The night wind tore across the open plains as Eric staggered toward the towering gates of House Vikram. His clothes were torn, his breath ragged, and every step felt as though molten iron slithered beneath his skin. Although days had passed the duel still replayed in his mind again and again the clash, the desperation, the final strike. He saw Kael’s body drop. Saw the stillness. Saw the dark blood spreading across the ground.

  He had killed him.

  Or so he believed.

  Eric pressed a trembling hand to his right eye as another sharp pulse knifed through it. His vision blurred. The world doubled, then twisted before snapping back into focus. The pain had been his constant companion since the moment he awakened the eye—a searing burn that lanced through his skull every few minutes without warning.

  He reached the stone steps leading to the Vikram main hall and nearly collapsed. Two guards rushed to steady him, but Eric waved them off with a shaky breath.

  “I’m… fine,” he muttered, though his voice sounded hollow and far too weak.

  He stumbled inside.

  The wide chamber glowed with warm torchlight. Banners of crimson and black hung from the pillars, the insignia of Vikram—an open claw gripping a flame—looming over everything like a watchful god. Eric moved past servants and warriors, ignoring their startled stares. His limbs felt heavy, drained, as though the fight with Kael had carved something out of him that wasn’t returning anytime soon.

  His body still remembered the fight.

  And his body remembered losing—even if he had landed the final blow.

  Eric shut himself inside his room and locked the door behind him before slumping against it, sliding slowly to the floor. He pressed both hands against his temples. His right eye throbbed, then pulsed, then burned with an intensity that forced his jaw to lock.

  “Damn it… not again—”

  The pain erupted.

  White-hot, tearing, blinding.

  Eric gritted his teeth hard enough to draw blood. His fingers dug into his scalp. His breath hitched as he curled over himself, shaking violently. It felt as though something inside the eye wanted to rip its way free—wanted to swallow him whole.

  It lasted nearly a full minute.

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  When the pain finally dulled, leaving him panting and trembling, Eric pushed himself upright and leaned against the bed.

  “This… eye…” he whispered. “It’s killing me.”

  He stared at his reflection in the polished metal plate hanging on the wall. His right eye glowed faintly, threads of crimson and dark gold swirling beneath the iris like caged fire. It felt unnatural. Wrong. Each flare of power was followed by agony. He didn’t know if it was awakening… mutating… or breaking.

  He didn’t know if he would survive it.

  For the next few days, the pattern continued. Sharp bursts of pain. Sudden dizziness. Sleepless nights where he sat against the wall, gripping his skull in both hands as the eye seared him from the inside.

  He barely ate. Barely spoke to anyone.

  Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Kael falling again—over and over—until he wasn’t sure if the memory was real or just the hallucination of a mind drowning in agony.

  On the fourth morning, Eric stood before the courtyard of House Vikram, leaning heavily on a stone pillar. His knees trembled, but for the first time since the fight… the pain didn’t come.

  The eye was silent.

  Too silent.

  Eric exhaled shakily. “Finally… it stopped.”

  But peace didn’t bring relief. It brought dread.

  He felt weak—far weaker than he had ever felt in his life. His body had not recovered from the strain of the special right eye’s awakening. His muscles ached. His breath came shallow. Even lifting his arm felt like an effort.

  He remembered Kael’s strength.

  How much stronger he had become.

  And the bitter truth settled in his chest like a stone.

  “I’m not strong enough,” Eric whispered. “Not even close.”

  The silence of the courtyard swallowed his voice.

  A memory flickered in his mind—Alex’s voice, calm and confident, echoing from weeks ago:

  “If you ever want to learn fire more deeply… come to me. I’ll teach you.”

  Eric closed his eyes.

  Alex of Ardyn.

  The last of the three houses.

  Someone who had mastered fire learning in a way few ever had.

  At first, Eric had brushed the offer aside out of pride. But now… after what he had experienced… after how easily Kael had overwhelmed him…

  He needed strength.

  He needed training.

  He needed answers about the eye that was slowly tearing him apart.

  Eric inhaled deeply, forcing himself upright.

  “I’ll go to him.”

  He looked down at his hand. It trembled faintly. His power was unstable. His body weakened. But Alex… Alex could teach him control. Discipline. Techniques that House Vikram never focused on. Fire learning—the deeper, ancient form, not the combat style his house taught.

  More than that, Eric needed someone who could possibly explain what was happening to his right eye. Alex was knowledgeable, rumored to have studied dozens of ancient scrolls and elemental theories. If anyone knew about rare ocular abilities…

  It was him.

  Eric rubbed his eye gently. It didn’t hurt—but it felt wrong. Like something was sleeping inside it. Waiting. Watching.

  He shuddered.

  He couldn’t face the future like this.

  He needed strength. He needed understanding. He needed mastery.

  He needed help.

  Eric turned and walked back into his room. He grabbed a travel coat, strapped a blade to his back, and fastened the clasp bearing the Vikram emblem across his chest. His breath steadied. His steps firmed.

  As he finished packing, he froze for a moment, staring at the small mirror again.

  “…Kael,” he murmured quietly, almost breathlessly. “If you survived… if you’re still out there… I’ll get stronger. Stronger than you. Stronger than anyone. I swear it.”

  The silence of his room swallowed the words whole.

  He tightened his fists, ignoring the faint tremor.

  Tomorrow, he would leave House Vikram.

  Tomorrow, he would seek out Alex.

  Tomorrow, he would demand answers about the eye that nearly killed him—answers he desperately needed.

  But tonight…

  Tonight he would rest.

  He extinguished the candle on his desk, letting the room sink into darkness. The faint moonlight filtering through the window cast long shadows across the floor—shadows that reminded him uncomfortably of Kael.

  Eric clenched his jaw.

  “I won’t fall behind. Not again.”

  He lay down, eyes open, letting the moonlight settle over him.

  And in the stillness of the night, he made his decision absolute.

  Tomorrow, he would head toward the distant lands where the third great house of Wicelind stood.

  House Ardyn.

  The house of flames.

  The house of secrets.

  The house of Alex.

  Eric exhaled slowly.

  “I’ll go,” he whispered. “I’ll go to House Ardyn.”

  And with that thought anchoring him, determination replaced fear, and exhaustion finally pulled him into restless sleep.