Days in the Pit blended together without the rhythm of light and darkness. Thrall 7249 could only estimate the passage of time by the irregur delivery of food—stale bread and thin gruel dropped through a small hatch in the ceiling. As the old demon had expined, the meager provisions weren't enough for everyone. The resulting struggle for survival created a brutal hierarchy even among the forgotten.

  Yet the half-demon boy found himself in an unexpectedly privileged position. The elderly schor—who introduced himself as Thrall 3012, though he occasionally slipped and referred to himself as "Mentor"—had taken a particur interest in him. This interest transted into protection, as the other inhabitants of the Pit seemed to respect or fear the old demon despite his frail appearance.

  "Your breathing is irregur," Mentor observed during one of their sessions. They sat cross-legged in a small alcove the old demon had cimed as his own, slightly separated from the main chamber. "You waste energy with each breath. A sve's habit—always rushing, always anxious, as if the overseer's whip is eternally poised to strike."

  Thrall 7249 frowned. "How else should I breathe?"

  "With intention. With control." The old demon demonstrated, his chest rising and falling in a slow, measured rhythm. "Breath is the foundation of all magical practice. It connects body and spirit, links physical and magical energy."

  "I thought demons just... had magic," Thrall 7249 said.

  Mentor scoffed. "A common misconception perpetuated by the higher castes. They want lower demons to believe power is innate and unchangeable—that one's caste at birth determines one's capabilities forever." He tapped a bony finger against the boy's chest. "All demons possess magical potential. The difference is in training, in access to knowledge, and in the artificial restrictions pced upon us."

  "Artificial restrictions?"

  "Like those colrs." Mentor nodded toward the metal band around Thrall 7249's neck, identical to those worn by all sve-caste demons. "They dampen magical ability, though not as completely as most believe. They're primarily psychological control—a constant reminder of one's pce."

  Thrall 7249 touched the colr thoughtfully. He'd worn it for as long as he could remember, had almost forgotten its presence against his skin.

  "Now, try again," Mentor instructed. "Four counts in, hold for seven, eight counts out. Feel the energy circuting with each breath."

  The boy obeyed, focusing on the rhythm. After several cycles, he began to notice a subtle warmth spreading through his chest—perhaps the fragment of power he'd absorbed during the incomplete Blood Bond, or perhaps something that had been there all along, waiting to be awakened.

  "Better," Mentor said after observing him for several minutes. "You have unusual potential, even for a half-blood. That's likely why you were relegated to sve status despite your mixed heritage."

  "What do you mean?"

  The old demon's eyes narrowed. "Most half-bloods are assigned to the Commoner caste at minimum. Their mixed blood is seen as diluted but not worthless. Only those who might pose a threat are deliberately suppressed through sve cssification."

  This was new information. Thrall 7249 had always assumed his status was simply due to his mixed blood being viewed as inferior. The idea that he might have been specifically targeted for suppression was both disturbing and oddly validating.

  "Who were you?" he asked suddenly. "Before you were ensved. You mentioned being a schor."

  A shadow passed over Mentor's face. "Another lifetime ago. I was a magister at the Royal Academy in Infernum, specializing in demonic evolution and magical theory. I had the misfortune of discovering evidence that contradicted the established doctrine of caste-determined power limits." His lips curled into a bitter smile. "My research suggested that with proper training, even lower castes could achieve magical abilities rivaling those of nobles."

  "And they ensved you for that?"

  "They couldn't execute me openly—I had too many connections, too much influence. So they fabricated charges of treason, stripped me of my position, and quietly assigned me to the sve pits." The old demon's eyes took on a distant look. "That was thirty-seven years ago. I expected to die quickly. Instead, I found myself here, teaching those deemed unteachable."

  Thrall 7249 realized that the Pit, intended as a pce of suffering and death, had inadvertently become something else—a hidden pocket where the strict enforcement of caste rules had broken down, where knowledge forbidden to sves could be freely shared.

  "Will you teach me?" he asked. "About magic, about the kingdoms... everything."

  Mentor studied him intently. "I've always chosen my students carefully, even here. Teaching is not merely transferring knowledge—it's igniting potential. And yours..." He paused, his gaze becoming unfocused as if seeing something beyond physical appearance. "Yours burns brighter than any I've encountered in decades."

  Over the following days—or weeks, time remained difficult to track—Thrall 7249 absorbed Mentor's teachings with an intensity that surprised even the old schor. They began with meditation techniques that helped unlock more of the boy's fragmented memories from Earth.

  "Your case is fascinating," Mentor remarked after one particurly productive session. "Your soul structure suggests something I've only read about in ancient texts—reincarnation across realms."

  "Across realms?" Thrall 7249 asked, the words triggering a cascade of images in his mind: a small room with glowing screens, games with complex rules and strategies, stories about people transported to other worlds.

  "There are many pnes of existence beyond our demon realm," Mentor expined. "The human world, the celestial realm, the void between dimensions... Legends speak of souls occasionally crossing these boundaries, either through powerful magic or cosmic chance."

  This resonated with the boy's emerging memories. "I think... I might have been human," he said hesitantly, speaking aloud a thought that had been forming gradually within him.

  Instead of dismissing this cim, Mentor nodded thoughtfully. "That would expin much about your unusual aptitudes and perspectives. Human souls possess different qualities than demon souls—less innate magical potency but greater adaptability and creative potential."

  With this theoretical framework providing context for his fragmented memories, Thrall 7249 found them becoming more accessible. Details of his human life began to surface—his immersion in games requiring strategic thinking, his fascination with stories about people transported to fantasy worlds, his frustration with his ordinary human existence.

  "I wished for it," he realized during one meditation session. "I wished to be reborn in another world. And then... there was pain in my chest, darkness, and then being here."

  "Be careful what you wish for," Mentor said dryly. "The universe has a peculiar sense of humor."

  Beyond helping him access his memories, the old schor taught him about demon society with a depth and breadth no sve would normally encounter. He learned about the Seven Kingdoms and their distinct cultures:

  "Infernum, the Kingdom of Fme, values strength above all. Their military might is unmatched, but their rigid hierarchy makes them resistant to change.

  "Abyssalia, the Kingdom of Depths, harnesses water magic and values fluidity and adaptation. Their underwater cities are architectural marvels.

  "Umbravale, the Kingdom of Shadows, specializes in stealth and information. Their spy networks extend throughout all kingdoms.

  "Necroterra, the Kingdom of Death, studies soul magic and preservation. They see death not as an end but a transformation.

  "Bloodreach, the Kingdom of Vitality, focuses on blood magic and lineage. Their noble houses maintain the purest bloodlines.

  "Voidcrest, the Kingdom of Sky, controls weather and studies dimensional magic. Their floating isnds defy gravity itself.

  "Chaosgard, the Kingdom of Change, embraces unpredictability and individual strength. They have the least structured society of all kingdoms."

  Thrall 7249 absorbed this information eagerly, linking it with fragments he'd gathered from his hidden studies and observation of noble conversations. The pieces of knowledge connected, forming a more complete picture of the world beyond the sve quarters.

  Mentor also taught him practical skills—how to slow his heartbeat to conserve energy during food shortages, how to extract moisture from the seemingly dry stone walls when thirst became unbearable, how to fight efficiently when necessary. These survival techniques had kept the old demon alive for decades in conditions that killed most within weeks.

  But most valuable were the forbidden magical exercises—techniques that sves were never meant to learn. Under Mentor's guidance, Thrall 7249 practiced controlling the small amount of demonic energy he possessed, learning to feel it flowing through his body and gradually direct it with increasing precision.

  "Your progress is remarkable," Mentor noted after one particurly successful exercise where the boy had managed to create a tiny flicker of light at his fingertip—a simple spell, but one that should have been impossible for a sve-caste demon to perform. "The fragment of power you absorbed from that noble has integrated well with your natural energy."

  "Is that unusual?" Thrall 7249 asked, watching the light dance across his palm before fading.

  "Blood Bonds typically create dependency, not independence," Mentor expined. "The lower-caste recipient gains power but becomes magically tethered to their patron. Your interrupted ritual seems to have transferred a spark of power without establishing the usual constraints." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Combined with your unusual soul structure, it's created something... unexpected."

  One day, during a rare moment when they had privacy from the other inhabitants of the Pit, Mentor became unusually serious.

  "I believe you were sent here for a reason," the old schor said quietly.

  "Sent to the Pit? For interfering with the Blood Bond?"

  "No. Sent to this world, this life." Mentor's eyes had the distant look they sometimes took when he was contempting concepts beyond immediate experience. "The demon world has stagnated under the caste system for millennia. The Seven Kingdoms maintain an uneasy bance, neither progressing nor colpsing. Something—or someone—needs to catalyze change."

  Thrall 7249 ughed nervously. "And you think that's me? A half-blood sve?"

  "History is full of unlikely heroes." Mentor smiled slightly. "And those with the least investment in maintaining the current order often have the greatest motivation to change it."

  The idea seemed absurd to the boy. He was focused on survival, on understanding his own strange memories and developing his abilities—not on revolutionizing demon society. Yet something about Mentor's words lingered in his thoughts.

  During their time together, Thrall 7249 shared what he had learned about the current political ndscape through his network of informants—the tensions between kingdoms, the ongoing power struggles among noble houses, the rumors of angelic incursions at the borders of the demon realm.

  "You've built quite an impressive intelligence network for a sve," Mentor remarked, impressed by the boy's detailed knowledge. "That skill will serve you well if you survive beyond these walls."

  "When," Thrall 7249 corrected with determination. "When I survive beyond these walls."

  Mentor's eyes crinkled with approval. "Yes. When." He reached out and pced a bony hand on the boy's shoulder. "Remember this, young one. Knowledge is the one treasure that cannot be taken from you once acquired. They can cage your body, but never your mind—unless you allow it."

  As the weeks passed, Thrall 7249 realized that the Pit—meant as his punishment—had become an unexpected blessing. Here, away from the constant supervision of overseers, he could practice his abilities openly under Mentor's guidance. Here, he had found not just a teacher but someone who saw his potential rather than his caste.

  "There will come a time," Mentor told him during one of their final lessons, "when you will face a choice between safety and purpose. Many choose safety—it is the instinct of all living things. But those who choose purpose..." The old demon's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Those are the ones who change worlds."

  Thrall 7249 absorbed these words, along with everything else Mentor taught him. The fragment of noble power within him continued to integrate with his own energy, growing stronger with each controlled breath, each focused meditation. His memories of Earth became clearer, providing him with perspectives and ideas alien to demon society.

  He was changing, evolving in ways that would have been impossible outside these dark walls. The Pit, designed to break him, was instead rebuilding him into something new—something neither fully human nor fully demon, but perhaps something more than either.

  And in the darkness, guided by a fallen schor who had lost everything except his knowledge, Thrall 7249 began to wonder if Mentor might be right—if his presence in this world might serve some greater purpose than mere survival.