CHAPTER 102: RETURN QUICKLY

Nyra blinked, her bright green eyes widening slightly. She hadn’t expected that question not from him. She’d known plenty of men who never cared enough to ask such a thing.

Did she like what she was doing?

It was a question she had often asked herself over the years, and one she had already answered long ago. "Yes. I like my books. I like this library." Her gaze met his. "Why do you ask?"

Kaedros shrugged. "I just think there aren’t many people who actually enjoy what they do."

"You’re right," Nyra admitted after a pause. "I always wanted a library of my own, and now I have one. It’s not the only thing I enjoy, but it’s the one I love the most."

"What else do you like?" he asked.

Her lips curved faintly. "War. Fighting. Blood. Leading my mercenary group." She gave a soft, wistful sigh. "Those were good times. Then I fought for the Sun and it only got better with every city we conquered."

"This... Sun. Is he your master?"

Nyra nodded. "Yes. He was."

"And where is he now? The master of Ruinlight?"

The ground beneath them shuddered faintly, as though the castle itself reacted to his words. Kaedros felt its presence, eyes that were both unfamiliar and strangely familiar but he didn’t flinch.

Nyra shook her head. "Let him explain it to you himself. Thalso. Only he has that right. He earned it long ago."

Kaedros accepted her answer with a simple nod. He already knew how to make Thalso talk, pass the candidate’s trials.

"Again, Kael," Nyra said, tilting her head, "what brings you here?"

"I want you to use your third eye on me."

Her brows rose. "Why?" She had assumed he wanted help with a spell not her bloodline’s ability. She studied him more closely, noticing the tension had returned to his posture.

"I want you to look beneath the illusion. See my dragon form..my real form."

Nyra’s fangs glinted. "You still haven’t told me why."

"I... can’t feel it," Kaedros admitted quietly. "The power it had, it’s gone."

"Ah. That." Her third eye flared open, glowing like a freshly cut emerald, her fur bristling slightly as she looked deep into him. "I see. So that’s it."

"What? What are you talking about?" His eyes narrowed as her middle eye closed again, her green gaze sharp.

"Your demon form is reacting to your core," Nyra said slowly. "Finally, it’s assimilating to it."

"But... I’d lose the human form then?" He hesitated, he didn’t know if it would return if he shed it.

"The illusion is strange," she admitted. "I think you could combine your powers without losing the illusion. You’d just have the same strength in both forms."

Kaedros nodded slowly. So that was the truth. Relief loosened his chest, years of training weren’t wasted after all.

They spoke a while longer before Thalso’s warning not to linger echoed in his mind. He bid Nyra farewell.

The Little wings people hissed at him as he passed through their domain. He answered with a rude gesture, which only made their hisses louder but Kaedros was smiling when the great door shut behind him.

He trained for the rest of the day, ending with the evening’s contest in Chef’s garden. Chef had decided they would now fight for their fruits, it was, he said, good for their training.

The rest of the week passed in rigorous practice, honing spells and techniques. Thalso gave them an unusual order: memorize the workings of every technique and spell in their Flow.

When asked why, he only shrugged. "You might be surprised what you discover when you understand exactly how your Flow functions. The only real difference between lower and higher-level techniques is how much essence or arcane they demand. And who knows when you’ll get more essence? Learn them now."

And so they did, learning abilities they couldn’t yet use, but already seeing how their current spells could complement the higher ones.

At the start of the new week, Thalso gathered them. His voice was calm, but his words carried weight.

"It’s time for you to seek the Dream prison. I’ve never set foot inside, and now that it’s twisted—filled with monsters—I can’t say how it will go. It will depend entirely on you. You’re all peak Pawn rank now. I’ve trained you for this."

He glanced over them. "Once you enter, we won’t be able to help you. That’s why I’ll send one inhabitant of the castle with you, weak enough for the castle to overlook."

They nodded in thanks.

The sound of metal on stone echoed as someone entered, a tall figure with shoulder-length hair, metallic skin gleaming under the lights. His eyes swept the room.

"So this is the famous training room! Look at all those weapons! Wow! So tall I can’t even see the—" He froze mid-sentence as his gaze met Thalso’s and the instructors’. His grin faltered. "Uh... hi, everyone."

"Welcome, Gold," Thalso said flatly. His smooth, featureless helmet revealed nothing, but they could tell by his voice that he was frowning. "You took your time."

Gold bowed. "I only wanted to look my best." He was now dressed in clean white from head to toe, no longer half-naked.

Chef snorted. "Cheeky boy. You’re not going to lounge around or play games, you’re going to fight, and if you’re lucky, you’ll come back alive." She paused. "If you can."

The group shifted uneasily at her words, but Taria jabbed a finger toward Gold. "Why’s he coming with us?"

Thalso cleared his throat and looked at Gold. "He’ll lend you an extra hand in the Dream Prison. You should be glad I’m sending anyone at all. And for the record, he’s first ranks, just like you."

Gold puffed up at that, smirking at Taria, who rolled her eyes. She was clad in the black training robe, her spear gleaming on her back. A bag of food and water hung from her left shoulder.

Rauk’s voiced no objection, simply nodding. His massive sword hung bare across his back, Thalso never gave them scabbards, and they’d never asked. It was faster that way. His own pack was slung over one shoulder.

Kaedros had even less reason to object, any extra hand was welcome if it meant finding out more about his Bloodline Trait. Like Gold, he carried no visible weapon, only a pack.

"All right," Thalso said, voice as flat and heavy as a hammer. "Don’t die."

Without further ceremony, he led them out, leaving Chef and Nyra behind.

They followed him into the great hall, toward a set of doors near the throne. He stopped before a massive metal gate,rusted, dull brown, its surface pitted with age.

He simply pointed. If they’d been expecting a show of magic or power, they were disappointed. The door only groaned, shuddered, and sank into the floor, shedding flakes of rust and dust.

Beyond it lay an inky blackness, thick, liquid-like, its surface rippling faintly.

Kaedros stared. He had expected another stone chamber like those elsewhere in the Castle. Instead, it was a portal. Not unlike the one that had brought them here—but this one looked... stable.

"Is the prison not in the Castle?" Taria asked, her voice tight. The memory of the last portal was still too fresh.

"It’s in here," Thalso said with a shrug. "This is just the Castle’s way of keeping us out." Then he bid them farewell and ordered them to return quickly, before vanishing.