He found himself floating within infinity.

  For the very briefest period, a sliver of time so slim that the very laws of time and space had to distort under the weight of it, Zayne saw through His eyes.

  It was too short to be understood as a memory, so was instead conveyed through a sensation. A sensation that he had heard plenty about, one that many in the world hoped and prayed they would feel one day.

  Virtues, spellcraft, anything that the Loom was capable of, even the artefacts themselves, came from a Strand. A Strand existed within every single person on the planet; that much was common knowledge. Some guessed that Strands were just an innate part of the soul, others claimed that they were a gift of love passed down from their ancestors. But only the talented, the blessed, those born from someone that already held its power, could kindle the Flow to life, and be reforged into what they were truly meant to be.

  The warm flare that flooded your senses from within, erupting like a fountain from your very being, unlocking abilities far beyond human comprehension, would feel like a miracle come true.

  So, despite the turmoil and the terrors of his experience within the Inheritance, he felt the calling and was ready.

  Except nothing happened.

  He hovered, alone within the infinite expanse of the black sea, and started to panic as he continued to feel nothing. It was like the process had been interrupted before it even began, leaving him stranded in the depths of eternity.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something streaking towards him. A searing, yellow arc, reminding him of a shooting star.

  Panic sparked, as he desperately tried to kick away. But there was no body for him to move, no mouth for him to scream. So, Zayne was left with nothing but to wait until the blaze reached him.

  It struck where his chest felt like it should be, and he prepared for the mind-numbing pain. Yet nothing came. In amazement, Zayne watched as the streak coiled around him, a gold lustre overpowering the empty void.

  That was when he had an idea of what it was. He hardly dared to believe it.

  A warmth burst from its golden sheen, embracing him from the outside and seeping into the cracks of his soul. It was overpowering, a wondrous phenomenon that reshaped his weaknesses and moulded him closer to perfection. Every scar he had ever received, bruise, mark, scratch, were all stripped away and replaced with shimmering skin. Like he was being exalted by an unseen force, granted his deepest and truest wish.

  Then it stopped by his neck, and agony returned. Like a parasite fighting against the blessing, he yelled into the void as his Brand palpitated, pushing back the rivulets of power trying to fix him. His curse trying to ruin his one salvation. In anger, he tried to claw at it, but his hands weren’t really there, gnashing his teeth together in pitiful prayers.

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  In the moment of weakness, he uttered a prayer out to the four gods that had emblazoned themselves. Desperation conquered his rebellion. Eternity, Twilight, Flesh, and…

  Nothing.

  He landed face-flat onto red carpet, scrambling up in surprise. Zayne looked at himself, turning his hands over, and his heart settled. He could feel it. A dam that had burst open, and could no longer be closed. Like a muscle that he could call upon at will, along with being faster and stronger than any normal human that dared cross his path. His own Virtue. Despite himself, a smile worked its way onto his face.

  [Congratulations, my Champion. You have-have-have-have-have]

  “Alora, my darling. You’ve…”

  Zayne glanced up, two voices interwoven before him. He was in some kind of throne room.

  A man sat in front of him, with familiar chestnut curls that he could have sworn he’d seen before. He wore regal clothes, but again, had chains preventing him from standing up.

  And he did not look happy. Completely the opposite. If it weren’t for his newfound powers, Zayne might have actually been scared for his life. A bulging red face focused solely upon him like he was a stain on the marble walls.

  “What have you done. You’ve ruined everything. No, this can’t be! This is impossible!”

  Zayne retorted, unbothered, “I don’t know, and I don’t care. Now, if you want to try kill me, I’ve got a Virtue I want to test out.”

  He wiled the energy he felt thrumming from within him to come out, ready to see what he had been gifted with. The same radiant mist from earlier spilled out of him, the power that he now recognised as the Flow, coalescing in between his fingertips.

  Extending his hand, Zayne watched as it manifested, brimming with excitement, into a long wooden quill.

  He waved it around, trying to bring out something else. Ink fell from its tip, and he felt Flow leave his body, sploshing onto the ground harmlessly. This wasn’t a weapon. Even if he got a trash Virtue, it should do something more than just summon a paintbrush!

  A loud grunt reverberated into the ground, as he watched the man pull himself up into his height, and whimpered. Zayne felt his confidence fall just a little at the beast chained in front of him. If he had gained a little bit of muscle with his transformation, then this man was made of muscle.

  The Flow exploded forth from him, and his last hope of the chains were devastated with ease.

  “You are a flaw that was never meant to exist!” he snarled, “I must fix things before it is too late.”

  He hadn’t even seen his brand yet, what kind of judgement was this? Zayne turned around and quickly began to exert his newfound speed, bursting in a last-ditch attempt to survive. He dismissed the puny paintbrush, vowing revenge on the Inheritance for cheating him like this.

  Luckily, the entire room froze in place, with the second voice finally re-exerting itself.

  [The little Flaw found himself lost, and took hold of what was not his. May it all burn rather than follow its current path.]

  [Deviations: Release of [???], Death of [Silver Lance], [?????-?], End of [?], Destiny Erasure]

  The warping and breaking that he had felt at the beginning of the Inheritance came over him, and he re-materialised into the world.

  “It’s back! Move his corpse to the side. Wait, you’re saying it’s breathing. No, wait, no, where… Bloody hell, there’s no way!”

  He opened his eyes to see a woman in her early thirties staring down at him, dressed in flowing black armour. She seemed completely shocked, disbelief coating her freckles, before it hardened.

  “Kid, looks like you’re coming with us.”

  Before Zayne could say anything, he disappeared into a bronze shroud.

  Considering all the threats they had faced so far, isn't that interesting?