CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

A Pulse Beyond Her Own

The air shifted as I reached their door, a prickling at the back of my neck, sharp and urgent. Mana pulsed through the walls, thick and alive, laced with a strange will. My gut twisted hard. A beast—had to be. No one here wielded mana but me. I didn't think twice. My foot slammed into the wood, kicking it down with a crack that echoed through the residential hall. Splinters flew, the frame groaning as it gave way, and I rushed inside, Hazeveil trailing behind me like a shadow.

My escort, the city guards trailing me since the headquarters—stumbled back, rattled. "Omen, what the—" one started, voice tight with confusion. I barely heard him. They couldn't feel it, couldn't know what drove me forward. That mana, that strange will, it screamed danger, clawing at my senses. Had the ward failed? A breach, right here in the residential zone of District 98? My breath caught, eyes darting as I crossed the threshold, ready for a fight.

Then I saw her. The source wasn't a beast—it was Meris. She stood in the center of the small room, hands outstretched, a faint green glow curling from her fingers. The mana flowed from her, steady and warm, wrapping around a man slumped on the floor—a neighbor I vaguely recognized, his face pale, a gash on his arm leaking red. She was healing him. Meris, wielding mana. My mind blanked, shock rooting me to the spot.

The room was a mess of noise and movement. Elina spun toward me, eyes wide. "Omen?" Her voice trembled, caught between fear and bewilderment. Jharim was already halfway across the floor, fists clenched, ready to fight whoever'd just smashed their door. His gaze landed on me a beat later, piercing through Hazeveil's shadow. "Omen?" he said, lowering his hands but not his guard. "What are you doing? You just broke my door."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out right. "I…" My voice cracked, raw and unsteady. I couldn't look away from Meris—her focus unbroken, the mana streaming from her like she'd always known how. "I thought there was a beast," I managed, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "I thought you were in danger."

The truth hit harder than the door had. She had no core—I'd have felt it. Yet there she was, channeling mana, pure and strong. How? My head spun, possibilities crashing together—corruption, a trick, something I'd missed in the fog. Nothing fit.

Elina stepped forward, brushing splinters off her sleeve, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. "Beast?" she said, softer now, piecing it together. "Oh… you can sense this, can't you? Makes sense, you were out there too long." She turned, nudging the broken door aside with her foot, then crouched by the neighbor, murmuring to calm him. He was shaking, eyes darting from me to the wreckage, too scared to speak. Meris didn't flinch—didn't even seem to hear us. Her hands stayed steady, the green light pulsing brighter.

"Can someone explain what's happening?" I asked, louder than I meant, my voice cutting through the room's tension. I needed answers, something to anchor me.

Jharim moved closer, his steps careful, like he wasn't sure I'd bolt or fight. "It started after she woke up," he said, glancing at Meris. "A few days ago, after that apple you gave her. She… she started healing people."

"What?" I stared at him, then back at her. "How?" The mana sharpened in my senses—life magic, clear and vivid, knitting the neighbor's wound shut. Life magic, from Meris.

Elina straightened, brushing her hands off. "We figured you'd know more," she said, her tone clipped but not accusing. "It's why we decided to keep it quiet till you got back.. We don't understand it—thought you might."

I shook my head, still reeling. My escort hovered by the doorway, shifting on their feet—city guards ordered to follow me, now watching me invade a home. They didn't get it either; their faces were all confusion, hands twitching like they weren't sure if they should grab me or stand down. I ignored them, turning inward. "Kara," I thought, keeping it silent this time, "what's going on? I learned about life magic from the fruit, could it be that?"

[Kara]

[Negative. The fruit from a Life Tree is well-documented in Araksiun records. It heals, but it doesn't grant abilities.]

"Then how?" I pressed, my mind racing.

[Kara]

[The mana's ambient, not from a core. I believe the will she's harnessing might not be hers. She seems to be acting as an intermediary for another being.]

Another being. The words sank into me, cold and heavy. Corruption—had it taken her after all? I'd felt that will when she ate the fruit, that strange presence brushing against me, tinged with something I couldn't place. But this was life magic, she wasn't hurting anyone, wasn't spreading rot. "Could it be the Life Tree?" I asked Kara, grasping for hope. "Using her as a conduit somehow?"

[Kara]

[It's difficult to determine with certainty. No records indicate a Life Tree evolving to the extent of the one in District 2's. The possibility exists, though it remains unconfirmed. She has become what the old Araksiun termed a Warlock.]

"Warlock?" The term felt foreign, rattling around in my head.

[Kara]

[A Warlock channels power from another being, typically a single entity, even if it does not possess a core of its own. In ancient times, human Warlocks used scarce ambient mana or beast cores, which were costly and broke after use. It was rare, impractical.]

I stood there, letting Kara's words settle. A flood of new concepts, humans wielding mana without cores, without constructs. It was strange, almost impossible to wrap my head around, but it fit. Meris, a Warlock. After the fruit healed her, that will I'd sensed, maybe the Life Tree, maybe something else—had bound to her. I couldn't be sure.

She hadn't moved, hadn't looked up. Her hands glowed steady, the neighbor's breathing easing as the wound closed. She was lost in it, a trance shutting out the room—the broken door, Jharim's confusion, Elina's tension. She didn't hear us, didn't see me standing there, frozen, watching her save someone with power I couldn't explain. I wanted it to be the Life Tree, wanted that hope to hold. But doubt lingered, sharp and quiet, as I stared at her.

How could I even think she was corrupted? This was Meris, standing there, hands still faintly glowing from the life magic she'd woven. The neighbor sat up, flexing his arm—the gash I'd seen bleeding moments ago now just smooth skin, no trace of the wound. She'd done that, healed him, and I couldn't see anything dark in it.

She wouldn't hurt anybody. I'd known her too long—her quiet strength, her kindness. The fruit from the Life Tree had pulled her back from death, and now this. Power, yes, but not corruption. I wanted to believe that, needed to.

My instincts disagreed. Something deep in me stirred, sharp and urgent, whispering that this was wrong—dangerous. That I should've let her die back then, that saving her had cursed me somehow. It didn't make sense, not when I looked at her, but the feeling gnawed at me, cold and insistent. A blessing, not a punishment—that's what I told myself, clinging to it.

A voice rasped in my head, low and guttural. "Kill her now."

Another followed, colder, more commanding. "Don't let her get stronger."

A third hissed, sharp as a blade. "This is dangerous."

A fourth pressed harder, relentless. "You know what you saw."

My mind library surged, it clawed at my human side, trying to shove it down, replace it with the beast—the one that acted, that survived. The one that suppressed everything soft or uncertain. I felt it rising, urging me to draw a blade, to end this threat. My hand twitched, but I fought it, teeth gritted, a silent war raging inside. Not here, not in the ward, not with Meris. I wouldn't let it win.

The struggle stretched on as I watched her work. The neighbor winced, clutching his arm while the green light pulsed—slowly at first, then stronger. Minutes passed, each one heavy, until he flexed his hand, testing it. No pain, no mark. He stared at it, then at her, disbelief softening into relief. She'd done it, made him whole again.

Meris had become a Warlock. Kara's words echoed back: someone harnessing power from another being. Ambient mana, sure, and beast cores if they had them, but the will—the intent behind it, came from whoever shared that bond. Why would they? What did they gain? I needed to understand.

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[Kara]

[In ages before the fog, a few humans touched higher beings, entities with power to spare. Any being strong enough could share its will, forming a bond where distance barely mattered.]

She kept going, her voice steady in my mind.

[Kara]

[The why—it's simple. They share to have agents, someone to act for them. Not always servitude, but a trade. The being might demand tasks, and they get near-unlimited access to the Warlock's senses and may influence their actions.]

That caught me. Access—dangerous, invasive. But if it was the Life Tree from District 2, the one I'd taken the fruit from, I could live with that. I trusted it—pure, a beacon of life in the fog. Maybe it shared power for no grand reason, just to feel the world beyond its roots.

I let that settle, imagining it. If I were a tree, rooted forever, I'd want to see the world too, through someone like Meris. It felt silly, almost childish, but I held onto that hope. Anything darker didn't fit her.

Then she stirred. Her hands dropped, the glow fading, and her eyes fluttered open. They locked on me—clear green, brighter than I remembered, tinged with life. "Omen," she said, her voice soft but sure. She scrambled up from her knees, rushing toward me, arms outstretched. Even with Hazeveil's hood up, shadowing my face, she knew me instantly, time apart hadn't dulled that.

Her embrace hit me warm and tight, her head pressing against my chest. The whispers in my mind—the kill, the danger—vanished, swept away by her touch. My will hardened, shoving the beast back where it belonged. I curled my arms around her, awkward at first, then firm. "It's good to see you again," I said, the words rough but honest, spilling out with a heat I couldn't hold back.

She'd changed, grown taller since I'd left, her hair now streaked with faint green from the fruit's touch. Healthy, alive, more than she'd been when I'd found her dying. Her eyes sparkled, and her grip tightened, sending my heart racing—fast, unsteady, like I was facing down a fog beast. I didn't pull away, letting it pound, feeling it fully for once.

That rush clicked something into place. All those fights, the artifacts, the push to change District 98—it wasn't just for them, for the Chainrunners. It was for her, too. Maybe mostly her. The realization settled, solid and right, like a path I'd been walking without seeing.

"I've got so much to tell you," she said, pulling back just enough to point at the neighbor's arm. "You saw what I did?"

"I did," I said, nodding. "Incredible, as expected from you."

Her smile widened, bright and unguarded. "Not just him, I've healed lots of little injuries already. I'm getting better at it. You should see it, I feel something, like power's everywhere." She practically bounced, her voice alive with discovery, eager to share it.

She could sense mana, just like me. Not Lirien, not the others who'd braved the fog and come back sharper, they felt something, maybe will, maybe mana, but not like this. Meris and I were different, tied to it in ways they weren't. I grinned back, clumsy but real. "You're, um, really good with this, Meris, like it's already part of you."

It sounded stiff, borrowed, something I'd heard others say, not my own. I'd rehearsed a hundred things to tell her, plans and words I'd strung together in the fog. Now, face-to-face, they scattered, leaving me blank. I couldn't figure it out, emotions clear but words muddled.

She didn't care. Her smile held, warm and steady. "It's thanks to you," she said, hugging me again, tighter this time. "They told me—you brought that fruit, risked your life for it out there in the fog."

I opened my mouth to correct her, it hadn't been that hard, the Life Tree had given it freely, but a voice cut through. "Can someone explain what's happening?" Roran, one of my escorts, stood by the wrecked door, his tone sharp with confusion, patience worn thin.

Mareth stepped closer, her brow furrowed, arms crossed tight. "I don't mean to pry into your personal business," she said, her voice edged with unease, "but what's this about her healing people?" Her eyes flicked between us—me, Meris, Elina, Jharim, like she was waiting for someone to make sense of it.

The neighbor didn't stick around to hear it. He'd caught Mareth's city guard armor glinting in the dim light and slipped out, quiet as a shadow, ducking past the broken doorframe. I watched him go, then glanced at Elina. She was fidgeting with a splintered piece of wood, her lips moving silently, probably scrambling for an explanation she didn't have. None of them did, not really. Even Meris, still catching her breath, looked dazed, like she was piecing it together as we spoke.

I took a slow breath, steadying myself. "Meris has become a Warlock," I said, keeping it simple. "She's tied to a higher being, something wielding life magic. I think it's the Life Tree from District 2. After I gave her the silvery apple, they bonded somehow. Now she shapes ambient mana with its will." The words felt heavy, but I let them hang there, plain and clear.

Silence stretched, then broke with blank stares. Elina froze mid-step, her eyes narrowing like she'd misheard. Jharim tilted his head, mouth half-open. Meris blinked at me, her hands twisting together. Even the guards—Mareth, Kael, Roran—shifted uncomfortably, their confusion plain. The term "Warlock" landed like a stone in deep water—alien, sinking fast. Elina, the librarian, might've read something close once, but I doubted it. Warlocks were rare in old Araksiun based on what Kara told me, barely a footnote when mana was scarce. No one here knew what it meant.

"War… Warlock?" Meris echoed, her voice small, hesitant. She tested the word, rolling it around like it might bite. "I'm a Warlock?"

Elina snapped out of it, grabbing a book from a nearby shelf, pencil already scratching across the page. She didn't say anything, just scribbled, hungry for answers. Kael, though, laughed, sharp and sudden. "Wait a minute, Life Trees are real?" He turned to Mareth and Roran, grinning like he'd caught me committing a crime. "Told you guys, he's holding out on us. Some good tales from the fog, and he's keeping them all to himself."

I didn't bite at the tease, but Elina's eyes narrowed, suspicious now. "Hold on," she said, setting the book down, pencil poised. "How do you know this... Warlocks, higher beings? How can you be sure she's one?"

I hesitated, glancing at the guards, then inward. "Kara," I thought, "are there other possibilities?"

[Kara]

[Based on current data, no alternative explanations align with the evidence.]

Her certainty steadied me. I looked back at Elina, weighing my words. I'd told them about Kara before—Lirien, Jharim, even Elina, but it never stuck. They brushed her off as a quirk, a ghost in my head. Still, I wouldn't dodge it. "Kara told me," I said, plain as I could. "Just now."

Elina's pencil paused, hovering over the page. "I see," she said, her tone flat, guarded. She didn't argue, but I saw the doubt flicker in her eyes, same as Lirien's, same as always. Jharim shifted, scratching his neck, while the guards exchanged quick looks. No one said "imaginary friend" out loud, but I felt it hovering, unspoken.

Meris didn't care. Her face lit up, doubt nowhere in sight. "A Warlock!" she said, louder this time, like it was sinking in. "That… sounds like something straight from a legend, Omen. Thank you!" She stepped forward, quick and shy, and pressed a small kiss to my cheek—the one with the rune etched into it. Her lips brushed it, warm and soft, and I froze.

The rune flared, a faint pulse of light under my skin, pure instinct kicking in. I flinched, just a twitch, and she pulled back fast, cheeks flushing red. "Oh—sorry," she mumbled, eyes darting away, suddenly small again. I didn't mean to react, just couldn't help it.

Jharim caught it, his eyes widening a fraction before a grin tugged at his mouth. He stepped closer, letting out a low chuckle. "Well, look at that," he said, voice warm with amusement. "Didn't know you'd spook so easy, Omen. She's not that scary." He glanced at Meris, still blushing, and shook his head like it was the funniest thing he'd seen all day.

Elina set her pencil down, a soft laugh escaping her as she leaned against the table. "Oh, Meris," she said, her tone light, almost singsong. "You've got him jumping already." She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling, warm and knowing, like she saw something sweet in the mess of it.

But Jharim's grin faded a bit, his gaze locking on my cheek. He tilted his head, stepping even closer. "Wait, what was that?" he asked, nodding at the glowing spot. "That thing on your face, is it an injury?" His voice shifted, curious now, a touch of worry creeping in.

Elina straightened, her laugh cutting off as she followed his stare. "Hold on," she said, squinting at me. "That's no scratch—it lit up. What's it doing there, Omen?" She crossed her arms, not mad, just puzzled, like she'd spotted a riddle she needed to solve.

I sighed, long and slow, rubbing the spot. Too much to explain, too many questions piling up, from my family, my escort, all of them. I'd promised to share what happened in the fog, at least some of it. This room, wrecked door and all—felt safe, warm with their voices, their trust. "It's a long story," I said, easing into it. "Let's sit. I'll tell you what I can."

We settled in, the guards leaning against the wall, Elina and Jharim on chairs, Meris cross-legged on the floor beside me. I spent the day there, hours stretching out as I talked. I kept the secrets locked tight—no corruption, no deep warnings, just the surface stuff. How I'd survived, what I'd seen. I told them about my core, how it matched the beasts', how it kept me from being hunted out there. They listened, quiet at first, then peppering me with questions, Kael grinning at the wild parts, Mareth nodding slow, Roran still frowning like he couldn't keep up.

I skipped the dying part, too heavy, and my first family already knew enough. No point dragging it here. I admitted I wielded mana, but mine, not like Meris's borrowed power. Someone came a while later to fix the door—wood creaking, nails hammering and I waved it off. I'd pay for it later; I'd broken it, after all.

But Meris was what mattered. Her new power hung over us, a question no one voiced fully. She could heal, really heal, cuts and bruises medicine couldn't touch. She'd already helped a few, her hands steady with that green glow. Elina scribbled notes, Jharim watched her with quiet pride, and Meris beamed, still buzzing from it all. I watched too, but something tightened in my chest.

They'd used me—Lirien, the Chainrunners, the district. A tool, an Artifact Holder to wield, not a person to know. I'd felt it in their stares, their orders, the weight of that badge. Meris didn't deserve that. She wasn't a weapon to sharpen or a cure to ration out. She was alive—bright, warm, herself and I wouldn't let them grind her down like they had me.

I leaned forward, voice low but firm. "We'll figure this out," I said, mostly to her. "You can help people—save them, even. But not like me. Not as a tool." Her eyes met mine, wide and soft, and I felt that heat again, the one I couldn't name. "You're a harbinger of life here, Meris. I'll make sure they see that, your call, not theirs."

She smiled, small but real, and I knew I'd fight for it. No matter what it took.

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