The silence of the room pressed down on Erick like a heavy shroud. He stayed still, staring at the golden banner of House Hillsaint. The warmth of the room should have been comforting, but it just didn’t feel right. His fingers tightened against his body—this body felt lighter, leaner than his old one.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, attempting to stand. His movements were slow, almost hesitant. His bare feet touched the cold floor, sending a shiver through him.

  He thought to himself: A mirror. He needed a mirror.

  He saw one above the dresser beside him. Pushing himself up, Erick staggered, his legs unsteady. His breath hitched as he caught himself on the dresser, gripping its polished wooden edge for support. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror above it—just as he had expected, a stranger’s face.

  His breath came in short bursts as he took in his new features. His hair was dark brown, longer than he remembered, falling past his ears. His face was smoother, sharper, more youthful. This body couldn’t be more than fifteen, he thought. His eyes, once a bright blue, now gleamed with a deeper, steel-like hue. His skin, though pale, had no scars. He looked… almost European.

  His fingers trembled as he ran them over his jaw.

  He still couldn’t believe this.

  Thank God he had no parents or siblings to worry about him—or for him to worry about. He only had Arlen, and the bastard had poisoned him.

  He did have a cat, though. But cats were survivors. He always left the window open, and knowing cats, it’d probably leave after a day if it wasn’t fed.

  Could he go back?

  A sharp knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

  At least this person could knock.

  A woman stepped inside, clad in finely tailored robes embroidered with golden sunbursts. She was insanely beautiful—the type of beauty that made men go mad—but Erick held firm. He was strong, almost immune to these kinds of things. His heart did falter a bit, though.

  Her presence carried an air of quiet authority, her golden eyes sharp as they swept over him. Her auburn hair was neatly pinned back, a few loose strands framing her face. She couldn’t have been more than thirty, yet there was a certain weight to her gaze that made her seem older.

  “You’re awake,” she said, her tone neutral.

  Erick’s throat went dry. “Yeah,” he managed.

  The woman studied him for a long moment, then stepped further inside, closing the door behind her.

  “I am Elle, Lady Elle of House Hillsaint, adoptive daughter of the Paragon. I oversee matters of… healing.”

  He swallowed. “Then you were the one who treated me?”

  Elle nodded. “In a way, yes. I helped alleviate your chaos contamination. You had been almost corrupted.” She tilted her head, as if assessing him. “Your body did the rest by itself. It responded very fast to my aether.”

  “Tell me, do you feel any different?”

  There was still a pulsing warmth in his chest. It was weaker now, but it was still there.

  Elle continued to study him, her expression unreadable.

  “Your body has changed,” she said. “It is stronger, more resilient, and yet you do not seem familiar with it. Why is that?”

  Erick hesitated. Should he tell her that he wasn’t who they thought he was? That his existence in their world made no sense?

  Before he could decide, she continued, “The Paragon will want to speak with you soon. Until then, you are to remain within these chambers.”

  “Do you understand?”

  The old man had said this before. He frowned. “Am I a prisoner, then?”

  “You are a guest,” Elle corrected. “For now.”

  The unspoken threat in her words was evident.

  “If you experience anything unusual… you will inform me immediately through the Castellan.”

  Who was the castellan Erick thought—was that the old man

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  Erick swallowed hard before responding . “Yeah, s—”

  The door creaked open before Erick could finish.

  A man entered.

  The air in the room seemed to instantly vanish with his arrival, his presence suffocating.

  He was tall—probably 6’6—and wore no armor. Instead, he was dressed in black and gold-threaded robes with the image of a sun embroidered on his breast. Every step was deliberate, his posture exuding effortless authority. His dark, graying hair was neatly kept, but it was his eyes—piercing violet and glowing faintly—that made Erick tense. They were unnatural. Strange. But alas, they seemed to be the most natural thing Erick had seen since he got here.

  Was this the Paragon?

  Behind him, clad in bluish gray armor, was a giant man—taller than even the Paragon.

  Who is he? Erick thought.

  Then it hit him.

  He saw his eyes. Those yellow wolf-like eyes.

  He had seen him briefly, but he remembered those eyes. The giant was without his helm now. He had a dark red, full but trimmed beard, with hair of the same color tied into a bun. If he let it down, he would look like a certain god.

  Was he the Grand Knight called Ragnar Falkir?

  The one the “Castellan” had spoken about?

  Elle, who had been calm so far, straightened at their entrance. She looked towards the Paragon.

  “Father. You arrived sooner than expected.”

  Father?

  Erick was right. He was the Paragon.

  The Paragon did not acknowledge her words. His gaze was locked onto Erick, scrutinizing him in silence before he finally spoke.

  “He’s awake.”

  His voice was calm.

  Erick swallowed hard, feeling like an insect under a magnifying glass.

  Elle inclined her head. “Yes, Father. There are no wounds, no scarring. His body has adapted far faster than it should have.”

  “I know.”

  The Paragon stepped closer, as if peeling back his skin to see what was laying beneath. “And I intend to find out why.”

  Ragnar shifted slightly, his armor creaking, but he remained silent.

  “Tell me, boy, who are you?”

  Erick hesitated.

  He didn’t know how to answer that question. What was he supposed to say? That he had been someone else entirely? That he barely understood what had happened to him?

  “I don’t know.”

  Elle’s gaze flickered towards him, as if warning him.

  But he remained impassive.

  “You should be dead,” the Paragon continued. “Yet you are not. You were touched by chaos, yet it did not consume you. Why?”

  Erick clenched his fist. “Everyone keeps asking! I said I don’t know!” he said, more forcefully this time.

  “Mind your tongue.”

  The Paragon’s expression did not change.

  “Lies are wasted on me, child.”

  A flicker of something—power unseen but suffocating—settled over the room, like a storm about to break.

  Erick felt it immediately.

  A force pressed against him, seeping beneath his skin. His vision swam, his limbs weakened. It was as if a human-sized anvil was being slowly lowered onto him.

  He managed to look towards Elle and Ragnar.

  They looked fine.

  Were they immune to this pressure?

  His chest burned.

  The warmth inside him—whatever it was—reacted violently. It pulsed, pushing back against the invading force. Resisting.

  “Lord Tavian, you’ll kill the boy,” Ragnar finally spoke, his deep voice bellowing.

  “Be quiet.”

  The Paragon raised his hand, as if to silence the giant. “I know what I am doing.”

  The pressure vanished as quickly as it had come.

  Erick gasped, stumbling back against the dresser. His heart pounded, his limbs shaking.

  For the first time since this conversation had started, the Paragon looked vaguely intrigued.

  “Interesting,” he murmured.

  Ragnar folded his arms. “Lord Tavian, what is he?”

  The Paragon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he regarded Erick for another long moment before speaking again.

  “What do you remember?”

  Erick exhaled shakily. “The village. The giant with stitches I remember his name being said His companion had called him mortem. They forced something down my throat called it a Chaos Core and I remember him He said pointing a finger at Ragnar. “And then I woke up here.”

  The Paragon’s expression didn’t shift, but the intensity in his eyes sharpened.

  “And your name?”

  Erick hesitated.

  “…Erick.”

  It was the truth, at least as much as he was willing to say.

  The Paragon exhaled slowly, clasping his hands behind his back. “I have seen many things in my time, but this…” He looked at Erick once more. “This is different. Never have I heard of a Chaos Core being implanted—and like that, no less.”

  Ragnar’s gaze remained locked on Erick. “Then what shall we do with him?”

  The Paragon tilted his head slightly, considering. Then he turned back to Erick, his expression bland.

  “You will ride with Falkir, north, back to his hold.”

  Erick’s breath hitched.

  “What?”

  “You were found in the aftermath of a chaos incursion. I will not allow that to be ignored.”

  Ragnar remained silent, but Erick could feel his gaze.

  “You will travel with him,” the Paragon continued, “and you will prove that you are not a threat to the Emperor and his empire.”

  A pause.

  “Meanwhile, I will summon a council meeting with the Knight Guardians—at least those that will come—and hear what they have to say. They have likely already heard of this matter. From there, we shall decide if you will be given to the Sanctum or not.”

  Erick swallowed. “And if I refuse?”

  The Paragon sighed.

  “You won’t.”

  There was no threat in his voice. Just undeniable certainty.

  Ragnar finally spoke. “Be ready by dawn. We leave then.”

  With that, he turned and walked toward the door, his heavy armor clinking softly.

  The Paragon lingered for a moment, his gaze still locked on Erick.

  “You may not understand what you are yet…” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “But I will find out.”

  Then he turned, following Ragnar out.

  The door shut behind them with a final, resounding thud.

  Erick let out a slow, shaky breath.

  Elle watched him for a moment before stepping closer. Her voice was softer, though there was still a wariness in her tone.

  “The journey north is dangerous,” she said. “But you’ll be safe with Ragnar. He’ll likely ride with his vice, but still—you should rest. You’ll need your own strength.”

  She turned to leave, then paused.

  “I’ll be bringing your supper and a change of clothes in a while. I hope you like fish.As Elle left, the door shutting softly behind her, Erick exhaled, rubbing his temples.

  “Fish,” he muttered under his breath.

  “She’s talking about food while her father is deciding whether or not to hand me over like I’m cursed.”

  From what he’d heard so far—maybe he was

  Was this a test? And if it was… then what the hell was he supposed to do to pass it?