Chapter 35 — Foundations Beneath the Storm

  Far to the north, at the Elder’s shrine…

  Aureon descended rapidly from the skies, flames trailing lightly behind his wings before fading into sparks. He landed with controlled urgency, head bowing.

  “Elder,” he said, his voice steady but tense,

  “another Voidborn was dealt with by Eloran and Alderan. My fellow Skydren have also spotted several more. Their numbers… are increasing.”

  Fenris did not look surprised.

  “I know,” she replied calmly. “As long as we still stand, the lesser Voidborne will not run unchecked. We must hold them back… until the Dragons are ready to face Vorthenix once more. Until then, it is our duty to defend Xylos.”

  Aureon hesitated, then asked quietly,

  “…About Yuu. I saw you return from Kael’s territory. You met him?”

  “Yes,” Fenris answered. “I warned him of what is to come. But I still could not understand how he came here. He wasn’t lying. I read his thoughts. His confusion was genuine… and that concerns me. Something brought him here. I cannot tell what role he will play in this war.”

  She lifted her gaze toward the sky, as if speaking to the fallen Fenrirs.

  Aureon exhaled slowly.

  “Whatever his role becomes… I only hope that second core does not devour him. Eloran strengthened the seal, but there is only so much we can do. When the time comes, Yuu must control it himself. We will help him—but the battle will be his mind, his Will.”

  He paused.

  “What troubles you, Elder? You seem… distant.”

  Fenris was silent for a moment.

  “Nothing,” she finally said softly. “Just thinking. Yuu carries knowledge not of this world. When I looked through his memories, I saw fragments of his home… their lives were so strange, so different. But one thing bothered me.”

  Her eyes hardened.

  “The memories of the people he knew—gone. Someone removed them. He arrived here by design, not accident. Someone sent him… someone expected him to die. They threw a helpless being into Xylos—no mana, no strength—into the Forest of Wrath of all places. He should have died.”

  Her voice lowered.

  “But he didn’t.”

  “I saw his first battle against the rogue Varok. I saw how he survived the Gorrath. Forced awakening. The corrupted core. And still… he endured. His mana control improves at a pace even I cannot ignore.”

  She exhaled.

  “He still has questions. But they will have to wait. I do not wish to distract him. Right now… training is everything.”

  Fenris was quiet for a moment longer.

  “The second core is not mere corruption,” she said at last.

  Aureon looked up.

  “It is something far worse.”

  Her gaze hardened.

  “What rests inside Yuu is pure Voidborn energy — stripped from a Devourer’s mana and sealed by force. Energy that does not belong to this world, nor obey its rules.”

  Aureon nodded.

  “Did you tell him about the beings like him?”

  “Not yet,” Fenris replied. “But he already suspects. He knows Devourers take the forms of the creatures they consume. And the Devourer he absorbed… once devoured a human. Seeing that human’s form gave him the idea. He is not foolish.”

  Aureon exhaled quietly.

  “They still come,” he said. “Not often. Small groups. Explorers, settlers… those who believe the Forest of Wrath is something that can be tested.”

  He paused.

  “They do not understand what this land is. None of them return.”

  His gaze lifted slightly.

  “Humans are not my concern. What troubles me… is whether the Dragons will ever be able to return.”

  Fenris’s voice turned absolute.

  “The Dragons will return. What was left unfinished remains theirs.

  The other Primordials entrusted this duty to them. They will finish what was left unfinished.”

  Her eyes burned softly.

  “And our Primordials are not gone. Their Will still watches us. It pushes us. Guides us. Drives us to grow stronger than what once destroyed them.”

  She stepped forward, her voice carrying quiet power.

  “Just as Dragons must finish their task…

  We must see ours through as well.”

  Far away,

  Fenn and I paused mid-training.

  Fenn glanced toward the distant flashes of battle energy.

  “Looks like I’m not needed today,” he muttered. “The Devourer is already handled. Weak one.”

  Then I frowned.

  “…No. There are more.”

  Fenn’s ears twitched.

  “You’re right.”

  Two auras rushed toward us.

  One appeared first—shaped like an Ashrok, but made entirely of surging water. A Water Devourer.

  The second descended from the air—an Aerynth, but sculpted from jagged ice.

  I recognized them instantly.

  The same ones from before.

  Recently formed… still weak. But Devourers all the same.

  We both understood something immediately:

  If they got too close to me, my second core would react.

  So Fenn didn’t hesitate.

  His aura sharpened. Life Force surged, condensing into glowing claws and fangs. The Devourers attacked—violent, unstable, frantic—but they never stood a chance.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Two strikes.

  Two collapses.

  Their bodies shattered, dissolving into corrupted mana.

  And as always…

  The corruption began to spread.

  But instead of dispersing—

  It drifted toward me.

  Fenn reacted instantly, dragging me away before it could touch me. His Life Force tore through the spreading corruption, breaking its structure and dispersing it before it could take hold.

  The pack arrived moments later.

  Cira rushed forward.

  “Fenn! Yuu! Are you both safe?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “Thanks to Fenn.”

  Fenn shrugged.

  “If they had been stronger, they might’ve been trouble. But like this… they weren’t worth much.”

  He then turned toward Kael.

  “The Elder came today.”

  Kael’s eyes widened slightly.

  “Did she check on Yuu?”

  “She did.”

  I exhaled.

  “She warned me… about control. Said I would need it soon.”

  Kael went quiet.

  And that was when it happened.

  The corrupted mana from the earlier Devourer… didn’t disperse into the world.

  It gathered.

  And it gathered around me.

  As if pulled.

  As if called.

  It seeped inside.

  Cold.

  Heavy.

  Alive.

  And then…

  voices.

  Not like before.

  Not violent.

  Not screaming.

  Whispering.

  You want strength, don’t you?

  You don’t want to stay weak forever.

  Take it.

  This power is yours.

  Use the second core…

  Pain stabbed through my head, sharp enough to steal my breath. I gritted my teeth as Kael’s aura snapped outward instantly.

  “No—! The corruption entered him!”

  He turned toward me sharply. “Yuu! Control yourself! Do NOT use that core!”

  “I—I won’t!” I forced out, my voice shaking. “But… the voice—it hurts… every time it speaks…”

  Kael’s tone shifted, firm and grounding. “This is where your training matters. Do not fight it blindly. Control your mana. Separate it. Cira—assist him.”

  Cira moved beside me, her paw hovering just behind my back. I felt her presence through the link—calm, precise, unwavering.

  I closed my eyes and focused inward.

  Instead of forcing the energy out, I slowed my breathing and turned my attention to the core of it. The corruption felt wrong—not merely tainted, but mixed. Twisted together. Something foreign wrapped tightly around something familiar.

  Carefully, I guided my mana through the mass the way I had been trained—slow, exact, controlled. Not forcing. Not rejecting.

  Separating.

  The resistance spiked instantly. Pain flared, sharp and deep, like something being torn apart against its will. My vision swam, my teeth clenching hard enough to ache.

  Cira adjusted immediately, her guidance reinforcing my control and stabilizing the flow before it could collapse. I followed her lead, holding steady as the tangled energy began to come apart.

  One stream felt heavy—cold and invasive—pulling inward and resisting release. The other felt like mana: distorted, strained, but familiar.

  I redirected them instinctively.

  The familiar flow slid toward my core, settling with a strained but steady pull. The other was drawn elsewhere—away from my control, sinking deep, disappearing into the sealed space I refused to acknowledge.

  The pressure vanished.

  I gasped, nearly collapsing as the last remnants cleared my channels. Kael’s Life Force flared, washing through me—not erasing what remained, but stabilizing the damage left behind.

  Silence followed.

  The forest finally exhaled.

  For now… I was safe.

  Silence followed.

  I exhaled shakily.

  “I… spoke out without realizing,” I muttered. “That pain was… too much.

  It’s finally gone.”

  A strange emptiness lingered where the voices had been. Quiet. Too quiet.

  My brows furrowed.

  “Was this… what Elder Fenris warned me about?”

  Kael shook his head slowly.

  “Unlikely.”

  His voice was steady, but not relaxed.

  “If Elder Fenris warned you personally, she meant something far greater than this.

  Something larger in scale.

  Perhaps… a Devourer far stronger than anything you’ve faced.”

  That didn’t comfort me.

  It only made the future feel heavier.

  I returned to my training—back to the work of building the house.

  I poured mana into more plants, guiding their growth carefully until they thickened and hardened into supports strong enough to bear the ceiling above. Each one demanded focus. Patience. Control. By the time I finished, my reserves were lighter.

  With the supports ready, I moved on to the next task.

  Something to bind the bricks together.

  This part was more troublesome.

  Sand was necessary—but the forest’s sand was limited, and creating my own wasn’t viable. I could break stone down into powder, yes, but artificial sand lacked the natural balance the original had. The pack knew it too. Mana-shaped substitutes never behaved the same under stress.

  So I was allowed to use soil from the forest instead.

  To my surprise, it worked perfectly.

  The soil contained enough fine particles—clay and grit mixed together—to bind well once combined with powdered stone and water. With careful control, I worked the mixture until it thickened into a rough paste. Not elegant. Not refined. But strong.

  Stronger than I expected.

  With that prepared, there were no more excuses.

  It was time to build.

  I laid the first layer slowly, taking more care than with any other part. Every brick mattered. Every gap had to be filled properly. I pressed the binding paste between stones, guiding it with mana just enough to settle—not forcing it, not rushing it.

  One brick at a time, the walls began to rise.

  It was slow.

  Exhausting.

  But steady.

  I was shaping something meant to last.

  I chose the ground carefully before touching it.

  The land rose slightly above the surrounding forest floor, firm beneath my feet, free of thick roots and far enough from the stream that water wouldn’t pool during rain. Once I was sure, I marked the rough outline of the house.

  On a flat stone nearby, I sketched the shape with charcoal—nothing precise, just enough to fix the layout in my mind. Then I transferred it to the ground, pressing small stones into the soil to mark the corners and edges.

  Only then did I begin digging.

  I used the bones left behind from hunted prey, selecting the densest ones and sharpening their edges against stone. They made crude but effective tools—strong enough to pry apart compact earth and cut through roots without snapping.

  I worked slowly, breaking the soil layer by layer. When the ground hardened or roots resisted, I fed a thin stream of mana into the earth—not to tear it apart, but to loosen it just enough to continue. Too much force would collapse the sides. Too little would waste time.

  The work was exhausting.

  Dirt caked my hands and forearms. My muscles burned. More than once, I had to stop and steady my breathing before continuing. But the trenches deepened steadily, following the marked outline.

  Knee by knee.

  By the time I finished, the foundation lines were clear—shallow but solid, ready to anchor the first stones.

  Only then did I step back.

  The hardest part was done.

  I stood at the edge of the trenches and looked over the outline one last time.

  Straight.

  Even.

  Good enough.

  I turned toward the stack of bricks without hesitation.

  Mana flowed—not surged, not strained. It responded the way it was supposed to now. Like an extension of thought rather than effort.

  The first brick lifted cleanly from the ground.

  No tremor.

  No resistance.

  It floated beside me at waist height as I guided it forward and lowered it into the trench. The stone settled with a dull, solid thud, fitting neatly against the packed earth.

  I adjusted its position by a finger’s width, nudging it into alignment before releasing my mana.

  It didn’t shift.

  I moved on immediately.

  One brick rose.

  Then another.

  Soon, several floated at once, spaced evenly in the air, each responding to small, precise corrections. I didn’t rush them, but I didn’t baby them either. This wasn’t training anymore—it was work.

  Behind me, the pack had gathered.

  I could feel it without looking.

  Quiet attention. Mild curiosity. The faint amusement of creatures watching something unnecessary being done carefully.

  Why build something separate?

  Why bother with stone and soil when the den already existed?

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t look back.

  Brick by brick, the trench disappeared beneath stone. Whenever a gap appeared, I guided the binding mixture down into it, pressing it into place with a thin layer of mana until it settled naturally beneath the weight above.

  Corners took longer. Not because they were hard—but because they mattered. I interlocked the stones deliberately, ensuring the pressure would distribute evenly instead of pushing outward.

  Mana guided.

  Gravity finished the job.

  Time slipped by unnoticed.

  At some point, I heard a soft huff of amusement behind me. Another moment later, the sound of a tail brushing against dirt.

  I ignored it.

  When the last stone lowered into place, I stepped back and let the mana fade completely.

  The trenches were gone.

  In their place stood a low, continuous stone foundation—nothing tall, nothing impressive, but unmistakably solid. The weight pressed evenly into the earth. No gaps. No instability.

  I crouched and placed a hand on the stone.

  It didn’t move.

  Only then did I straighten.

  Some of the pack were still watching, expressions caught between curiosity and quiet disbelief—as if they still didn’t understand why I was doing this, but were interested enough to see what came next.

  I brushed the dirt from my hands.

  The foundation was done.

  Now the house had something to stand on.

  Lyra approached first, her gaze moving over the foundation.

  “That was impressive,” she said calmly. “Your mana control is showing results. You worked efficiently.”

  Kael nodded once beside her.

  “What stands there,” he said, “is proof of your improvement.”

  Cira smiled faintly.

  “Honestly,” she added, “you’re getting better and better.”

  Something warm settled in my chest.

  For the first time in a long while, my training felt real. Tangible. All those hours, all that exhaustion—it was finally bearing fruit.

  Before I could say anything, Raze, Cera, and Flint crashed into me, tumbling over one another in a mess of fur and limbs. Somehow, I ended up dragged into their scuffle too, caught between playful bites and shoving paws.

  They’d been watching the whole time.

  Maybe they enjoyed how I built it—slow planning, precise movements, steady focus. Or maybe they just liked seeing something new take shape.

  Either way… it felt good.

  For today, it was enough.

  Night had already fallen. I could have continued—the two moons hung high in the sky, bright enough to bathe the clearing in blue light—but stopping felt right. A small reward, earned.

  I lay back in the soft grass, the ground cool and comfortable beneath me, staring up at the moons as mana particles drifted lazily through the air around us.

  The pack rested nearby.

  Quiet. Calm.

  In my mind, I began planning the rest of the house—walls, ceiling, everything that would come next.

  Tomorrow.