Nyra froze in place on the bed next to him, her body still, her expression unreadable. The flicker of firelight from the nearby lantern danced across her face, catching the subtle widening of her eyes. The soft twitch of her chestnut feline ears. Her voice, when it came, was slow, cautious. “What do you mean… you're not from this world?”
Jace’s chest tightened. This was it. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. His hands fidgeted in his lap, fingers curling slowly as if trying to grip something no longer there.
“I died, Nyra,” he whispered. The words hung in the air like a weight. He swallowed hard, the taste of them sour and foreign. It was the first time he had said any of this out loud to someone else.
“I thought that was the end, my end. At least, it should have been.” His fists clenched as he said the words.
Nyra didn’t speak. She didn’t shift or fidget. She simply sat there, quiet and steady, fully present. Her breathing was calm, her gaze unwavering, and in that moment, she was doing the one thing Jace hadn’t realized he needed most. She was listening. Truly listening.
Jace stood, suddenly needing motion. He began to pace slowly across the room, eyes fixed on the worn wooden floor. His hands flexed at his sides, animated now, trying to wrangle thoughts too heavy to hold still.
“There was pain… then cold… then nothing. Just darkness. Not like a room without light, but like… the universe itself forgot I existed.” He stopped, turning slightly toward her for only a fleeting moment, before he looked away again. “I didn’t have a body. No thoughts. No sense of self. I was… just gone.”
He shivered at the memory. “And then, in the middle of that emptiness… I heard a voice. Smooth. Calm. Almost musical—like a lullaby whispered into a void.”
His voice dropped, barely more than a breath.
“But there was something wrong beneath it. Something cold. Like the song wasn’t meant to soothe… it was meant to seduce.”
Nyra shifted slightly now, arms folding across her chest, tail curling behind her in quiet tension. “Voice?”
Jace nodded, slowly. His pacing stopped. He looked down at his open palm, then closed it into a fist.
He swallowed hard, his gaze unfocused, drifting somewhere far from the room.
“It didn’t sound cruel… but it didn’t sound human either. There was no warmth. No empathy. Just this… quiet certainty.”
“It didn’t explain anything. Just whispered—soft, patient, like it had all the time in the world. It told me I was chosen. That it had gathered what was left of me… and given it purpose.”
He shook his head slowly, fingers curling slightly as he spoke.
“I didn’t understand what it meant. I still don’t. And before I could even ask… I was somewhere else.” A pause. His voice was still low. “Awake. Breathing. Alive… but not in any world I knew.”
He turned back toward her now, eyes haunted. “I woke up in a dungeon. Alone. Surrounded by rot and bones and cold, endless stone. My body was different. My name was still mine, but everything else? I was forced to register in some system, but everything was already chosen. I was given a Title, but it glitches out whenever I try to pull it up, so I stopped. My race... I am a Soulborne, which I honestly have no fucking clue what that is...”
He looked back at her, half expecting her to know what it was. Her brows furrowed slightly, but she still didn’t interrupt.
He huffed, the sound more bitter than amused.
“And my class? That was chosen for me, too.”
He looked away, jaw tight.
“Soulreaver.”
The word hung in the air like a shadow.
“It came with 'boons.' Generous.”
His voice dipped, frustration bleeding through.
“I can’t level,” Jace said quietly, bitterness creeping in beneath the calm. “Can’t gain experience. I don’t know if I’m stuck at level zero, or one, or... nothing at all. The System can’t seem to make up its mind.”
He hesitated, just for a breath.
Then the next words came slower, heavier—each one dragging something unspoken behind it.
“But the worst part? The real kicker?”
He looked up, meeting her gaze, and this time he didn’t look away.
“I have a skill that… takes something.” His throat tightened.
This was the moment. The step he couldn’t take back. The part that might make her see him not as a companion or a friend, but as something to fear. The glow from the egg flared, just faintly, as the room fell silent.
Nyra’s head tilted slightly. She didn’t move otherwise—feline stillness—just her eyes narrowing as if bracing herself.
“It steals fragments of the soul from anything I kill.” The words landed with a quiet finality, like the drop of a stone into deep water.
“You steal souls?” Nyra asked in calm clarification.
He nodded. “Just fragments. I don’t know where the rest of the soul goes. I don’t know if I’m storing it or destroying it. I just… take it.”
He let the silence linger, filling the space where judgment might fall.
“After that, the System started acting... wrong,” he went on, his voice rougher now. His brows knit together as frustration laced through exhaustion. “It glitches. Constantly. Like it’s having trouble processing me. Like it doesn’t know how to handle me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
“And the more soul fragments I collect, the worse it gets. Like I’m breaking it just by existing. Like the System doesn’t know what I am… or where to put me.”
He let out a hollow, humorless laugh.
“Even now, I’m listed as level one. Maybe. Could be zero. Hell, I don’t even think it knows.”
His voice cracked at the end, and the bitterness he’d been trying to keep buried finally bled through.
Without thinking, he began pacing again, the rhythm of his steps quickening with each word.
“And every time I kill, something happens. The class doesn’t reward me—it takes something from them. Pieces. Fragments of their souls.” He tapped his chest, more firmly this time. “And it stores them. In me. In a core.”
Nyra’s brows drew tight, confusion edging into concern.
“Core?” she asked, not dismissive, just trying to understand. “Classes don’t usually have those, Jace… at least, not that I’ve ever heard.”
He turned toward her sharply, almost desperate now.
“I know,” he said. “But mine does.”
His voice trembled, not with fear, but with the weight of being unbelieved for too long.
“I can feel it. Right here.” He pressed his palm to his chest. “It pulses. It grows. And every time I feed it… Yeah, I get stronger. But it’s not just strength, Nyra.”
Nyra's ear twitched, and her tail flicked ever so slightly.
“It’s anger, rage, sadness, frustration. It’s… louder inside me. Like something’s building. Something that isn't entirely me anymore.” His voice dropped.
She flinched—subtle, but he saw it. Her eyes softened as realization dawned, her voice quieter now.
“Today... At the dungeon… when you snapped like that. That wasn’t just rage, was it?” She paused. “That was the core?”
Jace met her eyes, and for a moment, he looked hollow.
Jace shrugged slowly—shame settling heavy on his shoulders. He looked away again, unable to face her, his voice dropping low, hoarse and hollow. “After I killed the corrupted wyvern in that dungeon… I claimed its soul.”
He began pacing again, slow steps across the wooden floor. Each movement helped him release the tension winding through his chest. His fingers flexed, jaw tightening.
“My core couldn’t take it. It was too strong. Too… warped. So instead, I did something else. I used my class—channeled the energy. I infused the soul into that egg.” He motioned toward the soft glow resting on the nearby table.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Nyra’s eyes dropped to it in her hands, her brows furrowing. The light pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips, rhythmic, like a heartbeat echoing inside a sealed chamber. She didn’t drop it, but he saw her expression shift. A shiver crawled across her spine, though she remained still, listening.
“I pushed forward through the rest of the dungeon,” Jace continued, his voice gaining a bitter edge. “Made it to the end. That’s when I found it—the boss. A monster called a Corrupted Soulbound Horror. It wasn’t like anything else I’ve faced. Not even close.”
His pacing slowed further as he ran a hand through his hair, tugging it slightly in frustration.
“It nearly killed me, Nyra. Had me wrapped in these… disgusting tendrils. I could feel my arms starting to tear, ribs creaking, like it was going to rip me apart, piece by piece. And I couldn’t stop it.” Jace felt the hot sting in his eyes. Tears welled up at reliving the memory.
Nyra’s breath caught audibly, but she said nothing. Her posture had straightened, fully alert now. Her hands held the egg with more care, more reverence.
“How did you survive?” she asked softly, voice tight.
Jace’s shoulders sank, and he turned to her, eyes dark and distant.
“The voice came back,” he said. “The same one that spoke to me after I died. It… offered me something. Help. Power. A way out.”
He hesitated, hands trembling slightly at his sides.
“I was terrified. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought—if I said no, I’d die. Again. So… I said yes.”
His voice cracked—shame rising like bile in his throat. “And something took over. I don’t know what it was. It was me, but it wasn’t. I felt myself fall backward, like watching through my own eyes while something else wore my body.”
He clenched his fists.
“It destroyed the Horror. But it also destroyed something in me. When I came back to myself, the System was worse—glitchier. Unstable. Now, every time I gain power… every time I absorb soul fragments… something steals a piece of it. Of me.”
He turned away sharply, staring at the floor like it might answer for him.
A soft hum slithered through his thoughts—warm, melodic, and unmistakably familiar.
“You make it sound so tragic,” the voice cooed, velvet over a blade. “I gave you everything you needed—and you still mourn your chains?”
Jace flinched. The voice was gone just as quickly as it came. He paused, rubbing his palm down his arm like he could wipe the goosebumps away.
“It called itself Harmony once—like it expected me to recognize the name. Like it assumed I belonged to it already.”
Nyra’s ears twitched. She blinked once, slow eyes narrowing. Not from confusion. From realization.
“But it’s ancient. Patient. Always watching. And I think…”
His voice faltered, then returned—lower, more certain. “No—I know. It’s using me. Twisting this power. Shaping it for something I still don’t understand.”
The light from the egg flickered in Nyra’s hands. Her fingers curled tighter around it. Just a little. Just enough. The room fell deathly quiet.
The warmth in his chest throbbed once, then dulled, as if something coiled there didn’t like being seen.
'Understanding is such a mortal craving,' Harmony whispered again, softer now, just behind his ear. 'You always ask why, as if the answer would change what you are.'
The egg pulsed sharply. Nyra’s breath hitched—but she said nothing.
Then the voice vanished again, like it had never been there at all.
Just as Jace exhaled, something rippled across his vision—jagged and wrong.
[SYSTEM WARNING: Anomalous Presence Detected]
[Unauthorized Interface: Voice Signature—H A R M O N Y]
[Attempting Isolation Protocol…]
[ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.]
[Connection Severance: FAILED]
A pulse of static snapped through his mind like a live wire. Then—nothing.
Not peace.
The kind of silence that waits.
Jace blinked hard. The messages were gone. Erased. Like they’d never been there at all.
He stood frozen, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His arms wrapped around his ribs as if holding himself together could keep the rest from unraveling.
Jace stood there, chest heaving, arms wrapped tightly across his ribs like he could hold himself together through sheer will. His voice, when it came next, was barely audible.
“I didn’t want to tell you. Any of you. Because I was scared—because deep down, I don’t know what I am anymore. And if I said it out loud… I was terrified you’d see me differently. Like I’m something fractured beyond repair. Or worse—like I’m becoming the corrupted beasts we’ve been running into.”
For a heartbeat, the silence stretched into forever.
Then he felt movement. Swift yet soft footsteps crossed the wooden floor, deliberate and steady.
And then—
Warmth.
Nyra’s arms wrapped gently around his waist from behind, her head resting against his back, nestled between his shoulder blades. She didn’t say anything at first. She just held him, steady and grounded.
“I believe you,” she whispered finally. Her voice was low but unshaking, solid. Real. “I don’t understand all of it. Maybe I never will. But I believe you.”
Jace’s breath caught. Something inside him cracked—not in pain, but in relief. The hot sting returned for only a moment as the dam finally broke.
He turned slowly in her arms, eyes meeting hers, teary and vulnerable. “You… don’t think I’m insane?”
Nyra smiled, soft but certain. “No. You’re not insane. This world has magic that can warp time, shatter mountains, pull fire from nothing, and steal vitality from enemies. Stranger things than your story have walked this world. Why not this?”
She reached up, brushing her fingers softly across his cheek, gently wiping away the tears. “You’re still Jace. The same stubborn idiot who threw himself between us and that behemoth. The one who stayed when he could’ve run. The one who jokes too much and overthinks everything.”
Her smile lifted, small but certain. “You’re still you. And that’s what matters to me.”
Jace exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His arms slipped around her shoulders as he pulled her close, grounding himself in the steady warmth of her presence. The shaking in his body eased, for the first time in what felt like hours.
“I’ve felt so alone,” he whispered, his head tucked against her shoulder. “Since the dungeon. Since waking up here. I’ve just been… surviving. Lying. Because I didn’t know whom I could trust. Or if I could trust anyone.”
Nyra didn’t pull away. She held him tighter.
“You don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore,” she said, voice low but fierce. “You have us now. We’re not perfect, but we’re with you. Even when it’s messy. Even when it’s terrifying. We’ll face it. Together.”
Her words sank deep, cracking open something that had been locked tight in his chest. Jace nodded slowly, his throat burning.
“What happens if the Guild finds out?” Jace asked, voice low and raspy as he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. “What if they decide I’m a threat?”
Nyra didn’t hesitate. She reached down, threading her fingers through his with quiet resolve.
“Then we’ll deal with it—carefully, and on our terms,” she said. “The Guild doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet. We’ll keep it between us for now… until we’re ready.”
Jace nodded slowly, her words a small balm on the storm still churning inside him. But another question loomed.
“What about the others?” he asked, his gaze drifting toward the door. “Sylas… Patch… Torak. They trust me and I’ve been lying to them.”
Nyra’s expression softened, her grip tightening just a little.
“They’ll understand,” she said gently. “But they deserve the truth—sooner rather than later. I won’t push you, Jace. I know how heavy this is. But you’re not as alone as you think.”
She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
Jace looked down at their joined hands, her fingers wrapped gently around his like an anchor. Her touch wasn’t forceful, wasn’t trying to fix him—it simply was, steady and real. A wordless reminder that he wasn’t alone anymore. That the weight he carried didn’t have to crush him in silence.
“I know,” he murmured. “I just… tonight, telling you everything… it felt like I was risking everything.”
Nyra tilted her head, then reached out with one hand and gently lifted his chin, guiding his eyes back to hers. Her gaze didn’t waver—warm, grounded, and unshaken.
“You took a risk,” she said softly, “and you trusted me with it. I don’t take that lightly, Jace. I never will.”
Her thumb brushed lightly along his jaw. “Whatever’s coming—whatever happens, we’ll face it together. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. Not with me here. Not with us here.”
The sincerity in her voice dug deeper than any blade had ever cut. Jace inhaled slowly, her words wrapping around the raw, frayed edges inside him like bandages soaked in warmth.
A real smile touched his lips—small, but genuine. “Thank you, Nyra.”
She squeezed his hand again, her ears flicking gently. “Always.”
A pause passed between them, heavy but warm.
Jace exhaled, his voice came softer than before, worn around the edges.
“Would it be alright if I asked you to stay?”
He hesitated, then added, “Just for tonight. I… I don’t want to be alone.”
Nyra didn’t hesitate. Her expression melted into something warm and certain, her amber eyes catching the silver sheen of moonlight spilling through the window.
Her tail swayed once, slow and deliberate, as the faintest smile touched her lips—gentle, real.
“Of course, Jace.”
Jace’s shoulders slumped, the exhaustion finally breaking through now that the storm had passed. His gaze drifted toward the bed—not with intent, just quiet resignation. The day had worn him down to the bone.
Nyra followed his eyes, then gave his hand a small, reassuring squeeze.
“You look like you’re one breath away from collapsing,” she said gently, no teasing in her tone—just care. “Come on. Let’s sit before you fall.”
She moved with steady purpose, not waiting for him to argue, their hand still intertwined, causing Jace to follow.
With her quiet grace, Nyra crossed to the bed and sank down onto the edge. There was no tension, just a calm, quiet presence. The mattress dipped under her weight. The soft rustle of cloth and the gentle glow of the whelpling egg between them filled the silence. For a long time, they didn’t speak. They simply sat there, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the quiet. Nyra rested her head on Jace's shoulder, offering him comfort.
“So... what was your world like?” she asked. “Before all this. If you want to talk about it.”
Jace let out a slow breath, his fingers resting idly against the egg’s glowing shell. “It was… different. No magic. No dungeons. No classes or guilds. No system. But we had our kind of wonders. "We had buildings that scraped the sky—taller than the tallest wizard towers. Machines that flew without wings or spells. And we could speak to someone across the world instantly, without runes or magic—just small glass boxes that fit in your hand.”
He smiled, distant but warm. “Oh, it wasn’t perfect, but… parts of it were beautiful.”
Nyra listened quietly, her tail curling loosely across her lap. “Do you miss it?”
He was quiet for a moment, considering.
“Sometimes. The music. The sky. The way the world felt full of noise… but still lonely.”
His voice trailed off, and for a moment, a different kind of ache stirred. A memory—distant and soft—of people he might never see again. Of a life once lived.
But the pain didn’t crush him the way it used to. It simply was quiet and distant, like an old scar.
“But that life’s gone,” he murmured, almost to himself. “A whole world I can’t go back to.”
They fell into easy conversation, softer now, little things. His favorite food, how music worked back home, and the oddity of travel without magic. She asked about holidays and stories, about what stars looked like through the windows of his old apartment. And he told her.
Bit by bit, Jace felt the weight recede—not vanish, but shift. It wasn’t pressing down anymore. It was being shared.
Eventually, voices faded. The words slowed.
A quiet yawn slipped from Nyra—unguarded and genuine. Without a word, she shifted, curling onto her side beside him. Her breathing slowed, syncing with the calm hush that had settled over the room. At some point, without him noticing, her tail had curled lightly around his leg—a soft, grounding presence he didn’t want to move from.
Jace lay beside her, eyes half-lidded as he looked to the softly glowing egg between them. Its pulse was faint, but steady.
For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel watched by something dark or hunted by something unseen. The voice, the System, his class—they all felt distant, muted, like echoes from a storm that had finally calmed. He felt safe.
“Thank you, Nyra,” he whispered, voice barely audible.
Her eyes barely cracked open, just for a second, her smile faint but warm. “Always,” she murmured.
Then sleep found them—slow and quiet.
Jace didn’t dream of blood and death or running and hiding or the voice in the dark.
He just slept.
And for once, it truly felt like rest.
The egg rests on the nightstand, nestled in worn cloth. The room is quiet. Two heartbeats fill the space—soft, rhythmic. One is warm. One is fractured.
[Internal Thought – The Egg]
I feel him again. The giver. The broken one.
His soul drips like sap—sweet, bitter, cracked at the edges.
He feeds me still. Even when it hurts him. Especially when it hurts him.
That is love. Or hunger. I do not know the difference.
Fur. Strength. Steel in her voice.
The Protector
She does not fear me.
She should.
But I like her anyway.
Not mine.
But once… close.
It speaks in songs. Pretty songs. But they scratch inside.
It watches what I take. It whispers of purpose.
Let it.
Let it watch.
Soon I will move.
Soon I will open.
Soon I will answer.
I listen.
The egg pulses once, slow and steady, glowing faintly between them.
So… THAT happened. How are we feeling after the Truth Bomb?
