After realizing he could still feel his Familiars, even in the dark cell and despite the seals, it still took several more days for Ethan’s discovery to amount to anything practical. But they were days where he felt charged and full of purpose. He never lost the feeling of connection again, clinging to it like a lifeline. It was like he’d broken through somehow, and he felt closer to them than he had before the barriers had been put between them. His companions were a constant presence now, and Ethan used that awareness as an anchor for his mind, refusing to lose himself to the darkness again.

  He spent his time probing the connection with mind, feeling the edges of the wall between him and that remembered power, gaining a deeper understanding of his own soul at the same time. Soon he had a goal for himself. The seal blocked mana flow, and he didn’t fool himself into believing he could use his abilities, but he thought that with enough practice he could commune with his Familiars as he had in training.

  The possibility drove him forward, and he dedicated every waking moment to the effort. It was like his companions were trapped in a pit, and he just needed to reach down, stretching until he felt them, and he refused to give up. Ethan had completely lost track of time when it finally happened.

  He was reaching out, over and over, mechanically at this point, not even truly expecting a different result as his will crashed against the artificial barrier separating him from his friends. Without warning, the twin darkness of the cell and his mind were replaced with the warmth of a raging flame, and suddenly Ethan was somewhere else.

  ***

  He was running through the dark caves, the only light coming from the burning tips of his tails. He could smell food up ahead, and quickened his pace. He must hunt, he must eat, he must grow strong. They were coming for him. They were always coming for him. It would never end.

  ***

  Ethan came back to himself with a gasp, looking around the dark room in confusion. He’d done it. He’d communed with Revan…but it was different. He’d communed with the Guardian beast dozens of times now, as it had become part of his normal training routine, although it had never been quite as successful as his efforts with Deevee.

  Somehow he and the hydra understood each other well with little effort. Each vision the Dimension Devourer showed him gave new insight into how the creature lived, and made Ethan a little better at utilizing the Familiar’s powers. Using rifts had become intuitive to him, and even [Hydra's Reflection] was becoming natural.

  Revan just wasn’t as easy to understand, and Ethan’s Bond with the legendary monster had been falling behind the others. He would be given visions, but they tended to go one of two ways. Either Revan was solving every problem he encountered with explosive power, or he was searching for something…maybe running from something, but Ethan could never understand what.

  The only thing it had in common with the visions from Deevee was that Ethan always felt like a passenger. He felt drives and instincts, shared the sensations the Familiars experienced, but that was the limit. This time he had felt Revan’s thoughts.

  ***

  As more days passed, Ethan succeeded in connecting with each of his Familiars. With Tomo he felt the demon’s support and strength, but equally he received the same warning he had before: he must not risk communing. Ethan was satisfied just to feel his friend’s presence again, and turned away.

  When he finally reached Deevee, he found that those visions had changed as well, bringing up even more questions. Ethan saw worlds. He would be soaring through Nexum, the different lands passing beneath him, then he would hear a call. Something faint and impossibly distant, but irresistible, and he would follow.

  His long sinuous body would summon the rift, and the light would take him where he felt he had to go, to where he was needed. Now he was in a world of nothing but water, and he dove beneath the surface, swimming as easily as he flew, disappearing into the depths.

  He felt the pressure pushing down on him as he went further and further down. The light faded and the water turned black around him. He sensed the endless life surrounding him, some afraid, some hungry. He went deeper still, searching for the one who called.

  Another light took him to a world of cold, where cities were built into glaciers that covered continents. He fought ice dragons in the skies, searching for the one who called.

  He was in a world of technology. The noise was painful and the lights were everywhere. Beings with too many eyes and too many arms hunted him. Their weapons were fire and pain, and still he could not find the one who called.

  The call took him to a volcanic world, where great wyrms tried to devour him.

  The call took him to an endless sandy desert, and he searched beneath the dunes, finding cities abandoned for eons.

  The call took him to a world of balance, and the people there feared him, and hunted him with their machines.

  Where was the one who called?

  ***

  Each day Ethan saw more, and felt his Bonds growing stronger. He didn’t have his system, but he didn’t need it to feel his Familiars straining against their captivity. It wasn’t just the barriers the Runemasters had used to seal them, it was Ethan’s soul.

  Though it must have happened before, he could feel it now like any other part of him. His Familiars were growing, stretching, and they no longer fit in the miniscule container of his Spirit. So they pushed out, and Ethan grew with them. Despite his meager food and lack of training, his body felt alive with strength, and his mind split more and more easily.

  Unfortunately this proved dangerous. The visions gave him a window to look through, but also brought him further and further from reality. His mind was now powerful enough to think in two directions at once with no effort, but his thoughts were already giving way to madness, and now there was twice the madness echoing inside his skull.

  He sought refuge with the soul of the Guardian beast. Revan’s visions had evolved as well. The revelation that he could feel the Familiar’s thoughts was only the beginning. Where Deevee endlessly searched, Revan was endlessly pursued…and endlessly caught.

  Ethan was seeing the Guardian’s previous Chosen.

  ***

  He was in his mountains. Ages passed and they changed, but they were always his. People came to his mountains to offer him food and tribute. They were thin, with pointed ears. They were also kind, and asked for nothing. He chose to protect them. When the colds came, he gave them his fire. When the monsters came, he would hunt them down.

  A young girl would pet his coat. She was small, and he smelled the sickness in her. He decided she would not die, and he made a new home inside her tiny soul. They protected the people together then, and for a time the mountains weren’t his, the mountains belonged to them both.

  When the bad people came, the girl fought, and he fought with her. These people were strong, and they invaded the mountains. They had their own strength, and unleashed demons against his people. He missed the girl after she died, lifetimes together weren’t enough.

  He was alone again in his mountain. He was small, and hungry, and he needed to hunt before the people came again. When they did, it was with weapons of metal and pain. His fire wasn’t enough, and he was trapped in a new container, a new soul. It was a dark soul, and he raged against it, but he couldn’t escape. The man’s death was a welcome relief, and too long in coming.

  It happened again, and each time he fought. Sometimes he welcomed capture, other times he could sense the evil that he would be forced to do. Sometimes he chose to die fighting, rather than be taken. But always he would return, his fire burning anew.

  ***

  The days seemed to pass faster and faster as Ethan spent more time as his Familiars than he did as himself. Whenever he was cast from a vision of wonders and freedom, he would awaken to the same darkness and pain, desperate to return. His sense of self slipped further away.

  Through Deevee he saw worlds beyond counting. Through Revan he lived lives of impossible adventure and darkest deeds. The horrors of reality couldn’t compare to everything that existed within him. Beyond that, his Familiars were growing dangerously powerful within.

  One of the most challenging aspects of growth for a Hunter was deepening the Bond with them. Understanding how they thought and felt, how they fought and how they lived. It was these insights that allowed Hunters to truly utilize their abilities to the limit, and also what offered Familiars the most effective means of gaining strength.

  Most Hunters whose advancement halted were blocked by this challenge. It wasn’t easy to open yourself up to the process, and even harder to truly understand how another being, so alien to yourself, experienced life. Most Bonded spent years learning to dip their toes in the process. Ethan was drowning in it.

  As Deevee and Revan’s growth accelerated, so too did his mind and body, linked to the Familiars. But his Spirit, tied inexorably to Tomo, stagnated. The demon still refused to allow him entry, fearing what it would do to Ethan’s mind. But as the weeks in darkness continued, that danger was overshadowed.

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  “Tomo…” he whispered, knowing his words were carrying all the way to his soul. “I need this. I need something. I don’t care what it does to me anymore. I’m not surviving this. I can’t keep waking up in the dark, and the others have done all they can.”

  He didn’t expect an answer, but he could feel that he was still blocked. “I remember what you said, Tomo. I know what you think it’ll do to me, that it will leave me desperate to seek the Throne. I want that desperation. I want to feel that drive. I need to.”

  His voice dropped even lower. “I can’t get out of here, Tomo, I can’t run for the nearest rift. And If I don’t find something to keep me going, then the man who walks out of here someday will be lucky to be the princess’s puppet. More likely he’ll be too broken to be anything to anyone.”

  There was a quivering in his soul, a vague sense of indecision. “Please, my friend, it’s time.” The quiver faded, and Ethan felt himself being pulled inward. It wasn’t exactly like his experience with the Nexum monsters, but it was close enough, and Ethan embraced it.

  ***

  The sky was red above him. Everything was red in the dusty, hellish world. But it felt normal. It felt like home. He was running with his kin, newly spawned and hungry. They needed to hunt. He scrambled up a hill of rocks, following the strongest among them toward the light.

  As they moved, they scooped up insects, and rodents, anything small enough to devour, but large enough to hold the slightest hint of the power. They needed their strength as they entered the woods. The trees loomed above them, and they shared the hunger that was Potentia.

  The first of his kin fell when it came too close to the roots, which reached up to pull the thrashing little demon in. The rest moved quicker, using the death of the first as a distraction. They all kept running, dancing through the endless danger of the starving forest.

  When they emerged on the other side, they were less than half their original number. But the light was there, pulling them toward their prey. Something fat and rich with power. They moved again, toward the high peaks, sensing their goal. At last a dark cave loomed, and their hunger pulled them onward.

  The beast inside was weak, injured, and ripe. He and his kin jumped on the creature, heedless of its claws and wrath. More died as they ate, but such was the way. Those who lived burrowed deeper, finding yet more power as the beast died around them. And they grew.

  He saw that one of his kin was growing more slowly than the others, injured by their prey. He stopped eating long enough to devour the weak one, and his own growth accelerated. As he returned to his feast, the others took notice of his greater size, but as they looked and feared, he continued to eat, to grow.

  When they finally made the wise choice and attacked him together, they were already too late. He was too strong, and soon his feast grew larger. By the time he finished, he was the only one left. The day had started with hundreds of his kin, all dead now, but there would be more. There was always more.

  He left the cave feeling different. His limbs were longer, his claws sharper, his bite more deadly. When he moved again, he would occasionally walk on two legs instead of four, and he had lost his fear of the woods.

  When he saw the light once more, it drew him back amongst the trees, and this time he stole the victims from their roots when he could. When one was foolish enough to try to trap him, he would split the trunk in half with his powerful claws.

  Soon the Light brought him to a new brood. They were many, and near to his size. He joined their hunt. His hunger only grew.

  Again the pack was weeded down until the last few fought among themselves. Once again he was the last. He knew the secret, that intelligence and guile were worth more than raw strength. He devoured the weakest, as the strong fought for supremacy.

  When the strongest were injured, they were no different from the weakest, and he ate well. Now he felt something inside him growing with his body. It was a new power, a deceptive one, and it would help him reach the light. From among the gore and blood that had been a thousand of his kin, he looked up to the horizon.

  The Light was always there, though ever beyond his grasp. A column of pure power stretching into the sky, that promised dominion over all things. He needed to reach it, he would reach it. But only if he fed.

  Time passed. He kept devouring, he kept growing. Others were stronger, but never smarter. Others were destructive, but had forgotten how to hide. He would take them all, make their power his own. Sometimes he had allies, sometimes kin. He fought beside them for minutes or years. In the end he ate them all the same.

  But always the light. He had to get to the light.

  It was growing closer as he was growing stronger. But so too did the need, the desperate desire. He had to reach it. He began to take risks. His thoughts became quiet as his need grew loud. He would have the light. He wouldn’t share it, he would take it. He would take it. He would take it. The light was his.

  More moved against him. He killed and ate, ate and killed. Tricked and crushed and ate and grew. But always the light. He was so close. So close. It was over the next rise. It was always over the next rise. He ran and ran. His legs were so long now, he could stride across the very world.

  At last it was getting closer. The light was within his grasp, but one other stood between him and his goal. He tried his tricks, but it was so hard to remember them now. His thoughts were only for the light. He needed to think, to out-think, to move and to plan. But the light, the light was right there.

  They fought atop a mountain, the light within reach. They tore each other apart, their bodies feeding the little ones beneath them. They screamed with fury, each knowing that they were the only one the light was truly meant for.

  He was smaller. He wasn’t made for this. He only had six arms. The other had dozens. He only had one mouth, the other was a mouth. He was new, despite the ages that had passed. The other was ageless, maybe it had always been. It had tasted the light and was unstoppable.

  But he couldn’t stop himself. He kept fighting, even as he was torn apart. He needed the light. Even as he felt himself being devoured he never stopped needing the light. He could see it now. See it clearly for the first time. It was so close. It was finally real. He could reach out and touch it.

  But now that he could, he realized it wasn’t really a light…it was a throne.

  The Throne.

  He saw it, and then he saw darkness.

  And then…He was running with his kin, newly spawned and hungry, they needed to hunt. Needed to grow, he could see the light, but it was so distant…

  ***

  Valanor stormed through the palace, flanked by two knights and not bothering to hide his irritation. For six weeks he’d been denied a chance to see the boy, to speak with him, to try to understand. For six weeks Princess Ellevaro had argued with the Church, but her words had sounded so hollow. Valanor knew her capabilities, and knew when she was stalling.

  For six weeks the boy had been in the Deep Cell, alone and likely losing his mind, and Valanor was teased and toyed with. Now this. Now he was roused from his bed in the middle of the night, and called to the palace in desperation. Now he had to move as quickly as possible, though they wouldn’t say why.

  He’d made his own proposal three weeks ago, when the blood of Glenn and Maggie had finally stopped overwhelming his every rational thought. But Princess Ellevaro claimed she needed more time. Needed to convince the Church, as if she ever convinced anyone of anything. She took what she wanted, and left those that defied her praying for a chance to pick up the pieces of their ruined, wasted lives.

  So why was he here now?

  They finally reached a juncture in the halls that led to Princess Ellevaro’s study, but surprisingly the knights turned away. He had been told they were to bring him directly to her, but they were heading…deeper into the palace. They were heading to the Deep Cell. Something was wrong.

  He quickened his pace, the knights struggling to keep up with him as his Dusk rank body moved swiftly through the halls, down the winding stairs. As he approached the long, empty passage to the cell, he began to hear a sound echoing toward him. It grew louder as he pushed his way through the door, past the knight guarding it.

  It was as dark as he remembered, despite the few glowstones lining the hall. Princess Ellevaro was there, behind a wall of four knights in defensive positions. As he approached to bow, the sound grew louder still–it was a banging, like metal being hurled against metal over and over. More than that, he realized he could also hear a voice, muffled through the thick steel door.

  “Princess,” he said, trying and failing to control his expression.

  “Good news, First Shield,” she said. “Your proposal has been accepted.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Forgive me, I don’t understand.”

  She gestured down the hall. “Go and claim your charge, Valanor. It seems he is getting out tonight.” She turned and called out, and Valanor saw that there were two more knights further down…they were holding the door shut. “Open the door!” The princess called, and the men looked at her with surprise. She glared, and they quickly went from holding the door, to unlocking it.

  Valanor began to move forward, but stopped in surprise when the door burst open the moment the lock was thrown. The naked man who rushed out of it was barely recognizable as the boy Valanor knew. His hair was a mess, and a short beard hid his features. He was filthy, of course, his many runes barely visible through the dirt and dried blood.

  Ethan erupted from the room like an explosion, plowing into the knights as he screamed something, over and over. His body should have been withered, despite being Dawn rank, but oddly he seemed far stronger than when Valanor had last seen him. The knights were thrown back in surprise, and then Ethan was upon them.

  His arms were still shackled, but the chains had been ripped from the stone. He used them as weapons, slamming the lengths into the knights over and over before charging down the hall. He was still screaming, and as he came closer Valanor finally saw his eyes. There was something wrong with them, and they were wild with madness.

  The wall of defenders began to draw weapons, and Valanor muscled through them, summoning his armor, but not his helmet. Ethan never slowed, hurling his chains forward before crashing into Valanor’s great shield with surprising power.

  “The Throne!” he screamed, fists pounding uselessly into the shield. “The Throne!” he called again.

  “Ethan!” Valanor yelled back, despite being inches from the boy’s face. “Control yourself, Ethan! You’re out! You’re out of the cell!”

  “The Throne!” Ethan repeated, his hands now swollen and bleeding from hammering the powerful shield. Valanor shook his head sadly, not understanding, but knowing he was getting nowhere. With a heave he threw the boy back, then allowed him to rush back once more.

  “The Throne!” The words echoed through the hall as Valanor’s fist pistoned forward, crashing into Ethan’s face with thunderous strength. The boy collapsed into a heap, finally silent, and Valanor looked down at him with confusion, and concern.

  “It appears you have quite a bit of work to do,” Princess Ellevaro said in a neutral tone. “Six more weeks to the duel, see that he’s ready.” With that she turned and walked off, her escort following.

  Valanor stared down at the boy, not knowing what to think, and doubting more than ever his promise to take responsibility for him.