Akilliz pushed through the library doors, the satchel heavy in his pocket despite its magical emptiness. His mother's journal was in there. Answers. Warnings. Truth.

  He scanned the reading room. Afternoon light streamed through tall windows, illuminating students bent over books at long tables. The soft scratch of quills. The whisper of turned pages. And there, near the back corner, Kael sat at their table.

  Lirien was with him. She was crying.

  Not quiet tears. Real crying. Her face buried in Kael's shoulder, his arm around her, murmuring something Akilliz couldn't hear from this distance.

  Something twisted in Akilliz's chest. Sharp. Unexpected. Not quite pain, but close. Jealousy.

  The realization surprised him. He hadn't felt anything clearly in ages, but this broke through. Raw and immediate. She was his friend. His... whatever she was. And there she was, seeking comfort from Kael instead. The thought was selfish. He knew it intellectually. She was clearly in distress. Real distress. He should feel concern. Empathy. The urge to help. But all he could feel was that sharp twist of anger seeing Kael's arm wrapped around his-

  He approached slowly. Neither of them noticed him at first.

  "Lirien?" His voice came out flat.

  She looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, silver irises swimming with tears. She'd been crying for a while. Her face was blotchy, her nose running. Nothing like the composed healer he knew.

  "Akilliz." Kael's voice was cold. Protective. His arm tightened around Lirien's shoulders.

  "What's wrong?" Akilliz sat across from them without being invited. Set his bag down. Tried to arrange his features into concern.

  Lirien pulled away from Kael, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "My aunt. She... she just died."

  "Oh..." He should say more. He should ask or try to hold her or... Comfort her. Something human, but he just couldn't quite figure it out. He understood her pain, he understood that loss made you feel bad, but he couldn't make himself feel any more…human. "I'm so sorry…"

  The words came out clinically, like reading from a script he'd memorized but didn't understand.

  "They're saying it was murder." Her voice broke on the word. "Poison. Someone poisoned her."

  "That's terrible," he said. Knowing it was inadequate.

  Lirien's hands twisted in her lap. "I wasn't there. I was supposed to pick up at the Sanitarium this afternoon, but I was here…Helping you." She looked at him, and there was something accusatory in her gaze. "If I'd been there, if I'd been doing my job instead of sneaking into Zolam's tower, maybe I could have helped her. Maybe I could have—"

  "You couldn't have known," Kael said quietly. Still watching Akilliz. Still cold.

  "She's right though." Lirien stood abruptly. Grabbed her bag. "I made a choice. I chose to help you," she gestured at Akilliz, "steal from an Archon instead of being where I was supposed to be. Where I was needed."

  "Lirien—"

  "I need to go. I need to... I can't be here right now." She was already moving. Already leaving. "I'm sorry. I just—"

  And she was gone. Rushing between the shelves toward the exit. A few students looked up at the commotion, then returned to their books.

  Akilliz sat there. Tried to process what had just happened. Tried to feel the appropriate response. Guilt? She'd been helping him when her aunt died. Sympathy? She was clearly in pain. Concern? She was breaking down. But all he could access was that lingering jealousy. That she'd sought comfort from Kael. That Kael had been the one holding her. That somewhere along the way, he'd become the person they helped despite their better judgment, rather than the person they turned to when things went wrong.

  Kael was staring at him. Green eyes sharp. Assessing.

  "What?" Akilliz asked.

  "You didn't ask if she was alright."

  "She's clearly not alright."

  "You didn't offer to help."

  "What could I do?"

  Kael's jaw worked. "You could have..." He stopped. Shook his head. "Never mind. I don't even know how to tell you to be human, you're the human. "

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's like you can't feel anything." Kael said it quietly. Matter-of-fact. Like diagnosing an illness. "You just watched her fall apart and you looked... inconvenienced, or annoyed."

  The observation struck deeper than it should have. Mostly because it was true.

  "I'm tired," Akilliz lied. "The potion crash—"

  "Right. The potion." Kael didn't sound like he believed it. But he let it drop. "Did you get what you needed? From the archives?"

  Akilliz pulled the satchel from his pocket. Set it on the table. "Yes. Thank you. For helping."

  "Don't thank me. Thank that crying girl who just ran away. She's the one who risked the most." Kael picked up the satchel. Examined it. "This thing really is remarkable. Zolam's work is..." He paused. "Did you find it? Your mother's journal?"

  "Yes."

  "Can I see it?"

  Something defensive rose in Akilliz's chest. Protective. "Why?"

  "Because your mother was brilliant. Because if there are more spells in there like the binding one I've been practicing, I want to learn them." Kael leaned forward. "And because I want to know if there's anything in there that explains what's happening to you."

  "Nothing's happening to me."

  "Akilliz." Kael's voice was patient. The way you'd talk to a child. Or someone mentally unwell. "You just showed zero reaction to your friend, your date tomorrow night, breaking down over her dead aunt. You performed sympathy like you were reading recipes. Something is off with you."

  Akilliz pulled his bag closer. Protective. The journal was his. His mother's words for him. Not for Kael. Not for anyone else. He was lucky he pulled it out of the satchel before Kael saw it, they didn't deserve to see her writing. Her secrets.

  "I'll read it first," he said. "See what's in there. If there are spells worth learning, I'll share them."

  "While you're at it, you really should get a wand," Kael said. Changing tactics. "You know the same three spells I do. Maybe you'll get lucky and be a natural talent, who knows what else she's got inside that book."

  "I know. I know."

  "So why haven't you gotten one yet?"

  "I've been busy."

  "Busy nearly dying from acceleration potions. Busy stealing from the glass beard himself. Busy running off everyone who cares about you." Kael's voice had an edge now. "When are you going to be busy taking care of yourself?"

  Akilliz felt the familiar numbness rising. The protective wall that kept everything at a distance. The urge to tell Kael to keep his hands off Lirien, to leave his mothers book alone. "I'll get a wand. Soon. I promise."

  "Right." Kael stood. Picked up the sleeping book that had been sitting beside him on the table. The leather-bound tome with silver clasps. "Well, this thing still won't open. I've tried everything I can think of."

  "Maybe it needs to be woken up," Akilliz suggested.

  "Very helpful." But Kael's tone was lighter. Almost fond despite everything. "I'll keep trying. Some kind of weird magic, probably. Or a trigger phrase I haven't found yet."

  He hesitated. Looked at Akilliz like he was deciding something. Finally sighed.

  "Look. I know I can't stop you from doing whatever you're going to do. But please..." His voice dropped. Sincere. Worried. "Please be careful. With the journal. With whatever you're researching. With the Dragon's Breath plant, with Lirien."

  "I'm always careful."

  "No, you're not. You're reckless and stubborn and convinced you can handle things way beyond your experience level." Kael gripped the sleeping book tighter. "But you're also my friend. And I don't want to watch you destroy yourself."

  "I'm not—"

  "You are." Simple. Certain. "I just hope you figure that out before it's too late."

  Kael left. Walked away through the shelves without looking back. Leaving Akilliz alone at the table. Surrounded by students who had no idea what he carried. What he was. What he was becoming.

  He pulled out Nicodemo's tome. Set it on the table. Flipped it open to a random page. Illustrations of the plant stared back at him. Detailed anatomical drawings. Petals like frozen flames. Stems that glowed red-hot even in the sketches.

  He turned pages. Found the section on natural habitat.

  Dragon's Breath (Ignis Draconem) grows exclusively in regions where volcanic heat meets frigid mountain air. The plant requires both extremes to survive: intense heat to fuel its internal combustion, and extreme cold to prevent premature ignition.

  In Luminael, the only known natural growth occurs on Frosthelm Mountain, approximately fifteen miles north of the city. The plant clusters near hot springs and natural lava flows on the mountain's southern face, where geothermal vents provide consistent heat despite the altitude.

  He kept reading. Absorbed the details. The plant's lifecycle. Its properties. The careful timing required for harvest.

  HARVESTING WARNING: Dragon's Breath must be harvested at dawn, when morning frost suppresses the plant's natural combustion. Any attempt to harvest during warmer hours will result in spontaneous ignition. The resulting fireball can reach temperatures exceeding 2000 degrees, with a blast radius of approximately 30 feet.

  Harvester mortality rate: 73%

  Recommended experience level: Master Alchemist with specialized training in pyrosian flora.

  Seventy-three percent. Nearly three out of four harvesters died attempting it. He should feel intimidated. Cautious. Maybe reconsider, as Kael had suggested. Instead, he felt... fascinated. Challenged. The same stubborn pride that had driven him to make the acceleration potion despite the risks. That had driven him to survive the Mistwood when he should have died. If only he had that essence next time…

  But no, he could do this. He had his mother's gift. Her knowledge. Her journal with more secrets than anyone realized. He could harvest Dragon's Breath where others failed. He had to. For the Festival. For his offering. For proving to everyone, to Thalindra, to the council, to every elf who looked at him like he didn't belong, that he was worthy. That he was more. He could secure a blessing from Aurelia herself, just think of what a year's good luck might do for him.

  Footsteps approached. Heavy. Measured. Military cadence. Akilliz looked up.

  A guard in silver armor stood beside his table. Not Cereth this time. Someone else. Older. More decorated.

  "Akilliz Ashendale?"

  His stomach dropped. "Yes?"

  "You're to come with me. The High Judiciar requests your presence immediately."

  Ah shit.

  The walk to Thalindra's chambers felt longer than it should. The guard didn't speak. Didn't answer when Akilliz asked what this was about. Just marched through corridors with that steady military pace that said questioning was pointless.

  They passed the administrative wing. Climbed stairs to the upper levels where faculty and council members had their private quarters. The guard stopped before her familiar door. Knocked twice.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "Enter."

  Thalindra's voice. But different than usual. No warmth. No gentle authority. Just cold command.

  The guard opened the door with his gauntlet. Gestured for Akilliz to enter. Didn't follow. The door closed behind him with a heavy thud.

  Thalindra stood beside her desk, still in full armor. Helmet on. The motes flying about the room had taken on a warmer hue, floating in the back as if they were waiting for a storm. The air felt wrong. Tense. Like the moment before a dam breaks.

  "High Judiciar," Akilliz said. Kept his voice respectful. Tried to keep the anxiety from showing. "You wanted to see me?"

  "Sit."

  He sat in the chair facing her desk. She remained standing. Looming. The helmet's empty gaze fixed on him. Silence stretched. Long enough to be uncomfortable. Long enough to be deliberate.

  Finally: "Tell me about your recent lessons with Master Sylvara."

  "My lessons?"

  "What have you been studying? Specifically."

  Akilliz's mind raced. Why was she asking about lessons? What did Sylvara teach that would concern the High Judiciar?

  "Neutralizing agents," he said carefully. "How to identify and counteract common poisons."

  "And did you practice? Create any for personal use?"

  "No. We only did demonstrations, neutralized shortly after. Sylvara mixed most of the samples herself."

  The helmet tilted slightly. Studying him. "You're certain? You didn't take any vials to your room? Experiment on your own?"

  "No, High Judiciar. I wouldn't... why are you asking about this?"

  She didn't answer. Instead, she moved to her desk. Opened a drawer. Pulled something out. A bottle. Small. Glass. Vine etched along the sides.

  His bottle. One of the three his mother had given him for the journey to Luminael. He'd used them for alchemy practice. Left them in Sylvara's workshop sometimes when he needed containers.

  Thalindra set it on the desk between them. There was dark residue at the bottom. Dried. Crusted.

  "Do you recognize this?"

  His throat went dry. "Yes. It's mine. My mother gave it to me."

  "And what was inside it?"

  "Water, usually. Sometimes I used them for alchemy. Simple potions or Vael'Tharis, it holds together longer in there.."

  "Not poison?"

  The word hit like a physical blow. "What? No. I would never—"

  "This bottle was found at the scene of a murder." Her voice was flat. Clinical. "It contained traces of nightshade extract. Concentrated. Lethal dosage."

  The room tilted. Murder. Poison. His bottle.

  "I didn't..." The words stuck in his throat. "I didn't make that. I wouldn't."

  "Then explain how your bottle ended up containing the poison that killed an innocent woman."

  Lirien's aunt. The connection slammed into him with sudden clarity. Lirien's aunt died from poison. His bottle contained poison. Someone had used his bottle to kill Lirien's aunt.

  "I don't know." His voice came out strangled. Desperate. "I left my bottles in the workshop sometimes. Anyone could have taken one. I didn't... High Judiciar, you have to believe me, I would never—"

  "Speak for yourself." The command cut through his panic. Sharp. Absolute. "Tell me everything. Every detail. Leave nothing out."

  So he did. Words tumbling over each other. Frantic and disorganized but truthful. He told her about using the bottles for practice. About leaving them in Sylvara's workshop. About the lessons on poisons and antidotes. About Sylvara's demonstrations with nightshade extract. About how he had no idea his bottle had been taken. No idea it had been used for murder. No idea until this moment that anyone had died.

  She listened without interruption. That faceless helmet giving nothing away. When he finished, silence fell again. Heavy. Suffocating.

  Then, slowly, Thalindra reached up and removed her helmet.

  Her face was as beautiful as always. Ageless. Perfect features that made mortals forget how to breathe. Her silver hair tinged with light blue streaks he couldn't explain. But her expression was tired. Weary in a way he'd never seen before. She set the helmet on the desk beside the bottle. Sighed deeply.

  "I see your core," she said quietly. "Your essence itself. The mark on your soul shows me what lies within." Her eyes met his. "You do not lie. And a great burden has been lifted from me."

  Relief hit him like a wave. She believed him. She knew he was telling the truth.

  "However." Her voice hardened slightly. "Someone stole your bottle. Someone used it to murder an innocent woman. This speaks to carelessness, Akilliz. You must account for your possessions more clearly."

  She picked up the bottle. Held it between them. "Dispose of this. Thoroughly. It's evidence, but I have what I need from it."

  "Yes, High Judiciar."

  She set it down. Turned to the window. Looked out over the city. "There are disturbing patterns emerging. Timing that troubles me."

  "High Judiciar?"

  "Sylvara teaches you about poisons. Within days, someone dies of poison. Using materials readily available in her workshop. Using your bottle that you left unattended in her care."

  Akilliz's stomach turned. "You think Sylvara—"

  "I think nothing yet." Thalindra's voice was measured. Careful. "I observe. I note patterns. But I have no evidence sufficient for arrest. The key you brought me..." She gestured to where Sylvara's silver key lay beside her helmet. "Yes, it's forged. Masterfully done, but forged nonetheless. This only tells me Sylvara has accessed restricted archives without authorization. But it doesn't tell me why. Or what she's searching for."

  "What should I do?"

  "Be watchful. Report anything suspicious directly to me." She turned back to face him. "And understand, if I act now, if I arrest her on the evidence I have, we may never discover her true purpose. Better to let her believe she's undetected. Let her plan unfold until we can see its shape clearly."

  She picked up the key. Held it out to him. "Return this to her. Act as though nothing is amiss. Keep your eyes open."

  Akilliz took the key. It felt heavier than before. Weighted with implication. With responsibility.

  Thalindra studied his face. Her expression shifted to something almost sympathetic. "The mark on your soul," she said softly. "The pact you made with that demon. It grows like a crack within the earth. Spreading. Deepening."

  His left hand twitched. The gray skin hidden beneath his glove felt cold.

  "I know," he whispered.

  "It's getting worse. And if the mark spreads to your face, if you begin to resemble a dark elf in appearance, you will be expelled for your own safety. The council will demand it."

  Expelled. The word hit like a punch. After everything he'd sacrificed. Everything he'd endured. To be thrown out because of a mark he couldn't control.

  "How long?" His voice was rough. "How long do I have?"

  "That I do not yet know. Weeks, perhaps. Maybe less if the corruption accelerates." Her expression softened further. "Make the most of your time here, Akilliz. Study what you can. Learn what thou needest. I will do my best to find a way to break the pact. To save you from this fate."

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. Warm. Maternal. Completely at odds with the cold authority of moments before.

  "We will try to save you, Akilliz. I see how heavily it weighs upon you. You are not alone in this."

  Something in his chest tightened. Not quite emotion. Not quite feeling. But close. The closest he'd come to genuine gratitude in weeks.

  "Thank you," he managed.

  "Now go. Return the key. Watch carefully. Report anything unusual."

  He stood. Took the bottle and the key. Headed for the door.

  "Akilliz?"

  He stopped. Looked back.

  "Be careful. Whatever Sylvara is planning, it involves you. Whether she knows it or not, you're part of this web." Thalindra's eyes held a warning. "Don't get caught in it."

  He nodded. Left her chambers. The door closed behind him with that same heavy finality. The guard was gone. The corridor empty.

  He looked down at the key in his hand. The forged key. The key Sylvara had trusted him with. The key that proved she was planning something dangerous enough to require forbidden knowledge. In his other hand, the bottle. His mother's bottle. Used to kill Lirien's aunt.

  He should feel something about that. Guilt. Responsibility. Something. Instead, he just felt that growing resentment. Anger at being watched. Judged. Threatened with expulsion for something that wasn't entirely his fault.

  Fuck them. Fuck their rules. Fuck their threats about kicking him out because his pact that granted him power and knowledge. He'd come here to prove he belonged. To show he was as good as any elf despite being human. A mortal. A lesser being. And now they wanted to expel him because some God had chosen him? Because he'd made a choice to survive when the alternative was death?

  His left hand clenched. The mark burned cold beneath his glove.

  They fear what they don't understand, Taimon's voice whispered. Quiet. Reasonable. Like his own thoughts. They'll never accept you. Never see you as equal. To them, you'll always be the human boy playing at alchemy. The outsider who doesn't belong.

  The voice was right. He'd always known it. Had felt it in every sideways glance. Every lowered expectation. Every surprised reaction when he succeeded. He was tired of trying to prove himself to people who would never see him as worthy.

  Maybe it was time to stop trying and start getting somewhere.

  He found Sylvara in her workshop. She was hunched over her desk, quill scratching frantically across parchment. Papers scattered everywhere. Vials and bottles in disarray. Nothing like her usual meticulous organization. She looked up when he entered. Her face was pale. Strained.

  "Akilliz. Did you... do you have the key?"

  He set it on her desk. "Yes…but I got pulled into Thalindra's office."

  Sylvara's expression flickered. Fear? Relief? Hard to tell. "Did she…find out about it?"

  "No, she didn't. “ he lied. “But nothing to worry about." He kept his voice neutral. Watched her reaction carefully. "She seemed more concerned about the lessons you've been teaching. About poisons."

  "Poisons?" Sylvara's eyes widened. "Why would she..." She stopped. Paled further. "Oh gods. You heard about the murder?"

  "Lirien's aunt. Yes."

  "This is..." Sylvara stood abruptly. Paced. Her hands shook. "This is terrible. Terrible timing. Lirien's Aunt you say? Oh the poor girl. They'll think..." She looked at him. "Did Thalindra ask about my lessons? About what you've been studying?"

  "Yes. I told her we were learning about neutralizing agents. That you did demonstrations."

  Sylvara's shoulders sagged slightly. "Good. That's good." But she didn't look relieved. She looked terrified.

  "Master, are you alright?"

  "What? Yes. Fine. I'm fine, young light." She wasn't fine. She looked like she might collapse. "Thank you for returning the key. I need to... there's something I need to check. You should go. Go study. Rest. I'll see you at the next lesson."

  She was already moving. Already gathering papers. Stuffing them into drawers with none of her usual care.

  "Master Sylvara—"

  "Please, Akilliz. I need to be alone right now. I can't believe someone thought you might have..no, nevermind."

  She ushered him toward the stairs to his alcove. Practically pushed him out of the workshop, but then she left it open. Her private workshop door attached to their usual workroom. Always locked. Always secured. Now standing open behind her as she rushed off.

  Akilliz stood in the corridor. Stared at that open door. Shouldn't he go upstairs and study? No…this seemed like an invitation. An opportunity.

  Thalindra's words echoed: Watch carefully. Report anything unusual.

  He glanced down the corridor. Empty. No one watching. He stepped back inside.

  Her private workshop was chaos. Papers everywhere. Bottles uncorked. Equipment scattered. So unlike Sylvara's usual pristine organization that it sent alarm bells ringing. He moved quietly. Quickly. Scanning shelves for anything unusual.

  And there, on the high shelf. Behind a row of common reagents. The bottles of demon essence. Not one. Not two. At least a handful, maybe more. Dark liquid that looked like blood. Each bottle carefully labeled in Sylvara's precise handwriting.

  Kael was right. This was far more than anyone would need for making acceleration potions for Zolam. This was a stockpile. But why? What was she planning that required this much demon essence?

  Akilliz reached up. Took one small vial from the back. Pocketed it. She had so many, she wouldn't notice one missing. Thalindra wanted him to watch. To report. Taking a sample was just... investigation. Evidence gathering.

  It had nothing to do with the thoughts already forming. The recipe he remembered. The potion he should make with real demon essence this time instead of transmuted lemon oil. The clarity and energy he desperately needed to read everything tonight. His mother's journal. The Dragon's Breath book. All of it.

  Just investigation, he told himself.

  Of course, Taimon whispered. Agreement. Approval. Just being thorough.

  He left before Sylvara returned. Slipped out into the stairway leading to his room. The vial of demon essence felt warm against his chest. Alive almost.

  And in the back of his mind, so quiet he could almost pretend it was his own thought, Taimon smiled.

  His room was exactly as he'd left it. Bed unmade. Circle hidden underneath. Books scattered on his desk. He locked the door. Drew the curtains. Lit candles. Pulled out his impromptu alchemy kit.

  The recipe for acceleration potion was burned into his memory. He'd made it once before. But that was with lemon essence, transmuted by his gift into something that almost worked. Something that had given him the high and the crash. This time would be different. This time he had the real ingredient.

  He set up his equipment with practiced efficiency. Measured the base components just as he had before, a fairly simple recipe. Easy enough to control the heat with his bottled fire, even easier to add the ingredients already burned into his mind.

  And then, carefully, he opened the vial of demon essence.

  The smell hit him immediately. Copper. Sulfur. Something organic and wrong. Like blood left to rot in summer heat. He should be disgusted. Repulsed. Instead, he felt... anticipation. Hunger.

  Three drops. That's all the recipe called for. Three drops to catalyze the mixture. To transform mundane enhancement into something extraordinary. He counted them carefully. One. Two. Three.

  The liquid hit the base mixture and the reaction was immediate. The potion turned dark. Almost black. With veins of red running through it like blood vessels. It didn't bubble. Didn't boil. Just... pulsed. Like a heartbeat. Like something alive.

  He added the stabilizing agents. Spoke the words his mother had taught him. Watched as his gift responded, that blessing she'd passed down, the ability to perfect formulas, to transmute ingredients, to make the impossible work. The potion smoothed. Clarified. The pulsing steadied into a gentle rhythm.

  Perfect.

  He poured it into a clean vial. Held it up to the candlelight. The liquid was still dark. Still threaded with red. But stable now. Controlled. This was it. The real version. The one that would give him everything the last potion had promised but failed to deliver.

  Clarity. Energy. Focus. Everything he needed to understand his mother's warnings. To study Dragon's Breath harvesting. To figure out how to survive the next week before the Festival. Before the mark spread too far. Before they expelled him.

  Fear not, child. For this will make you stronger, Taimon whispered. Reasonable. Logical. Like his own thoughts. You will gain the stamina to study while others sleep, to train when they rest, to think clearly when normal minds become clouded.

  He was right. Akilliz needed clarity. Needed to think clearly for the first time in weeks. Sleep was weakness. A biological necessity he could bypass with alchemy. With his gift. With demon essence and elven techniques combined.

  Why sleep when he could transcend those limitations? Why waste eight hours unconscious when he could be learning? Understanding? Instead, he should become stronger.

  He uncorked the vial. Raised it to his lips. The smell was stronger now. Overwhelming. Wrong in every way that should have made him stop. But he was past stopping. Past caring about warnings or consequences or the small voice in the back of his head that sounded like his mother saying don't.

  He drank it.

  The effect was immediate. Not the jittery, anxious rush of the lemon essence version. This was smooth. Clean. Like liquid lightning through his veins.

  His thoughts crystallized. Sharpened. Every problem he'd been struggling with suddenly had solutions laid out like maps. Clear pathways from question to answer. The fog that had wrapped around his mind for weeks, the numbness, the distance, the inability to feel or think clearly, evaporated. Gone. Burned away by perfect chemical clarity.

  He felt ALIVE. More alive than he'd felt since before his mother died. Since before the mark. Since before everything went wrong. This was what he'd been missing. This was the answer.

  His body hummed with energy. Clean energy. Not the frantic jitters of coffee or the crash-inducing high of the failed version. This was sustainable. Perfect. Exactly what he needed. Sleep was for people who couldn't optimize their time. For people bound by biological limitations they lacked the knowledge to overcome.

  Sleep was a chain. And he'd just broken it.

  Yes, Taimon purred. Pleased. Approving. Now you understand. This is what power feels like. This is what you're capable of when you stop limiting yourself. You did this without my help. You're learning.

  Akilliz laughed. The sound startled him because he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed genuinely. But this felt good. Right. Like everything was finally clicking into place.

  He could work all night. Read everything. Understand everything. His mother's journal. The Dragon's Breath cultivation techniques. The sleeping book Kael couldn't open. All of it. Tonight. No sleep. No weakness.

  He pulled out the Dragon's Breath book. His mother's journal. Laid them both on his desk. The journal was small. Worn leather. His mother's handwriting on every page. Her voice preserved in ink and paper.

  He'd been putting this off. Afraid of what he'd find. Afraid of warnings he didn't want to hear. But now, with perfect clarity humming through his system, he wasn't afraid of anything.

  He opened the journal to the first page and began reading aloud.