The darkness that hit Aerion wasn't empty, it was a furnace, a churning sea of heat and noise. His mind, or whatever was left of it, felt trapped, swirling in a haze of fire and a deep, rumbling roar.
A voice cut through, sharp and ancient, slicing into what remained of him.
"Pathetic," it said, the word stinging like a slap.
Kairos, the Dragon Emperor, wasn't just talking, he was tearing through Aerion's head, ripping into every memory, every thought. Aerion's pride, already battered, burned away under the voice's scorn.
"Hiding in books while your kingdom fell to swords," Kairos mocked. "This body's wasted on a coward like you."
Pictures flashed in Aerion's mind, too fast to hold onto, his mother's soft smile as she read to him, the Lyceum's library with its dusty smell, the screams as Therion's men tore through the academy, the cold river water soaking him as he ran. To Kairos, these were flaws, weaknesses to be crushed.
"Enough," Kairos growled, his voice like a hammer. Aerion's pain, raw, desperate, pushed back, but Kairos didn't care. He shoved those memories deep, locking them away where Aerion's broken soul hid, out of reach.
With Aerion's feelings buried, Kairos turned to the body. It was a mess, and he hated it.
The shoulder where the axe had hit throbbed, the flesh swollen and hot even though the wound had closed. His collarbone was cracked, sending dull pain with every heartbeat, too fast, too weak.
His lungs were tight, still clogged with blood he'd coughed up. His feet, cut and filthy, shook under his weight.
This human shell was a cage, fragile and limiting, nothing like the power Kairos once had.
Still, there was something in this body, Aerion's blood, tied to an old lineage, maybe even Kairos's own. That spark was why he'd chosen it, why he could bind to it. It wasn't much, but it was enough to work with.
Kairos turned from the assassin's charred remains, the air still thick with sulfur and burned flesh. In the distance, dogs barked, louder now, Therion's hunters, tracking Aerion's blood or the dead Vaelgardian.
Staying here wasn't an option. This body couldn't handle a fight, not yet.
He dug into Aerion's memories again, wincing at their messiness, fear, panic, useless flight. But one stood out: a hunting trip with his father, years ago.
They'd gotten lost in a storm and found a place to hide. A lodge, old and rotting, tucked in a swamp on the border between Veridian and Vaelgard, far from patrols.
Isolated, hard to reach, forgotten. Perfect.
Kairos moved, his legs stiff, the body fighting him. Each step hurt, muscles screamed, wounds pulsed, exhaustion dragged at him.
He gritted his teeth, willing the body to obey, ignoring the pain as a nuisance. He slipped back into the forest, leaving the clearing behind, chasing the faint map in Aerion's head.
The walk was brutal. Branches scraped his skin, too soft, too human.
Roots tripped him, his feet slipping on mud. His breaths came hard, puffing out in the chilly morning air.
He hated this, hated the weakness, hated Aerion's lingering fear that kept bubbling up, like a wound that wouldn't close.
"You're dead, boy," Kairos muttered, his voice low, rough. "This is mine now. Be glad your blood's worth something."
Hours passed, each one a slog. The air turned thick, humid, the ground soft under his bleeding feet.
Trees gave way to reeds, their roots poking out of black, stagnant water. The swamp smelled like rot, sweet and sour, alive with bugs.
There, half-hidden by moss and vines, was the lodge. Smaller than Aerion remembered, more broken.
Part of the roof had caved in, the door hanging off one hinge, tangled in vines. But it stood, a shield against the world.
Kairos shoved the door open, wood cracking under his hand. Inside was dark, dusty, cobwebs everywhere.
A busted table, shattered chairs, a clogged fireplace, junk, but enough to call it shelter. It reeked of mold and dead things, but no one would look here.
He sank to the floor by the fireplace, back against the wall. The body shook, not from cold but from blood loss, pain, maybe the start of a fever.
His breaths were shallow, ragged. He closed his eyes, checking the damage. The shoulder was bad, swollen, torn inside.
The collarbone was fractured, sharp pain spiking with every move. His feet were a mess, cuts infected from swamp mud.
The body was dehydrated, worn out, barely holding together. His power, the fire in his core, was steady but weak, limited by this frail vessel.
Aerion's blood responded, but it was slow, like a trickle where he needed a flood. The muscles needed work, the bones needed strength. Everything needed time he didn't have.
Kairos opened his eyes, dust floating in the morning light creeping through the broken roof. He spotted a tattered cloth on the wall, maybe an old blanket.
With a grunt, he reached for it, his claws, still strange on human hands, ripping it into strips. One went around his shoulder, tight to ease the swelling.
Another braced his collarbone, crude but better than nothing. The rest wrapped his feet, keeping the dirt out.
By the fireplace, he found a cracked clay jug, just big enough to hold water. He crawled outside, ignoring the ache in his knees, and scooped black swamp water into it.
It stank, but he didn't care, this body needed it. Back inside, he held the jug, letting a flicker of his core flame heat it.
The water bubbled for a second, killing whatever was in it. He drank, grimacing at the taste, mud and rust, but forcing it down.
A glint caught his eye, a rusty knife, wedged behind a beam. Small, dull, but better than claws for now.
He took it outside, scraping it on a stone until the edge was sharp enough to cut. Not much, but it'd do.
Back on the floor, he let the body rest, his power working slowly to fix the worst damage. Then Aerion's soul stirred again, a memory hitting like a punch.
A girl at the a very beautiful garden, her hair bright in the sun, her laugh soft. Eowyn, his sister. The name hurt, sharp and unwanted.
"No," Kairos snarled, the word hissing out, hot air steaming from his mouth. He crushed the memory, shoving it back with the rest. "No room for that. Just power. Just revenge."
He focused on the fire inside, letting it flow, mending the cracked bone bit by bit. The lodge was quiet, the swamp outside buzzing faintly.
For now, he was safe. But Therion's dogs were still out there, and Vaelgard's armies wouldn't wait. Kairos leaned his head back, eyes narrowing.
This body was weak, but it wouldn't stay that way. He'd make it strong, make it his. And then, they'd all pay.