The Weight of Potential Part 2
1332 Words
Vex Valor’s POV
Vex Valor stabbed his knife into the quail's thigh, ripping off a dripping hunk and shoving it into his mouth. Juices ran down his chin, but who cared? Servants would wipe it later. This was his table, his house, his legacy. Father droned on about essence flows and coliseum wards, but Vex knew the truth—he'd eclipse them all. His Storm Drake would shatter the summoning stone, chain lightning whipping judges into submission. A-Rank? Child's play. S-Rank was his birthright, etched in Valor blood.
Across the table, that freak sat hunched like a whipped cur. Toren. The stray Father dragged in years ago, some Rift War scrap with no lineage, no fire. Vex chewed louder, smirking as the adopted runt flinched at the crunch of bone. Look at him. Fingers trembling on his goblet. Eyes darting like a rat in the granary. Pathetic. Vex had watched him fumble drills for months—F-Rank sputters, essence leaking like a punctured bladder. Stables fodder. Why Father even fed him at the high table baffled Vex. Obligation? Pity? Whatever. Toren was furniture. Silent, breakable furniture.
"Father, my helix chains—triple void-infused. Lira's essence weaves won't touch it," Vex boasted, slamming his goblet down for emphasis. Wine sloshed, staining the cloth. See that? Power. Command. "Storm Drake manifests, coliseum shakes. Alliances beg at our feet."
Father nodded, fork twirling a root. "Impressive projections, Vex. But projections shatter on the stone."
Projections? Vex's jaw clenched. Father knows I'm flawless. Simulations don't lie. He leaned forward, knife gesturing like a blade in duel. "Backlash claims the weak. I've tamed voids deeper than your old campaigns. S-Rank, minimum. Watch them kneel."
Toren poked at his plate, untouched. Scared to eat? Good. Choke on envy. Vex sneered inwardly. The runt's aura barely flickered—murky violet smear, unranked trash. Vex's own pulsed gold, A-Rank steady, drake coils churning in his core ready to unleash.
Then Father said it. "Your aura is… unusual."
To him? Vex's blood boiled. The words hung, Father's eyes locked on Toren. Not him. The stray. Unusual? Like some delicacy? Vex bristled, chest heaving. "Unusual how? He's F-Rank flicker—stables fodder!"
Father ignored him. Ignored. Leaned in, probing the runt like a prized relic. "Describe it, boy. The pulse. Coils or scatters?"
Toren swallowed, voice a mumble. "Coils. Deep. Hums on runes."
Runes? The whelp traces basic wards and calls it humming? Vex laughed, sharp and mocking. Father's essence thread brushed the table—invisible parlor trick Vex spotted easy. Probing him? Why waste it on trash?
"Father! If it's 'unusual,' test now. Minor summon—watch it fizzle," Vex demanded, fist pounding the oak. Platters rattled, quail bones jumping. Attention here. On me. Me!
"Silence," Father snapped, voice a whipcrack. Vex recoiled, teeth grinding. Silence? To me?
Father rose, dismissing them. "Vex, review chains. Toren—meditate."
Vex shoved his chair back, boots thudding stone. Muttered curses trailed him to the archway—Toren shuffling behind like a shadow. Meditate? On what, his mediocrity?
In the corridor, torches hissed, casting Vex's shadow long and jagged. He slammed a fist into a tapestry—threads ripping, Valor crest mocking him. Unusual aura? Ancient pulse? Father's blind. Deluded. Toren overtook him, head down, vanishing into the west wing. His wing? No. Father's scraps.
Vex stormed to his chambers, slamming the iron door. Orbs hummed awake, projecting helix sims: drake roaring, lightning forking. Perfect. S-Rank locked. But Father's gaze burned in his skull—fixed on the runt. Why him? No blood. No right.
He paced, essence surging hot in veins. Drills tomorrow—yard at dawn. Vex would dominate, chains flawless, aura blazing. Toren? Fizzle out, beg for scraps. But that 'coil'... what if? No. Vex crushed the doubt. Anomalies broke. He was Valor prime. Blood true.
Slumping into his rune-chair, Vex summoned a void orb, fingers clenching. Father shapes me for throne. Toren? Tool. Or threat. If the stray bloomed—if that murky haze ignited—Vex would crush it first. Chains bind tighter on kin.
He barked a laugh, cold. Anomaly? I'll make him vanish.
Dawn's yard waited. Vex's drake hungered. And Toren? He'd learn his place—beneath boot, beneath blood.
House Valor is mine.
Toren’s POV
Toren's fork clattered against the plate, the sound echoing too loud in his skull. This isn't real. Can't be. His heart hammered, palms slick with sweat gripping the table's edge. The wood felt too solid under his fingers—polished oak, veins of rune-etched silver pulsing faint blue. Smells assaulted him: roasted quail dripping fat, herbs sharp in the air, bread steaming from a basket. Sunlight slanted through arched windows, warming his face, but his skin crawled like he'd plunged into ice.
Game crash. Glitch. That's it. He'd been in his dorm, screen flickering, code unraveling—then this. Pulled through pixels into BeastBound's core sim? No. The air hummed with essence, thick and alive, coiling in his lungs. Derik Valor loomed across the table, black robes crisp, eyes like forged steel pinning him. NPC? No—too real. Breath, the vein ticking in his jaw. Vex snarled beside him, gold-crested uniform straining over broad shoulders, face twisted in a sneer.
"Your aura is… unusual," Derik said, voice gravel over silk. His fork paused mid-air, essence threading invisible from his hand—brushing Toren's core like a scalpel.
Toren's breath hitched. Aura? Panic clawed up his throat. He wasn't in the game; he was the stray they'd mentioned. F-Rank trash, adopted after some Rift War bullshit. But this body—his body?—tingled, deep hum vibrating ribs. Coils. Not mine. Borrowed? Fingers trembled lifting the goblet; wine sloshed, staining his cuff. Pull it together. Logout command. Alt-F4. Nothing.
Vex barked a laugh, knife slamming down. "Unusual how? He's F-Rank flicker—stables fodder!"
Stables? Toren's gut twisted. Memories flickered—not his. Drills in mud, essence sputtering, Vex's boot in his ribs. Game lore bleeding in? Or am I trapped? He poked the quail, meat jiggling unnaturally vivid, juices pooling. Stomach roiled; he shoved the plate away. Panic rising. Breathe.
Derik leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Describe it, boy. The pulse. Coils or scatters?"
"Coils," Toren mumbled, voice cracking. Throat dry as ash. "Deep. Hums on runes." What the f**k? Words tumbled out, alien yet familiar. His core did hum—ancient thrum, like code awakening, power scraping against unfamiliar veins. S-Rank? No. Glitch. Sweat beaded his brow; he wiped it, sleeve brushing a scar on his knuckle—not his scar.
Vex pounded the table. "Father! If it's 'unusual,' test now. Minor summon—watch it fizzle!"
Test? Toren's pulse spiked, vision blurring. Essence surged involuntary, violet haze flickering around his hands. Stop. Hide it. He clenched fists under the table, nails biting palms. Derik's probe deepened, peeling layers—ancient pulse—and Toren's mind reeled. They're real. This is real. Pulled in. Stuck.
"Silence," Derik snapped at Vex. Rose fluidly, chair scraping. "Vex, review chains. Toren—meditate."
Meditate? Toren's legs wobbled standing, world tilting. Vex stormed out, curses echoing; Toren shuffled after, boots heavy on stone. Corridor stretched endless, torches flaring alive. West wing. My room? Panic gnawed—dorm, university, Jess's waffles, code editor waiting. Escape. Find the glitch.
He slipped into a chamber—straw pallet, rune-slate desk, single window barred with iron vines. Door slammed shut; he pressed back against it, chest heaving. Panic attack. Or death? Hands shook summoning a minor ward—fingers traced air, essence flowing easy, too easy. Violet coils snapped into place, humming strong. Not F-Rank. What am I?
Collapsed on the pallet, knees to chest. Derik suspects. Vex hates. Game's alive. Logout failed; respawn? No HUD, no menu. Just pounding heart, ancient power stirring hungry in his gut. If this is BeastBound... I built the rules. Break them.
But doubt clawed. Trapped forever? Eyes burned, fists clenched. Dawn drills loomed. Survive. Unravel. Get out.
Or become the anomaly.
- Writer
