Dawn crept through the grimy windows like a thief, casting long gray shadows across the stone floor. The light was weak and cold, barely enough to push back the darkness that seemed to cling to every corner of the room.
Nox's eyes opened slowly, pupils adjusting to the dim morning glow. He lay perfectly still for several heartbeats, taking inventory of his body like a soldier checking for wounds after battle.
The crushing pain in his chest had faded to a dull, manageable ache. His muscles, though still stiff and sore, obeyed his commands without the screaming protest of yesterday. This unfamiliar body was healing faster than it should have, another sign that the Virelith bloodline came with advantages.
He sat up carefully, the old bed frame creaking under his weight. His eyes immediately found Maya on the neighboring bed.
She was still unconscious, but her breathing was deep and steady now. The deathly pallor had left her cheeks, replaced by the warm flush of life. Her silver hair spread across the pillow like spilled starlight, no longer matted with blood and dirt.
Nox studied her face, waiting for some emotion to surface. Relief? Concern? Affection for this girl who might be his sister?
Nothing came. Just cold observation and the practical knowledge that she was useful alive.
Maybe I should feel something more. Maybe I'm broken in ways that go deeper than memory.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the icy stone floor. The room was sparse, just the two beds, a wooden pitcher filled with fresh water, and a small stool holding clean clothes and a folded gray tunic.
He dressed without ceremony, pulling on the rough fabric that smelled faintly of soap and sunshine. The clothes fit well enough, though they hung loose on his lean frame.
The hallway outside was empty and silent, filled with the kind of quiet that meant everyone else was already awake and busy. Nox followed his nose toward the scent of wood smoke and baking bread, his bare feet making no sound on the cold stones.
The corridor widened as he walked, leading to a heavy wooden door that stood slightly ajar. Beyond it, he could hear voices and the sound of movement.
He pushed through the door and froze.
A courtyard stretched before him, roughly the size of a small training ground. Maybe a dozen children moved through the space with purpose and precision that made his skin crawl.
These weren't ordinary orphans playing games.
Two boys, neither older than thirteen, sparred with wooden swords near the center of the yard. Their movements were crude but deliberate, real techniques being practiced, not childish sword-fighting. Sweat dripped from their faces despite the cool morning air.
A girl about his own age sat cross-legged near the far wall, her eyes closed in deep concentration. The air around her shimmered faintly, as if heat waves were rising from her skin.
Other children swept the grounds, tended to training equipment, or practiced basic stretches that looked more like preparation for combat than morning exercises.
Every single one of them moved with intent. No laughter. No smiles. No childhood games.
Their eyes were sharp in different ways, some calculating, others wary, a few burning with barely contained anger. But none of them looked innocent.
They train here. These aren't normal children. Garron wasn't lying, this isn't an orphanage. It's a forge. They're making weapons out of kids.
Nox pressed his back against the wall, staying in the shadows near the door. He needed to understand this place before anyone understood him.
Several children had noticed his presence, but they didn't approach. They watched him with the careful attention of predators sizing up potential prey or competition.
One boy whispered something to his sparring partner, who glanced over and nodded. Neither looked particularly welcoming.
Good. They don't recognize me. Don't know what the Virelith name means.
He wanted to keep it that way, at least until he knew how dangerous that knowledge might be.
"Hey!"
The voice cut through the courtyard's focused quiet like a blade. Not threatening, but loud enough to draw everyone's attention.
Nox turned slowly, his expression blank as stone.
A girl approached him, maybe fifteen, with short-cropped brown hair and skin tanned dark from hours in the sun. Bandages wrapped around her knuckles and wrists, and a wooden training baton hung from her belt like a sword. She moved with the easy confidence of someone who belonged here, who'd earned her place through blood and bruises.
"You're the new one Master Garron dragged in?" she asked, stopping just outside arm's reach. Smart, close enough to talk, far enough to avoid a surprise attack.
Nox said nothing. He met her gaze with steady, unreadable eyes.
She tilted her head, studying him like he was a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. "You look like you got chewed up and stitched back together."
Still nothing from Nox. His stare remained flat and emotionless.
A few heartbeats passed in silence.
"Right," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "Quiet type." She jerked her thumb toward a door behind the training dummies. "Food's through there if you're hungry. Try not to get in anyone's way."
She turned and walked off without waiting for thanks or acknowledgment.
Nox watched her go, filing away every detail. The way she carried herself. The scars on her knuckles. The casual dismissal that was probably meant to establish dominance.
She was testing me. Not picking a fight, just weighing what I might be worth.
The other children had been watching the exchange, but as minutes passed and nothing dramatic happened, they gradually returned to their training. Nox remained by the wall, observing everything with the patience of a hunter.
By the time he'd seen enough, the sun had moved higher in the sky. He slipped back through the door and made his way to his room, mind churning with new information.
Creak.
The door opened just as Nox settled back onto his bed. Garron stepped inside carrying a wooden tray, but this time it held more than bread and water. Steam rose from a bowl of vegetable soup that actually smelled appetizing.
"Heard you made quite the entrance in the courtyard," Garron said, setting the tray down with a knowing look.
Nox ignored the comment completely, which earned him a helpless sigh from the older man.
"Right, strong silent type. I get it." Garron reached under the tray and pulled out a slim leather-bound book. "Brought you something that might interest you more than small talk."
He held up the book so Nox could read the cover: Basic Channeling: Eon Circuit (Level 1).
"This should help you channel the energy in your body, assuming it matches your bloodline affinity." Garron set the book on the bed between them. "I'm sure you were probably taught this before... whatever happened to your family. But given your memory issues, I'll give you the basics again."
Nox's attention sharpened. Information was always valuable.
"Everyone in this world is born with the ability to channel one of ten different energies," Garron continued, settling into a more comfortable position. "Eon, Hem, Pyra, Crym, Terra, Voltis, Umbrin, Lumyn, Galeon, and Mirel. Each one has its own channeling techniques, its own strengths and weaknesses."
He paused, making sure Nox was listening. "Here's the important part, use the wrong channeling technique for your energy type, and your body will reject it. Best case scenario, nothing happens. Worst case..." He made a cutting motion across his throat. "It can cripple you permanently. Or kill you."
Nox nodded slowly, but inside, warning bells were ringing. "Then why bring me an Eon circuit when you know a Hem circuit would be more likely for my bloodline?"
The question came out flat and accusatory. Garron's confident expression flickered.
"Well, you're right about that, but sometimes people can access multiple—"
"So in short," Nox interrupted, his voice dropping to something cold and dangerous, "you were trying to see if I would die or not?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Garron's eyes widened as something primal in the back of his brain screamed danger.
"Eh? I guess I'll be going now!" Garron practically bolted from the room, leaving his explanations unfinished.
Nox watched him flee with satisfaction. Let the man think twice before using him as a test subject again.
Now... what else are you hiding from me?
His gaze shifted to Maya, still unconscious but breathing steadily. When he'd carried her from the forest, he'd felt something hard pressed against his ribs through her torn dress. Something she'd been protecting even while dying.
Moving quietly, he knelt beside her bed and carefully lifted the edge of her blanket. There a leather satchel tucked beneath her pillow, partially hidden under the mattress.
Inside was a book. Heavy, bound in dark red leather that looked expensive. The cover read Crimson Bind: Ability Codex in silver lettering that seemed to shimmer in the dim light.
But there was something unusual about it. A small, intricate lock mechanism was built into the center of the cover, preventing it from being opened. The keyhole was shaped like a tiny crescent moon.
Nox turned the book over in his hands, feeling its weight. Whatever was inside was important enough for Maya to risk her life protecting it. Important enough to lock away from prying eyes.
What secrets are you hiding, little sister?
He placed the book back where he'd found it, but not before memorizing every detail of the lock. Eventually, he'd find a way to open it.
Everything here was connected, the orphanage that wasn't really an orphanage, the children trained like soldiers, Garron's dangerous tests, and now a locked book full of forbidden knowledge.
Nox settled back onto his own bed, staring at the ceiling as pieces of a larger puzzle began forming in his mind.
This place is more dangerous than I thought. But that also means it might be exactly what I need.
After all, weapons were forged in the hottest fires.
And he intended to become the sharpest blade of all.