After dinner, I ended up lying on my bed for hours, staring through the huge round window in the roof at the stars. Pale blue and purple lights drifted across the sky like a living aurora, curling and weaving above the thin scatter of clouds. Dark shapes glided past them—silent, half-hidden—while the stars flickered in shifting colours like a cosmic kaleidoscope.

  I was still a bit shaky from earlier. The convulsions had knocked me around, and whatever happened while I was out… it hadn’t been sleep. Even dead tired, with my head stuffed full of new information and that alien sky staring back at me, I couldn’t drift off.

  A scraping noise under the floorboards snapped me out of it.

  …What was that?

  I slid off the bed and crouched, listening. Nothing. Just stillness.

  Probably the house settling. Old places make strange noises when the air cools, at least, that’s what I told myself.

  My thoughts flicked back to the blood. I’d been so sure it was everywhere when I hit the floor. I checked the boards again, running my fingers along the gaps.

  Nothing. Polished clean. Not even a speck of dust.

  A rap of knuckles sounded on my door.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  “It’s me,” came Doyle’s voice.

  I got up and opened the door, and the short figure wandered in, the scent of chai drifting with him. This time he wore a plain brown bowler hat with a melted candle stuck to the crown, long since burnt out.

  “I thought you might need a little bit of help getting to sleep,” he said, holding a large mug in his hand.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “…Had a hunch.” He gave me a knowing smile.

  I bent down and took the mug from him. It was warm in my hands. I took a sip. “Delicious. Thanks.”

  “I also thought we could have a quick chat before tomorrow. Clear the air, if you will.”

  I nodded. There was so much I wanted to ask…

  “Now, where should we start…” he said.

  “I think I know where,” I said.

  He looked up, attentive, so I tried to keep my tone from sounding accusatory. “You, first.”

  He blinked. “Me?”

  “Well… I want to know about you. Why you’re so nice to me. Aren’t you scared of—” I gestured vaguely at myself. “—you know.”

  “Your predicament?” he said.

  “Well… yeah.”

  “Simply put, no. I’m not afraid. I’ve seen and dealt with far worse in my time.”

  I stared at him, thrown. He said it with such certainty it made me wonder what kind of trouble he’d faced in the past. He smiled at my reaction.

  “Let’s not get into dark topics tonight,” he said gently. “It’s your first night here. Just understand this: I won’t turn on you because of an affliction. And you can rest easy—my allegiance isn’t to the false nobles who’d harm people like you.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  He let out a soft chuckle. “I honestly thought your first question would be about your father…”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t prepared for that conversation. My family had always been a distant idea, something that drifted into my thoughts from time to time, bringing a brief sting of sadness before the curse shoved everything else out.

  It took me a moment to answer. “Not tonight. For now, I need to understand how people get stronger here. How they survive long enough to matter.”

  “Then blessings,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Alright,” he replied, slipping smoothly into explanation. “Then let’s establish where we’re starting. You know the concept, but not the structure.”

  “That’s fair,” I said.

  He settled himself, satisfied. “Some mortals are born with access to certain forms of power. Humans call them blessings. Other cultures use different terms. Druids, for example, refer to them as gifts. The source varies. Nature. Bloodlines. Long-term devotion. Occasionally, direct bestowal. Regardless of origin, blessings grant measurable advantages.”

  “And soul cards track those advantages,” I said.

  “Correct.” He nodded. “Now, the weakest of these are minor blessings. Small, natural talents people are born with that become amplified under the influence of this realm. A tailor might have nimble fingers, which translates into heightened dexterity for their craft here.”

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  “But they cap out,” I said.

  “Exactly,” he replied. “Skills can be refined through effort, but the blessing itself doesn’t grow. It remains a static external influence from the spiritual realm.”

  That much made sense. Power here wasn’t just about effort. It was about access.

  “Ah…”

  “Those with power look down on minor blessings as improvements for servants and little else…”

  My thoughts wandered to my fake soul card. Two minor blessings. No wonder the bureaucrat had reacted the way he did. Maybe there really was some tension between those with real power… and those they saw as servants.

  “True blessings,” he continued, “are on a whole different level. They grant their wielder abilities and strength not meant for ordinary mortals—elemental control, martial prowess, spiritual manipulation, and other forms of magic or enhancement. For example, our little blonde food-void has more than one alteration blessing, which lets her manipulate a few different elements.”

  “Does that mean she can cast fireballs?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. She can’t create elements, only manipulate what’s already there. And training with those blessings is incredibly taxing. The poor girl spent most of her life without the… fuel she needed to advance them properly.”

  “So that’s the food thing? She needs it to cast magic or something?”

  He nodded “She’s been with us a few months and has nearly eaten me out of house and home, but she’s come a long way.”

  I thought on his words. So, she’d lived most of her life barely getting by… no wonder she inhaled toast like it was a survival skill.

  “I’m guessing nobles who study magic have it easy?” I asked.

  “With every advantage,” he said. “Tutors, meals, free blessings handed out like toys. That’s why they don’t need nor even allowed, to enter the trials. Their place at whatever school or collective they choose is guaranteed from birth. And thank your lucky stars they changed those rules, or none of you would stand a chance.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “So… two types of blessings, then?”

  “Three, actually,” Doyle corrected. “And the last one doesn't change once it’s bestowed.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Rune magic,” he said, lowering his voice as if the walls might be listening, “a person can be empowered by a Divine Mark. Ancient runes. Power unlike anything else. Written directly on his skin.”

  I blinked. “What like a tattoo?”

  “Similar but a lot harder, rarer. Very expensive...”

  “And what kind of power are we talking about?”

  “Well,” Doyle said, choosing his words carefully, “the Regent Lord of New Avalon bears one. A single rune across his back.”

  “And that gives him… what, exactly?”

  Doyle gave me a flat look. “Jerald didn’t explain any of this, did he?” He muttered something under his breath before continuing. “Life,” Doyle said quietly. “Divine power tied to life itself. The mark grants him immense strength and well, he’s practically unkillable, if the stories are even half true.”

  My eyebrows rose.

  “And where did he get that?”

  “With great wealth comes great power…”

  “Of course…” I went quiet as the pieces settled. Three types of power. One so expensive it might as well be untouchable, one that barely counted, and the middle kind—the only one people like us could realistically gain and grow.

  “Now,” Doyle continued, lowering his voice slightly, “one last bit. And possibly the most important.”

  My ears perked.

  “These runes can also be bestowed upon objects.”

  I let that sink in.

  “That sounds…”

  “Chaotic,” Doyle finished for me. “Have you finished your tea?”

  I blinked at him. “Ah… yeah, I have.”

  “Flip it over.”

  I did, and there on the bottom was a faint rune, no bigger than my thumbnail.

  “And that’s a rune?”

  “Yes. A few of my mugs and a few knives carry minor runes—for warmth, keeping an edge, that sort of thing.”

  “That’s cool…” I couldn’t help but smile. “So does that mean I could, technically, get a whole bunch of runes on a sword to help me fight?”

  He laughed. “Getting interested in rune carving, are we?” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, many have tried to carve more than one rune onto an object, and every attempt ends the same… disaster. A single artifact can only hold one Rune. Force more into it, and the Runes clash for dominance. The object breaks.”

  “You talk like Runes are alive.”

  “Alive? No. But wilful… power with direction. They move like a water currents. Steady… until something tries to force another stream into it. Too many currents, and everything gets swept away.”

  “But we’re different, I take it? A Runes on the skin won’t… break us apart, I hope?”

  Doyle’s expression went dark. “Whatever you do… don’t go down that road.”

  I let out a breath, doing my best not to picture magic literally tearing someone apart. “I see why the others have been studying all this. Why couldn’t Jerald just hand me a book?”

  “That,” Doyle sighed, “is because books containing this knowledge usually carry tracking runes.”

  My stomach tightened.

  “Those in power guard knowledge above all else,” he added quietly. “So be careful.”

  It was far too much information at once. My head felt like it was spinning.

  “So,” he said, straightening a little, “let’s have a look at your blessings, then.”

  “Ah… about that.” I pulled out my fake card and held it up.

  “This card is…” he began, looking like he was trying very, very hard to be polite.

  I spared him the effort. “Fake.”

  A wave of relief washed over him. “I was about to say… if this truly were your fate, then I would’ve said there was no hope for you.”

  I fished out the real soul card the man in the tent gave me. It was still completely blank.

  “Should I?” I asked, suddenly unsure if activating it was a good idea.

  Doyle looked at the card and to me for quite some time before nodding.

  “What if I get something worse than…” I tapped the fake card.

  “Well,” he said gently, “if that comes to pass, then we deal with it. We’ll gather the resources, outfit you with a hundred Rune items if we must, whatever it takes to shield you long enough to rid you of your affliction.”

  “That… actually sounds promising,” I admitted.

  “And expensive… Now then,” he said, straightening, “let’s see what blessings you do have. But temper your expectations. Since you’re new to all this, I wouldn’t expect more than a single true blessing.”

  I nodded and held the blank soul card in my hand. My future, whatever shape it wanted to take, sat right there in my grip. I took a breath and spoke my name.

  Ash patterns seared across the surface instantly, forming the first lines I recognised from the bureaucrat’s copy. They didn’t stop. They climbed up the grain of the wood, burning hotter and hotter.

  “Too hot—” I hissed.

  Red embers rippled through the card like bleeding veins. I dropped it just in time.

  The card split midair with a sharp crack. It burned to a blackened curl before it even hit the floor. What little ash remained crumbled and vanished, leaving not a trace behind.

  I stared at Doyle, searching for any explanation.

  For the first time, true fear crossed his tiny face.

  But just as quickly, it was gone, buried under something far more solid.

  Determination settled over his features.

  “Sean,” he said quietly but firm, “we will cure this curse. I swear it.”

  I looked at him, full of more gratitude than I knew how to express, as he rose and moved toward the door.

  “I’m going to make a little trip tonight,” he continued. “I’ll try to find some rune-less books for your training… and maybe some answers. This curse of yours is unlike anything I’ve come across.” He rubbed his temple. “It’s certainly… unprecedented.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Try to get some rest,” he said. “Training begins tomorrow.”

  “Ah, yeah. Night.”

  He nodded once, then slipped out, closing the door behind him and leaving me in silence.