Gains & Loses

Orion moved through the city's labyrinthine streets, his steps firm despite the weight of exhaustion pressing against his bones. The echoes of his recent battle still lingered in his mind, replaying in fragmented bursts, each moment laced with the heat of desperation and the metallic scent of blood. The once-crimson cloak that had billowed behind him in combat was now absent, concealed within the red runes etched into his palm, along with his mask. A necessary precaution. His true identity was not yet a luxury he could afford to reveal.

His body bore the visible scars of his struggle—ripped fabric clung to his form, torn in places where wounds had yet to fully mend. Yet, it was the hidden injuries that concerned him most, the unseen damage lurking beneath his skin, threatening to claim him should he falter. Still, he pressed forward, his gait steady, his breathing controlled. Pain was nothing new to him; it was simply another companion on his journey.

Bypassing the city's crowded main thoroughfares, Orion took the less-traveled routes, shadowed alleys where prying eyes would not follow. He moved with purpose, never lingering, until he reached the place he currently called his sanctuary. Slipping through the window of his rented room, he landed with the silent grace of a predator returning to its den.

With a weary sigh, he allowed his shoulders to relax for the first time since the battle ended. His muscles protested the movement, tight with strain. The warm flicker of the lantern cast elongated shadows across the modest chamber. Though it lacked grandeur, it offered what he needed most—seclusion.

His first order of business was to tend to his wounds. He crossed the room and stepped into the washroom, stripping off his tattered garments before immersing himself in the basin of steaming water. The heat seeped into his weary limbs, coaxing away the stiffness that had settled in his bones. He exhaled, allowing himself a rare moment of reprieve.

But the tranquility was short-lived.

A sharp, burning sensation tore through his chest, and before he could brace himself, a violent coughing fit overtook him. His body convulsed with each spasm, his vision momentarily blurring. He clutched the edge of the basin, knuckles whitening under the pressure. The force of the coughs racked his frame, each breath a struggle against the invisible blade twisting within his ribs.

His fingers instinctively flew to his lips, and when the fit finally subsided, he found himself staring at the telltale smear of crimson on his palm.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, wiping the blood against the water's surface, watching as it dissipated in swirling tendrils.

The sight was a stark reminder of the price he had paid for wielding his power so recklessly. He had known it was a risk, but at the time, there had been no alternative. It was an advance versen of what he had dine to forcefully break through into radiant yellow core, which was already a daunting feat, which he had come to call -a mana Dominance, buy today he had exert his control against the draconic beasts— twice no less— once when he was trapped, second when wyvern had used it to escape the maelstrom runes.

It was an act bordering on suicidal.

He leaned back against the wooden edge of the bathtub, inhaling slowly. His heart still thundered within his chest, the aftermath of his exertion not yet fully subsided. The strain of extending his mana signature had nearly cost him everything.

"Was it worth it?" he murmured to himself, staring at his reflection in the water's surface.

The answer came in the form of a soft, rhythmic pulse.

A glow emerged from the red markings on his arm, swirling in intricate patterns before materializing into his palm. There, resting against his skin, was the colossal heart of the flaming wyvern.

It pulsed with raw energy, its molten-red hue casting a fiery glow across the dimly lit room. The heart was still alive, still brimming with mana, radiating heat like a fragment of the sun itself. Each beat reverberated through the air, shaking the very particles around it. The sheer potency contained within this organ was unlike anything he had ever encountered before.

He tightened his grip around it, feeling the warmth seep into his fingers.

"Even in death, you refuse to be tamed," he murmured, admiration lacing his voice.

The wyvern had been formidable, a being of pure elemental wrath. To command such power was a privilege, but to defeat it—to claim its heart as his own—was a feat few could boast. This was no ordinary organ. It was a relic of primal magic, a fragment of nature's unyielding force, and now it belonged to him.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the energy coursing from the heart into his own body. The wyvern's flames had been untamed, but he would mold them, refine them, until they became an extension of himself.

Yet, a lingering thought troubled him.

If exerting his Mana Dominance over a wyvern had nearly broken him, what would happen if he attempted to do the same against a true dragon?

The very idea sent an involuntary shudder down his spine.

Dragons were not merely creatures; they were forces of nature. To challenge their supremacy over mana was to court death itself. Even attempting such a thing could rupture his heart entirely, the pressure of his own ability crushing him from within.

"I need to be careful," he admitted aloud. Reckless ambition would only hasten his demise.

He recalled his grandfather's words—words that had been drilled into him since childhood:

'A power without restraint is a blade with no hilt. Wield it foolishly, and you will cut yourself first.'

How ironic that he had nearly done just that.

With a flick of his wrist, the pulsating heart dissipated, retreating into the crimson markings on his arm. He would need time—time to recover, time to understand the true extent of his ability. His Mana Dominance was a gift, but it was also a curse. If he was not careful, it would destroy him before he could fully master it.

His gaze drifted to the ceiling, lost in contemplation. Tonight, he had pushed his limits beyond what he thought possible, but the world had shown him that it was far greater than his understanding.

The undead wyvern had shattered his preconceptions. Undead were not just myths to scare children; they were real, and worse—they were intelligent. The implications of this discovery weighed heavily on him. If creatures of such magnitude could be resurrected, then what else lurked in the shadows of this world, hidden from common knowledge?

His grandfather's voice echoed once more, a whisper from the past:

'What you know is but a speck of dust in the face of this world's mysteries.'

Orion sighed. There were still too many questions, too many unknowns. But tonight was not the time for answers.

For now, he allowed himself the brief luxury of respite. The warmth of the water soothed his aching body, and as exhaustion overtook him, he closed his eyes, letting the silence of the night embrace him.

Tomorrow, the battle would begin anew.