Kalon Bloodborn POV

A blinding light shattered the veil of my dreams, pulling me from the abyss of sleep. My body, once heavy and bound by fatigue, now felt renewed — like a withered leaf absorbing the first drop of morning dew. I stretched beneath the silken sheets, relishing the cozy embrace of my bed, but my mind drifted to my conversation with Damon. He was meant to show me the heart of this place.

‘I should rise swiftly. But how will I find him? No doubt, Proteus will lead the way.’ I thought.

A gentle sigh, like the whisper of wind through hollowed trees, broke my thoughts. It was Damon.

‘How long had he been sitting there, silent as a shadow?’

His gaze was steady as he sipped from a silvered cup, the liquid within catching the light like molten gold. With a slight tilt of his head, he greeted me. “A pleasant morning, Kalon. It seems you’ve found solace in your rest.”

I rose, the weight of sleep slipping off my shoulders like a discarded cloak. “What’s with that expression? How long have I been adrift in slumber?”

Proteus, ever silent, bowed his head in respect. “Master Kalon, the tides of time have moved while you slept — you have been in its grasp for days. Two weeks, to be precise. I feared for you, but Master Damon believed it wise not to disturb your journey through the realms of sleep.”

"Two weeks! I must have been swallowed whole by exhaustion." The exhaustion must have stemmed from my ordeal

With a swift turn, I made my way toward the bath chamber, the promise of cool water beckoning like a distant shore. “I’ll take my time changing,” I said.

Damon’s brow lifted, irritation flickering in his eyes like a flame fanned by a sudden wind. I felt the warmth of his aura press against my back — a silent impatience.

“If you dawdle any longer, you’ll have to navigate the citadel on your own,” he called after me, his voice sharp but not without humor.

I chuckled, the sound light and easy. “You could sit vigil over me for two weeks, but you can’t wait a few minutes?” My smirk lingered as I disappeared into the bath, laughter bubbling up like water from a spring.

Time slipped by, more than I intended, but when I emerged, we began our journey through the citadel. My breath caught in my chest at the sight of it — the grandeur of the place spread out before me, a living tapestry of stone and light. Selene had only guided me to my room, offering but a sliver of the citadel’s brilliance. Now, I stood in the heart of it, and it was nothing short of wondrous.

Every corridor seemed to hum with ancient wisdom, every turn revealing more of the citadel's beauty. Damon introduced me to countless figures — scholars draped in well-embroidered coats, each one exuding an air of wisdom and authority. Their mere presence commanded respect, as though the weight of countless discoveries and knowledge hung around them like a cloak. Each scholar seemed to carry an aura of insight that spoke of decades, if not centuries, of study and experience.

Moving deeper within the Citadel and meeting faces from different races, though the dryads were notably absent from the assembly. Reckoning, it seemed their absence was yet another mystery this place held.

The sheer number of people we conversed with was astonishing, revealing just how woven into the fabric of the citadel Damon truly was. Everywhere we went, he was greeted with respect — a genius, they called him, his mind a beacon that had lit up their halls.

We settled down for breakfast, Damon making sure I tasted the full spectrum of the citadel’s cuisine. Sitting among a group of peers, friends of Damon, they conversed as if they had known each other for years. It made me feel comfortable in a way.

It was a particular figure that caught my eye — a Noden girl, striding confidently towards us. Her presence was like the sea itself, wild yet serene. Fiery red hair framed her face, its sides braided into a ponytail, but it was her eyes, as blue and deep as the ocean, that held me. Her attire broke from the citadel's usual formality—an apron over a simple linen dress and sturdy leather boots. An axe rested at her side, gleaming as if it had tasted battle.

“You must be the newcomer Damon mentioned. Ariadne,” she introduced herself, extending a hand.

I took it, surprised by the roughness of her skin, hardened from years of wielding that very axe. Through the calluses, I could tell just her much work she had put into training.

“Is something wrong? You’ve been staring since I got here,” she teased, her voice like the first crash of a wave.

“Oh, I couldn’t help but notice you seem different from the rest,” I replied casually, though my words hung in the air like an unexpected gust.

Jared, the Sol boy, shot me a warning glance — a silent plea not to tread further into dangerous waters.

“Are you calling me strange?” Ariadne's voice cut through the murmur that rippled across the table, like the wind stirring up unrest before a storm. Clovis, a Phantom, and Nora, a fellow Lamian, exchanged glances of surprise and discomfort, as if sensing a brewing tempest.

“Your dress. It’s not common around here,” I clarified, trying to ease the tension, but it was too late.

Her gaze narrowed, a sharp, cold blade in the warmth of the citadel’s dining hall. “I won’t be let down by a small-minded bigot.” Her words struck like ice, freezing the air between us.

Anger flared inside me, hot and sudden. My hand slammed against the table, but the sturdy wood absorbed the impact, showing no sign of yielding. It was a testament to its craftsmanship — hard, unyielding, just like the tension between us. Had I intended, the table would have shattered under the weight of my mana, but I held back.

Ariadne didn’t flinch. Her gaze remained steady, as cold and relentless as the sea in winter. Without a word, she sat beside me, unfazed by my outburst. Her presence was like a challenge, daring me to react. Damon leaned in, his voice a calm breeze in the midst of the storm, urging me to calm down.

“Well, that was quick. Kalon getting into a spat with Ariadne,” Jared remarked, his tone dripping with amusement like honey over an open flame.

“Stop that, Jared. You’re just souring the mood,” Nora interjected, her voice a gentle breeze trying to quell the rising tension.

I chose to ignore their exchange, focusing instead on the haughty Noden beside me. Sitting next to her was like trying to navigate a dungeon, each word and glance potentially explosive. Her constant prodding made my stomach churn, a relentless tide eroding my patience.

“We shouldn’t keep quiet because of a little tension, now should we? Kalon made an interesting point before you arrived. It might pique your interest, Ariadne,” Damon interjected, shooting a sharp glare at the Phantom boy, who continued his chatter, oblivious to the storm brewing around him.

“He believes that mana isn’t the entirety of life,” he continued, his words weaving through the air like a spell meant to enchant.

I was perplexed by Damon’s sudden shift in tone, but I kept eating, the food moving from plate to mouth, a mindless ritual as I tried to maintain my composure. But then, an eerie sensation crawled up my spine, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end like sentinels warning me of danger.

Turning my head toward the source of the mounting pressure, I found Ariadne’s icy stare locked onto me, her gaze as sharp as a winter’s chill, sending a shiver down my spine.

“What?” I managed to croak, my voice barely rising above the din of the cafeteria.

“You don’t believe in the mana principle?” Her words sliced through the air, drawing the attention of my peers, who suddenly seemed more interested in their meals, avoiding eye contact like it was a contagious disease.

“Yes, what of it? We’re all free to have our beliefs,” I replied, my voice steady but my heart racing.

“Perhaps here in Stygia, but anywhere else, you’d be dead, Kalon. I can see there’s something actually wrong with you,” she shot back, her words a biting winter wind, relentless and unforgiving.

I chose to ignore her continued bickering, focusing instead on finishing my meal, the food a comforting distraction as I demanded Damon lead me to the Hall of Knowledge.

The path stretched out before us, a winding road through the citadel, far removed from the dining hall. I committed the route to memory, determined to navigate this labyrinthine place without losing my way.

Two grand doors swung open ahead, welcoming a tide of Celestials flowing in and out like a river of light. As I stepped into the Hall of Knowledge, a breathtaking panorama unfolded before me. The hall had a central winding staircase spiraling upward like a tree reaching for the sky, its branches leading to different floors below.

Shelves lined with grimoires of every shape and size towered around us, their spines gleaming like treasure chests waiting to be unlocked.

“Wow,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, reverence lacing my words.

A grin tugged at the corners of Damon’s lips, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I know, right? It never fails to dazzle on your first visit. Come.”

Following him down the staircase, as we explored, descending to the lower floors, surrounded by an ever-bustling crowd of Celestials—mostly Lamians—who swarmed the lower floors like bees around a honeycomb, each one pulling grimoires from the shelves as if they were harvesting knowledge.

“So this is what makes Stygia so renowned?” I asked, curiosity sparkling in my eyes.

“Yes, a legacy steeped in the pursuit of knowledge. It grants us profound insights into developing our blood magic. As the master healers of Enoria, much is expected of us,” Damon replied, his voice rich with pride.

Suddenly, a fireball whizzed by, narrowly missing us, a streak of heat and light that shattered the tranquility. It was quickly followed by a shout echoing from the reception of the lower floor.

“No magic casting in the Hall of Knowledge!” came protest, ringing with authority.

“Ah, that’s the headmaster of this library,” Damon explained, shaking his head in amusement.

“Oh. Does that happen often?” I inquired, still reeling from the sudden burst of chaos.

“Not really,” he laughed, the sound a bright contrast to the earlier tension.

I chuckled, the thought of fending off errant spells while buried in books both amusing and oddly exhilarating.

“I’ve actually learned the concept of blood magic,” I said, a hint of pride in my voice.

“Right, you mentioned that. I’m still astonished by how much you’ve absorbed from just your… parents. You should be able to decipher the grimoires with ease,” Damon remarked, his tone both impressed and encouraging.

As we arrived at the reception, the headmaster navigated through the tables like a ship through calm waters, approaching us with an air of authority.

“Well, if it isn’t Damon! Who have you brought this time? I hope he’s worth the watch,” he boomed, his voice a hearty blend of mirth and skepticism.

The headmaster was a robust figure, his belly protruding forward like a ship's bow, albeit hidden beneath his flowing coat. His braided beard cascaded down, a tapestry of black and gray that spoke of many years spent in pursuit of knowledge. The atmosphere around him radiated tranquility, evoking a sense of profound wisdom mixed with an underlying warmth.

“The name’s Kalon. I’m here to seek your treasured knowledge,” I replied, meeting his gaze with resolve.