Chapter 39:A Deal with the Devil

I followed Varkas silently through the labyrinthine backstreets of the slums, my feet sinking into patches of mud and grime with every step. Even in the dead of night, the district of Rellgrave was never truly quiet; distant shouts, barking dogs, and drunken laughter echoed like ghostly murmurs through the alleyways, painting a chaotic backdrop to the old drunkard's uneven steps.

Despite his intoxicated sway, there was a certain odd confidence to Varkas's movements—he moved through the twisting paths with practiced ease, as though the alleys themselves made way for him. I, on the other hand, stumbled constantly, tripping over loose cobblestones and cursing softly every time a wet, grimy puddle seeped through the worn leather of my boots.

Finally, we stopped in front of a derelict building. At first glance, it looked no different from any other crumbling ruin in the slums: rotted wooden planks nailed haphazardly over broken windows, faded graffiti covering its chipped brick walls, and the overwhelming stench of moldy timber lingering in the air. Varkas pushed open a creaky door with a lazy kick, revealing nothing but darkness inside.

"Welcome home," he muttered sarcastically, bowing dramatically and gesturing me inside.

I hesitated, peering cautiously into the gloom. A suspicious scurrying sound from somewhere within made me flinch. "You actually live here?"

He snorted, stepping past me and lighting a small, dusty lantern with a practiced flick of his finger. A soft amber glow flooded the room, illuminating piles of junk littered about in organized chaos. Bottles—some empty, others still half-full of questionable liquids—were scattered around like offerings at some strange shrine. Tattered books, yellowed scrolls, cracked clay cups, and rusted blades lay haphazardly on tables and shelves. In the corner stood an ancient training dummy, its stuffing bleeding out onto the splintered wooden floor.

"Oh, forgive me," Varkas drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't realize you were expecting a palace. Would you prefer silk sheets and scented candles, Your Highness?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not what I meant. I just thought someone as strong as you would live...somewhere else."

His laughter came out bitter and sharp, surprising me. "Strength doesn't mean shit in this city, kid. What matters is who you know and who's got money. You think anyone cares if some old drunk has power when he smells like a dead rat and can't pay rent?" He took another long swig from a fresh bottle, eyes gleaming dangerously in the flickering lantern light. "Power is useless if you're too drunk or too tired to wield it properly. You'd do well to remember that."

He moved toward a battered stool near a table and collapsed onto it heavily, letting out a tired sigh. I stood awkwardly near the door, unsure whether to sit or wait for his permission. When he noticed, he waved dismissively, annoyed.

"Sit down already, you're making me nervous," he grumbled, scratching his unkempt beard. "I'm not gonna bite you. Unless you want me to."

"No thanks," I muttered dryly, pulling up a crate and carefully lowering myself onto it. It creaked dangerously, but held. "So...about that offer earlier."

He gave me a sharp look, as if suddenly remembering why I was even here. He tilted his head back, finishing another gulp before slamming the bottle down with unnecessary force.

"You want training, huh?" His voice turned serious, losing its mocking edge. His eyes were sharp now, almost painfully sober despite the alcohol he'd consumed. "Well, kid, I'll tell you straight. I'm not the type who takes in disciples and guides them gently. You'll get no encouragement, no kind words, no pats on the back. And honestly, I don't even like you enough to be your friend. You'll hate me before the week is over."

I held his gaze, trying not to let my apprehension show. "I don't need a friend. I need someone who can teach me how not to die. And from what I saw tonight, you're exactly that."

His lips curled into a wry, humorless smirk. "Brave words for a boy who nearly ended up as merchandise."

A flush of humiliation warmed my cheeks. "Yeah, well, that's exactly why I need your help. I've used Holy Essence twice, but I have no control over it. If I'm ever going to survive this city, or have any chance at getting into the Academy, I need to learn from someone who actually understands it."

His eyebrows rose slightly, interest flickering in those weary eyes. "You wanna go to the Academy? What the hell for? Rich brats and stuck-up noble bastards, all of them. They'll chew you up and spit you out faster than those alley rats would have."

"I have my reasons," I snapped, defensive despite myself. The thought of Cealith flashed in my mind—my only connection to anything that felt real or familiar in this messed-up fantasy world. "Besides, isn't that where people go to become powerful?"

He barked out another harsh laugh. "Is that what you think power is? A fancy uniform, some shiny ass badges, and a bunch of arrogant pricks who couldn't light a candle without a chant? Kid, real power is raw, messy, and dangerous. It's not something taught by old men in ivory towers. It's born in filth, tempered in pain, and sharpened by desperation. Real power," he leaned closer, eyes blazing fiercely, "is what I used tonight to keep those fuckers from dragging your sorry ass away."

My heartbeat quickened. I'd never heard anyone speak about power this way. It felt terrifying—but also oddly liberating.

"Then teach me," I said quietly, matching his intense stare. "Teach me that kind of power. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."

He studied me silently for a long, tense moment. Finally, he nodded slowly, like he'd just made a reluctant decision. "All right. But let's set some rules straight, right now."

"Rules?" I repeated uncertainly.

"Yeah, rules. First," he raised a finger dramatically, eyes narrowing in mock-seriousness, "Varkas is always right. If I say something, you shut up and listen. Second, no questions. Questions annoy me. Third, if you ever insult my alcohol, I'll break both your legs." He paused thoughtfully. "Fourth—"

"Wait, what?" I interrupted, eyebrows furrowing. "Break my legs?"

He rolled his eyes, waving off my concern. "Figure of speech. Mostly. Now, fourth—any emotional whining earns you immediate punishment. And fifth, training ends when you either quit, run, or die." He leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. "Got it?"

I stared at him, half-convinced he was completely insane, and half-convinced this was exactly what I needed. A brutal, no-nonsense mentor who wouldn't sugarcoat anything. My throat tightened, but I swallowed and nodded firmly.

"Got it."

"Good boy," he said condescendingly, patting my head roughly. "And don't worry too much about the dying part. If it happens, I promise I'll drink at least one shot in your honor."

"Very reassuring," I muttered sarcastically.

"Glad you agree," he chuckled darkly, then abruptly stood and grabbed a heavy cloak from a nearby hook, tossing it at me. "Now get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow, training begins bright and early."

I caught the cloak awkwardly, frowning. "How early exactly?"

He smiled, turning toward a pile of ragged blankets in the corner. "Let's just say, if you see the sun rise, you've already failed."

With that ominous warning lingering in the stale air, Varkas collapsed into his makeshift bed, leaving me standing in the dim lantern light, clutching the heavy cloak, suddenly unsure of what exactly I'd gotten myself into.

But despite the dread settling into my gut, I felt something else too—a strange, burning anticipation. Maybe Varkas was right. Maybe real power was born in places like this, among the discarded and forgotten. And if I was going to survive long enough to find Cealith or enter the Academy, I'd have to trust the drunken madman sleeping across the room.

I sighed heavily, pulled the cloak tighter, and lay down on the cold, hard floor, knowing tomorrow would likely be one of the worst days of my life.

I just hoped I'd survive it.

Some time later...

When Varkas had said 'bright and early,' I'd foolishly expected at least some indication of dawn. Instead, the violent shake of his rough hand woke me up while darkness still clung to the world outside. I squinted, bleary-eyed, my bones protesting at having spent the night on a cold, hard floor.

"Rise and shine, princess," Varkas sneered, kicking the side of my makeshift bedroll just for good measure. "It's time for your first lesson in humility."

I groaned, rubbing sleep from my eyes. "What time is it?"

"Does it matter?" He shrugged, already stumbling toward the battered door. "In the slums, you wake when trouble wakes—and trouble doesn't wait for dawn."

Grumbling, I got to my feet, nearly tripping over an empty bottle. I had barely slept, haunted by thoughts of the training ahead, and the nagging fear that I'd made a colossal mistake in trusting a half-crazed drunk. But the memory of the raw, golden flames he'd summoned yesterday pushed me forward. I had no choice but to trust him. Not yet, anyway.

Outside, the chill of pre-dawn air bit through my thin clothes, making me shiver involuntarily. Rellgrave felt different now; even emptier, more dangerous. The few lamps that flickered weakly in the alleyways cast sinister shadows across piles of garbage and forgotten belongings. I followed Varkas silently, keeping close. He moved with strange efficiency, only occasionally stumbling—though I suspected it was more habit than actual drunkenness at this point.

"So," I finally ventured, hoping to break the tense silence, "what exactly are we doing this early?"

He glanced back, smirking. "I'm sending you on a noble quest, kid. A holy pilgrimage, you might say."

I scowled, suspicious. "A pilgrimage? Seriously?"

"Absolutely." His grin widened, eyes glinting mischievously. "You're gonna feed the slum-dogs."

I blinked, confused. "Dogs?"

He chuckled darkly, the sound ringing ominously in the alley. "They're not exactly puppies, mind you. Think of them more like tiny demons with teeth. Fast, mean, and half-starved. Perfect training partners."

Before I could object, he tossed me a greasy, leather-wrapped parcel he'd fished from beneath his ragged cloak. I fumbled it, nearly dropping it to the filthy ground. "What's this?"

"Breakfast—for them, not you," he said matter-of-factly. "Your job's simple: Find one of these furry bastards, feed it, and don't lose a finger. Easy, right?"

"Easy?" I echoed incredulously. "Why the hell is this even necessary?"

"Because I said so," Varkas replied simply, his eyes narrowing slightly. "First rule of training, kid. Do as you're told, even if it makes no damn sense."

His tone left no room for arguments, so I sighed and opened the parcel. The smell immediately hit me like a punch—a vile mixture of rancid meat and spoiled fish. I gagged, holding it as far from my nose as possible. "This is disgusting."

He laughed heartily, his voice bouncing off the crumbling brick walls. "Exactly why you're holding it, not me. Now get moving; I'm not getting younger."

With Varkas trailing lazily behind, I wandered cautiously down a particularly grim alley, holding the putrid offering at arm's length. It didn't take long before a soft, threatening growl came from the shadows to my left. Slowly, a small shape emerged from behind a pile of garbage, eyes glowing in the dim lamplight.

The creature was indeed a dog—at least, that's what it resembled beneath layers of dirt and matted fur. Its ribs protruded, painfully visible under its filthy coat, yet its teeth bared in defiance, ready to rip me apart if I made a wrong move. My stomach clenched, nerves tightening.

"Easy," I murmured softly, inching closer. "I'm just bringing food—"

Before I could finish, the dog lunged, snapping furiously. I yelped, stumbling backward, nearly dropping the meat. Varkas burst out laughing, clapping his hands mockingly.

"Great start! Already pissing yourself?"

"Shut up!" I hissed back, heart racing. I took a breath, trying to steady myself. The dog stood its ground, hackles raised, growling deep in its throat. Clearly, it wasn't going to make this easy.

This was ridiculous. How the hell was this training? What did feeding some rabid stray have to do with mastering Holy Essence?

"You're thinking too hard, kid," Varkas called lazily, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "The beast smells your fear. Animals sense intention, not words. Want to master Holy Essence? Master yourself first."

I swallowed, steeling myself against the instinctive urge to back away. Slowly, I knelt down, holding out the parcel. "Here. Food," I repeated softly, steadying my voice.

The dog edged forward, cautious, suspicious. Its growling faded slightly, replaced by wary curiosity. My muscles tensed, ready to yank my hand back at the first hint of aggression. Carefully, I tossed a chunk of meat onto the ground near the dog.

Instantly, it snapped up the food, its tail twitching slightly—an unexpected sign of approval. Cautiously, I tossed another, and another, until eventually the dog sat quietly, its feral eyes watching me warily but no longer hostile.

Varkas applauded mockingly, sauntering over. "Congratulations, you made a friend. Bet you're feeling proud, huh?"

I exhaled sharply, irritation bubbling up. "What was the point of that, exactly?"

He smiled knowingly, tapping his temple. "Control your emotions under pressure, kid. Animals, enemies, Essence itself—they all respond to the state of your mind. Lose your cool, and you're done for."

I stared at him, frustration fading into reluctant understanding. "So, that was the real lesson?"

Varkas shrugged, smirking. "Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoyed seeing you nearly get mauled by a tiny demon-dog."

I scoffed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Before I could reply, he clapped me roughly on the shoulder, steering me toward another alley.

"Lesson number two," he announced cheerfully. "Hope you aren't afraid of a little cold water."

I groaned inwardly, realizing this was just the beginning of a very long day. But despite the absurdity and irritation, I couldn't deny the strange sense of satisfaction simmering within me. It felt like the first step toward something meaningful, something real.

And maybe, just maybe, Varkas wasn't as insane as he pretended to be.

Then again, judging by his next words, maybe he was.

"Now, hurry up, kid. The thieves are extra stabby this time of night, and I've got bets to collect if you survive."

Great. Just great.

We moved through the winding slum alleyways, deeper into the oppressive gloom. The longer I spent in Rellgrave, the more it felt like its shadowy streets held secrets better left undiscovered. Each turn revealed another decrepit ruin, each street littered with trash, the stench of decay clinging stubbornly to everything. Still, Varkas navigated confidently through the maze, humming his irritatingly off-tune songs, seeming almost cheerful about my misery.

Eventually, we emerged into a small square, illuminated by a single flickering street lamp that bathed everything in a sickly yellow glow. At its center sat a worn stone well, dark and foreboding.

Varkas halted abruptly, pointing dramatically at the well with exaggerated reverence. "Behold, your next trial awaits."

I eyed the well skeptically. "You want me to fetch water from that? It looks abandoned."

"Precisely," Varkas smirked, clearly enjoying my apprehension. "They say the water down there is ice-cold and so deep it touches the bones of the city itself. Perfect for toughening up delicate young minds."

"I thought you said this had something to do with Holy Essence," I grumbled, stepping closer to peer cautiously over the edge. The well stared back like a black void, its cold breath brushing my face, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Everything's about Essence, boy," Varkas said lazily, leaning against a nearby wall and yawning widely. "You're far too weak to grasp it right now. Essence flows best when you've faced fear head-on—real fear, mind you, not some watered-down imitation."

I clenched my jaw, gripping the cold rope tied around an old bucket. Fear wasn't exactly something I wanted to embrace again. I'd already seen more than enough of it these past few months. But, despite how absurd all this seemed, I trusted Varkas—at least enough to follow along. For now.

Taking a deep breath, I lowered the bucket, listening as it creaked down into the darkness, deeper and deeper, until it struck water with a muffled splash. With a grunt, I began pulling it back up, muscles straining from exhaustion. Lack of food and proper rest were definitely catching up with me.

Varkas watched silently, eyes twinkling with amusement, but I noticed him glance toward the surrounding alleys now and then, alert for something. Or someone.

Just as the heavy bucket finally reached the top, my relief was cut short. A low whistle echoed from the shadows. Varkas tensed slightly, narrowing his eyes, and murmured quietly, "Ah, right on schedule."

My pulse quickened instantly. "What's happening?"

Varkas stretched nonchalantly. "Remember when I mentioned the thieves? Well, they do enjoy a good ambush now and then. And you, kid, are perfect bait."

"You son of a—"

A voice from behind interrupted me, cold and mocking. "Evening, gents. Lost, are we?"

I spun around. Three figures stepped out from the shadows—hooded, faces obscured by scarves. I noticed glints of steel in their hands, reflecting the weak lantern glow.

"Don't suppose you fine fellows could spare some coin for a few hungry souls?" the lead thief sneered, his eyes glinting with cruel intent. "Or maybe we'll just help ourselves."

Varkas yawned loudly, completely unconcerned. "All yours, boy. Show them your resolve or whatever nonsense it is you're always whining about."

I shot him a furious glare, disbelief mixing with panic. "Seriously?"

He shrugged lazily, folding his arms. "Sink or swim, kid. Your choice."

The thieves laughed darkly, stepping closer, daggers held threateningly. My heart hammered wildly in my chest. I'd faced violence plenty of times before, yet without any Essence, I was practically defenseless.

"Look," I started cautiously, raising my hands to show I meant no harm. "We really don't have anything worth stealing."

"Funny," the leader said coldly. "We'll decide what's valuable."

The tallest thief lunged suddenly, blade aimed at my chest. Instinct took over, and I swung the heavy bucket in desperation. Water splashed everywhere, drenching me and catching my attacker square in the face. He staggered back, sputtering curses.

My clothes were instantly soaked through, the icy chill shocking my senses, sharpening my focus. Another thief sprang forward; I dodged clumsily, losing my footing and slipping onto the muddy ground. Pain shot through my side as I rolled, barely avoiding a swift kick aimed at my ribs.

"You're pathetic," the lead thief mocked, circling casually. "I expected better from someone training with the great drunken saint."

Gritting my teeth, I scrambled back to my feet, dripping wet and shivering uncontrollably. Rage mixed with embarrassment surged within me. I glanced toward Varkas, who watched calmly, leaning against the wall like he was watching a street performance.

"Damn it," I muttered bitterly. Was he really not going to help?

The thieves approached again, this time more cautious, ready to finish me off. Desperation pushed my thoughts to race frantically. Essence—I needed to tap into it. But how?

"Concentrate, idiot!" Varkas suddenly barked. "Holy Essence doesn't respond to hesitation. It answers when your survival instincts wake up. If you want to live, use that fear instead of being consumed by it!"

His words snapped something inside me. He was right—I was afraid. Terrified, even. But beneath that terror was anger, determination, and an overwhelming desire to survive. I closed my eyes briefly, digging deep, searching desperately within myself for that faint, elusive glow.

There—buried under exhaustion and anxiety, a small spark flickered. My pulse quickened, hope igniting alongside it. With one last effort, I reached inward, grasping at the warmth hidden in my chest.

My eyes snapped open, golden light faintly glowing from my fingertips. It was weak, barely visible—but enough to startle the approaching thieves. Their leader hesitated, uncertainty crossing his face.

"Well, well," Varkas murmured approvingly, smirking slightly. "Looks like the puppy's found his fangs."

I held up my hand defensively, the faint glow wavering uncertainly. "Back off," I warned, voice shaking more than I would have liked. "I don't want to hurt you."

The thieves glanced nervously at each other, visibly reconsidering their prey. After a tense pause, their leader spat angrily on the ground. "This ain't worth the trouble. Let's go."

They retreated swiftly into the shadows, leaving me panting, trembling, and soaking wet. The glow faded from my hands as quickly as it had appeared. Fatigue crashed over me like a wave, my knees nearly buckling under the sudden weight of relief.

Varkas sauntered over, clapping slowly, mockingly. "Impressive, kid. Weak as hell, barely controlled, but impressive nonetheless."

"You bastard," I muttered weakly, sinking onto the cold ground. "You planned all of this, didn't you?"

"Obviously," he said cheerfully, extending a hand to help me up. "Nothing motivates a student faster than imminent death. Consider yourself lucky—most kids don't get to experience such quality training."

I took his hand reluctantly, staggering to my feet, teeth chattering uncontrollably. "You're insane."

He grinned widely, entirely unconcerned. "Insanity is just brilliance misunderstood, boy. You'll understand eventually."

I glared, shaking my head. Despite everything, a small part of me couldn't help but feel oddly grateful. Whatever madness Varkas followed, it had pushed me toward something real. For the first time in ages, I'd touched that elusive power.

As we began our slow, painful walk back through the winding streets, Varkas whistled that obnoxious tune once more. Exhausted, freezing, and thoroughly humiliated, I found myself smiling bitterly.

This wasn't what I'd imagined when dreaming about training and power, but maybe—just maybe—it was exactly what I needed.

After trudging back through the filthy streets of Rellgrave, I found myself once again sitting opposite Varkas in the cramped, dimly lit tavern known as the Bitter Barrel. I was still damp, sore, and thoroughly exhausted, feeling like I'd been dragged through hell and spat back out. Judging by the amused glint in Varkas's eyes, he seemed perfectly content with himself.

I took a slow sip from the chipped mug of ale he'd thrust into my hands upon arriving. The bitter drink stung my tongue, but at least it numbed some of the ache still pulsing through my limbs. Around us, the tavern bustled quietly, filled with weary faces too absorbed in their own struggles to care about two battered strangers.

Varkas slumped back, propping his dirty boots up on the table, and took a long swig from his own mug. "Not bad for your first day, kid," he chuckled darkly, wiping foam from his lips. "You're still alive, mostly intact, and even managed to impress me slightly. Rare accomplishment."

I scowled at him, fatigue blunting my filter. "Glad my near-death experiences entertain you so much."

He laughed heartily, slamming his palm down and rattling the mugs. "That's the spirit! Bitterness suits you. Don't worry, plenty more where that came from."

I shook my head, sighing deeply. "How is nearly getting killed repeatedly supposed to help me control Holy Essence? I barely managed to summon it at all—and even then, it was just a flicker."

Varkas eyed me thoughtfully, suddenly serious. "That's exactly why you're doing this. Essence isn't about magical chants or fancy hand gestures. It's not even about pure talent. It's raw emotion—survival, rage, fear, joy—refined and controlled. Most academy brats never understand it. They're too busy memorizing pointless rules. But you, kid, you've tasted real desperation. That's your edge."

His words resonated with something deep within me, an uncomfortable truth I'd long tried to bury. Desperation was becoming an old friend by now, and if that was what it took to master Essence, then maybe I'd finally found the right path—no matter how miserable it was.

"Fine," I muttered reluctantly, swirling my mug. "I get it. What's next?"

His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Glad you asked. Time for your last test tonight. Nothing too dangerous—just a little retrieval job."

I stared at him skeptically, expecting another sadistic trap. "Retrieval job?"

"Relax," he smirked, waving away my suspicion. "No more thieves or rabid dogs—probably. I left something important in an abandoned cellar nearby. A small ring with the academy crest. Means a lot to me. I'd get it myself, but—" He paused, wiggling his fingers dramatically. "I'm lazy."

I narrowed my eyes. "What's the catch?"

He laughed again, clearly enjoying my distrust. "There's always a catch, kid. The cellar's got a slight... infestation problem. Nothing serious, just a few oversized rodents. Clear them out, bring me the ring, and you'll officially survive day one."

I sighed deeply, already imagining the horrors awaiting me. "You're a terrible mentor, you know that?"

Varkas raised his mug mockingly. "Yet here you sit, drinking my ale. What does that say about you?"

"That I have terrible judgment," I retorted, pushing myself to my feet. "Alright, let's just get this over with."

"Atta boy," he chuckled, leaning back comfortably. "Hurry back—I've placed bets on your survival. Don't let me down."

I shot him a glare and headed back into the night, the chill biting at my still-damp clothes. Following Varkas's vague directions, I soon arrived at an old, abandoned house tucked into a forgotten corner of Rellgrave. It was little more than a ruin, the wood rotting and sagging beneath decades of neglect. Moonlight cast eerie shadows across its crumbling facade, giving it the unsettling air of a place best left forgotten.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped cautiously through the open doorway, cringing as the floorboards creaked ominously beneath my weight. Inside, the darkness was suffocating, broken only by thin slivers of moonlight filtering through cracked walls. My pulse quickened as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. I could barely see the narrow stairs that led down into the cellar. Gripping tightly onto an old wooden stick I'd found near the entrance, I slowly descended, every step echoing unnaturally loud in the silence.

The cellar greeted me with oppressive darkness and the damp stench of mildew. I squinted, barely able to make out vague shapes—a broken table, scattered debris, and piles of what looked disturbingly like bones. My stomach churned nervously.

Then, a sudden rustling sound came from the shadows at my right. My grip tightened around the stick, adrenaline flooding my veins. "Come on," I muttered under my breath. "It's just rats. Oversized, maybe, but still rats."

A sharp, high-pitched squeak pierced the air, followed by a scuttling sound growing rapidly louder. Before I could react, a shadow lunged at me, knocking me sideways into a dusty wall. Pain shot through my shoulder as I stumbled, panic surging.

I swung blindly with my makeshift weapon, connecting solidly with something furry and heavy. Another angry squeal, followed by scratching and more hissing noises echoing around me. Damn it—how many of these things were there?

My heart hammered frantically. I desperately summoned that spark of Essence again, focusing as hard as I could. "Come on," I whispered desperately, clenching my fist. A faint golden glow began forming once more, wavering unsteadily in the darkness.

Another shadow sprang at me; I sidestepped, striking with all my strength. My fist, now faintly glowing, collided directly with the creature, sending it screeching into the far wall. The faint light revealed a rat easily the size of a small dog, red eyes glinting viciously. Fear twisted in my gut, but determination overrode it. I struck again and again, fighting through exhaustion and pain, refusing to fall.

When silence finally settled around me, I stood panting, surrounded by unconscious—or possibly dead—mutated rats. My legs trembled, my chest heaved, and Essence flickered weakly from my fingertips before fading. I staggered toward the broken table in the corner, eyes widening as I saw a small glinting object—a golden ring engraved with the symbol of the Reslau Academy.

As I picked it up, curiosity stirred within me. Why would Varkas leave something so obviously important in a filthy place like this? I pocketed it carefully, making my way slowly back to the tavern.

When I returned, Varkas was waiting expectantly, grinning from ear to ear. Without a word, I handed him the ring. He examined it quietly, expression unreadable, before slipping it onto his finger with a satisfied nod.

"You did well," he said softly, almost reluctantly. "Better than I expected."

I sank back into my seat, exhaustion overtaking me completely. "Can you at least tell me why that ring matters so much?"

He hesitated, eyes distant for a long moment. Finally, he spoke quietly, voice stripped of its usual mocking tone. "Because it reminds me of who I used to be. Before the academy betrayed me. Before I lost everything."

His sudden sincerity stunned me. "What happened?"

His smile returned, bitter and cold. "That story's for another night, kid. For now, just know you earned your place—at least for today."

He raised his mug in a silent toast. I followed suit, confusion mingling with pride. But before I could take another sip, his voice grew serious once more, quiet and ominous.

"But tomorrow...tomorrow's when your real training begins. I hope you're ready, Aleks. Because if you thought today was hard, you haven't seen anything yet."

His dark laughter filled the air, echoing through the tavern and settling deep in my bones. And as I met his gaze—wild, unpredictable, dangerous—I felt a shiver run down my spine.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?