The room was still as its three occupants. One dead, the other dead tired on his feet, and the last one is bleeding from a head wound. Nadros’ eyes are wide, some of the trailing blood is tingeing his eye red, his face looks anguished.

  Verek chuckles at that, causing the older man to flinch. This only causes another chuckle, this time drier, it rasps against his sore throat. He lifts his right hand to touch it, massage it. Right before he remembers that the appendage is now a very sharp crystal.

  “Ha! That would be a really dumb way to die.” He laughs, voice hoarse, it sounds strange to his ears. Nadros expression shifts into a smile, almost as if he would join Verek in merry laughter, but it quickly disappears, it makes him look a bit like a lunatic. The then man shrinks back on himself, taking a step back, eyes now looking shifty, like he is planning something.

  Rude. Verek thinks, almost amused by the reaction. Then it strikes him why his voice sounds hoarse, he probably hasn’t talked this much since…well since forever, since he was a kid.

  He laughs again, louder this time, the mirth coming from deep within his chest. He feels it echoing inside his ribs. Verek can’t remember the last time he sounded like that, felt like this. It's raw, unfiltered, and unfamiliar. The laughter of someone else, someone younger. It echoes strangely inside this little room, like it doesn’t belong.

  Nadros pulls further back and closes in on himself, folding into himself like he’s freezing cold. His eyes darted this way and that, taking everything once again. Taking everything for the first time actually, he probably didn’t get a good look when entering. He’s oddly quiet, as if afraid of drawing attention. It’s strange to see a man who walked so tall before be so skittish.

  But Verek can see that glint in his eyes, Nadros is still a dangerous man. Especially if he can still cast spells. But Verek isn’t afraid, he doesn’t think he can feel fear for now.

  There is a force still lingering in the air, it’s not magic. It is the quietness after Shifts, the stillness after great change.

  It will hold, for now.

  So Verek breathes, Verek exhales. And Verek looks inwards. Wound, the Spell just sits there. Somewhere where his mind can touch, but just barely. He knows it is on his body, in his body. Not only the spell itself, but its components. His gramaryes run along his thoughts, and he does his absolute best to not show them on his skin, lest he break this tense peace that has lodged itself inside this room. He sees the thousand little letters, symbols, glyphs in countless styles of calligraphy. Each by itself meaningless, almost useless, unable to do anything.

  However, now he has a spell, finally. He can feel it, like ink sliding on a page. As each letter drifts through the Bound spell, slightly brushing against it. Some move through untouched, they arrive, change slightly and leave. Some however seem to stick to it, they come and change and match the spell. Some don’t need to change, entering the spell inside his mind and sliding into it perfectly. He pulls them all before they settle completely, although ... .He can feel his grin sharpening further. He reins in his amusement, stilling his expression, afraid smiling even further will give a heart attack to Nadros, or more likely cause him to attack.

  He glances at the older man, who’s watching him still, gaze fixed and unmoving. For a few moments they stare at each other. Moments turn into seconds in the stillness, Verek realizes this feels oddly similar to his staredowns with the now dead insect. Though Nadros’ expression is significantly easier to read than bug’s.

  Verek focuses inside once more, moving the gramaryes inside. Guiding them with a strange instinct. He can, somehow, still tell which ones successfully make the spell. He focuses on them, and allows the rest to drift along. He focuses and directs them along. It’s easy, these gramaryes naturally come and gravitate to the bound spell, they fit in and are changed. Each one of them sparks brightly, like heated metal. And then settle, dimming in a strange way, a way that doesn’t truly become lesser, just different.

  He feels a sudden weight inside as the spell is copied inside of him. He does so again and again, each time the feeling of weight growing inside of him. The spell feels…deeper, as if sinking inside of him. He stops at 8 spells, eight Wounds, his limit it seems. The gramaryes are set, slotted into place, and he feels it would be difficult, but not impossible, to make them into something else now.

  Not that he knows other spells, not yet. Though that chaotic jumble is still within him too, buried in his chest. Still churning quietly in the back of his mind, flowing and frothing like a whirlpool. He can feel there is something different about them.

  We become less human

  They too are changed, but not necessarily lesser.

  It is not natural.

  Altered, but not diminished.

  We are not part of it

  Wound, he took it from it, how much did it change because of it?

  When we bind spells, we change ourselves.

  How much did he?

  He brushes it with the edge of his will, it feels different, but he won’t be sure how different until he properly tests it. Can’t be sure until he tests, its very nature chaotic, difficult to grasp with only his mind.

  He noticed a flicker of light at the edges of his vision. He lowers his head slightly and sees the bronze armor, clattered across the floor, he keeps Nadros in his view still, while thinking. That click thing—he shudders as he remembers—that the insect did, could he do something like that? The armor was obvious, just as Verek Locked his Wound, the creature simply…Unlocked his armor. But what about the widening of the tunnel? Did it unlock the tunnel? No, the tunnel was open, you can’t unlock something that is wide open…he thinks.

  Wait, does that mean he can put his armor back together by Locking it?

  Can he open the book with unlock?

  Wait, does he even have it? He reaches inwards again, touching the jumble again, The chaotic mass churns softly as he mentally prods it. He presses he will forwards, feeling at its edges, searching. He does the same with Wound, brushing against both carefully.

  Huh.

  He is pretty sure he somehow—no, certain— that he made Unlock into Wound. It makes sense to him, both are acts of opening something in the end. One opens locks, the other…reveals. The bug certainly thought so, considering how it used its key on Verek.

  He takes a deep breath, the smile no longer present in his face, leaving only a still neutral expression. He nods once, mostly to himself, a quiet gesture. Commanding his inner will, he gathers himself. He feels both the bound spell, multiple of them now anchored deep within him, and the evermoving chaotic jumble inside.

  It’s Time to move on.

  “Hey.” He says, his voice almost echoing in the room. He did his best to keep his voice neutral, but it still cut through the silence like a sharp knife. He could almost hear it, the stillness of the room breaking like glass.

  Nadros flinches, but not like an frightened animal, but more like a man with his nerves stretched to their limit. As if every touch, every sound, could be the start of some new attack. His eyes focus on Verek with a large scowling grimace. Verek imagines it comes mostly from his head wound, his head is probably still throbbing. Pain drumming along with every beat of his heart.

  Verek knows that feeling. He opens his mouth and closes it again. He is…not sure how to proceed. There are several things he wants to talk about, guarantees he would like before moving on. Although he himself is not fully sure about his future now. He laughs sharply, the sound becoming a wheeze.

  “Hey, I guess you were right, this is the start of my new life.” He didn’t want to say that, but he couldn’t resist. Nadros growls at him, teeth bared and eyes widening in disbelief. The man’s face is no longer a grimace, but a drawing of a howling wolf.

  “You think this is funny?!” He screamed, his left arm wildly gesturing. “Since when—How did you bind a—damned—spell?!” He stammers out, voice cracking. Not surprising, really. His throat is probably just as parched, they had both lost a decent amount of blood, after all. Verek tries to think for a moment, tries to not give an immediate emotional response.

  He looks down and sees the creature’s corpse bisected by his feet. Its insides look oddly normal, considering how mutated it was on the outside. Is the same true for him? He stares at the pattern on his chest, the one that connects to his heart. If someone were to bisect him, what would they see? A beating human heart, or something else? Verek was pretty sure he hadn't changed much, would they be surprised to find a mostly normal looking organ?

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  How much less of a human could you ever become?

  He feels his answer rising up his throat, boiling up and erupting with his feelings. He cools it down as best as he can, swallowing down the heat crawling up his chest. It doesn't disappear, it just settles into his stomach. He tries to ignore it, he does not want to spark up a fight with his words, only his actions.

  “This Thing.” He says, failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but trying to mask it by pointing at the insect.”Taught me, basically.” He shrugs, the motion sending tiny ants of pain along his right arm.”Kinda difficult to not Bind a spell when it is literally being plunged inside of you.” Verek decided to keep the fact that it pierced his heart to himself. No need to give Nadros more information than he needed.

  “But, HOW!?” He questioned, his tone a mixture of shock and disbelief. “How are you still fine if you had a hole in your chest?”

  Verek doesn’t want to tell him how he dealt with his wound, and now that he thinks about it, it was probably that action that allowed him to bind Wound. But how is he going to explain it? Maybe he could try and play it dumb?

  “And why do you have a Sigil where the thing stabbed you?” Nadros continues, voice weak. He seems to be asking this question more to himself than to Verek.

  His emotions erupt from his gut, scalding his heart and chest raw. He feels the sudden bubbling strain along their edges, it makes him nauseous for a moment.

  “I don’t know what that is! I don’t know what a sigil is! I barely know what spells are, what binding does, how to do it!” Nadros jumps and retreats several steps back at his tirade, his back hitting the wall and sliding along it. Verek pursues, stalking with large strides towards the older man, uncaring of what he will think or do about it.

  “No one ever told me anything, not you, not my uncle. NO ONE. I was a damned cypher slave, or have you forgotten?” Nadros flinched at the term, his eyes unglued themselves from Verek for a second and wildly swept around the room. As if there was something else about to get him, something that would leap out of the shadows and punish him for what he had done to Verek. Or rather punish him because it was brought to light, because it was spoken out loud.

  As if the Library would hear it, as if it would avenge, save Verek from his fate. He snickered, like a crow. The sound was tinged with red hot rage turned to toxic green sludge, it was coming from deeper within himself now. Bitterness buried and rotted within him from so much time.

  “Do you truly believe that?” His tone was that of a jester, pure mockery without any fear. You could almost believe he pitied the stupidity of the man in front of him.

  “How old are you, Nadros? How much wiser are you, that you know how to use fear as fuel?” He was smiling now, he could feel the strained muscles in his face. Muscles that have not been used for what feels like ages. It felt strange, his smile stretched oh so widely, yet he could not feel a single drop of mirth, a trace of joy nor a single spark of happiness within himself.

  He just felt revulsion within him. Bitter as insect corpses, green like fetid rotten rats.

  “Do you really, really, believe that the Library would shelter anyone? That simply having a multitude of gramaryes in you, would it change how it behaves? How it treats you?” He wheezed, no he hissed. The sound coming out of him had no levity in it, it was simply pressure being released, before it could blow up its vessel. Nadros looked haunted now, like he was seeing a vengeful gheist.

  “Do you think that this place can ever care about you? About any of us? About any single thing?” He spreads his arms upwards and Nadros cowers down.

  “It doesn’t, it can’t, you could be any endless number of insects, rats, cats, snakes. You could grow wings and owl eyes! Cackle like a crow! It would not make a difference.” Verek breathes in, suddenly feeling a lack of air in his lungs.

  “This. Place. Does. Not. Care. About. Us.” He says, each strangled word coming out of his mouth bringing him one step closer to Nadros, he does not know what he will do when he reaches him. But by how light his weapon feels in his hands, he knows exactly what he wants to do.

  The older man just stares at him, like a kicked mouse pup. He opens his mouth and closes it, multiple times. Each time he does so, the malodorous mass of emotions inside of Verek rises, building up into a crescendo.

  “I. I—I’m. I’m sorry.” The man’s words stumble out, he’s not looking at Verek’s eyes, not being able to lie to his face.

  Verek strikes Nadros in his head.

  His left arm moves, amateurly, but making up for it in sheer speed. Nadros steps back and dodges the sword coming to his head. The attack shears a piece of the red wild mane. Verek continues the strike, and it hits the other man in his chest, right in the gold symbol of his armor. Wound— is cast the leather armor somehow sparks, tiny flames spurting to life as the sword slides along it, not even leaving a mark.

  Verek does not care, he does not even notice.

  “Wait!” Nadros screamed, jumping back. Verek follows, swiping his sword again and again. But Nadros is significantly taller, his steps and strides easily taking him out of Verek’s range.

  “You can’t do this.” He continues, hands in front of him, palms splayed. Verek prepares himself to dodge away for a discharge of flames that never come.

  “Watch me!” Verek snarls, spittle flying from his mouth.

  “No, no, no, no” The man babbles, like a child “what will you do at camp?! You can’t kill all of them!” He slaps—slaps!—another sword slash away.

  “You can’t survive alone!” He continues.

  Verek understands he is trying to convey something with his voice. Something layered in his emotions, like the armor he gave to Verek. The armor he gave so he would be a better body shield for him, a better more durable bait. A layered armor but no weapon. Inside of him, the veil of pure hatred that bleeds out and shrouds him thickens and grows. Whatever Nadros is trying to convey, it doesn’t reach him, he can’t understand what it is anymore. Not that he cares, not that it matters, anyway. Anything out of this man’s mouth is a lie. Lies within lies within lies.

  “I can! And I will. Don’t worry, your ghost will see it!” He moves towards the man's right, where his eye is bloodshot. He makes a wide feint, and Nadros falls for it. He desperately backs away, into a corner of the room. He immediately realises his mistake, but it's too late now.

  He is cornered, Verek stops for a moment. His instinct yelling at him that cornered rats will kill cats and snakes.

  A small and sharp fragment of rationality pierces through the mantle of his animosity.

  “What can you even give me to change my mind?” He says hollowly, eyes puncturing the man.

  Nadros immediately perks up, a small smile flickering on his features. The change is so fast, so sudden, that it is blatantly obvious it is fake.

  “Glad you asked!” Now his entire demeanor shifts. As if he’s suddenly talking to a friend. “Spells, you already know I have more than you uncle knows. I can teach you some—ugh,uh—all of them!” Verek lifts one eyebrow at that, unimpressed.

  Nadros clearly notices, his tone becomes even more sickly honeyed.

  “Your, your uncle! I can give you his spells!” That actually catches Verek's attention. Although he won’t admit this out loud, he is not sure how he would be able to get the spells from his uncle himself. He couldn’t simply ask, or threaten. They both hate each other. His uncle would immediately attack, he would never take threats from his wretch of a nephew. Verek knows he would fight back, unable to hold himself back and bite his tongue as he has done so many times in the past. That is even ignoring if Verek could win at all.

  Nadros' smile widened with glee, clearly he noticed that Verek stopped and had to think about it for a second.

  “His clothes! All of them, you can have all of them. They are very comfortable, you know? That rich, smooth and warm feeling of them over your skin, you won’t be able to get enough. You can have his tent too! With the blankets and pillows, you will never be able to sleep without one after trying it, I swear.” Nadros laughs sharply, as if telling a joke, it's condescending as if amused the listener can’t fully understand it.

  It reeks of deception, a charlatan peddling broken trash to a gullible fool. Verek isn’t buying it.

  “Oh, and of course, how could I forget?” His fake smile now takes on a…repulsive edge. Verek feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up, a shiver running down his spine. There is it's again, that look in Nadros’ eyes, like he knows something Verek doesn’t.

  It looks utterly deranged with his smile and single bloody eye.

  “Your uncle has a few bottles of wine, you know? About six last time I checked, might be less now. Still, it can be a very fun time, especially for someone who has never drank before.” His demeanor changes once again, becoming assured. Like he knows exactly how to and where to step now. “Even the girl, should you want her. What’s her name, again?” He snaps his fingers a few times.” I can’t remember right now. Doesn’t matter. you can take her.”

  Verek stands there, speechless. He doesn't remember her name either, rather, he was never told. He remembers the first time she appeared at camp, the first time he saw her. That same spin, his uncle showed up to his sleeping paper pile. The man was drunk and beat him up, scowling and berating him incoherently. From the fragments he was able to gather between punches and kicks, he was able to construct a little sordid tale. His father and his uncle both liked the same woman, his mother, who chose his father. His uncle never got over that it seemed, not even after both passed away, so long ago. The dredged up memories stir extreme discomfort at him, along with what Nadros is insinuating.

  It takes a long moment before he is able to speak.

  “I think you have brain damage.” He states plainly, unsure if he should elaborate further. Nadros’ face falls, then gets back up again. Again with the knowing look from before.

  “Ah, I see. You want all three? Sure we can do that too.” He says, nodding to himself, like he’s a sage who just uncovered great wisdom.

  Verek is stupefied he would even go this far. The boy is starting to truly believe the man had something inside his mind knocked about and cracked along with his skull. There’s no way he thinks Verek would buy this, it is so obviously a lie, the man is giving away too much too quickly. Or, maybe he truly is terrified of Verek? No, this can only be a trap of some kind.

  Not that it matters, he would have never accepted in the first place.

  “Why do you think I would want that? Why would I want someone who saw me getting beaten daily and only stared in scorn, as if I deserved that, as if I did something that would warrant such treatment?!” Verek was screaming at the end of his words, emotion overflowing from him.

  “Oh, I get it now. You are young, you still don't fully understand.” His tone feels sticky with condescending self-assurance. “Don’t worry about it. You will make her pay tenfold, a hundredfold.” Verek could only raspy laugh at that.

  Nadros doesn’t understand Verek, what he truly wants. How could he? They live wildly different lives, which change how they each view everything. It’s almost impossible for their different perspectives to match. Even more difficult because Verek himself barely understands what he truly wants.

  But he knows what he does not want, and it is whatever grubshit Nadros is trying to give him.

  “I think you have misunderstood what I meant from the very start. This is why this conversation isn’t going anywhere. So let me put it in very simple terms, rephrase what I meant for your addled mind.”

  Verek took a moment to let his words sink in.

  “What can you give me that I cannot take by myself?” He says, lifting his left arm. Pointing his swo—thing.

  Verek stared at his arm, at his hand. Which was holding a…thing, the thing in his hand. What is it? Nadros is staring too, confusion evident on his face. He points at the thing.

  “What is that?” He says, his previous duplicitous tone gone. He asked in actual honesty and careful curiosity.

  “I…” Don’t know. Verek couldn’t say that, would the man even believe it? That he is holding a—Thing—-in his hand and pointing it at him, while not knowing what it is? Why is he pointing this thing at him anyway? He was…trying to threaten Nadros, but why? This thing in his hand isn’t threatening.

  This thing, he decides to look away from it. The thing, the situation, all of it is upsetting him.

  “Can you…throw it away? It’s bothering me, that thing. It hurts to look at.” Nadros says, sounding uncertain.

  Hurt? No, no, this thing can’t hurt anything. This is why it isn’t threatening, only things that can hurt you are threatening. This thing is…unable to hurt anything, it can do other things Verek is sure, but hurting? No, it can’t be used for that. Still, Nadros is right, that he should throw this thing away. It is distracting, and he feels unsettled the more he looks at it.

  He chucks the thing away and— He turns to look at it. No, not at the thing, the thing is useless for him, useless for his situation. He turns because there is something here, in the room, something that was not here before.

  But what is it?

  “I think there is something in this room. No, someone.“ He says, realising it in the middle of his sentence.

  “Oh, you can feel me? How strange, how fun!” Suddenly, they are not alone in the room.