The needle in Kael's neck throbbed — a profound, spoiled hurt buried beneath skin and muscle.
He lay on the lean bunk in Sleeping enclosure Nine, the harsh cover scratching at his ash-coated skin. Valen's voice reverberated in his head: "Void Rodent."
Rest wouldn't come. Not with the thing in his neck murmuring like a caught wasp.
At that point came the whispers.
Not the hungry murmur of the rune. More profound. More seasoned.
"Kael…"
A woman's voice. Frayed at the edges. Recognizable by one means or another.
"Come, domestic."
His eyes flew open. His heartbeat was difficult against his ribs. Sweat ran down his confront.
The sleeping enclosure was noiseless, fair the sound of others breathing in uneasy rest. First light hadn't touched the tarnished windows, however.
A dream, he told himself. The Void is playing tricks.
Kael swung his legs off the bunk, boots scratching the cold floor. Something pricked his thigh through his worn pants.
Not the needle. Something else.
His fingers brushed something delicate. Cold as waterway residue.
A plume.
Dark as a Gate's shadow. Longer than his hand. Carved along its spine in black, out violet light — the same rune burned into his palm.
The scarred Seeker.
No note. No sign of how it got here. Fair this antique, murmuring with the same bizarre vitality buried in him.
Kael's hand closed around it. His rune flashed pitifully, a passing on coal covered by the needle's throb.
"Rise and spoil, Thistle!"
Valen's voice. Sharp as broken glass.
He stood within the entryway, armored for preparing. Smiling. "Fighting day. Attempt not to let your Void enchantment blow up in your confront." His eyes shot to Kael's hand. "Found yourself a pet? Looks debilitated. Fits."
The Pot Yard noticed damp, fiery remains and pressure.
Commander Rhys held up at the center, still as stone. "Fighting sets. Hand-to-hand. Rune utilizes permitted as it were to boost your body. Deadly drive, wild rune bursts—" Her eyes cut to Kael. "—and you'll wish the pit slaughtered you."
Kael gestured. The plume was tucked beneath his shirt, cold against his skin.
Valen ventured up, splitting his knuckles. His rune gleamed swoon gold. "We're matched, Void Rodent."
He didn't hold up. The gold rune flared — Valen moved, quick as a whipcrack. Kael scarcely raised his arms in time. The hit desensitized them, drove him back through the fiery debris.
As well as being quick.
Kael attempted to call the rune. It started —
Torment.
The needle lit up, burning him internally. His control sputtered, and at that point passed on.
Valen's boot hammered into his ribs.
Kael went down. Cinder filled his mouth, as severe as burnt bone.
Valen stood over him, breathing simply. "Voids as well frail to spare you?" He bowed down, voice moo. "That tracker Silas gave you — keeping your rottenness chained."
Kael solidified. Silas. Valen knew.
Kael slapped his hand absent, mixed up. His side throbbed. His rune was a swoon glint, futile.
Fine. No rune. Fair to you.
Valen lunged once more. Kael didn't square. He dropped. Fiery remains slicked his drop — he slid, kicked Valen's knee.
Valen reviled, lurching.
Kael was on him — elbows, knees, crude slum-fighter seethe. An elbow caught Valen's jaw. A knee crushed his thigh.
Valen's growl broke the yard's calm. His rune flared brighter — quality no, longer fair speed. He snatched Kael's tunic, lifted him clean off the ground —
"Enough!"
Rhys's voice is part of the discussion. She was there, hand locking Valen's wrist. The rune diminished beneath her grasp.
"Pit. One hour."
Valen let Kael go. "He battled grimy!"
"He battled to outlive," Rhys said. "Pit. Presently."
Valen raged off. Rhys turned on Kael. "You didn't utilize your rune. Why?"
Kael touched his neck. "Torment. Couldn't center."
Her eyes are limited. She didn't purchase it. "Pain's portion of the lesson. Learn it."
Kael sat on his bunk, ribs throbbing, lip parted.
He took out the quill.
Within the dim light, the rune along its spine beat relentlessly.
He squeezed it to his neck. The throb dulled. Not gone. But suppressed.
And in his head, a clear voice:
They fear what they can't cage.
The scarred Hunter's words. Not fair a caution.
An arrangement.
Kael held the quill. His rune gleamed faintly in reply, not passing on any longer.
A start holding up for fuel.
End of Chapter 5.