Kalon Bloodborn POV

We strolled past the intricate marvels that defined Stygia. The city seemed less like a collection of individual buildings and more like a singular, living organism, its paths winding and weaving together like veins of a beating heart. Every step felt like walking through a masterpiece crafted by the hands of time itself.

As we navigated through the streets, we suddenly halted. I hadn’t even realized we had entered another part of the city. This place buzzed with youthful Celestials, moving in clusters like constellations, already orbiting each other in familiar harmony.

“Don’t worry,” Selene reassured me. “You’ll find your own stars to circle soon enough.”

“I’m not worried about that,” I replied, though my gaze lingered on the maze-like streets. “More concerned with how I’ll avoid getting lost.” We laughed, the sound lightening the tension that gripped me.

A group of Celestials, who looked far older than Selene, approached us. Their faces bore the weight of the story she had just recounted – sadness etched into their features. They offered words of solace, condolences meant to soothe, but their words felt like leaves in a storm—too light to anchor the rage that churned inside me.

I needed more than comfort. I needed a way to end the terror that stalked our lands. The thought of those demons—those monstrosities born of nightmares—caused a fire to rise in my chest. its heat spreading through my vessels.

Suddenly, I felt a heavy pat on my shoulder, grounding me. I looked up to see a giant. His short, wavy hair framed a face weathered by experience, his tunic decorated with intricate embroidery that hinted at wisdom beyond words.

I realized then that my aura had been leaking out like a dam about to burst. With practiced effort, I pulled it back, calming the storm within.

“We understand, Kalon” the giant said, his voice as deep as the roots of an ancient tree. “No child should endure what you have. Many would have fallen, but you survived. The Lord has brought you to Stygia—the fountain of knowledge, ever-flowing and unyielding.”

He extended his hand, rough with the calluses of a life lived in battle. I took it, feeling the strength beneath the surface, like a mountain offering shelter in a storm. Qinox, the elder giant, released his grip, and I felt a surge of respect for him.

The others nodded in agreement, their gazes softening as Selene moved closer to my side.

“He’s still processing it all. Please, offer him your support if he asks,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “A little rest may help him find his footing again. Come, Kalon, let me show you your room.”

As we entered the dormitory, my eyes were drawn to the intricate carvings etched into the citadel’s walls. The markings seemed to shimmer with life, as though they were more than just symbols, but fragments of stories waiting to be told.

My curiosity got the better of me. “What are those inscriptions, Selene?”

She let out a soft giggle, her eyes twinkling like the stars in the night sky. “You’re sharp, aren’t you? Those inscriptions hold passages from the great scholars of the past. They’re not just words; they carry meaning—wisdom, even. If you study them hard enough, you might gain insight, maybe even unlock a magical ability. But it’s no easy feat. Some find it too much to digest.”

I tugged at her sleeve playfully. “What’s so funny, Selene?”

“I recalled something. A friend of mine, Ronan. He always struggled to unravel the passages. He insisted he was on the brink of a breakthrough, his determination burning like a candle flickering against the dark.”

“You must be quite fond of him. Did he ever succeed?” Selene’s laughter faded, but a gentle smile lingered on her lips, illuminating her features like the first rays of dawn.

“No. He didn’t succeed in solving the inscriptions, but he did gain enlightenment — just not from those ancient words. It came from his own understanding of the world.” The path to enlightenment was a rugged terrain, littered with obstacles and uncertainty. For Ronan, the inability to decipher the passage did not stem from dullness; rather, it was a reflection of his unique perspective.

As we navigated the halls of the citadel, our conversation flowed like a gentle stream, the ease of it enveloping us until we reached the room designated for me. Our brief time together had forged a bond, and I learned that Selene was on her own ‘Path to Mastery’—a sacred journey every Celestial was expected to undertake. She would remain here for a time, preparing to launch herself into the vastness of knowledge and magic, taking advantage of every moment to hone her abilities.

Upon entering my room, I was welcomed by lavish decorations that danced across the walls like stories begging to be told. The space was vast, a stark contrast to my previous quarters, where I had felt confined like a bird in a cage.

Without hesitation, I shed my clothes and slipped into the bathtub, the warm water embracing me like my mother’s hug.

The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Time melted away as I soaked, the stresses of the past hours dissolving with each ripple. Eventually, I forced myself out, wrapping my body in an ash-colored tunic and matching pants, the fabric as soft as a cloud.

Taking my time arranging my appearance, a ritual of self-reflection. My thick braided hair fell freely, but I tied it into a bun, revealing my face like a sun breaking through the clouds. My dark skin glimmered with a healthy sheen, a testament to resilience. I noticed the subtle changes; I had shed some of my cheek fat, but not to the point of looking gaunt — just enough to reflect the strength I was cultivating within.

A knock at the door pulled my attention away from my thoughts. When I opened it, I was greeted by a boy who looked no older than I. Curly black hair framing a face adorned with scarlet eyes—an unmistakable hallmark of our kind, the Lamians.

Behind him stood a Drunt, a small bipedal creature resembling a Celestial. Its form exuding an air of mischief.

“Hello. My name’s Damon. Nice to meet you.” He greeted me with a smile that shone like a beacon, extending a hand, which I took firmly.

“Nice to meet you too. My name is—”

“Kalon. Selene told me about you. You both met. Alright, come in.” He gestured for the drunt to enter the room. The little figure carried a silver platter, its surface gleaming like starlight, laden with an assortment of food.

“This here will serve you well. You can assign him any tasks,” Damon said, as the bearded Halfling bowed low, his forehead nearly brushing the ground. “I greet Master Kalon.”

“What is your name, mortal?” I asked the bearded drunt, who raised his head, a mixture of pride and humility in his eyes.

“I bear no name, Master.”

“They are unnamed. Same goes for him. You could offer him a name.”

“Then your name shall be Proteus. My first follower.” I smiled, watching as his eyes sparkled with newfound purpose. “I’m not one to needlessly burden others, even a mortal such as this. I offer you a simple role: serve as my chronicler.”

He beamed, clearly pleased with the name and task. “Thank you, Master. This one shall be called Proteus.”

“There’ll be much to learn from me. I simply need someone who can keep records of my feats. That is something I truly require.”

Damon sauntered towards the recliner, an inviting throne amidst the chaos of the room. “Come, Kalon. Let’s chatter over your meal.”

As we shared our thoughts, I got to know Damon better. He was quick-witted, a lively spirit flitting through ideas like a bird on the wind. The elders had taken a liking to him, and he was well on his way to becoming a great scholar. His mouth dropped open in delight when he learned I had met the Patriarch, saved by him, and even received an invitation to be his disciple.

I couldn't help but chuckle at his goofy reactions with each revelation. However, the mood soured like an overripe fruit when I recounted the outbreak. His demeanor darkened, and I felt a pang of sorrow from the memories that still haunted me. Proteus observed intently, often mimicking Damon’s expressions, his small frame reflecting our emotions.

“I see. You wish to advance your knowledge. There is a way. I could take you to the Hall of Knowledge; also show you where scholars offer teachings. You could attend those as well.” His words hung in the air, an enticing promise of enlightenment.

“I’d prefer you take me to the Hall of Knowledge first. I’d like to learn before diving into discussions.”

“Huh? Why the rush? Others find it rather irksome to wade through a sea of texts written by scholars. They’d rather savor the richness of conversations.” He waved his right hand, and a wound appeared as if the air itself had been sliced open, blood trickling like a scarlet waterfall. With a flick of his wrist, he hovered his other hand above the injury. I watched in awe as the bleeding halted, the flesh merging seamlessly — magic at work, weaving the threads of mana into a tapestry of healing. Though I understood the concept, the intricacies of that dance remained elusive.

“Like most, I had the privilege of being born in the citadel, and it has brought me this far.” He shifted in his seat, concern etching itself into his features. “You confided in me. I understand what you’ve been through. But it’s okay to take things slow. It might take longer, but it’s what’s best.”

I laughed, a sound that broke the weight of his concern like sunlight piercing through clouds. Damon’s brow furrowed, questioning. “I’m well aware of my strength, Damon. It won’t take long for me to finish my studies at the Hall of Knowledge. Who knows, the Patriarch might even grant me access to his personal abode.” I flashed a smug grin, and Damon chuckled in return.

“Alright, Mister ‘Sagacious’. How about I take you there now?”

I stood up, but my direction veered not towards the door but to the bed. “I need a little rest before diving into it.” I grinned, anticipation buzzing in the air.

As I laid on the bed, my body sank into the mattress like a stone dropped into a lake, the weight of exhaustion flooding over me. All the built-up stress poured forth, my bearings shifting in a tide of drowsiness. What followed was a deep, overwhelming sense of weariness, pulling me under like the embrace of a long-lost dream.