The Art of Taking
Lucian's mind still reeled from the vision. The battle had never been his. He had fought instinctively, blindly, without ever truly grasping what Envy was.
Veyren watched him with his usual detached amusement, as if he had already seen this moment play out a hundred times before.
"Good," Veyren finally said, his fingers idly tracing invisible symbols in the air. "You understand now. Envy does not fight. It does not struggle. It does not waste effort."
Lucian exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "Then what does it do?"
Veyren's lips curled into a knowing smile. "It takes."
He rose from his chair with an unnatural grace, his layered robes whispering as they moved. Lucian tensed instinctively, but Veyren made no threatening motion. Instead, he extended one pale, ink-stained hand toward him.
"Take from me."
Lucian hesitated.
This is a trick. It had to be. Veyren never gave without reason.
Veyren's eyes gleamed, as if reading his thoughts. "If you do not, then I will take from you instead."
Lucian reacted instantly.
He reached out—not physically, but with the Book. He felt its pulse, its hunger, its whispering temptation. The knowledge, the strength, the presence of Veyren—it was all there, waiting to be stolen.
And then—
Nothing.
The moment he tried to take, it was as if he were grasping at air. His mind recoiled—the energy simply wasn't there.
Veyren's smile widened. "Do you see now?"
Lucian's heart pounded. "You… you're blocking me."
"No, boy." Veyren's voice was smooth, patient, yet filled with something just shy of pity. "I simply do not offer."
Lucian's stomach twisted.
Veyren lifted his other hand and, without warning, reached toward Lucian's chest.
A jolt of pain shot through him. It was like something was being pulled from his core.
Lucian staggered back, gasping. His limbs felt weaker, emptier—as if a small, vital piece of him had been stolen.
Veyren held up his hand—fingers now glowing with a faint, familiar energy. Lucian's own essence.
"This is what it means to take." Veyren studied the energy idly, rolling it between his fingers like an artist examining paint. "You do not simply desire something. You do not reach for it as if it will be given. You must understand…"
His hollow gaze locked onto Lucian's.
"That what you want does not belong to you—so you must claim it as if it always has."
Lucian's breathing was sharp and uneven. He clenched his fists.
"Then teach me."
Veyren chuckled. "I already am."
He snapped his fingers.
The pain returned instantly—stronger, sharper. Lucian gasped, knees nearly buckling as more of his strength bled away.
Veyren was taking from him.
"No."
The Book of Envy pulsed.
"You are being stolen from."
Lucian grit his teeth, ignoring the pain.
Take it back.
His body reacted before his mind did. Instinct surged through him. The energy in Veyren's palm trembled—shifted—reversed.
Lucian didn't just reach for it this time.
He tore it back.
The moment he did, his vision sharpened. The room seemed brighter, clearer, as if he had been looking through a fog before.
Veyren's expression barely changed, but Lucian swore he saw something in his gaze—approval.
"Ah…" Veyren tilted his head, voice filled with quiet satisfaction. "So you can learn."
Lucian exhaled, body still shaking. He had taken. Not with desperation. Not with panic. But because he had claimed it as his.
"Good." Veyren clasped his hands behind his back. "Then we begin for real."
Lucian forced himself to stand taller. The lesson was clear.
Envy does not steal recklessly.
It does not beg.
It takes only what it has already decided is its own.
And for the first time, Lucian realized:
If he wanted to control this power—he had to become the kind of person who was worthy of taking.