Chapter 3: The Weight of a Lie

Kaylen leaned against the door of his apartment, every muscle taut with nervous energy. The world outside felt sharper now, each sound and movement amplified by the knowledge that he was no longer powerless. He had a Signature—or at least the illusion of one. The artifact rested on his table, its faint hum like a heartbeat in the room.

The flame he had conjured earlier still lingered in his mind. It had felt real, almost second nature, but there was no denying it came from the artifact. Could he truly pass as someone with a Signature, or would others see through the facade? The thought made his stomach churn, but he shoved it aside. He needed to test his limits.

His attention shifted to the pouch of coins on the counter. It was barely enough to cover his rent, let alone food. But now… now he had a way to change that. He wasn't going to spend another night scraping by while others flaunted their power.

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The Lower Quarter came alive at night, its streets filled with vendors, gamblers, and the occasional brawl. Kaylen navigated through the chaos, his hood pulled low. His destination: a small, underground tavern known as The Ember's End, where those who thrived on the fringes of society gathered. If there was ever a place to test his newfound abilities, it was there.

The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations quieted, and eyes turned to size him up. The patrons were a mix of thugs, smugglers, and outcasts, many flaunting glowing marks of their Signatures. Kaylen felt the weight of their gazes but forced himself to appear calm. He strode to the bar and slid a coin across the counter.

The bartender, a scarred man with a glowing spiral mark on his temple, raised an eyebrow. "New face," he muttered, pouring a drink. "You lost, kid?"

"Not at all," Kaylen said, taking the drink and leaning casually against the counter. "I'm looking for a little... opportunity."

The bartender chuckled. "Opportunity, huh? You don't look like much. What's your Signature?"

Kaylen's stomach twisted. He'd expected the question, but it still made him falter. Thinking quickly, he gave a smirk. "You'll see soon enough."

The bartender's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press further. Instead, he nodded toward a backroom. "If you're serious, try your luck in there. Just don't come crying to me if you leave with a broken face."

Kaylen followed the direction, his pulse quickening. He pushed open the creaky door to find a makeshift arena surrounded by rough-looking spectators. In the center, two fighters were locked in combat, their glowing Signatures flaring as they exchanged blows. One had a shield-like aura shimmering around him, while the other moved with impossible speed, striking like a blur.

"Next challenger!" someone barked, and the room fell silent. The defeated fighter limped off, nursing his wounds, and the victor raised his fists, grinning. His Signature—a glowing gauntlet—flickered menacingly.

Kaylen hesitated, doubt creeping in. Was this a mistake? But then he felt the artifact's weight in his pocket and steeled himself. He stepped forward, drawing gasps and murmurs from the crowd.

"A Blank?" someone sneered. "This'll be quick."

The gauntlet-wielding fighter smirked. "You sure about this, kid? I don't go easy, even on weaklings."

Kaylen met his gaze, trying to project confidence. "I'll take my chances."

The crowd erupted in laughter, but Kaylen ignored them. He closed his eyes, focusing on the artifact's faint warmth. The memory of the flame from earlier came rushing back. He held out his hand, and a small flicker of fire appeared, growing steadily until it danced in his palm.

The laughter stopped. The room fell into stunned silence.

"Not bad," the fighter admitted, his smirk fading. "But it'll take more than that to win."

The referee called for the match to begin, and the fighter lunged forward, his gauntlets crackling with energy. Kaylen barely had time to react, dodging to the side as a heavy blow crashed into the ground where he'd stood. The crowd roared.

Kaylen's mind raced. He wasn't a fighter, and relying on the flame alone wouldn't cut it. He needed to think fast. He dodged another swing, then raised his hand, sending a burst of fire toward his opponent. The gauntlet deflected it, but the fighter stumbled, giving Kaylen an opening.

He darted forward, feinting with another flame before sweeping the fighter's legs out from under him. The crowd gasped as the man hit the ground, his gauntlets dimming slightly.

Kaylen pressed the advantage, unleashing a flurry of small fireballs to keep his opponent on the defensive. Each attack drained him, the artifact's energy tugging at his mind, but he pushed through. With one final burst of flame, he disarmed the gauntlet-wielding fighter, leaving him sprawled on the floor.

The room erupted in cheers and shouts. Kaylen stood over his opponent, chest heaving, his hand still glowing faintly.

"Not bad for a Blank," someone muttered.

Kaylen ignored the comment, his focus on the artifact's hum in his pocket. He had won, but at what cost? His head throbbed, and his vision blurred slightly. Whatever this power was, it wasn't without consequences.

As he stepped out of the ring, a hooded figure approached him. "Impressive," they said in a low voice. "But you've drawn attention. You should be careful."

Kaylen frowned, but before he could respond, the figure melted into the crowd. A chill ran down his spine. He had taken his first step into this dangerous new world, but it was clear he wasn't the only one watching.