Beyond the manicured lawns of Lexica Academy sprawled a patchwork of opulent estates, each a miniature palace, each the domain of a noble scion. A different world, a different life altogether. The ostentatious displays of wealth were a stark contrast to the cramped dormitory Kor called home. His own room barely accommodated his bed and desk; how could one live surrounded by such luxury? Each estate reeked of privilege and power.

  A mansion loomed, dwarfing even the sprawling estates they had passed. The Solarian crest adorned the ornate double doors. This was Darius’s domain, a residence befitting a prince. Kor and Beth trailed Marcus, their steps heavy. A shared nod passed between them. The air thickened. Marcus squared his shoulders. A warrior preparing for battle against royalty.

  A Solarian girl, her features sharp and haughty, answered their knock. “Prince Darius awaits,” she announced, her voice flat and formal. She gestured them inside with a sweep of her arm.

  The room was palatial, a cavernous expanse of polished marble that echoed every footstep. Intricate tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and mythical beasts muffled the vast space. The air hung heavy with the scent of iron and polished wood. Dozens of feet away. At the far end, Darius reclined in a high-backed chair that resembled a throne, flanked by two other Solarians. One, with golden hair and amber eyes, was Kelleth Tatharion. The other was a stranger, but no less imposing.

  “Prince Darius! An honour.” Marcus stepped forward, hand outstretched, a forced cheerfulness in his voice.

  In the corner, a crimson dragon the size of a large hunting cat slumbered on a giant cushion, its wings folded neatly over its back. A companion creature, no doubt, and the largest Kor had ever seen. Lentus, however, remained coiled around Kor’s shoulder, ignoring the reptilian giant.

  “A bit big, isn’t he, Lentus?” Kor idly stroked the serpent’s smooth scales.

  “He’s always been fat,” Lentus hissed, his voice a dry rustle. “Size isn’t everything.”

  Darius remained seated, accepting Marcus’s handshake with a limp hand. Arrogance smouldered in his eyes, burning coals in his otherwise impassive face. They flicked towards Beth for a moment before settling on Kor, lingering on the serpent draped around his neck. A flicker of something—satisfaction?—crossed his face before vanishing.

  “So, Marcus.” The prince leaned back, steepling his fingers. “What brings you here today? Our fathers’ trade deals have long since ended. I assume you have something worth my time?”

  “Certainly,” Marcus replied, his eyes sweeping the room. “Though it is a personal matter, I would hope we could—”

  The prince interrupted, a predatory grin spreading, revealing a full set of pearly white teeth. “Those here are loyal to me, Marcus.”

  Marcus nodded, maintaining his high energy, meeting Darius as an equal. “I’ll cut to the chase then, Darius. I had an... incident with another student. A Netharian.”

  “Unpredictable lot,” Darius said. “Prone to stabbing you in the back.”

  Kelleth and the other boy chuckled, the sound swallowed by the room’s immensity.

  “Exactly, Darius. With your impressive connections, I was hoping to broker a deal between us.”

  “Oh?” A skeptical eyebrow rose on Darius’s face. “What did you have in mind, Marcus? My family is always looking to contract new talent.”

  “I know how powerful your family has become,” Marcus said. “But I had a more mercantile trade in mind.”

  Darius leaned back, his attention drifting towards the high, arched windows. The world outside seemed to hold more intrigue than Marcus’s proposal. “Really, Marcus,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

  “Don’t worry, Darius. My father and I have acquired a number of rare crystal shipments lately—”

  “Nothing of interest,” Darius said. “Our mines produce more than enough.”

  Marcus chuckled, a deep, booming sound that reverberated through the hall. “Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, Darius. But I’ve got more than just crystals up my sleeve.” He winked, a showman’s flourish. “How about this? Manpower. The best workers you’ve ever seen. Eager, strong, and ready to make you even richer. I’m talking about a workforce that could build you a new palace if this one isn’t big enough for you.” He gestured around expansively, momentarily slipping back into his element.

  Darius stifled a yawn, the movement exaggerated. “Is that all, Marcus? I thought you were serious.”

  Marcus’s smile finally vanished, his voice hardening, a hint of steel entering it. The jovial act was fading, revealing the desperation beneath. “Come now, Darius, don’t play coy. We both know there’s always a deal to be made. You name your price. What is it you truly desire? Power? Influence? There must be something those mines of yours can’t produce.” He leaned forward, his stare unwavering, trying one last time to connect with Darius as an equal, will meeting will. But the prince remained unmoved.

  “What do you have in mind, Darius? Surely there is something we can agree on.”

  Darius flashed his teeth again, a wolfish grin. “Your magic is failing, Marcus,” he stated. “You barely made it into the top twenty, and only because of the First Magus’ interference.”

  “A minor setback. I assure you—”

  “Cut the crap, Marcus,” Darius’ voice hardened. “You want a cure for what ails you.”

  A terse nod from Marcus confirmed the prince’s words.

  “You will need to make it worth my while,” Darius continued, tilting his head, his gaze fixed on something beyond the large window. “Finding such a potent cure is no simple favour, even for a wealthy man like yourself.”

  Marcus’s diplomatic tone faltered. “How much?”

  Darius barked a laugh, harsh and cutting, his retainers echoing the sound. “Not how much, but how long. Working off such a debt, a decade sounds more than fair.”

  Marcus flinched, his composure cracking for a split second before he forced it back into place. His shoulders squared, his chin lifted—a deliberate attempt at defiance, though his voice wavered. “Now hold on a minute, Darius. Let’s not be absurd. A decade? As one of your… lapdogs?” The word curled with disdain, a flash of his usual arrogance breaking through. “I’m offering you a deal, not my life.”

  Darius nodded, spreading his arms wide. “Quite the magnanimous gesture, wouldn’t you say so?”

  Beth’s sharp inhale was audible. A barely suppressed anger tightened her slight frame.

  “More than a Lexican deserves,” Kelleth sneered.

  All three turned to Kelleth, their expressions full of vitriol. Darius laughed again, the sound echoing through the chamber.

  “Such fire!” Darius exclaimed, his gaze shifting to Beth. “You, girl, perhaps if you were to show some warmth on his behalf, I might consider lowering the terms.”

  Beth stood rigid beside Kor, her breaths quick and uneven. A faint tremor ran through her. Then Marcus stepped forward, cutting between them. “Your deal is with me, Darius!”

  “My deal is with whoever I damned well please, you peasant,” Darius slammed his hand on the table. The sound echoed, sharp as a thunderclap in the oppressive silence. “Fifteen years. What good is a student without their magic, after all? You’ll face a similar amount in the military after you fail out.”

  Marcus fell silent, a subtle cast of doubt weakening his stance.

  A gnawing emptiness twisted in Kor’s gut, mirroring the predatory glint in the prince’s eyes. The Hunger. It clawed at him, a raw, primal reflection of Darius’s own greed. Heat flushed his veins. He saw his own reflection in Darius’s eyes—a distorted image, yet undeniably his own, filled with the same burning need.

  Mine. The word resonated, a silent vow.

  Kor strode forward, stepping beside Marcus. The subtle shift in the power dynamic did not go unnoticed. A flicker of surprise, quickly masked, crossed Darius’s face.

  “How about we fight for it? A duel.” Kor’s voice was tight, each word a carefully controlled burst.

  Darius’s lips thinned, a predatory smile playing on his lips.

  “Solarians are famed for their magical strength,” Kor continued, locking eyes with the prince. “Surely you wouldn’t object to a contest of might? We’re only Lexicans, after all.”

  Darius’s gaze narrowed as Kelleth interjected, “Know your place, peasant. Prince Darius is—”

  Darius raised his hand, silencing Kelleth with a wave. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Marcus is in no condition to battle, but I am,” Kor said, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll take you or any of your subordinates on, and when I win, you will hand over the artefact.”

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  “Oh, so you know about that, do you?” Darius stood, towering over them. In the corner, the dragon stirred, fixing them with hungry eyes. “So, what is in this contest for me? What do I get?”

  Marcus’s eyes widened, darting towards Kor with alarm. “I’ll agree to serve you, Darius,” he ground out between gritted teeth.

  Darius waved a dismissive hand. “No, I don’t think so...” His gaze returned to Kor, to Lentus wrapped about his neck. “You, boy. If you lose, you are mine.”

  Marcus’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wait, a moment—”

  Kor met the prince’s gaze, a challenge sparking between them. “You’ve got a deal,” he said firmly. “Just make sure you hold up your end of the bargain after I crush you.”

  Darius reached out his arm, leaning over his desk. Kor stepped forward, gripping it firmly. The prince towered over him, his forceful grip threatening to crush Kor’s hand. Kor squeezed back with all his might, refusing to yield.

  “I’ll enjoy breaking you, boy,” Darius said, his voice low.

  A defiant grin stretched across Kor’s face. “We’ll see about that.”

  Their hands parted. Darius flicked a dismissive hand toward Kelleth. “Two weeks. Make the arrangements. Before all our peers, I will break you at the Crux.”

  Beth’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide. Beside her, Marcus froze, his gaze fixed on the prince.

  A wild, untamed laugh escaped Kor. “Give me your best shot, Prince.”

  Then, without another word, he stormed out, not stopping until they had exited the entire estate. The three of them came to a halt at a distance, staring back at the opulent mansion that now seemed like a gilded cage.

  Marcus clapped a hand on Kor’s shoulder, a gleam of his former self returning, along with his brilliant smile. “Thank you, Kor. You know he will utterly enforce the contract, don’t you? That you’re willing to do this for me...”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t just stand by and see you sign your life away, Marcus.”

  Beth’s voice, laced with awe and disbelief, broke the silence. “I can’t believe you actually challenged a royal... to a duel! I know you finished near the top, Kor, but not that long ago I was defeating you in practice.”

  Kor chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “True, but things have changed. I’ve changed.” His hand clenched, knuckles whitening.

  “You can’t afford to lose this duel, Kor,” Lentus’s voice slithered through his mind, “but as it stands, you simply aren’t strong enough to win.”

  “A bit late for doubts, Lentus...”

  “Two weeks might be enough time, provided you can master the Hunger, and perhaps develop a new spell. Even then, the difference between the two major powers and everyone else is not a gap easily bridged.”

  Marcus spoke again, his voice earnest. “I already appreciate all the support you’ve given me, Kor. If you don’t feel confident in winning, don’t throw your freedom away just for me.”

  The adrenaline that had fuelled Kor during the confrontation receded, leaving his hands trembling, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. “No, Marcus. Since I came to Conflux, I’ve been playing catch-up the whole time. This isn’t any different.” His breath hitched, a slight shudder racking his frame. He forced a grin, the taste of defiance bitter on his tongue.

  “At home, I was always the quickest learner, the one who grasped complex concepts instantly. But coming here was like stepping into another world. Suddenly, I was nothing, practically worthless compared to mages like you. And yet, you were different, Marcus. You never questioned me, never doubted my potential, not even when I’d yet to cast a single spell. You had faith in me from the start, even when I was still finding my feet.”

  As Kor spoke, a flicker of his old fire returned to Marcus’s eyes as he met Kor’s gaze, a faint, almost imperceptible nod acknowledging his words.

  Kor took a deep breath, his voice gaining strength. “You’re one of the most gifted mages here, in more ways than just magic. You saw past the numbers, the raw power, and saw... something more. Maybe that’s my edge, a kind of serendipity. Even when the variables didn’t align as expected, the equation of my life seems to have balanced out in my favour. And what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t use that to help you? Seeing what they did to you... it’s infuriating. I refuse to accept it. I need to beat you when you’re at your full power, and if taking down a prince is what it takes, then so be it.”

  Understanding softened Marcus’s gaze. His shoulders straightened slightly, mirroring Kor’s own posture. He met Kor’s eyes, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that, Kor. No idea.”

  “I read a few books on aphorisms and catchy quotes just to impress Willem. One saying stuck in my mind; I think it was meant for situations like mine. Amor Fati.”

  Beth leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “What does that mean, Kor?”

  “Love of Fate,” Marcus supplied, his voice low. “I’ve heard the term before.”

  “Right,” Kor continued. “Whatever happens, good or bad, I embrace it. I’ll face this head-on and focus only on what I can control. Here and now, that means getting stronger, doing everything in my power to help my friend.” He finished with a determined smile.

  Marcus stood taller, his shoulders squared, as if bracing for a physical blow. A slight tremor ran through his frame, barely perceptible. Beside him, Beth whispered, “That was beautiful, Kor. Like a hero out of a storybook.”

  Heat crawled up Kor’s neck, his skin prickling. He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how grandiose his words had been.

  Marcus shook his head once, the motion barely there. Then he drew a sharp breath, his spine straightening further as if pulled by an invisible string. His gaze locked onto Kor, unwavering and filled with something akin to awe.

  “Then we’d better get to training,” Marcus declared, his voice ringing with conviction. “Anything you need, Kor, I’ll provide.”

  Kor grinned, a genuine smile this time. “First, I’ve got a Hunger to tame.”

  He descended to the Archive’s depths once more, to his familiar practice spot at the bottom of the stairwell. The twinned guardians stood at the hall’s end, silent and impassive. He needed to conquer the Hunger. Progress had been a crawl when he needed a sprint. Playing it safe was a luxury he no longer possessed. He had to force the change, bend the Hunger to his will.

  “Press hard, Kor,” Lentus urged, his voice a silken whisper in his mind. “Even if you lose control, I’ll be ready.”

  A wry smile touched Kor’s lips. “I suppose this is what you’ve wanted all along. For me to grow strong, fast.”

  “Yes. The coming conflict demands every advantage,” Lentus confirmed. “The strongest steel is forged in the fiercest flames.”

  Kor laughed, a short, sharp bark in the stillness. “You were reading along, too?”

  “Hard not to when the words whisper through your mind.”

  He closed his eyes, delving inward. A familiar chord thrummed through his body, the Hunger, a yearning need that called out. He delved deeper into that connection. Creation had been his goal, his target to shift the ever-present force from its all-devouring nature. Its resistance felt weak, a beast marshalling its strength for the coming confrontation. Doubt gnawed at him. Was he truly ready?

  His friends counted on him. Lentus stood beside him. His future hung in the balance. He would show them what he could do. Steeling himself, he drew the technique up from the depths of his being—already so entwined that the two had begun to merge. The surrounding mana answered his call, as he embraced the technique and the image of creation filled his mind.

  A weak pulse from the Hunger lashed out, attempting to wrest the mana for itself. He disdainfully dismissed it. He needed a confrontation to do this quickly. The technique had once been powerful, assertive. To subsume it, to make it his own, he had to face the raging beast within.

  Again, he conjured the Hunger’s grasping need. The surrounding energy thrummed, mana’s ebb and flow a swirling dance around him. He immersed himself in the exquisite connection, the raw, primal urge to take, to fill himself with power.

  Stronger, more visceral. The Hunger struck, a desperate bid to snatch and consume. Immediately, the mental image of the snowflake fractal, the model for his barrier, slammed into it. Create! The Hunger pulsed through him in outrage, his muscles quivering with barely suppressed desire. He forced it down.

  Not enough. Once more, he offered the Hunger the smallest sliver of mana, a potent yet minuscule gush of power that rippled into his body. The greedy technique savoured that moment, but he instantly choked the flow, drowning the emerging Hunger in a sea of fractal shapes. CREATE!

  Something visceral surged from his depths. The very fibre of his being pulsed with the Hunger now; it was a part of him, as he was a part of it. Yet still, they were separate, driven by different needs.

  Countless fractal shapes bloomed into myriad recursive forms, only to be enveloped by the Hunger’s desperate need. A raw, ravening beast of desire welled up, a kraken with too many teeth, a need without limit.

  The battle was joined.

  He threw everything into that maelstrom of power. Every infinitely repeating shape, every creation, every spell he knew. His focus was solely on the change he needed, his goal to create.

  If anything, the Hunger had grown stronger now. Larger, it had burrowed deeper, seeping even into the core of his magic! His breath hitched, ragged, his eyes widened in shock.

  Fractal shapes fractured, their coherence and self-similarity dissolving into a gibbering mass of need as the maw consumed his melting snowflake’s branches. The chaotic mass of his fractal bomb was devoured, its power nullified, as the Hunger surged over him, devouring his very core.

  Gritting his teeth, he drew upon his most powerful technique: the galaxy fractal. From the depths of his mind, the galaxy fractal bloomed, its seed’s core sparked to life, the heart of uncertainty spinning out with deadly force. The Hunger craved this too, reaching to consume.

  He poured power into the seed, fueling it with more and more energy. The two forces clashed in the starscape of his mind, seeking to overpower. The hunger swelled, the galaxy pulsed with fractals, chaos theory, self-similarity, eternity.

  He had to change it, temper its ceaseless desire!

  Evenly matched, his galaxy spiralled outward, its edges under siege by the creeping Hunger, pressing against his barrier of power. His mind burned, sweat poured down his brow—the Hunger, vast, an eternity unto itself. He needed more to fight it!

  Eternity. His fractals mirrored the principle. The concept, a divine vastness, could not be overcome. He drew from its strength, its nature, pushing against the maw of need, driving it into creation. Two eternal forces, locked in opposition as pressure built.

  “Kor, whatever you’re doing, finish it soon!” Lentus’s voice was strained, urgent. “Your body cannot handle much more of this.”

  Lentus’s words were confirmed as his body shook, sweat drenching him, muscles twitching painfully. Searing fire lanced through his mind. He recoiled, throwing himself back into the fight.

  Neither side yielded. Stalemate. The core of his self quivered.

  Realisation slammed into him. Victory was impossible like this. Its primal hunger was beyond him. Doubt whispered, Is this a fight you can even win?

  No. He’d started this. But how to adapt?

  A quote surfaced in his memory: When two unyielding forces collide, it is not they who break—it is the space between them that yields.

  He was that space, the fulcrum of their war, and he was breaking. Change was imperative. Adapt. He shoved away the thought of potential consequences, a dangerous distraction now. Trust in the endless fractal eternity within, pit it against the ravenous hunger. That was his only path. Not in opposition, but in a precarious, dynamic equilibrium within him, two forces would be balanced. The balance shifted, tenuous. A tempest tore through him, rocking his body, defying existence’s laws. His body was their temple, their sacred battleground.

  He embraced the Eternal Hunger, no longer repelling it. Simultaneously, he drew upon his fractal eternity, the wellspring of his power. Fractals filled him, but the Hunger had staked its claim. To succeed, to survive, he had to accept the Hunger completely, to pray that the generative drive of his specialisation was enough to balance the Hunger’s insatiable void.

  Terror, an icy fist, squeezed his heart. He surrendered fully to the Hunger, an invitation to consume, to live alongside the core of his fractal magic—not as a prisoner, but as an equal.

  Pain. Searing white-hot agony. Every nerve ending screamed. His flesh flayed and set ablaze. His bones vibrated, threatening to shatter. A bone-chilling scream of pure suffering ripped from him. The air warped and buckled under the strain. The fractal patterns within him fractured and reformed, the Hunger devoured and created anew. A vicious push and pull through every cell. He was being unmade.

  “KOR! What are you—”

  Lentus’s voice, a distant star, was extinguished as all-consuming white fire engulfed Kor’s mind. Darkness, a black tide, erased all that he was. Consciousness ebbed, a final, shuddering breath. Kor was no more. But from the ashes of his former self, something new was being born, a creature of hunger and fractal eternity, forever bound.