He eventually awoke, though not entirely conscious. The same presence he’d felt before drifting off lingered at the edge of his senses—there, then gone again. He tried to open his eyes, to move his hands, his legs, even just his fingers, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. Every muscle ached.

  “Don’t force it for now. Relax. Everything will be known little by little,” a voice said. She rose from the chair and stepped closer to his bedside.

  It happened again. He couldn’t sense her at all. Then, suddenly, she was there—sharp, like a dagger drawn, as if his body were ready to fight even while resting. Like a magic trick, she reappeared. His senses caught her presence once more.

  ''Second time,'he thought, puzzled. ''Second time this has happened. How many more will there be?''

  “Azeya—that’s my name. I didn’t forget your first condition,” she said, leaning toward him.

  It took him three more days to finally force his eyes open. Once he did, recovery came fast—by the end of that same day, he was on his feet.

  Even when half-conscious, his senses stayed sharp. He always knew when someone passed near his room and whether they were familiar or not. And yet, sometimes, there was nothing—no presence at all. During those times, he felt Leon and Azeya most clearly. Azeya especially. She would visit often, vanishing and reappearing as if mocking him with her tricks. Each time, his hand twitched and the dagger appeared.

  One morning, a knock came at his door. A servant’s voice followed.

  “Mr. Leon is calling for you,” she said.

  He rose and followed her. With each turn through the mansion’s corridors, something tugged at him. A memory. The rings. He stopped mid-step.

  “I read about them as a child,” he thought. His father’s answer came back to him—sharp, deliberate. The memory brought a faint smile. That’s it, isn’t it?

  “Can we continue, sir?” the servant asked softly.

  He nodded and moved on.

  Finally, they arrived.

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  “Sir, here’s the Young Master as you requested,” the servant announced.

  “Thank you,” Leon said, dismissing her. He gestured to the table. “Take a seat. Breakfast is ready.”

  Leon grabbed a cup of wine. “I like drinking in the morning—it’s routine. By the way, what’s your name?” His gaze lingered on the boy.

  “Ryke. That’s all. Nothing less, nothing more.”

  “Nice. Suits you.” Leon cut into his food with a knife and fork. “Eat, Ryke. We’ve got some catching up to do after this.”

  Ryke obeyed. His eyes, however, kept drifting toward the rings, though he tried not to make it obvious. He was drained, and the table before him overflowed with food—pies he knew, dishes he didn’t.

  “I’m done,” Ryke said finally, lifting a cup of juice.

  “Let’s go then.” Leon stood, leading him out of the mansion.

  For a seventeen-year-old, Ryke had good height, though still shorter than Leon. He wasn’t as muscular, but his frame held strength. His short brown hair, inherited from his mother, matched his light complexion, while the rest of his features belonged to his father.

  They stepped into the open land on the far side of the mansion.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Leon said, his boots crunching on the earth. “Plenty of space. Needed, really. The walls have ears.”

  Ryke drew closer. “Let’s begin.”

  “Where to start?” Leon murmured, turning toward the sky. “Right here.”

  “This world… what do you think of it?” Leon asked suddenly. “I think it’s crazy—a place where power is everything. Not that I’d change it. Harsh truths keep us alive.” His voice was calm but edged. “It has a hierarchy. Spirits at the top—they grant abilities. Then come those of the Realms, Wonders, and the ones in between. At the bottom are the commoners, whose powers are… ordinary.”

  He glanced at Ryke. “Today, I’ll teach you a little history. You know some of it already. Have you ever wondered where elves, demi-humans, and orga's came from? They make up most of the commoners, but each kingdom treats them differently.”

  He didn’t wait for Ryke to respond. “Tell me—have you ever seen a gate?”

  “No. Isn’t it obvious? Gates aren’t allowed to be open,” Ryke answered defensively.

  “Hey, no need to bite back,” Leon said with a half-smile. “Simple questions help me keep focus. Now, some recent history… fifteen, maybe twenty years back—I don’t recall the exact year—things changed. The goal was the same as always: gain power, wealth, conquest. But the magicians overreached. Too much power, and they tore open a mouth into another dimension… universe… or planet. Whatever you call it.”

  He studied Ryke’s calm face. “You don’t look surprised.”

  “Then?” Ryke prompted.

  “War. What else? The best fighters went through—Magicians , Wonders, others. Still, most of them were slaughtered. What do you think, Ryke? Was it planned?” Leon didn’t pause for an answer. “Regardless, what they found was vast—a world with little sunlight, air too heavy to breathe until a spell corrected it. The creatures there had no physical form. One man strong enough to see them clearly swore their true shapes were… different. By halfway, most of the fighters were dead. Still more of those things arrived.

  “Four years later, they tried again. Results were worse. That’s enough for today.”

  Leon’s tone shifted. “You have questions, but the rest can wait. It’s time to train.”

  He stepped back, measuring the distance.

  Ryke tensed.

  Leon leapt lightly, landing with grace. A sphere of fire bloomed in his hand.

  Ryke darted forward, zigzagging, never in a straight line. Leon threw one ball, then two more. Fire scorched the air.

  Ryke pushed harder, closing the distance, his senses fixed on Leon’s movements.

  Leon played along—sometimes letting Ryke keep up, sometimes pushing ahead. He shifted between attack and defense, his power restrained yet undeniable.

  When Leon leaped back, Ryke advanced, anticipating a fireball, already moving.

  Then Leon decided to end it. He gathered more power into the fireball. Ryke felt it instantly—the weight, the danger. He leapt back, but too late.

  Leon blurred forward, impossibly fast.

  “Too slow,” Ryke realized as pain exploded through his body. His dagger stretched, warping, becoming something more—like a short sword in his hand.

  “One punch… no, four. The others were too fast.” His body screamed, overwhelmed with pain it had never known.

  And then—through the haze—he thought he heard Leon’s voice. Praise, maybe.

  Then everything went dark.