The warmth of the bed wrapped Fortis in a sense of safety, but the chaos that followed his awakening stripped that feeling away almost instantly.
His mother's tears had barely dried when the room burst into life.
First came Julius.
His older brother burst through the doors like a storm, breath ragged and boots caked in dust. The moment his eyes landed on Fortis, he crossed the room in three strides and pulled him into a hug.
"You idiot!" Julius whispered, but his arms trembled with relief. "Why would you run into a collapsing mine like that?!"
Fortis didn't speak—he just smiled.
"You're okay," Julius muttered, leaning back, his white hair slightly wild. "That's all that matters."
Moments later, the doors slammed open again. This time it was his sister—Aria.
Her face was flushed, her sword still strapped to her back, her academy uniform wrinkled and dirt-stained. Her eyes locked onto Fortis, and before anyone could stop her, she tackled him on the bed.
"You moron!" she shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You absolute, reckless, infuriating moron!"
"A-Aria, gentle—"
"Do you know how far the academy is?! I ran one hundred and fifty kilometers for this! I could've died from exhaustion and it would've been your fault!"
Despite the rage in her voice, Fortis could see the worry in her eyes. He patted her head weakly. "I'm okay. I promise."
She growled something incoherent and clung to him tighter.
'Note to self,' Fortis thought, 'Stay on her good side. Or die trying.'
Then, the room quieted.
King Marcus Lactresia entered.
Clad in deep violet royal robes, his steps were steady, composed. But even in his silence, Fortis could see the worry behind his stoic eyes. The king stood at the foot of the bed and simply gave a slow nod.
"You've grown," Marcus said.
No more words than that. But Fortis understood. It was enough.
Then came the citizens.
Or at least, they tried.
The miners who had escaped the Garnok Mawls came in droves, only to be halted by guards at the palace gates. According to royal protocol, no commoners could visit a defenseless royal unless they had official documentation proving citizenship.
When Fortis learned this, he almost laughed.
Still, their messages reached him—letters, fruit baskets, tokens of gratitude. Many of them had no idea he was the prince. They had known him as Rain, the quiet boy who worked hard and asked too many questions.
The truth stunned them. But even more so—the fact that he had risked his life for them.
When the flood of visitors finally ceased and the room was quiet again, Fortis leaned back against his pillows, gazing around.
Golden chandeliers. Marble walls. Rich tapestries. A view of the capital's glowing towers from the arched window beside him.
So much beauty.
And yet…
He sighed. "The room is filled with luxury… but my soul feels empty."
He looked out the window again.
"Who was that man in my mind?"
"He looked really strong."
"Yes, kid. I'm really strong."
The voice struck him like lightning. Familiar. Deep.
He jolted up.
Then blinked.
On his lap sat a cat.
Jet-black fur that shimmered like polished obsidian, with two glowing emerald eyes that stared right into his soul. It hadn't been there moments ago. Yet now, it looked as if it had always belonged.
"What in the world—?"
"Yup," the cat said, licking its paw with an unnatural calm. "Even someone like you wasn't ready for a talking cat."
"You can talk?!"
"Is that really the weirdest part of your week?" the cat asked.
Fortis blinked again. "Wait. You're…?"
"I'm Veyr," the cat said casually. "Veyr of the Black Blades."
Fortis's head spun.
The voice, the presence—it matched. The very same aura that had filled his mindrealm now sat curled up in feline form on his lap.
"…You turned into a cat?"
"It's the only form your weak mindrealm can sustain," Veyr said with a swish of his tail. "I'd take a more fitting form, but if I did, your brain might implode."
"Gee, thanks."
Veyr stretched lazily. "Don't look so disappointed. Cats are graceful. Mysterious. Elegant. Deadly."
"You're fluffier than I imagined."
"Keep talking and I'll scratch your face off."
Fortis chuckled—then remembered what he wanted to ask.
"Why are you here again? I thought I left the mindrealm."
"You did," Veyr said. "But now that your mind has touched mine… a thread exists. I'm still bound, but I can appear when you're weak or at rest."
"And what exactly are you?"
"I can't tell you," Veyr replied, his voice suddenly serious. "Your mindrealm is still too empty. Too fragile. Knowing too much would shatter it."
Fortis narrowed his eyes. "Then how do I strengthen it?"
"Ah. That I can help with."
Veyr sat up properly, tail curling around his paws.
"Mindrealm strengthening is the hardest thing a human can do. It's like trying to teach air how to hold weight. But you… you've got something rare. Potential. Unlimited potential."
Fortis listened closely.
"As you grow stronger—physically, mentally, spiritually—your mindrealm will evolve. It will gain shape. Edges. Purpose. And when that happens… I'll be able to do more than talk."
"Like what?"
"Train you."
Fortis raised an eyebrow. "You want to train me?"
"I want you to survive," Veyr said simply. "And maybe… maybe you'll be the one who finally frees me."
That last part was whispered, as if Veyr didn't want even the walls to hear.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Fortis smirked.
"Do you have any intentions of taking over my body?"
Veyr blinked. "That's the first smart question you've asked."
"Well?"
"I don't know, kid. Not now, at least. I hope I don't. I really do."
Fortis stared at him.
Then asked, "What are yo—"
The door creaked open.
Queen Charlotte stepped in, holding a tray with soup and fresh bread.
"Darling, I thought you'd be hungry—"
Her eyes scanned the room.
The cat was gone.
Not a single black hair in sight.
Fortis blinked.
The warm scent of soup hit his nose.
"Rest, Fortis," his mother said softly. "You're still healing."
He nodded.
But his thoughts were already elsewhere.
"Veyr of the Black Blades… what kind of power have I touched?"