When Tyler next woke, it was to the hungry demands in his stomach.

He sat up groggily, lethargic, but at least with more strength. He got up gingerly, wondering whether the pot of soup was still there.

As he threw the sheets off himself, he was surprised they were fairly dry, and the fresh scent of mint and cinnamon wafted to his nose.

Had Kovan changed my sheets?  Tyler wondered with surprise. Fancy an Echelon – his Owner no less, changing his bed linen whilst he laid in bed with fever.

He felt chagrin exercising his jaw again. He really was one pampered bondsman. He ought to apologize for his earlier behavior.

Even his clothes were fresh – he suddenly realized, glancing down and checking his crispy, crimped linens.

He strode out the room, shoving down his pride and resentment, prepared to give a proper apology, but did not find the man who he owed some thanks. The pot however, was still hanging above the hearth, cold, but edible.

Tyler would have preferred to have the food warm, but his stomach growled incessantly, so it wasn’t a time to be picky. He didn’t know why, he ate ravenously, as if he had skipped three meals, appetite abnormally hearty.

He should probably do extra sets of exercises the following day to burn off the excess food. Then again, he was quite certain Kovan prepared only nutritious stuff meant to support his running, and nothing unhealthily saccharine or fatty was used.

At the time he scooped the last spoonful, Kovan appeared, coming over with an amused gaze that turned to surprise.

“You finished everything?” His brows shot up so fast, Tyler was surprised it didn’t fly off his forehead.

“I was famished,” Tyler said in defense, raising a spoon with a sheepish air.

Kovan’s brows dropped to level, quirking only at the tips.

“Only because I had to force feed you the remedy while you were still on an empty stomach. The tonic is potently acetic, you know.”

Tyler had just stuck his last spoon into his mouth, and nearly coughed while swallowing.

The visage suddenly flashed at the forefront of his mind, chaotic, and fragmented, but enough for Tyler to vaguely pick out that yes indeed, someone did try to feed him a strong concoction.

He just never registered it was Kovan, or that he had poured the liquid into his lips via his mouth.

Tyler felt he might be positively ill again.

Kovan suddenly laughed, as if tickled by the stricken look on his face.

His cheeks warmed like hot coal pressed against them. Thankfully, he was saved from further embarrassment with Kovan choosing to let the matter slide, rather than continue taunting.

“That you could empty a pot, allays my worries. I gather that you are feeling much better, yes?”

Without waiting for a reply, Kovan closed the distance, Link-ore appearing within his grip in the blink of an eye.

“May I?” he asked, in every measure of a gentleman, the tips of his fingers lightly touching the underside of Tyler’s right wrist.

Tyler felt his brows quirk at the odd question, since Kovan need not show such politeness to his own bondsman.

Still, he felt a swell of appreciation rising inside his chest as he flipped his forearm to show the spiral tattoo on the underside.

Injected into the top layers of skin, was an ash-grey ink that brightened in response to the Link-ore Kovan pressed atop it. Dozens of tiny, lighted shapes appeared in the space about two inches above the multi-functional stone, showing diagrams and various alignments that reflected his body vitals.

Tyler watched with interest, certain that the complexity for such implementation was far above those rendered for decorations, or lighting purposes. The technique was probably also far more advanced than the fractal masks from the party, which were so meticulously crafted in mimicry of fabled beasts.

Out of Volcan grounds, Tyler could now fully concentrate his focus on the implement. Not since childhood, did he have a Link-ore syncing with the marking on his arm.

He had always been fascinated with it. Link-ores came in a multitude of sizes and were crafted for use for many different purposes. Truth be told, if not for his talent first recognized in mechanical tinkering, Tyler might have chosen to walk the path of a Link-ore crafter.

Then again, born in the Lower quadrant, and worst, abandoned to the State as an orphan, that profession was all but closed off to him. He’d gathered enough gossip along the way, to know only an Echelon was eligible, and they had to have the mind brilliant enough for it.

“Do you know how to read it?”

Tyler was pulled from attention at Kovan’s question.

“You mean these symbols? Of course,” Tyler answered, giving a wry smile, “I grew up in a State shelter, or did you forget when you erased the proof of my past?”

Kovan flinched, bitten by the sarcasm Tyler couldn’t hold back. He mentally told himself not to feel bad, since Owner was the insensitive one, never mind that those words obviously fell out without his thinking.

“You ought to remember that you paid the reminder of my adoption debt and thus, bought ownership over me from the State.”

Kovan cast him a weary look.

“Even after a month here, you still hate me.”

Tyler gave Owner a wide grin for acknowledging it.

“I don’t hate you, per say. I just hate that you made me a Torch.”

Kovan inhaled loudly, looking rightly indignant. However, he chose not to argue. He merely ended his check-up and spun on his heels, disappearing behind the curtained exit in resignation.

Tyler felt a self-satisfying glee at Kovan’s retreat, grin growing wider.