Back home, Talren lounged by the hearth, boots off, acting like nothing happened. Veyra cooked in silence, her back rigid.
Kaelith watched, the hunger simmering. He could hear Talren's pulse—steady, smug. His fangs itched.
Not yet, he told himself. But one day…
Magic was his now, a spark to fan. Seraphine saw something in him—potential, maybe more.
He'd use it. To rise above Talren's flaws, above Kazu's shame.
The hunger growled, but he ignored it, staring into the fire. Tomorrow, he'd burn brighter.
Kaelith stood in the field, the sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the grass. His small hands trembled as he summoned a flame, shaping it into a serpent that coiled in the air. The heat prickled his skin, a thrill racing through him.
Seraphine leaned against a tree, arms crossed, her sharp eyes glinting. "Better," she said, voice crisp. "But you're still holding back."
He let the flame flicker out, chest heaving. "I'm not."
"You are." She stepped forward, robes whispering against the ground. "Magic's more than focus—it's feeling. What's stopping you?"
Kaelith's jaw clenched. The hunger. It gnawed at him, a shadow he couldn't shake. The fear of losing control—of becoming what he'd been in his past life, Kazu the lecherous shut-in—kept him leashed. But he couldn't admit that.
"Fine," he muttered, raising his hands. Ignis. The flame roared back, larger, twisting into a dragon's snarling maw. It held for a heartbeat, then burst into embers.
Seraphine smirked. "There it is. That's the spark I saw."
He grinned, fangs peeking out. "Told you I could do it."
She knelt, leveling her gaze with his. "You've got talent, Kaelith. Raw, wild talent. But talent alone won't get you far. You need a path."
"Path?" he asked, tilting his head.
She stood, sweeping an arm toward the horizon. "This village—Talsara—it's a speck. Out there's the Saelith Kingdom. Cities like Valtheris, academies, guilds. They rank mages and adventurers—Novice, Adept, Master, all the way to Archmage or Sword Saint. You want to matter? You climb that ladder."
His eyes widened. Rankings. Like the RPGs he'd wasted his old life on. "How do I start?"
"Learn the basics first," she said. "Then you test into a guild—prove your strength. Most don't try till they're older—ten, twelve. You're what, five?"
"Six," he corrected, puffing out his chest.
She chuckled, a warm, crackling sound. "Still young. But with your pace… maybe you could."
"I will," he said, voice firm.
"Convince your parents first," she teased, turning to leave. "Tomorrow, we work on control. Don't slack."
He watched her go, her figure swaying in the dusk. A flush crept up his neck—Kazu's old instincts stirring. She's your teacher, idiot, he scolded himself, shaking it off.
Home was a storm waiting to break. Veyra chopped carrots with fierce, staccato strokes, her lips a tight line. Talren sprawled by the hearth, boots off, a scroll dangling from his hand like he cared about it.
Kaelith slipped in, quiet as a shadow, but Veyra's gaze pinned him. "Training go well?"
"Yeah," he said, hopping onto a chair. "Seraphine says I'm a natural."
Talren looked up, grinning wide. "That's my boy! You'll be a mage yet—make us proud."
Veyra's knife stilled. "And then what? You'll run off to some guild, leave us behind?"
Kaelith blinked, caught off guard. "I… maybe. Not soon."
Her face softened, but worry lingered in her eyes. "You're still my little one, Kaelith. There's time."
Talren snorted, stretching. "Let him dream, Veyra. The world's not so bad."
Her glare could've cut stone. "You'd know all about the world, wouldn't you?"
Talren's grin faltered. He stood, brushing off his pants. "I'll check the goats."
The door banged shut. Veyra's knife hit the table with a clatter, her shoulders slumping.
Kaelith watched, a knot tightening in his chest. He's at it again. The hunger stirred, hot and sharp. He bit his lip, tasting copper.
"Mom," he said, voice small. "You okay?"
She turned, pasting on a smile. "I'm fine, sweetling. Just tired."
He nodded, but the lie sat heavy. I'll fix this, he swore silently. Somehow.
Night fell, thick and quiet. Talren didn't return—probably at the tavern, or tangled in someone else's sheets. Veyra's muffled sobs seeped through the walls, piercing Kaelith's sharp ears.
He lay awake, fists clenched. Bastard. He could hear Talren's heartbeat across the village—steady, smug, alive. His fangs throbbed, the hunger clawing.
Not yet, he told himself. But soon…
He needed air. Slipping from bed, he padded to the window. The twin moons—one silver, one violet—bathed the fields in eerie light. The woods called, a dark promise.
He crept outside, barefoot, silent. The village slept, save for the wind and the distant bleat of a goat. He reached his secret clearing, the old log mossy and waiting.
He sat, pulling a pebble from his pocket. Levitate. It floated, steady now, no trembling. He smirked, setting it down.
Then fire. Ignis. A flame sparked, twisting into a spiral, then a wolf, then a phoenix. Each shape held longer, fiercer, fueled by something deep.
But the hunger swelled with it, a beast pacing inside. He snuffed the flame, breathing hard. I need more.
A rustle snapped his head up. A rabbit hopped into the clearing, nose twitching, eyes glinting in the moonlight.
Its pulse thrummed in his ears—fast, fragile, alive. His mouth watered.
Just a taste, he thought, stepping closer. The rabbit froze, staring.
He crouched, hand out. It sniffed, unafraid, drawn by some instinct.
In a flash, he seized it. It squeaked, kicking, but his grip was steel.
He lifted it, fangs bared. The heartbeat pounded, a siren's call.
He bit.
Blood hit his tongue—warm, sweet, electric. Power surged, flooding his veins, his hunger purring. The rabbit stilled, its life draining into him.