The silence was the first thing I noticed.

  It wasn't the quiet of a peaceful night; it was the suffocating, heavy silence of a tomb. The roar of the collapsing mountain, the screams of the Void Army, the thunder of the Juggernaut’s footsteps—all of it had been cut off instantly when the cliffs came down.

  I lay on my back in the dark, staring up at nothing. The air was thick with red dust, tasting of iron and old stone.

  I waited for the pain.

  I had fought for three hours straight. I had been thrown into a wall by a Siege Beast. I had cracked at least two ribs and torn a muscle in my shoulder. By all rights, waking up should have been an exercise in agony.

  But the pain didn't come.

  Instead, a low, thrumming energy buzzed beneath my skin. It felt like I had just swallowed a lightning bolt that was slowly digesting in my gut. My heart was beating slow, strong, and terrifyingly steady.

  I sat up. I didn't groan. My joints didn't pop. I moved with a fluidity that felt alien, like my body was no longer made of heavy meat and bone, but something lighter, denser.

  "Sound off," I said.

  My voice didn't croak. It resonated off the cave walls, deep and authoritative, cutting through the darkness like a physical object.

  "Here," a rasp came from my left. Faelar.

  "Alive," Willow whispered from the right.

  "Present," Elmsworth giggled nervously from the back.

  "Liam?" I asked.

  Silence. Then, a soft hiss from the far corner, near the ceiling. "I’m here. Don't... don't light a torch."

  I frowned, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. A single shaft of sunlight was filtering through a crack high above, illuminating the swirling dust. The cave was massive—the rear section of the canyon that had been sealed off. It was cluttered with the debris of our camp: smashed wagons, scattered crates, and the huddled forms of the forty surviving soldiers.

  Captain Vane was already awake. She was kneeling beside a wounded corporal, checking a bandage. She looked like hell—armor dented, face caked in blood and grit.

  She looked up at me, and her eyes widened slightly. "You’re moving well," she noted, her voice tight. "For a man who fell down a mountain."

  "I feel..." I flexed my hand. The leather glove creaked. "I feel strange."

  I stood up. A massive slab of sandstone, easily weighing four hundred pounds, had fallen across the path to the medical supplies. I walked over to it.

  "Careful, Kaelen," Vane warned. "Don't tear your stitches. We’ll need pry-bars to move that."

  "I’ve got it," I said.

  I bent my knees, bracing my shoulder against the stone. I prepared to heave, summoning every ounce of grit I had. I gritted my teeth and pushed.

  I expected resistance. I expected a struggle.

  Instead, the rock flew.

  It didn't just slide; it launched away from me as if it were made of papier-maché. The massive boulder skid across the cave floor, sparking against the granite, and slammed into the far wall with a deafening CRACK, shattering into gravel.

  I stumbled forward, nearly falling on my face because the resistance I expected wasn't there.

  The cave went dead silent. Every soldier stared at the shattered rock, then at me.

  "Adrenaline?" Vane asked, her voice trembling. "Hysterical strength?"

  I looked at my hands. They weren't shaking. They looked the same—scarred, calloused—but beneath the skin, the muscles felt like coiled steel cables.

  "No," I whispered. "That wasn't adrenaline. It felt... light."

  "Put it out! Put it out!"

  The scream came from the shadows. A soldier had struck a flint to light a torch near the rear of the cave, and Liam had recoiled as if burned.

  I rushed over. "Liam? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?"

  The elf was pressed into the deepest crevice of the rock wall, his hands over his eyes. He was shaking.

  "The light," Liam hissed. "It’s too loud. It screams."

  "The light screams?" I signaled the soldier to douse the torch. Darkness returned to the corner.

  Slowly, Liam lowered his hands. He opened his eyes.

  To me, Liam’s eyes looked different. The irises, usually a pale green, were now dilated so wide they were almost entirely black, swallowing the scant light in the room. They reflected the dim ambient glow like a cat's.

  "Liam," I said softly. "Look at me. What do you see?"

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  Liam blinked. He looked around the pitch-black corner of the cave.

  "Everything," Liam whispered. "I see the texture of the stone on the ceiling. I see the dust motes spinning. Kaelen... I can see the heat coming off your skin. I can hear the heartbeat of the rat in the wall behind you."

  He looked down at his own hands.

  "The shadows aren't empty anymore," Liam said, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and awe. "They have... depth. I can step into them. Like water."

  "He’s hallucinating," Vane whispered to me. "Head trauma."

  "Is he?" I looked at the elf, who was tracking a spider crawling on the ceiling fifty feet up in total darkness. "Or is he just... adapted?"

  "Help! We need a medic!"

  The shout came from the center of the camp. Willow scrambled to her feet, shaking off her exhaustion. A young soldier was thrashing on a bedroll, blood soaking through the bandages on his leg. The rockfall had crushed his femur; he was bleeding out.

  Willow slid to her knees beside him. Her hands were covered in grime.

  "Hold him down!" Willow ordered.

  Usually, this was the part where she prayed. She would clasp her holy symbol, beg the Life Mother for favor, and hope that enough divine grace would trickle down to knit the flesh. It was always a gamble, always a plea.

  But today, looking at the torn artery, Willow didn't feel like pleading.

  She felt a burning sensation in her chest. It was a reservoir of liquid gold, hot and heavy, sitting just behind her ribs. It wasn't faith. It was fuel.

  And she knew, with terrifying mathematical precision, exactly how much of it she had.

  I can fix this, she thought. I don't need to ask. I just need to spend it.

  She didn't chant. She didn't close her eyes. She slammed her hands onto the soldier's ruined leg and pushed.

  "Mend," she commanded.

  It wasn't a request.

  A pulse of blinding golden light erupted from her palms, far brighter and more violent than anything she had cast before. The soldier screamed as his bones snapped back into alignment with the sound of a cracking whip. The torn flesh didn't just heal; it surged together, knitting instantly, leaving not even a scar.

  The soldier gasped, his eyes flying open, color returning to his cheeks in a rush.

  Willow pulled her hands back, panting. She felt the heat in her chest drop—a specific, measurable amount. Like dipping a cup into a bucket.

  "Willow?" I asked, watching the miracle. "That... that usually takes you ten minutes of chanting."

  Willow looked at her hands, which were still glowing faintly.

  "I didn't pray," she whispered, looking up at me with wide eyes. "I just... turned it on. I have a reserve, Kaelen. I can feel it. It’s finite, but it’s mine."

  Near the campfire—which was now just cold ash—Faelar was staring at his flask.

  "It should be empty," the dwarf mumbled. "I drank the last of the rotgut before the charge."

  He turned the battered metal flask upside down. A clear, potent liquid sloshed inside.

  "Maybe I left a sip," Faelar shrugged. He took a swig.

  His eyes popped open. He gasped, a flush of red running up his neck. A visible wave of warmth seemed to ripple off his body, steaming in the cold air. The nasty bruise on his forehead from the Juggernaut’s backhand faded and vanished in seconds.

  "By the Stone," Faelar wheezed, wiping his mouth. "That’s not rotgut. That’s... nectar. It tastes like rage and honey."

  He looked at the flask again. It felt heavy. Full.

  "Here, lad," Faelar offered the flask to a soldier sitting nearby who was shivering from shock. "Take a nip. It’ll put hair on yer liver."

  The soldier took the flask and took a small, hesitant sip.

  Immediately, the soldier’s eyes rolled back in his head. He stiffened, then slumped over, unconscious.

  "Oi!" Faelar grabbed the flask back. "Lightweight."

  Vane checked the soldier’s pulse. "He’s out cold. But... his pulse is strong. Stronger than before. Faelar, what is in that flask?"

  "I don't know," Faelar admitted, shaking it. It sloshed again. "But it seems I can't empty the damn thing."

  "He speaks!"

  The shriek echoed from the alcove where Elmsworth had set up his "lab" (a pile of rocks and broken glass).

  I hurried over with Vane close behind. Elmsworth was sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring intensely at Nugget. The chicken was perched on a rock, staring back with unblinking, beady eyes.

  "Who speaks?" I asked. "Nugget?"

  "Not with words!" Elmsworth tapped his temple frantically. "Here! In the noodle! He whispers the secrets of the geometry, Kaelen! He says the world is soft! He says we can poke holes in it!"

  "The stress has finally broken him," Vane sighed, reaching for her sword hilt. "He’s a liability."

  "No, no, watch!" Elmsworth jumped up. He pointed his gnarled staff at a loose stone on the ground. "Nugget says... shift."

  Elmsworth didn't cast a spell I recognized. He just giggled and twitched his wrist.

  A bolt of purple chaotic energy arced from the staff. It hit the stone.

  POP.

  The stone didn't break. It didn't burn. It instantly transformed into a wheel of cheddar cheese.

  The smell of sharp cheddar filled the dank cave.

  Vane stared at the cheese. She looked at the rock next to it. She looked at Elmsworth.

  "Did you..." Vane started, then stopped. "Did you just turn granite into dairy?"

  "It’s soft!" Elmsworth laughed, picking up the cheese and taking a bite. "The world is clay! And the Chicken is the sculptor!"

  "Bawk," Nugget agreed, looking smug.

  I stepped back from the wizard, my mind racing.

  Super strength. Night vision. Instant healing. Infinite alcohol. Transmutation.

  It wasn't just adrenaline. It wasn't just luck. The battle in the courtyard—the energy of the Void, the explosion of the crystals—it had changed them. Twisted them.

  I walked over to my pack. I needed to think. I needed to clear the area.

  The Void Core I had pulled from the Juggernaut was sitting on a crate. It was a melon-sized orb of pulsating black glass, and it made my skin crawl just being near it. It felt heavy, radioactive, wrong.

  I need to get rid of this, I thought. I wish I could just put it away somewhere it can't hurt anyone.

  I reached out to pick it up, dreading the touch.

  But before my fingers brushed the surface, the air around the Core shimmered. It rippled like heat haze.

  Zip.

  The Core vanished.

  I froze. My hand was hovering over the empty crate.

  "Kaelen?" Vane’s voice was sharp. "Where is the Core?"

  "I..." I checked the floor. "I don't know. It just..."

  Then, I felt it. Not in my hand, but elsewhere. A strange, mental sensation, like I had a backpack I couldn't feel but knew was there. I could "see" the Core floating in a gray, endless void inside my mind.

  And next to it? The heavy chest of armor we had packed. The one I thought I had lost in the explosion. It was floating there too.

  "It’s... with me," I whispered.

  "What do you mean, 'with you'?" Vane demanded, stepping back. "Did you disintegrate it?"

  "No." I focused. I visualized the Core. I pulled.

  The air rippled again. The heavy black orb dropped out of thin air, landing in my hand with a heavy thud.

  Vane drew her sword. The soldiers around us scrambled back, making the sign of the warding.

  "Sorcery," one of them hissed. "Void-magic."

  "It’s not Void-magic," I said, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart. I made the Core vanish again. Then reappear. Then vanish. It was as easy as blinking. "It’s a pocket. A hole in the world."

  I looked at my team. Faelar was drinking from his bottomless flask. Willow was glowing with faint golden light. Liam was merging with the shadows. Elmsworth was eating rock-cheese.

  They weren't just survivors. They were something else entirely.

  "Captain," I said, turning to Vane. "We didn't just survive the mountain."

  Vane looked at me, fear warring with respect in her eyes. "Then what are you? Because you aren't human. Not anymore."

  I gripped my spear. It felt weightless in my hand.

  "I think," I said, looking at the blocked exit of the cave, "we’re the ones who are going to break us out of here."