Initializing…]
[Warning: Instability Rising]
[Seal Integrity: 72%]
[Seal unstable – emotional imbalance detected]
[Emotion regulator activated… error!]
[Trial 2 – error!]
[error!]
[Seal unstable…]
Damian stood alone at the edge of the river, the letter in his hands trembling as though the paper itself could feel him coming apart. His pulse was a drumbeat in his skull. The air felt too thick to breathe, too sharp to cry through.
The words blurred again in the dim light, that single line gnawing at him
Don't use whatever it is you have.
He had never known what "it" was. His mother never told him. But the river knew. The wind knew. The world had been bending for years in quiet, unexplainable ways whenever he was angry, whenever he was afraid. He'd always thought it was luck, or maybe punishment.
Now it hummed under his skin, like a fever trying to escape.
The current shifted. The water rose, just a finger's width, enough to lap against his boots.
He felt it. Not saw felt: the way the flow of the river slowed when his breath did. The way the branches on the far bank leaned slightly, as if listening. The air itself seemed to draw closer, edges warping, like a page rippling before ink spilled across it.
He fell to his knees, clutching his head.
"Stop" he rasped. "Just stop."
But the world didn't listen. The world waited. His heartbeat stuttered, then steadied. And suddenly, there it was. A flicker of something behind his eyes, a window that wasn't there before.
[EDIT MODE: INITIALIZED]
[Error detected: Emotional override]
[System calibration: unstable.]
[Editor Skill: Level 1 — Instinct Access Only.]
The words weren't real.
They weren't spoken or written they simply appeared across his vision, translucent, hovering over the river like light burned into his mind. His breath hitched, his throat tight. He blinked and they were still there, pulsing faintly.
"No…" he whispered. "No, this isn't"
He stumbled backward, clutching at the air as if he could tear the illusion apart. The world responded in kind the mud beneath his boots hardened instantly, like stone reacting to his panic.
"Stop!" His voice cracked. "Just stop!"
The flicker dimmed then vanished, replaced by silence and rain.
He stood there for a long time, shaking, his pulse clawing at his throat. The river whispered softly, low and endless, as if it approved. Then came the sound of footsteps.
Six men, in the mayor's black and gray, marched down the slope toward him. Rain hissed off their oilskins, batons slung carelessly across their backs. Their leader a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his jaw called out.
"Damian Vale!" He turned slowly. His hands were still shaking.
"By order of Mayor Reddan," the man said, "you're to come with us."
"For what?" Damian's voice was quiet, but it carried. "I haven't done anything."
"Your mother broke contract law. That makes you complicit," the man said. "You're to answer for her forfeiture."
Forfeiture. He knew what that word meant. It meant the river had taken her or they had given her to it. "Where is she?" he asked.
The man smirked. "Gone. Like the others."
The world narrowed to a single sound: the slow thud of his heartbeat. Something inside him cracked.
"You fed her to it," Damian said softly. "Didn't you?" The man shrugged. "Not my choice. Debt's debt."
Damian's fists clenched so tight his nails drew blood. "You took everything we had. Everything she was."
"That's enough, boy," the man said, raising a hand. "Don't make this"
The air shivered. A line of light thin, white, like the edge of a blade flashed in Damian's vision.
[TARGET: Human "Collector"]
[Editable Attributes Detected:]
[Strength: 32] [Speed: 18] [Will: 27] [Fear: 14]
[Command?]
He didn't understand what he was seeing. He only felt what he wanted. I want him to stop. He didn't even speak it. The thought itself pulsed outward. The text flickered.
[Editing…]
[Strength: 32 → 1]
[Speed: 18 → 1]
[Will: 27 → 1]
The world went still. The air made a sound like glass cooling that subtle, impossible pop when something invisible breaks.
The collector stumbled. His baton slipped from his hands and landed in the mud with a soft thud. His knees buckled, his breath stuttering in shock.
"What? what's" He gasped, clutching his chest. "I can't move"
The others froze. One of them cursed and lunged forward. Damian's eyes snapped toward him and again, the world responded.
[Strength: 28 → 1]
[Speed: 21 → 1]
The man crumpled mid-step. His body hit the ground like wet cloth.
The rest hesitated just for a second but it was enough. Damian stepped forward, and the rain seemed to pause midair around him. The air thrummed with a strange, heavy quiet.
The leader stared up, terrified now. "What are you?"
One of the men stepped forward, swinging his baton. "He's a freak, that's what. Knock him out."
Damian raised his hand instinctively, but before the blow landed, everything stopped.
[Strength: 54 → 1]
The baton froze mid-swing. The man's sneer hung motionless. Even the torchlight slowed, flames folding into still images like scenes in broken film. The baton that was once light to him was very heavy for him to swing. Damian punched him, his face mangled as blood gushed out from his mouth and nose.
Damian caught his breath in surprise at his strength; he looked at his hand covered in blood from the man's face. His heart didn't beat. His thoughts echoed into the silence.
And in that suspended second, he heard the whisper came again, quiet and cold, inside his head:
[Edit Successful.]
[System expanding...]
[Emotional calibration increasing.]
The fight did not last long when it was over, the mayor's men laid conscious in the mud, their batons twisted, the leader face paled with shock. None were dead not yet. The power had drained from him before he could decide what to do next. His head throbbed with heat. Blood trickled from his nose.
The river had risen again. It watched him not with eyes, but with awareness. The surface pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. He staggered toward it, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
"What are you?" he whispered. The river answered with a sound that wasn't quite a word a deep, resonant hum, vibrating through his bones. For a moment, the world went transparent he could see it, the threads running through everything: light, gravity, names, values. All of them floating, waiting to be changed.
He fell to his knees, gasping.
[Editor Level 1: Acquired.]
[Access: Local Reality Parameters (Minor).]
[Restriction: Emotional Overload Detected.]
[Cooldown initiated…]
The darkness tried to swallow him, but it stopped.
His hands ached, his eyes burned. The letter was still in his coat, dry somehow, as if the water itself had refused to touch it. He pulled it out again and stared at the final line.
Go to Asterion.
His mother had known. She'd known what lived inside him. Maybe she'd feared it more than the river.
He looked toward the horizon, where the faint line of the northern road shimmered under the gray sky. Asterion was far days away but something in him whispered that the answers lay there.
[Seal Integrity: 48%]
[Memory Fragment Detected]
Images struck him: flashes of light, burning skies, a figure clad in armor made of stars, sword drawn against a host of wings.
He staggered. "Who… am I?"
He lifted his hand, trembling with fear and something darker. The floating script responded.
The leader groaned, spitting blood. "You demon… you'll pay for this…"
Damian's eyes hardened. "Maybe."
[Target: All Nearby Hostiles]
[Morale: 100 → 0]
They fell to their knees, torches scattering across the wet ground, faces pale with sudden despair.
"What… what did you do?" one stammered, trying to grip his torch from the mud, but his body suffered pain as he tried.
Damian's heart hammered with guilt, but the whispers in his mind purred in satisfaction.
When the villagers found the mayor's men later, they were barely conscious muttering nonsense, too weak to stand. Word spread like fire: the "witch's boy" had cursed them.
By morning, Tyre was awake in panic. The mayor's banners went up. Every hunter, every guard was ordered to find Evelyn's son.
Damian didn't stay to see it. He was already gone, walking barefoot through the misty forest at dawn, clutching the letter. The world looked different now. Every rock, every tree shimmered faintly with those threads of reality. He could change things he knew it but the power throbbed like a wound.
He tried to edit a small cut on his hand, whispering, "Heal."
A flash
[Health: 94 → 100]
The skin sealed instantly, smooth as new.
Awe and terror warred in his chest.
The whispers inside him deepened. They weren't just sounds now they were voices, layered and cold.
"You remember now… don't you? Fragments of what you were."
"You wrote the world once. You can do it again."
He pressed his palms to his ears. "Stop! I don't want this!"
The earth trembled faintly beneath him.
[Reality Distortion Detected]
He fell to his knees, gasping, as the light in his veins dimmed again. The system calmed, sealing itself with a faint click in his head.
[Seal Restored: 61%]
[Editor Skill retained: Level 1]
He lay there for what felt like hours, staring at the morning sky until the numbness faded.
For the first time, he understood the warning his mother once whispered, when she thought he was asleep:
"Never let them see what you can do, Damian. Not until the right moment."
Maybe she had known. Maybe she'd seen the same glow in him that night the storm first broke.
By evening, he reached the edge of the forest, the border that led out of Tyre's lands. From here, the path bent toward the outer territories, where travelers spoke of strange ruins and the remnants of the old world.
He looked back once. The clouds of Tyre were distant, curling above the horizon like a fading scar.
He felt nothing but a hollow ache.
As he turned to leave, a figure stepped from the shadows, a cloaked woman, her voice calm but cutting.
"You shouldn't be alive," she said.
Damian froze. "Who are you?"
"Someone who remembers what you were before the seal," she replied, stepping closer. "The Enforcer of the Heavens. The one who defied the decree."
He stared at her, disbelief and terror mixing in his eyes.
"I don't know you."
She smiled faintly, sad and knowing. "No. But you will."
Before he could speak, she vanished dissolving into mist. Only her words remained, echoing softly:
Damian stood there long after she was gone, trembling.
The power inside him stirred again, restless and waiting. He could still feel the faint hum beneath his skin, the promise of control, and the threat of collapse.
He whispered into the wind, "I don't want to be a monster. "The wind answered with silence. Then, quietly, the system replied:
[Desire registered.]
[Moral Alignment system unlocked.]
[Path diverging… Editor's Fate: Undefined.]