Later that evening, after the shop had closed and the apprentices had gone to their quarters, Jade sat alone in his room.
The window was open, letting in the cool night air and the distant sounds of the city—engines humming, voices calling, life continuing in its chaotic rhythm.
He stared at the vial of emergency suppressants Niamh had given him, turning it over in his hands.
This is really happening, he thought. I'm really going to go through 'a heat'.
The idea was terrifying. Humiliating.
Infuriating.
In his previous life, he'd been in control.
Always.
He'd built his reputation on being untouchable, unshakable, in command.
Now, his own biology was about to betray him !.
Damn that goddess, he thought bitterly.
Wherever she is, I hope she's happy.
But brooding wouldn't change anything.
So instead, Jade pocketed the suppressants, closed his window, and returned to his workbench.
He had potions to make. Apprentices to train. A life to live.
And if a heat was coming?
Then he'd face it the same way he faced everything else.
With preparation, control, and an absolute refusal to let it break him.
Outside his window, unseen and unknown, the city breathed.
And somewhere in its depths, an alpha stirred, angry and hungry for revenge against the boy who'd shattered his world four years ago.
--------------------------------------------------------
The training yard behind the shop hummed with morning energy.
Six apprentices moved through their drills with practiced precision—stone spikes erupting in controlled patterns, wind blades slicing through practice dummies, enhanced fists glowing with concentrated power. The sound of exertion filled the air, punctuated by the occasional shout of encouragement or correction.
Jade stood at the edge of the yard, arms crossed, watching. His silver-white hair was tied back today, keeping it out of his face as the morning breeze picked up. The twin suns climbed higher, warming the courtyard, but he found himself adjusting his collar anyway.
Why is it so warm today?
He'd been feeling off lately. Nothing major—just a persistent warmth that settled under his skin, making him more aware of temperature shifts than usual. He'd chalked it up to overwork, maybe the beginning of a cold.
"Master Jade?"
He blinked, refocusing. Kessa stood before him, auburn hair pulled back, earth-stained hands resting on her hips. "Should I increase the spike density or work on speed?"
Jade considered. "Speed. Your formations are solid, but in real combat, hesitation gets you killed."
Kessa nodded, returning to her position. Within moments, stone spikes erupted faster—still controlled, but with improved rhythm.
"Better," Jade called out.
Mira approached next, wiping sweat from her brow. "I've been working on extending the duration of the regeneration technique. I can hold it for four minutes now."
"Good progress." Jade studied her. "How's your mana efficiency?"
"Improving. I'm using about fifteen percent less mana than last month for the same effect."
"Excellent. Keep refining it."
She smiled, clearly pleased, and rejoined the others.
Jade watched them work, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. They'd come so far. All of them. From broken children who flinched at shadows to capable young awakeners who could handle C-rank dungeons.
Progress.
Heavy footsteps approached from behind.
"You're going easy on them again," Gorvoth's gruff voice rumbled.
Jade didn't turn. "They're improving."
"They're plateauing." The old smith stopped beside him, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he surveyed the apprentices. "That Dren boy still telegraphs his wind blades. And Tovin charges in without thinking half the time."
"They're learning."
"They need real combat experience, not just drills and low-level dungeon runs." Gorvoth glanced at Jade. "When are you taking them on a proper hunt?"
"When they're ready."
"They're ready now. You're just being overprotective."
Jade's jaw tightened slightly. "Better overprotective than reckless."
Gorvoth grunted. "There's a difference between caution and coddling, boy. You know that."
Before Jade could respond, the old smith clapped him on the shoulder—hard enough to make him stumble slightly. "Come on. Let's see if you've been keeping up with your own training."
Jade raised an eyebrow. "You want to spar?"
"I want to see if all that power you've got is backed by actual skill." Gorvoth cracked his knuckles, a familiar grin spreading across his scarred face. "Or if you're just relying on raw talent."
Despite himself, Jade smiled. "Alright. But don't complain when you lose."
"Bold words from someone who still has shit footwork."
.....
They moved to the far end of the yard, away from the apprentices. Gorvoth settled into a combat stance—low, balanced, decades of experience visible in every micro-adjustment.
Jade mirrored him, calling on muscle memory from countless spars.
"No talents," Gorvoth said. "Just technique."
Jade nodded. "Fair."
They moved.
Gorvoth struck first—a straight punch aimed at Jade's sternum. Fast. Precise. The kind of blow that would drop most fighters.
Jade twisted, deflecting with his forearm, and countered with a low kick. Gorvoth shifted his weight, absorbing the impact, and immediately followed with an elbow strike.
Back and forth they went, trading blows with controlled intensity. Gorvoth's experience showed in his efficiency—no wasted movement, every attack flowing seamlessly into defense. But Jade's stats gave him an edge in speed and strength that even technique couldn't fully counter.
After several minutes, they broke apart, both breathing harder.
"Not bad," Gorvoth admitted. "Your guard's improved. But you're still dropping your left shoulder when you pivot."
Jade adjusted his stance. "Like this?"
"Better. Again."
They went another round. This time, Jade kept his shoulder locked, movements tighter. Gorvoth tested him with feints and combinations, forcing him to think, adapt.
When they finally stopped, Jade was winded but satisfied.
"You've got the raw ability," Gorvoth said, not unkindly. "But technique will save your life when power isn't enough. Remember that."
Jade nodded, accepting the lesson.
Gorvoth studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing. "You alright? You look flushed."
Jade touched his cheek, surprised to find it warm. "I'm fine. Just the heat."
"It's not that hot," Gorvoth said skeptically. "You getting sick?"
"Maybe. I've been feeling a bit off lately."
"Then rest. Don't push yourself if you're coming down with something." Gorvoth's expression softened slightly. "You're no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion."
"I know." Jade rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering warmth. "I'll take it easy."
Gorvoth snorted. "Sure you will."
He turned and headed back toward the workshop, leaving Jade standing alone in the yard.
'He's right', Jade thought, pressing a hand to his chest where that persistent warmth seemed to pool. 'I should rest.'
But there was too much to do.
....
...
The afternoon brought a dungeon run.
Jade led Kessa, Dren, and Tovin into a D-rank rift on the city's outskirts—standard training exercise, nothing they hadn't handled before. But today, something felt... different.
The dungeon's oppressive atmosphere pressed against him more than usual. The heat—always present in active rifts—seemed to cling to his skin. His senses felt sharper, almost overwhelming.
'Focus,' he told himself.
They cleared the first few encounters smoothly. Kessa's stone traps, Dren's wind blades, Tovin's enhanced strikes—all executed with growing confidence.
But when they reached the dungeon's core, facing the D-rank boss spawn, Jade felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.
He steadied himself against the wall, breathing slowly.
"Master Jade?" Kessa's voice carried concern. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," he said automatically. "Just... give me a second."
The three apprentices exchanged worried glances.
"Maybe we should head back," Dren suggested carefully. "If you're not feeling well—"
"I'm fine," Jade repeated, forcing himself upright. "Let's finish this."
They executed the plan perfectly—Tovin drawing aggro, Kessa trapping, Dren striking. The alpha fell within minutes.
But the entire time, Jade felt that strange warmth intensifying, spreading through his limbs like slow-burning fire.
'What is wrong with me?'
------------------------------------------------------
Evening found him back at the shop, tallying sales with mechanical precision. Around him, customers browsed, apprentices worked, life continued its familiar rhythm.
But Jade couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting.
The warmth hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown stronger, settling deep in his bones. His senses felt too sharp—every sound too loud, every scent too vivid, every touch of fabric against his skin too present.
"Jade?"
He looked up. Niamh stood in the doorway, concern etched across her face.
"You've been staring at that same page for ten minutes," she said gently. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he said, the lie coming easily now. "Just tired."
Niamh crossed the room, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. Her eyes widened slightly. "You're warm. Are you feeling sick?"
"Maybe a little." Jade carefully moved away from her touch. "It's nothing serious. Probably just overworked."
"Then you're going home and resting," Niamh said firmly. "No arguments."
For once, Jade didn't fight her. Because the truth was, he was tired. And that warmth beneath his skin was starting to feel less like a fever and more like something else entirely.
Something that made his instincts whisper warnings he didn't want to hear.
That night, lying in his room at the mansion, Jade stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the way his body felt too warm, too sensitive, too *aware*.
'It's just a fever,' he told himself. 'It'll pass.'
But deep down, in a place he didn't want to acknowledge, he knew better.
Something was changing.
And he wasn't ready for it.
....