The dim light of the sve quarters' bathing chamber cast long shadows across the wet stone floor. At twelve years old, the half-demon boy had developed a routine of bathing during off-hours to avoid the attention of rger sves. Today, however, his careful timing had failed him.

  "Look who's here," came a familiar voice that made the boy's stomach clench. "The little half-breed thinks he deserves clean water."

  Vrag had grown considerably in the past two years. His horns now curved impressively above his head, and his red skin had darkened to a deep crimson that signaled his approaching maturity. Behind him stood five other demon children, all rger and stronger than the half-breed.

  The boy calcuted his options quickly. The chamber had only one exit, now blocked by Vrag's group. Fighting was futile. Begging would only encourage them.

  "I was just finishing," he said neutrally, reaching for his tattered shirt.

  Vrag knocked the garment from his hand. "Not so fast. We haven't had our fun yet."

  The first blow caught the boy in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping, as the second strike hit his back. The other children joined in, forming a circle around him as they took turns pushing, hitting, and kicking.

  The boy curled into a defensive position, protecting his head and vital organs as he had learned to do during these increasingly frequent beatings. Physical resistance would only prolong the punishment. His best hope was that they would tire quickly and move on.

  But something was different this time. Vrag seemed determined to extract a reaction.

  "I heard interesting things about you, half-breed," Vrag said, nding a particurly vicious kick to the boy's ribs. "Overseer Vargus thinks you're special. Says you might have valuable blood."

  Another kick.

  "What makes you so special? You look like nothing to me. Weak. Pathetic. Not even proper horns."

  The beating continued, more systematic than usual. The boy realized with growing arm that this wasn't the typical bullying—this was an intentional attempt to push him beyond his limits.

  As pain blossomed across his body, something strange began to happen in his mind. The barriers that had locked away his past life weren't meant to break yet, but under extreme duress, tiny cracks appeared.

  A fragment of memory surfaced—he was sitting before a glowing screen, maniputing images of fighters. His fingers moved over strange controls as characters on the screen dodged and attacked. He was analyzing patterns, predicting movements, calcuting optimal responses.

  Block, sidestep, counterattack. Every opponent has a pattern. Find it.

  The thought came with such crity that the boy gasped. It didn't feel like his own thought, yet somehow it was.

  Another blow struck his side, but now he was watching Vrag with new awareness. The older demon was favoring his right side, putting more power into each strike but leaving himself briefly unbanced after each attack. The other children were following a rough circle, taking turns in a predictable sequence.

  There's a pattern here too.

  When Vrag moved in for another kick, the boy suddenly rolled—not away from the attack as expected, but toward it. The maneuver caught Vrag by surprise, bringing him close enough for the boy to sweep his supporting leg.

  The rger demon crashed to the floor with a surprised growl. The circle of attackers paused, momentarily confused by this unexpected resistance.

  The boy didn't waste the opportunity. He scrambled to his feet, body aching but mind unusually clear. His eyes darted around, assessing threats with a calcuting precision that felt both foreign and familiar.

  "He knocked down Vrag!" one of the others excimed, sounding more shocked than concerned.

  Vrag rose with a snarl, his red skin darkening further with rage. "You're dead, half-breed."

  He charged forward, all technique abandoned in favor of raw aggression. But the boy now saw the attack as if it were happening in slow motion. He sidestepped at the st moment, using Vrag's momentum against him to send him stumbling into the stone wall.

  The impact wasn't enough to seriously hurt the rger demon, but it was enough to enrage him further. He turned with murder in his eyes.

  "Hold him," Vrag ordered the others. "I'm going to break every bone in his worthless body."

  Two of the rger children grabbed the boy's arms, pinning them behind his back. He struggled, but physical strength remained his weakness. Vrag approached, cracking his knuckles with deliberate menace.

  "You think you're clever, runt? Let's see how smart you feel with your face smashed in."

  The first punch connected solidly with the boy's jaw, snapping his head back. The second hit his stomach, forcing out what little air remained in his lungs. But as the physical pain intensified, so did the fracturing of the magical barriers in his mind.

  More fragments broke through—techniques from fighting games, strategic thinking from chess matches, analysis of attack patterns from countless hours of gaming.

  Every attack has a counter. Every pattern has a weakness.

  Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as Vrag prepared another blow. The boy could see the telegraphed movement, could calcute the trajectory. With a sudden twist, he brought one of his captors into the path of the punch. The unexpected obstacle caused Vrag to pull back slightly, weakening the impact.

  The momentary confusion allowed the boy to wrench one arm free. He drove his elbow back into the second captor's stomach, creating just enough space to slip from their grasp.

  "What the hell?" Vrag growled. "Since when can you fight back?"

  The boy didn't answer. He was in an unfamiliar mental state—part instinct, part calcution, guided by fragments of knowledge that didn't belong to a sve child who had never received combat training.

  He knew he couldn't win through strength. But perhaps he could survive through analysis and opportunity.

  When the next attack came, he didn't try to match strength with strength. Instead, he focused on disrupting the pattern, creating confusion, and using the close quarters of the bathing chamber to limit his opponents' advantage of numbers.

  He darted between two attackers, causing them to collide. He used wet spots on the floor to his advantage, causing one pursuer to slip. Each move was defensive rather than offensive, focused on survival rather than victory.

  But he was still outnumbered and physically outmatched. Eventually, a wild swing caught him on the temple, sending him sprawling to the floor. The taste of blood filled his mouth as Vrag pnted a foot on his chest.

  "Enough games," Vrag snarled. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but it ends now."

  As Vrag raised his foot to stomp on the boy's face, a sharp voice cut through the chamber.

  "What is happening here?"

  The sve children froze. Overseer Vargus stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the exit, whip twitching in his hand.

  "This half-breed attacked me, Overseer," Vrag said quickly. "We were just defending ourselves."

  Vargus's yellow eyes surveyed the scene—six rger children surrounding one bloody, bruised half-breed. His expression suggested he didn't believe Vrag's version of events, but neither did he care about the truth.

  "All of you, back to your quarters," he ordered the others. Then his gaze fixed on the boy still lying on the floor. "Except you, Thrall 7249. You stay."

  As the others filed out, throwing triumphant gnces over their shoulders, the boy slowly pushed himself to his feet. His body screamed with pain, but his mind remained unusually clear. The brief awakening of lost memories was already fading, but it had left him changed.

  Vargus approached slowly, studying the boy with unsettling intensity.

  "Interesting," the overseer said. "Six against one, yet you're still standing. And from the looks of Vrag's face, you managed to nd at least one good hit."

  The boy remained silent, eyes downcast as survival instinct reasserted itself. Drawing attention was dangerous, especially from someone as unpredictable as Vargus.

  "Look at me," Vargus commanded.

  Reluctantly, the boy raised his eyes. The overseer leaned closer, examining him with disturbing thoroughness.

  "Your eyes changed," Vargus said. "During the fight. Did you notice? For a moment, they glowed differently. Not like a demon's eyes should glow."

  The boy had no response to this. He hadn't seen his own eyes, and he had been too focused on survival to notice any other changes.

  "You're an interesting specimen, 7249," Vargus continued. "Most half-breeds are weaker than pure demons without compensating advantages. But you... you're different. You think differently."

  Vargus circled him slowly, like a predator assessing prey.

  "I've been watching you. You've created quite the little network among the other weaklings. You find hiding pces no one else notices. You predict patrol patterns. These aren't typical sve behaviors."

  The boy's heart raced. His survival had depended on remaining unremarkable. Vargus's interest was dangerous.

  "I wonder," the overseer mused, "what would happen if I pushed you further? What other... abilities might emerge under the right pressure?"

  The threat hung in the air between them. The boy fought to keep his expression neutral despite his fear.

  "Clean yourself up," Vargus finally said. "Double work rotation tomorrow. And 7249?"

  "Yes, Overseer?"

  "I'll be watching you very closely from now on. Very closely indeed."

  After Vargus left, the boy colpsed against the wall, his momentary strength deserting him. His body ached from the beating, but his mind was racing with questions.

  What had happened during the fight? How had he known those moves, seen those patterns? The knowledge had felt like his own, yet not—as if he had temporarily accessed someone else's experiences.

  And more troubling: Vargus had noticed something. The overseer's interest would make everything more difficult now. His careful systems for survival would need adjustment.

  As he slowly cleaned his wounds with the remaining water, the boy tried to recapture the crity he had felt during the fight. The strange memories had already receded behind mental barriers, leaving only vague impressions—glowing screens, strategic games, and fighting techniques he had never been taught.

  Something had awakened inside him today. Something that didn't belong to a demon sve child. Something that felt like... someone else.

  He didn't understand it yet, but instinct told him this awakening was important. These fragments of unknown memory might be his most valuable resource—if he could learn to access them again.

  For now, though, he needed to focus on immediate survival. Vargus's attention meant danger, and Vrag would be looking for revenge. The half-demon boy had just become more visible in a world where invisibility had been his primary protection.

  He would need to adapt quickly. And somehow, he felt more confident that he could.