The darkness that enveloped Aerion after he lost consciousness was not an absence, but a sea of boiling magma. His consciousness, or what remained of it, was trapped in a vortex of heat and the loud rumble of that sea.
The voice of the Dragon Emperor, Kairos, echoed and permeated every fragile remnant of Aerion's being.
Pathetic, the taunt offended him, burning away the last vestiges of Aerion's pride.
Hiding behind parchments while swords seized your kingdom. This body... its potential wasted in the hands of a coward.
Kairos was not just speaking and mocking Aerion; he was digging, sifting through every crevice of Aerion's memories.
Images flashed rapidly through his mind: his mother's gentle face as she read him bedtime stories, the warmth of the Lyceum library with its scent of old paper and dust, the panic as Therion's forces massacred everyone at the Lyceum, the feel of cold river water on his body as he fled the Lyceum...
Each of these memories, to Kairos, was a thorn, a weakness that had to be plucked out by its roots.
"Enough!"
Kairos forced this vessel to bury all its memories. Aerion's emotional pain tried to resist, a deep and desperate agony, but Kairos didn't care.
He pressed it all deep into the abyss of unconsciousness where Aerion's wounded soul resided.
Now, having temporarily subdued these emotional disturbances, Kairos focused his full attention on the physical condition of his vessel. This human body... truly disgusting.
He could feel every torn muscle in his shoulder where the axe had struck; though the external wound had closed, the internal tissue was still crushed and inflamed. His collarbone was fractured, sending dull waves of pain that pulsed in rhythm with his too-fast, weak heartbeat.
His lungs felt tight, still partly filled with the blood he had coughed up earlier. His bare feet, wounded and dirty, trembled beneath his own weight.
Damn it, this vessel is so fragile, so easily destroyed, Kairos thought with disgust. This body was a cage of bone and flesh, limiting the mighty dragon emperor's spirit.
However, within these weaknesses, Kairos sensed a potential. Aerion's blood flowed with an ancient heritage, possibly connected to his own lineage.
That was what attracted Kairos, what allowed this bond.
With movements still stiff, as the human body had not fully surrendered to his will, Kairos turned from the smoldering remains of the Vaelgardian assassin he had just incinerated. The smell of charred flesh and sulfur still hung in the cold, damp morning air.
In the distance, the barking of Therion's hunting dogs grew clearer. They were approaching, following the trail of Aerion's foolish blood and the scent of the assassin he had just killed.
Staying there was not an option. This body was not yet ready for direct confrontation, especially against multiple opponents.
Kairos plunged back into Aerion's memories, which he had just forcibly suppressed. He needed a hiding place.
Aerion's memories were chaotic, mostly filled with fear and aimless flight. But there was one memory... a hunting trip with his father years ago. They had gotten lost in a storm and then found shelter...
A lodge. The image appeared, dim and dusty like the memory itself.
A decaying wooden building, partially submerged on the edge of a mossy swamp deep within the border forest, in a disputed territory between the two Empires, far from any patrol routes.
An old, abandoned, and difficult-to-reach former border post, surrounded by dangerous swamps, and most importantly, isolated.
Perfect.
Kairos moved his new legs. Each step was a torment for him.
Unused muscles, wounds not fully healed despite being repaired by his power, and deep mental and physical exhaustion.
He forced his will harder, commanding the body's muscles to move, dismissing all pain as mere distractions.
He then stepped back into the depths of the forest, leaving the scene of the slaughter, following the faint map drawn from Aerion's memories.
***
The journey was exhausting and humiliating. Branches scratched skin that should have been invulnerable.
Slippery roots tripped his unsteady feet. His breath came in ragged gasps, forming small, thin clouds in the cold morning air.
Kairos continuously grumbled, both from the physical torment and the disturbances from Aerion's soul, which was full of emotion and fear.
You are dead, boy. This body is mine now. Be grateful your blood and body will eventually be useful for something greater than your cowardly flight, Kairos cursed under his breath.
After hours of walking, and even crawling through some of the most difficult sections, the air began to grow heavier and more humid. The ground beneath his bare, still bleeding feet turned soft and muddy.
The trees became sparser, replaced by tall reeds and stilted trees whose roots extended out of the stagnant black water.
The smell of the swamp, rotten, sweet, and teeming with microbial life, filled his senses. And there, almost camouflaged by moss and vines, stood the leaning wooden structure.
The lodge from Aerion's memories.
The building was smaller and more dilapidated than it appeared in Aerion's memory. Part of its roof had collapsed.
The door hung on a single hinge, locked by vines. But the building still stood, still capable of providing shelter from prying eyes.
Kairos pushed the rotting door. The wood splintered with a loud crack.
The interior was dark, dusty, and filled with cobwebs. Remnants of furniture—a fallen table, broken chairs, a clogged fireplace—were scattered about.
There was the smell of dead animals and mold. But the place was well-protected and isolated.
Kairos slumped to the dusty floor near the fireplace, his back against the cold wooden wall. This human body was trembling, not from cold, but from exhaustion, blood loss, and the trauma it had endured.
His breaths were shallow.
Kairos closed his eyes and listened to his vessel's body.
First, the wound in his shoulder had inflamed internal tissue. His collarbone was fractured and would require time and energy to heal perfectly.
The scratches and punctures on both his soles were mildly infected by swamp mud. And overall, this body was experiencing extreme fatigue, dehydration, possibly an early fever.
As for his power, the core flame now residing within this body was stable but limited by the vessel's capacity. The Veridian lineage blood responded, but weakly.
His muscles and bones needed to be gradually strengthened. His reflexes could also be trained.
Kairos opened his eyes again. The swirling dust motes glowed in the golden light of the morning sun.
He looked around the dilapidated lodge; there was a piece of thicker cloth, perhaps a remnant of a curtain or blanket, hanging torn on the wall. He reached for it, and with his claws, ripped it into several pieces.
One piece was used to loosely bandage his still aching shoulder, another to stabilize his collarbone.
Other pieces were used to wrap his wounded feet, providing protection from the dirty floor.
Near the clogged fireplace, he found fragments of a clay jug that could still hold water. With difficulty, he crawled outside to the edge of the swamp.
The water was black and foul-smelling, but Kairos didn't care. This human body needed fluids.
He scooped it up, brought it back inside. Before drinking it, he channeled a little heat from his core flame into the water in the jug.
The water in the jug instantly boiled for a moment, killing most pathogens. Then Kairos drank it greedily, even though it tasted like mud and rusty iron.
He also found a small, rusty knife, perhaps left by a previous occupant, tucked behind a wooden beam. A poor knife, but better than nothing at all.
Kairos roughly sharpened it on a stone outside the lodge, ensuring its edge was as sharp as possible with limited resources.
As he sat on the floor, forcing the body to rest while his power slowly worked to repair the worst of the damage, another wave from Aerion suddenly surged.
A memory of a young girl at the Lyceum, her hair like gold in the sunlight, her smile... Eowyn, his younger sister. The name brought a different kind of pain.
"NO!"
Kairos growled, louder this time, both internally and a slight hiss of hot air from his mouth, trying to suppress the memory.
There is no place for tenderness, for a dead past. Now and in the future, there is only power, and vengeance!
Aerion's memory and the feelings it invoked disappeared.
Kairos now focused his mind on the flow of magma beneath this human skin, slowly rebuilding the fractured bone.