The harsh fern mattress jabbed into her back. Livien lay motionless, staring at the hut's ceiling—there, where trunks and branches interwove, forming a dense canopy overhead. Through the gaps morning sunlight broke through, painting narrow golden stripes on the walls.
The third day.
She blinked, ran her tongue across parched lips. Her body still ached—dull pain sat in her muscles, echoed in her bones with each breath. But this was ordinary pain. Living pain. Not that freezing cold that had corroded her from within on the journey here.
Lucky.
The word spun in her head, gave her no peace. Lucky Vaaro had found them himself. Lucky he'd reached them precisely when the plague hadn't spread completely. Lucky he hadn't walked past, hadn't decided two infected idiots were too much trouble.
Livien closed her eyes, recalled that moment. How her legs had refused to move further. How her arms had lost their last strength, and she'd collapsed onto the grass beside Banarka. How she'd understood—that was it, they wouldn't go further. Wouldn't crawl on. Even if the caster's hut proved just beyond the next hill.
They'd never have made it on their own.
This thought lodged like a splinter beneath her skin, scratched from within. Livien unclenched her fingers, looked at her palms. Scratches had sealed with scabs, bruises yellowed at the edges. Skin was recovering slowly but surely. Her body was healing itself, reclaiming territory from the plague centimetre by centimetre.
She turned her head left. On the neighbouring pallet lay Banarka.
The orc woman didn't move. Her chest rose barely noticeably, arms lay along her body like lifeless ropes. The intricate scars on her ash-grey skin seemed darker than usual—as though they'd shown more distinctly under the caster's magic.
Livien watched her friend and felt a tight knot of guilt coiling inside.
Bana wasn't waking. For three days straight she'd lain unconscious whilst Vaaro treated her—drove magic into her blood, burnt out Hlad, forced potions straight down her throat. The orc woman swallowed reflexively, rasped in her sleep, sometimes groaned—and went still again.
Didn't wake.
Livien clenched her teeth. She'd been saved first. Her blood had been pumped with fire and pain, the plague extracted in two days. But Banarka they kept cleansing, cleansing—and Hlad refused to leave completely. It clung to her bones, hid in the depths of her flesh, where magic couldn't reach immediately.
Because Bana had shielded her in the village.
Had taken more bites. More scratches. More plague that had penetrated her body through open wounds. And now she was paying for it, lying on the hard mattress unconscious, whilst Livien could already stand, walk, drink water without assistance.
Unfair.
Livien licked her lips, looked away. Stared back at the ceiling. The light had shifted—the sun climbed higher, changing the angle of the rays' fall. The stripes on the walls lengthened, grew paler.
Beyond the hut's wall footsteps sounded—heavy, measured. Vaaro was returning. Probably he'd been to the river for water. Or gathering herbs for another infusion. He'd barely spoken to her these three days—only issued short commands: "Drink this", "Don't get up", "Lie still".
Livien obeyed. Because she understood—without him they were both dead. Or worse…
The door creaked. The caster entered, holding a clay jug in his hands. He set it on the low table by the entrance, straightened. Yellow eyes slid across Livien, lingered for a second—checking whether she was alive. Then switched to Banarka.
Vaaro approached the orc woman, crouched beside her. He laid his palm on her brow, froze. Closed his eyes, immersed himself in magic.
Livien observed silently. She knew—she shouldn't distract him. The caster was working, and any unnecessary word right now would be a hindrance.
Vaaro ran his hand along the orc woman's chest, not touching her skin. His fingers moved smoothly, traced invisible patterns in the air. Magic responded—Livien felt it at the edge of perception, a light prickling on her skin.
The caster exhaled, opened his eyes. He rose to his feet, looked at Livien.
"Another day. Maybe two. The plague's retreating."
His voice sounded level, emotionless. Statement of fact, nothing more.
Livien nodded, unable to squeeze out a single word. Her throat constricted, her eyes stung. She turned away, bit her lip.
Another day. Maybe two.
And Bana would wake.
"Now, let's talk about you," their saviour unexpectedly continued. "Speak."
"What should I say?" Nemira was taken aback.
"What blood abilities did you gain? You have five of them? That's precisely how many you should have awakened..."
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Livien was confused by how precisely Vaaro knew about her newly acquired abilities.
"I'm waiting!" The caster looked demandingly into her eyes.
Despite the caster's impatience, the girl was in no hurry to lay out everything at once. Instead she closed her eyes and tried to recall how she herself had learnt of her new abilities and skills. She needed to restore the sequence of events, to understand what exactly had happened to her in the temple.
Everything that had happened after she'd blacked out in the cursed village's temple blurred in her memory, as though shrouded in dense fog. Individual moments showed through in bright flashes—pain that had filled every cell of her body, crimson radiance of meridians beneath her skin, ancestors' voices sounding from somewhere in the depths of consciousness. And then—emptiness. A long, viscous void of oblivion.
Livien frowned, trying to grasp the slipping fragments of memory. Something important had been there—she felt it with her gut. Something significant that she should have remembered, understood, realised. But the harder she strained her memory, the farther these ghostly images retreated, as though withdrawing into the impenetrable darkness of her subconscious.
Her head began pulsing faintly from the strain.
"Give me access to your Chronicles of Deeds," Vaaro unexpectedly suggested, interrupting her torturous attempts. The blood caster, evidently, had been watching her efforts and decided to spare her useless suffering. "It'll be faster and more precise that way."
The girl exhaled with relief. She knew that the Chronicles of Deeds in Seratis meant the combat log—a detailed record of all events affecting the player: damage taken, abilities used, changes in characteristics and acquired skills. The system recorded absolutely everything that happened to a character, accurate to the second.
Livien mentally summoned the interface—with a practised gesture she drew her finger through the air, opening the semi-transparent menu. A few touches—and she found the right section, privacy settings. Another moment to grant temporary access to the logs for the blood caster.
Done.
Vaaro immediately seemed to withdraw mentally into himself, and before him appeared a canvas of system text. Having quickly filtered out the most important, he began reading closely.
[Attention! Congratulations! You have independently unlocked the ability: "Blood Blades", which grants you a 5% increase in effectiveness when used.]
[Attention! Congratulations! You have independently unlocked the ability: "Whirlwind of Blood Petals", which grants you a 5% increase in effectiveness when used.]
[Attention! Congratulations! You have independently unlocked the ability: "Blood Spikes", which grants you a 5% increase in effectiveness when used.]
[Attention! Congratulations! You have independently unlocked the ability: "Blood Harvest", which grants you a 5% increase in effectiveness when used.]
[Attention! Congratulations! You have independently unlocked the ability: "Blood Master", which grants you a 5% increase in effectiveness when used.]
[Attention! Congratulations! You have gained a new skill: "Creator".]
"Not bad..." The caster muttered and immediately set about studying the abilities themselves.
[— "Blood Blades"
Active ability
Rank: F (Progress 5/100)
Mana: 25
Cast: Instant
Range: sphere of perception
Cooldown: 20 seconds
Creates three blades from your own blood, each dealing 15 damage. Requires an open wound or 10 health points for the activation of each blade.]
[— "Whirlwind of Blood Petals"
Active ability
Rank: F (Progress 7/100)
Mana: 40
Cast time: 3 seconds
Range: 5 metres around the caster
Cooldown: 60 seconds
Creates a protective whirlwind from blood droplets transformed into cutting petals. Deals 8 damage per second to all enemies in range. Requires active bleeding or 25 health points.]
[— "Blood Spikes"
Active ability
Rank: F (Progress 5/100)
Mana: 35
Cast time: 2 seconds
Range: sphere of perception
Cooldown: 45 seconds
Forms up to five spikes from spilt blood, piercing chosen targets. Damage—20 per spike. Can pull the pierced target towards the caster. Requires active bleeding and presence of the caster's spilt blood within range.]
[— "Blood Harvest"
Passive ability
Rank: F (Progress 10/100)
Allows absorption of spilt enemy blood to restore 5 health or 3 mana for every 10 units of absorbed blood. Range—sphere of perception.]
[— "Blood Master"
Passive ability
Rank: F (Progress 2/100)
Increases effectiveness of all blood spells by 2%. Reduces health cost of their use by 2%. Increases resistance to blood-related effects (bleeding, blood corruption, vampirism, etc.) by 5%.]
Having reviewed the logs of damage the girl had dealt in combat, Vaaro understood that upon awakening, these very abilities had dealt far greater effect.
However, so it should have been, so he continued reading.
[Attention! You have been offered a quest: "Ancient Heritage"
Rank: A
Objective: Find one who will help you understand the heritage you've received
Description:
"You have awakened the power that slumbered in the blood of twelve generations. Ancient magic answered your desperate call, tore open seals, seared your meridians from within—and nearly destroyed you along with your enemies. Ancestral blood surged through your body in an uncontrolled torrent, transforming flesh into a weapon that distinguished neither allies nor foes.
You survived. But only because the power ran dry before finishing the job. Next time control may be lost completely—blood magic will consume your mind, turn your fury against those you tried to protect. Ancient heritage demands understanding, discipline, knowledge of rituals and prohibitions. Without this you are a time bomb, capable of exploding at any moment.
Find a mentor. One who knows the boundaries of the permissible and the price of each spell. Only an experienced blood caster will teach you to control your heritage, not allowing it to control you."
Reward:
— Stabilisation of abilities related to blood magic
— Experience: 14,000 units
Do you accept the quest?
Yes/No]
Vaaro froze, staring at the system notification's text. His massive fingers clenched into fists, fangs bared in a humourless smirk. Yellow eyes dimmed, retreated somewhere inward—there, where lived memories from which he'd long learnt to turn away.
Awakening of ancestral blood.
He knew this state. Too well. He remembered how it had torn his meridians with fire when power had surged through his body the first time. How he'd screamed, writhed on the earth, feeling his skin crack from within whilst blood sought an exit. How he'd lost count of the days spent in fever, until his father had dragged him from oblivion by force and threats.
Nemira had gone through the same thing. Only without a mentor. Without preparation. Without understanding what was even happening.
And survived.
The caster exhaled slowly, closed the system window with one sharp movement. He turned to the girl lying on the mattress and watching him warily, as though awaiting verdict.
"Five blood abilities," he pronounced hollowly. "Independent awakening. Without ritual. Without a guiding hand."
Vaaro shook his head, ran his palm down his face.
"You're an idiot. Or lucky beyond legend."
Livien blinked, not knowing what to answer.
"Probably both," she finally forced out in a hoarse voice.
The blood caster smirked—briefly, without joy. He approached the table, scooped water from the jug with a wooden ladle. He held it out to her.
"Drink. Then we'll talk. Consider that you've found your mentor."
