David's fingers popped with satisfying cracks as he formed his hands into claws. Remains of the mythical song echoed faintly within the cellar.

  He felt the energy at his fingertips, and the grandiose feeling of might enveloped and comforted him. There was something magical about becoming stronger and progressing on his path. The path of the Sciath was his externals, the power of his arms and legs.

  With the ringing of steel, David pulled out his sword. The cellar was barely high enough to support its length, and he flourished it with intensity. Mighty blows, precise cuts, and deadly thrusts were displayed. With his feet dancing about, the two created a ferocious dance that spoke of a tale of David's aggressive nature.

  Inside his head, David felt the insatiable greed needed to achieve perfection. His face scrunched in dissatisfaction, but he couldn't display it how he would have liked. A chopyness had entered the dance.

  Quicker steps and tighter actions accompanied his blades' dance. David fought invisible enemies, not daring to stop. A slight divine light, filled with splendor of white and silver, was visible through the dark cave-like interior of the cellar.

  David finally reached for his energies actively. His path should have led him to use the magicks subconsciously, but he still had to rely on the active portion. His arms became stronger, his dexterity revealed a fine control previously unseen, and his feet barely touched the ground, all in the pursuit of perfection—the mastery of himself.

  More silvery-white energies emitted from his navel, filling the cave in splendor. A steady light illuminated the racks of fine wine and barrels of fine liquid aged beyond years.

  His energies were finite. He had to absorb them from Mother Earth to replenish his reserves. With passive mastery, he would only use short bursts to enhance his fitness at critical moments. David desperately wanted to reach his state, but Brahan had told him he could only gain these things once he reached Unity.

  Slower and slower, David ended the dance. His breath was shallow and deep as it left his mouth. Sweat glistened on his marble-like skin, but a grin was on his face as the silver-white aura shed its last illuminating light.

  Unity was a strange concept to him. It was so far out of reach, so foreign, that David had problems with it. The word Unity meant a harmony between two things, but the rest gave him pause. Essentially, he had to create and start another heart constructed through effort in his chest.

  David's fingers reached out to his chest, covering its right half. He had expected to find a hard lump or any other indication that something was growing within his flesh. But only the elastic feeling of his flesh was felt under his fingertips.

  The meaning of Unity escaped him, but what it should do was clear. After healing the mother and some other miscellaneous tasks, he had used up around 20% of his magical reserves.

  David tapped his chin repeatedly as he stood still in the darkness.

  The rock he had fused was a tool to deepen his path of Sciath. It had no relation to his Unity. He was still stuck at 80% capacity. The rocks could theoretically be replenished in a similar way, as the path of Sciath was the heart, and without the heart, no Unity was possible.

  David clicked his tongue while exhaling forcefully. His brows furrowed as he stored his sword.

  Double meanings and truths were hidden amongst self-discovery; this was why Unity was so hard to grasp. Without two hearts beating in unison, there would be no Unity, but the second heart he was building to achieve Unity was his path of Sciath. Was David not already on the path of Sciath? Had Brahan played another of his metaphor jokes?

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  David shook his head and pushed open the iron door that led out of the cellar. The house's quiet was only interrupted by the creaks of floorboards as he passed.

  Regardless of the intricacies of the divine Song, David needed to find a different place to cultivate and also some water and food. Thirst had joined the steady companion of hunger. He had returned to earth three days ago; he felt he had been back much longer.

  The icy-cold light of the moon illuminated his form as he exited the house. David's eyes roamed, scanning for threats, and listened intently for any cries of nocturnal creatures.

  Should he go out in the middle of the night? There were no pressing needs, but absorbing more energies and potential food sources would be a boon.

  David's mind warred, but for now, he returned to the house. He had not explored its depths fully. He arrived in the kitchen. The sparkling marble and tile backsplash were very pretty, but as he looked at the fridge, his stomach churned. A black sludge leaked out of the bottom. But a narrow door beside the once electrical marvel interested him.

  Subconsciously, he felt drawn to it. His heart longed for something to eat, something particular—a yellow delight filled with white cream. For him, it was not only the divine taste but also the sheer novelty of the item in these trying times he was experiencing. A saving grace that warmed him.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. David hoped, no, prayed, that he would find something in the pantry. As he opened its door, he remained still. A sharp exhale filled with expectation was released, and he slowly opened his eyes.

  His heart jumped joyfully at a few errant bottles on the floor—water flasks with a clip that he could easily hang at his belt. They appeared empty, but David's grin of delight made them appear as the most valued treasure around.

  He picked both of them up and examined them. They were light and made of plastic. As David studied them further, there appeared to be no holes in them. The discovery was good, but his eyes glanced back at the pantry. Dry pasta, some cans of beans and spaghetti sauce, and something he wished on no other entered his eyes.

  David hissed at the blue and white package. On it was a stylized cake covered in pink. The insides were a chocolate sponge filled with white cream—a snowball. Who liked these things? The owner must be a heathen; David was sure of it.

  He wretched with mock irritation as he glanced at the box one last time. Nothing else of note was in the pantry. Either pilfered already, or the owners of this house not only had bad taste but also mainly ordered take-out.

  Absent-minded David cracked open a can of beans. He thought about a way to acquire water. He could go back into the swamp. The river wasn't far away from the barrier. But should he try his luck there? Or was there a more straightforward solution to the problem?

  David grabbed a discarded plastic spoon from a nearby countertop before he walked over to the kitchen sink. He took a bite of cold beans and placed the can back down. Tentatively, David put the water flask below the spigot and opened the tap. A slight hiss sounded, and with a click of his tongue he shut the thing back off.

  That was a failure, David thought. He had hoped that there was still some pressure left in the pipes of this house, but he had been proven wrong. A flash of inspiration hit him. There was another source of water in every home he knew of. But it was a question of his sanity. Should he go that route? Was it worth it? He wasn't even that thirsty yet.

  David exhaled air slowly as if something weighed heavily on him. He stepped around the kitchen island and headed deeper into the house and up the stairs. White tiles, porcelain, and glass entered his eyes. A smell of chemicals still lingered in the room. With an unsure hand, he lifted a porcelain lid of a tank.

  His eyes moistened, but tears did not fall as he lowered the flasks into the still waters of this tank with a pause. He needed to be resourceful during this apocalypse. Why fight with murder parasites to get water instead of from right here? That is what he tried to convince himself with.

  David bit his lip. He eyed the flask suspiciously and stopped its ascent once more before bringing it to his lips. There he was, a mighty Sciath of the Wra-th-unn drinking water from questionable sources.

  As the water hit his tongue, an explosion went off in his mind. The taste was neutral; nothing stood out, but something within him broke as a tear ran down his cheek.

  He had done it and drank the water. It stilled his thirst, but at what cost? Would he forever be enslaved to drinking this kind of water? What would be next, drinking out of a silver bowl left behind owners of pets? David truly felt for the first time that there was no way to go back to how it was before.

  He filled both canteens quickly and hurriedly left the tiled room. Quick steps guided him back to the kitchen, where he eyed a silver bowl suspiciously.

  This is where he drew the line. Reflexively, he kicked the silver bowl over. He would rather die of thirst than stoop that low. Now, another thought struck his mind. He had seen nothing but rats since coming to Ravensboro proper. In the outskirts, he had seen and heard some birds, but here, not even any pets.

  What had happened for there to be no evidence of dogs or cats running about? Had the rats simply overwhelmed everything with their swarming behavior, or was there a plan in motion that was close to foul play? Who would kill dogs or cats, and even more, why?

  David's gaze hardened, and his shoulders squared. Immediately, he set out through the front door.

  This had lit a fire under him. He needed his questions answered. How? The camp came to mind, but he could also look around for clues himself. His determination carried him south, directly towards the camp.

  David would get answers, and he would get them now.