Pain had texture.
It crawled beneath my skin like barbed wire, burning and throbbing with every breath. My body felt broken—ribs cracked, shoulder dislocated, leg mangled. But worse than the pain was the stillness. The silence that came after the screams.
The silence of the dead.
I could still hear them, though. My mother's voice calling my name. My father's last cry as he lunged to shield me from the collapsing roof. The squelch of flesh beneath claws. The gurgle of a neighbor's final breath.
And now… nothing.
Except her.
A whisper against the storm. She was a blur of red and silver when she knelt before me, her voice like snowfall, delicate but unyielding. She spoke to me like I was still human. Like I hadn't died with the rest of them.
But she was wrong.
I had died.
Whatever was left now was something else. Something colder. Sharper. Waiting.
I stared at her, the princess who had claimed me. I should've hated her—her polished hands, her spotless cloak, her untouched skin. The Reign had known. They let it happen. I had no proof, but I didn't need it. That commander—Caelis—reeked of guilt masked as righteousness.
Still, she stopped him.
She stood between me and death like it meant nothing to her.
Why?
Why would someone like her save someone like me?
I didn't have answers. Only questions and pain. And something deeper.
A hunger.
Not for food or water. For justice. For vengeance. For purpose.
They chained me because they feared I was dungeon-touched. Maybe I was. Maybe some piece of that surge clawed into me when I stabbed out the eye of the boss goblin and watched it fall, watched its kin scatter like shadows before the sun.
I should've died then.
Part of me wishes I had.
It would have spared me that cruelty.
But I'm still here.
And if I'm still here, then there's a reason.
--
They moved me to a cart—a caged, wheeled thing made for transporting prisoners. I didn't fight them. I couldn't. Not yet.
Alisanne rode ahead, her voice occasionally drifting back, speaking to her maid, to her guards, to the air. She never looked back at me, not once. But I felt her attention like a tether. She hadn't let them patch me up, not fully—just enough to stop the bleeding, keep me breathing. I suppose she didn't want to risk dulling my edge.
Smart.
She understood more than I expected.
I watched the trees blur past. The charred fields. The broken markers that once led home. All gone. All burned. There were no tears left to cry.
Only fire.
--
That night, I dreamed.
I stood at the Ridge Wall again. Blood on my hands. Goblins shrieking. My father's voice—"Stay behind me, Reivo!" And then—crunch. Bone. Wood. Screams.
Then silence.
Then her voice.
"You've lost everything. But I won't let them take what's left of you."
But what was left of me?
I didn't know.
When I woke, the chains were still cold around my wrists.
And her maid—Meria, I think—stood at the bars with a bowl of broth. She didn't speak. Just set it down and left.
I stared at it.
Did they really think I'd die from starvation before they figured out what to do with me?
But then her voice came again—low, steady, from somewhere nearby.
"You should eat. The body cannot fight without fuel."
I didn't respond.
"You don't have to trust me," she continued. "But I kept my promise."
Slowly, I sat up, arms screaming with the movement. I picked up the bowl, sipped. It was bland, lukewarm, but… real.
She watched me from just outside the bars, arms crossed. No guards. No fear in her posture.
"Why?" I asked. "Why me?"
Her expression didn't change. "Because you didn't break."
I wanted to laugh. Or scream.
"You think I'm strong?" I muttered. "You didn't see me crawl out from a pile of corpses? You don't even know if I'm an Awakened. "
Her gaze didn't waver. "You're right. I don't know. Not yet."
I stared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the suspicion. The judgment. But she just stood there, as calm and deliberate as if we were discussing weather patterns.
"You don't care," I said, voice low. "If I'm Awakened. If I'm cursed. If I'm half-mad from dungeon essence."
"I care," she replied. "But not in the way you think."
"Then how?"
"I care if you still choose." She stepped closer to the bars. "Madness steals choice. Corruption rots it. But if you're still in control—even a little—then you're still worth saving. Still worth using."
There it was. The truth behind her words. Not kindness. Not mercy.
Utility.
I almost smiled.
"So I'm not a person to you. Just a sharp piece of iron."
Her mouth tightened. "You think I'm being cruel. But cruel would've been letting Caelis burn you alive. I'm offering you a path forward. You don't have to take it. But don't pretend I saved you just to coddle you."
I stood, legs trembling, shoulders protesting every movement. The chains clinked softly. I took two slow steps toward the bars.
"Then say it plainly," I said. "Tell me what I am to you."
She met my gaze, unflinching. "A survivor. A weapon. A storm that hasn't chosen where to strike yet."
We stood there in silence.
"Better," I said finally.
She gave a faint nod. "I won't lie to you, Reivo. Not about this."
"Good." I stepped back, letting my body slide down until I sat once more. "Because if you do… I'll know."
She turned then, her cloak brushing over the dirt. "We'll reach the outpost by dawn. You'll be examined. Cleaned. Fed. Then we see what the world left inside you."
"You think there's something?" I asked quietly.
She didn't stop walking. Just raised her hand as she moved away.
"I know there is," she said.
And then she was gone.
Left with the night and my thoughts.
And for the first time since the Ridge Wall fell, I didn't feel like I was waiting to die.
I felt like I was being forged.