POV: Wizard City
Beneath the Temple of Unfinished Spells
The first sign that something had changed was the screaming.
Not a human scream.
The sound came from the soul matrix suspended above the ritual chamber, a vast circular arrangement of enchanted silver, black crystal, and interlocking runes. The apparatus had been designed to identify a particular magical signature, bind it to a predetermined sealing structure, and force the target into a state of suspended existence.
For weeks, the cultists had worked to perfect it.
They had obtained a piece of their intended target through a shapeshifter bounty hunter. They had studied the residual identity imprinted upon the severed limb, extracted its unique magical resonance, and woven that resonance into a scroll capable of synchronizing with a specially constructed stasis cube.
Their target was an unusually adaptable human who had survived encounters that should have killed him.
A man who wielded lightning, manipulated mana, and possessed an assortment of supernatural traits that the cult's scholars struggled to categorize.
They did not need to kill him.
They wanted to remove him from the world.
Permanently, if possible.
The chief ritualist stood before the matrix, examining the runes through a pair of enchanted lenses.
"Report the synchronization."
A young acolyte checked the instruments.
"Ninety-one percent, master."
"That was the figure yesterday."
"Yes, master."
"Then why has the matrix begun resonating?"
The acolyte hesitated.
"I don't know."
A low hum filled the chamber.
One by one, the silver rings began to rotate. Black crystals embedded in the surrounding pillars lit up, and the runes engraved across the floor glowed with an intensity that forced several cultists to shield their eyes.
The ritualist stepped closer.
"That's impossible. We haven't activated the final binding."
The soul matrix screamed again.
This time, the sound resembled a distant human voice being pulled through a narrow tunnel.
Every candle in the chamber went out.
Then the entire apparatus surged with power.
The ritualist staggered as an invisible pressure struck him. Several acolytes fell to their knees, clutching their heads. The scroll resting upon the central altar began to unfurl by itself, its written symbols rearranging into patterns none of them had deliberately inscribed.
A new line appeared across its surface.
TARGET RESONANCE: UNEXPECTEDLY VULNERABLE.
The chief ritualist stared.
"Vulnerable?"
The matrix pulsed again.
The synchronization indicator climbed.
Ninety-two percent.
Ninety-three.
Ninety-four.
A murmur spread through the chamber.
One of the senior cultists hurried to the apparatus and began examining the crystal gauges.
"The target's magical signature is fluctuating. Something has disrupted its equilibrium."
"Has the target been injured?"
"We cannot confirm that."
"Has another binding ritual been performed upon him?"
"Unknown."
"Then what is causing this?"
The senior cultist swallowed.
"I don't know, master. But the matrix is behaving as if the target's resistance has weakened."
The chief ritualist slowly smiled.
He had spent months preparing for this capture. Their intended victim had been an extraordinarily difficult target to predict. His abilities had evolved repeatedly, and his magical signature seemed to change whenever he survived a serious encounter.
That adaptability had made him dangerous.
It had also made the cult's work frustratingly difficult.
Now, for reasons they could not explain, the target's resistance appeared to have diminished.
The ritualist placed a hand against the nearest crystal pillar.
"Increase the stabilizing wards. I want the matrix reinforced before this opportunity disappears."
An acolyte hurried to obey.
"Should we begin the final synchronization?"
"No."
The answer was immediate.
The ritualist's smile widened.
"We do not rush merely because fortune has finally remembered our existence. If the target has suffered some unknown injury, we must ensure that the binding can exploit the weakness without collapsing."
He looked at the scroll.
"Let the matrix continue its work. Strengthen the identity lock. Prepare the cube. And double the guards around the lower chamber."
The acolytes scattered.
As the ritual continued, the soul matrix emitted another pulse.
The cultists interpreted the disturbance as an opportunity.
They did not know that their target had recently encountered a creature from beyond their understanding.
They did not know that the creature had stolen two fragments of his soul.
They did not know that those fragments were being slowly digested in a distant realm, or that the theft had left a subtle vulnerability in the human's spiritual structure.
But the matrix could sense the change.
And the cult intended to take full advantage of it.
The chief ritualist watched the synchronization climb toward completion.
"Whatever has weakened you," he whispered, addressing a man who was nowhere near Wizard City, "I offer it my gratitude."
The scroll flashed.
SYNCHRONIZATION: 95%.
For the first time in weeks, the cult's plan seemed close to success.
And far away, in the grasslands, Sam was building a home.
POV: Sam
Three Months Later
The first wall had taken Sam less than an hour to raise.
The last section had taken him almost an entire afternoon.
The difference, he had discovered, was that making a wall was easy.
Making a good wall was an entirely different matter.
Sam stood on a broad stone platform overlooking the central grasslands, his hands on his hips as he examined the structure before him. The fortress had grown considerably since the family first arrived at the mountain foothills. What had begun as a rough shelter carved into a natural shelf of rock had gradually become something much more substantial.
A thick outer wall enclosed a courtyard. Two watchtowers stood at opposite corners, their upper platforms overlooking the approaches from the valley. The main building was partially embedded into the mountainside, with rooms extending into the rock behind its stone façade.
There was a kitchen, a common room, several bedrooms, a workshop, and a large storage chamber. Sam had also constructed a cistern that collected rainwater and channelled it into a protected reservoir.
Beneath the main building, a series of underground rooms held supplies, tools, preserved food, and the materials he had gathered during his travels.
The fortress was not finished.
Not even close.
But it was beginning to look like a home.
Sam raised one hand, and a section of the courtyard floor shifted into place. Stone slabs settled together with a low grinding sound, leaving a smooth surface without gaps.
He stepped back.
"Finally."
A small voice called from behind him.
"Dad! Can we see?"
Sam turned.
Daniel was standing beside his younger sister, both of them carrying small baskets filled with stones.
"Of course. Bring those over here."
They hurried toward him.
Daniel was nearly bursting with excitement.
"We found more of the flat ones near the stream. You said you needed them for the garden."
"I did. Good work."
His sister proudly held up a particularly smooth stone.
"And I found this one!"
Sam examined it with exaggerated seriousness.
"An excellent stone."
"It's shiny!"
"That makes it even better."
She grinned.
Elena watched them from the doorway of the main building, one hand resting against her lower back.
"Don't encourage them too much. They've already spent the entire morning collecting rocks."
Sam looked at the baskets.
"Well, I happen to need rocks."
"You need an unreasonable number of rocks."
"That's what happens when you build a fortress."
Elena shook her head, smiling.
Three months ago, the family had been travelling through the grasslands with little more than a cart, a handful of supplies, and the hope of finding somewhere safe.
Now they had walls.
They had rooms.
They had a proper kitchen, a place to sleep, and a courtyard where the children could play without wandering into the wilderness.
And for the first time since their reunion, Sam could leave the family for a few hours without feeling as though he were gambling with their lives.
It wasn't absolute safety.
He knew better than to believe that existed in Ooo.
But it was a beginning.
And beginnings mattered.
### Building More Than Walls
Sam had quickly discovered that his children were much more helpful than he had initially expected.
Of course, he had also discovered that giving children responsibilities required patience.
Daniel was enthusiastic, energetic, and inclined to finish tasks before he had fully understood the instructions.
His sister was more careful, but she frequently became distracted by insects, unusual stones, and anything else that caught her attention.
Neither was particularly good at carrying water without spilling some of it.
Both were excellent at finding excuses when it was time to clean up.
Nevertheless, Sam gave them small tasks every day.
They collected kindling, sorted stones, carried lightweight supplies, helped arrange vegetables in the garden, and kept the common room tidy.
They learned to check the water containers, gather edible plants under supervision, and identify which materials belonged in storage.
He made certain that none of their duties placed them in unnecessary danger.
They were children, not soldiers.
He wanted them to develop confidence and practical skills, not spend their childhoods working themselves to exhaustion.
One afternoon, Daniel approached him while Sam was repairing a section of the courtyard wall.
"Dad, why do we have to keep doing the same things every day?"
Sam lowered his hands.
"What things?"
"Checking the water. Collecting wood. Looking at the walls. You always tell us to check everything, even when nothing is wrong."
Sam considered the question.
"Because the day you discover something is wrong is usually the worst possible time to start preparing."
Daniel frowned.
"That doesn't make sense."
"Imagine we wait until we're out of water before checking the cistern. What happens?"
"We get more water?"
"And if the stream dries up?"
Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it.
Sam nodded.
"Exactly. Preparation means you deal with small problems before they become big ones. You don't need to be afraid of everything. You just need to pay attention."
Daniel considered this.
"So checking the water is like fighting a monster before it gets here?"
Sam smiled.
"That's one way of looking at it."
His daughter appeared beside them.
"Can I check the water too?"
"Of course."
She immediately took Daniel's hand.
"Come on!"
Daniel looked at Sam.
"Do we get a reward?"
Sam pretended to think about it.
"If the cistern is clean and the containers are filled, I'll make something special for dinner."
The children ran off.
Sam watched them go, shaking his head with a smile.
He was beginning to understand that raising children required a different kind of patience from surviving in Ooo.
Monsters were usually straightforward.
Children were not.
And somehow, he found the latter considerably more exhausting.
The Training Yard
By the fourth month, Sam had established a regular training routine.
He trained himself every morning, usually before the children woke up. After breakfast, he spent time working on the fortress, studying his magical notes, or completing the tasks assigned by his system.
In the afternoon, he trained Daniel and his sister.
He began with simple exercises.
How to stand without losing balance.
How to move without tripping over their own feet.
How to hold a wooden practice sword without hurting their wrists.
How to recognize when an opponent was preparing to attack.
He did not teach them to charge at monsters.
He taught them to avoid fights whenever possible.
"Your first job," he explained one afternoon, standing in the courtyard with a wooden sword in his hand, "is to notice danger before it reaches you."
Daniel held his practice sword in both hands.
"What if the monster is already here?"
"Then your first job is to get away."
"What if it follows us?"
"Then you keep moving toward somewhere safer."
"What if there's nowhere safe?"
Sam paused.
"Then you protect each other long enough to create an opportunity to escape."
Daniel looked down at his sword.
"So when do we fight?"
"When you have no better choice."
Sam demonstrated a simple defensive movement, turning his shoulder and redirecting an imaginary strike.
"Fighting isn't about proving you're stronger than someone else. It's about making sure you and the people you care about survive."
He handed Daniel the wooden sword.
"Your turn."
Daniel stepped forward and swung.
The blade passed several centimetres away from Sam's shoulder.
Sam barely moved.
"Again."
Daniel swung a second time.
This time, Sam blocked the strike.
"Better. But you're putting too much weight into your attack. If I move out of the way, you'll lose your balance."
Daniel frowned.
"But I was trying to hit you."
"I know. That's why I moved."
His sister giggled from the edge of the training yard.
Sam pointed toward her.
"You're next."
Her smile disappeared.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"But Daniel is the one who wants to fight monsters!"
"And you are the one who will need to know what to do if Daniel isn't beside you."
She considered this, then reluctantly accepted the practice sword.
Sam softened his expression.
"You don't have to become a great warrior. But I want you to know how to protect yourself."
She nodded.
That seemed to reassure her.
He taught them how to hold a sword, how to retreat without turning their backs on an opponent, and how to recognize dangerous footing.
He also taught them basic hunting and tracking.
At first, this involved following animal footprints around the stream and identifying the difference between a rabbit's trail and the tracks left by larger creatures.
Daniel was particularly interested in hunting.
He wanted to learn how Sam found animals, how he moved through the grass without making unnecessary noise, and how he could tell whether a creature was nearby.
Sam showed him how to observe bent grass, disturbed soil, broken twigs, and droppings.
He taught both children which plants were safe to touch and which should be avoided.
He showed them how to make a simple shelter from branches and grass, how to build a controlled cooking fire, and how to orient themselves using the sun.
He also taught them that finding water did not automatically mean it was safe to drink.
"Remember," he told them, "survival isn't one big trick. It's a hundred small decisions. Most of them are boring. But boring decisions keep you alive."
Daniel nodded solemnly.
Then he asked whether the lesson was finished.
Sam laughed.
"For today."
The boy immediately ran toward the kitchen.
His sister followed.
Sam watched them go, then looked toward the training yard.
The children were improving.
Not dramatically. They were still young, and he had no intention of pushing them beyond what they could safely handle.
But they were becoming more observant.
More confident.
And, most importantly, they were learning to think before acting.
That mattered more to him than how hard they could swing a sword.
The Experiment from Evergreen's Library
The most unusual part of Sam's training began several weeks later.
It started with a question.
Could magic be taught through direct exposure to mana?
Sam had learned much of his own magical knowledge through a combination of instinct, system-assisted development, and the books he had recovered from Evergreen's lost library.
The library's Principles of Storm Manipulation Vol. II had taught him that magic was not simply a matter of producing energy. It involved understanding the relationship between mana, intent, structure, and the world being manipulated.
He had learned to shape mana into controlled forms, to guide lightning along specific paths, and to create magical effects without wasting unnecessary energy.
But the book had also suggested that living beings possessed different degrees of sensitivity to magical currents.
Some could perceive mana naturally.
Others required training.
And some might never develop the ability to manipulate it at all.
Sam wanted to know where his children stood.
He didn't intend to turn them into weapons.
He wanted them to understand magic in the same way he wanted them to understand survival: as a tool that could protect them if they ever needed it.
Still, he recognized the risks.
He had no reliable method for determining whether directly introducing his mana into another person's body could cause harm.
So he began cautiously.
The first experiment took place in the common room after dinner.
Elena sat nearby, watching with considerable suspicion.
"You're going to do what, exactly?"
Sam held up his hands.
"I'm going to introduce a very small amount of mana into their bodies. Nothing forceful. I'll let it flow through their natural energy pathways, if they have any, and see whether they can perceive it."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"I stop immediately."
Elena folded her arms.
"That's not a complete answer."
"No," Sam admitted. "It isn't."
He sat down across from Daniel.
"That's why we're starting with the smallest amount I can manage. If either of you feels uncomfortable, you tell me and we stop. No arguing."
Daniel nodded.
His sister looked uncertain.
"Will it hurt?"
"It shouldn't. But I can't promise that you'll feel nothing. If you experience pain, dizziness, nausea, or anything that frightens you, tell me immediately."
She thought about it, then nodded.
Sam took Daniel's hand.
He closed his eyes and focused.
His mana flowed through his body, gathering in a thin, controlled stream around his palm. He reduced the energy until it was barely more than a faint pressure, then allowed a tiny portion to pass into Daniel's hand.
The boy flinched.
Sam stopped instantly.
"What's wrong?"
"That feels strange."
"Painful?"
"No. Like... like when your hand falls asleep, except it isn't numb."
Sam studied him.
"Can you feel anything moving?"
Daniel concentrated.
"I think so. It feels warm here."
He pointed toward his wrist.
Sam withdrew the mana.
"All right. That's enough for the first attempt."
Daniel looked disappointed.
"Already?"
"Yes. We are not going to rush this."
He made notes in his journal.
The sensation Daniel described could have been caused by the mana itself, by ordinary bodily responses, or by expectation. Sam had no way to know yet.
The system did not offer a clear answer.
He would need to proceed carefully.
His daughter tried next.
She felt a faint tingling in her palm but could not describe any sensation of movement.
That was fine.
Sam ended the session and gave both children a break.
Elena watched him write down the results.
"Did you learn anything?"
"That Daniel might be sensitive to the sensation. Or that he noticed it more readily than his sister."
"That's not the same as learning magic."
"No," Sam agreed. "It isn't."
He closed the journal.
"But it's a starting point."
### Learning to Sense Mana
Over the following weeks, Sam developed a simple set of exercises based on the principles he had studied in Evergreen's library.
The children began by sitting quietly and paying attention to their breathing.
Sam would create a small mana sphere between his hands, keeping it stable and weak.
He asked them to describe what they noticed without telling them what they were supposed to feel.
Sometimes Daniel reported warmth.
Sometimes he felt nothing.
His sister occasionally noticed a faint pressure in the air, but she could not consistently distinguish it from the ordinary sensations of sitting near Sam while he manipulated mana.
Sam recorded everything.
He deliberately avoided praising one child more than the other.
There was no competition.
There was no expectation that either of them had to become a mage.
The purpose was to learn.
One afternoon, Daniel stared intently at the small sphere hovering above Sam's palm.
"It's moving."
Sam glanced at it.
The mana sphere was perfectly stable.
"What do you mean?"
Daniel pointed toward the edge of the sphere.
"There's something around it. Like... little lines. I can almost see them, but when I try to look directly, they disappear."
Sam's expression sharpened.
He carefully adjusted the sphere, reducing its brightness and output.
"What about now?"
Daniel leaned forward.
"The lines are still there."
Sam remained still.
His own perception of mana was considerably more developed than Daniel's, and he could sense the subtle structures surrounding the sphere. But he couldn't tell whether Daniel was genuinely perceiving those structures or describing an impression created by concentration.
He needed to test it without leading him.
Sam produced two spheres, one stable and one with a deliberately uneven mana structure.
"Which one feels different?"
Daniel pointed to the second sphere.
Sam changed their positions.
Daniel pointed to the same sphere again.
He repeated the test several times, changing the positions and altering the spheres' structures.
Daniel correctly identified the unstable sphere more often than Sam would have expected by chance.
It was not conclusive evidence.
But it was promising.
Sam dismissed both spheres.
"Good work. That's enough for today."
Daniel grinned.
"Does that mean I can learn magic?"
"It means you might be able to learn more about it. We still have a lot to discover."
His daughter tugged at Sam's sleeve.
"What about me?"
Sam crouched beside her.
"We keep practising. Everyone learns differently."
She looked at Daniel, then back at Sam.
"And if I can't do it?"
"Then we'll find something else you're good at."
She considered that answer.
Then she nodded.
Sam hugged her.
He had no desire to impose his ambitions on them.
If they developed magical abilities, he would teach them to use those abilities safely.
If they did not, he would make sure they had every other skill they needed.
The world was dangerous enough without turning childhood into a race for power.
Still, when Sam returned to his notes that evening, he couldn't help feeling curious.
Evergreen's writings suggested that magical sensitivity could develop through training, though the methods were not universally applicable.
If he could adapt those principles to his children, he might eventually teach them simple techniques.
A tiny mana shield.
A controlled spark.
Perhaps a way to sense nearby magical disturbances.
Nothing extravagant.
Nothing that would place unreasonable demands on their bodies.
For now, he would continue observing.
And he would keep the experiments gentle.
#The System Does Not Sleep
Even with the fortress to build and the children to teach, Sam did not abandon his system's daily tasks.
Every morning, before breakfast, he checked his objectives.
Some tasks were straightforward.
Complete a period of physical training.
Practise mana control.
Improve a trait's proficiency.
Gather resources.
Survey the surrounding terrain.
Other tasks required more effort.
He occasionally had to venture into the nearby hills to hunt dangerous animals or investigate strange disturbances reported by his system.
He avoided unnecessary risks, but he refused to let himself become complacent simply because his family now had a roof over their heads.
The Nightosphere creature had taught him a painful lesson.
Strength alone was not enough.
He needed better control, better awareness, and a deeper understanding of the supernatural forces operating in Ooo.
So he continued training.
He practised Lightning Step across the courtyard, focusing on precise movement rather than raw speed. He learned to stop without tearing up the ground, change direction without losing balance, and move through narrow spaces without colliding with the walls.
He spent hours shaping mana spheres of different sizes, testing how much energy he could compress into a small volume before the structure became unstable.
He refined his telekinesis, learning to manipulate multiple objects without allowing one movement to disrupt another.
He practised earth magic by raising thin stone pillars, shaping them into increasingly intricate forms, and then returning them to the ground without leaving cracks behind.
His Storm Manipulation studies continued as well.
The second volume from Evergreen's library was still a work in progress, and Sam refused to treat it as something he could master through brute force.
He studied the relationship between air pressure, moisture, mana, and electrical charge.
He experimented with small weather patterns over the courtyard, creating controlled gusts of wind and directing lightning into prepared stone targets.
He also practised his Storm Armor, gradually reducing the amount of mana required to maintain it.
The goal was efficiency.
He wanted to be able to protect himself without exhausting his reserves.
His traits required similar attention.
He trained his shapeshifting through controlled transformations, avoiding unnecessary changes that placed strain on his body. He practised regeneration management, learning to recognize the difference between an injury his body could safely recover from and one that required immediate attention.
He worked on his combat instincts, testing how well he could respond to unexpected movements without relying entirely on conscious thought.
And he continued to monitor the lingering damage left by the Nightosphere creature.
His soul integrity remained unchanged.
93.8%.
He hated seeing that number.
But he refused to let it dominate his life.
One evening, after completing his daily tasks, Sam opened his status screen.
#SYSTEM STATUS
Level
19
Strength
758
Speed
760
Endurance
756
Perception
763
Mana Power
1557
Magic Control
799
Stored stat points
0
Soul integrity
93.8%
Training and daily tasks continue. No confirmed method of restoring the missing soul fragments has been discovered.
Sam closed the interface.
He had no stored points left, but his abilities were becoming more refined.
He was no longer merely accumulating power.
He was learning how to use it.
And that difference might someday save his life.
The Fifth Month
A Different Kind of Preparation
By the fifth month, the fortress had become a comfortable home.
The outer walls were complete. The main building had a proper roof, and the courtyard was now large enough for the children to play without interfering with Sam's training.
A small garden had been established near the southern wall, where Elena could grow vegetables protected from the worst of the wind.
The kitchen had a working stove, and Sam had constructed a large table where the family could eat together.
The bedrooms were furnished.
The storage chambers were organized.
The watchtowers had been fitted with simple warning mechanisms that would alert Sam if something approached the fortress from the valley.
He had also completed a concealed escape passage leading into a narrow ravine behind the mountain.
It wasn't perfect, but it gave the family another way out if the main gate became inaccessible.
Sam was proud of what he had built.
Not because it was impressive.
Because it was theirs.
The children had settled into their routines. They helped with small chores, attended their training sessions, and spent much of their free time exploring the safe areas around the fortress under supervision.
Daniel had become more patient with his sword practice.
His sister had grown more confident in the garden and was surprisingly good at remembering which plants were safe to handle.
Their magical lessons continued, though Sam had deliberately reduced the frequency of direct mana exposure. He preferred to let them practise sensing the small mana constructs he created rather than repeatedly passing energy through their bodies.
The results remained inconclusive, but neither child had shown any lasting adverse effects.
Sam was satisfied with that.
He would not risk their health merely to satisfy his curiosity.
As for Elena, she had begun to slow down during the final weeks of her pregnancy.
Sam adjusted their daily routines accordingly.
He took over the heavier work, prepared supplies, and made certain that the fortress was stocked with clean water, food, blankets, and whatever else might be needed when the baby arrived.
He also built a separate room near their bedroom, with a comfortable bed and easy access to the kitchen and water supply.
Elena watched him inspect the room for the third time.
"Sam."
He turned.
"Yes?"
"The bed is fine."
"I know."
"The room is fine."
"I know."
"The water is clean."
"I checked it."
She gave him a look.
"Twice."
"Three times."
Elena stared at him.
Sam slowly lowered the container he was holding.
"All right. Maybe I'm being a little excessive."
"A little?"
He smiled sheepishly.
"I just want everything ready."
Her expression softened.
She reached for his hand.
"I know. And I appreciate it. But you can't prepare for every possible thing that might happen."
Sam looked at her.
The words struck closer to home than she probably realized.
He had spent months trying to build a place where nothing could hurt his family. He had reinforced the walls, stocked the supplies, improved his abilities, and created contingency plans for dangers he hadn't even encountered.
Yet the Nightosphere creature had still managed to take something from him.
He could not prepare for everything.
He could only do his best.
Sam squeezed Elena's hand.
"You're right."
She smiled.
"Of course I am."
"Don't get used to hearing me say that."
She laughed and leaned against him.
For a while, they stood together in the quiet room.
Beyond the windows, the mountains rose against the evening sky. The fortress was warm, the children were safe, and the kitchen smelled faintly of the food Sam had prepared earlier.
For a brief moment, the world seemed almost peaceful.
Then Elena's expression changed.
She took a slow breath and placed a hand against her stomach.
Sam immediately straightened.
"What's wrong?"
She looked at him.
"Sam..."
He waited.
She took another breath.
"I think the baby is coming."
Everything inside him went still.
Then his system chimed.
#URGENT FAMILY EVENT
Objective: Ensure Elena receives appropriate assistance and remains safe during labour.
Priority: Critical
Recommended action: Prepare the birth room, secure clean water and supplies, and seek experienced medical assistance if safely available.
System reminder: Do not allow combat readiness to distract from immediate family needs.
Sam stared at the notification.
Then he dismissed it.
He had fought hundreds of vampires.
He had survived a battle with a creature that could reach into his soul.
He had built a fortress out of a mountain.
And somehow, none of those accomplishments had prepared him for the look Elena was giving him.
"All right," he said, trying to sound calm. "All right. We'll get you comfortable."
Elena raised an eyebrow.
"You look more frightened than I am."
"I'm not frightened."
"Sam."
"I'm a little frightened."
She laughed despite herself.
He helped her toward the bedroom, moving carefully and speaking in a reassuring voice while his mind raced through everything he had prepared.
He sent Daniel to fetch clean water and asked his daughter to bring the blankets they had set aside.
Both children immediately understood that something important was happening.
Daniel hurried away.
His sister looked at Elena, then at Sam.
"Is the baby coming now?"
Sam knelt beside her.
"Yes."
Her eyes widened.
"Today?"
"Looks like it."
She stared at Elena's stomach as though expecting the baby to announce itself.
"Will it be a boy or a girl?"
Sam smiled.
"We'll find out soon enough."
She nodded, then hurried off to help.
Sam turned back to Elena.
He had built the walls.
He had prepared the room.
He had gathered the supplies.
Now there was only one thing left to do.
Be there for her.
He took her hand and walked beside her into the room that would soon become the birthplace of their child.
Outside, the evening wind swept across the grasslands.
Far beneath Wizard City, the cult's soul matrix continued to resonate, its synchronization advancing toward completion.
And far beyond the world, in the dark depths of the Nightosphere, a creature slept with two fragments of Sam's soul trapped inside its essence.
The world was still dangerous.
The future was still uncertain.
But inside the fortress, something new was about to begin.