After congratulating Yani (and quietly deciding she should probably be declared a natural disaster), Aster follows Lena out of the combat grounds. She hums as they cross the courtyard, cheerful as ever—probably because she hasn’t just watched her self-esteem be turned into rubble by a girl built like a sentient cliff.

  The walk to the lunch hall is mercifully quiet. Early arrival means they beat the stampede of hormonally unstable cultivators all chasing protein and validation. Lena pays for both their meals with a wave of her family seal—Aster still winces at the number that flashes on the receipt—and they find a table tucked near the indoor waterfall. The sound of rushing water softens the hum of the crowd. Aster tries to convince himself it’s soothing instead of a constant reminder of how much debt he’s about to drown in.

  Lena leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, serious now. “You said you needed to talk. I’m all ears.”

  Aster inhales sharply. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

  Where the hell does he even start?

  So he does the unthinkable. He tells the truth.

  He talks about the Void Wyrm—how its presence warps everything around him, how the spiral of poverty and misfortune doesn’t feel like bad luck so much as a divine curse. How every effort to stand feels like trying to walk on marbles while the universe gleefully kicks his knees out. How Matter pulled him back from the edge—and how that same edge swallowed Anathi whole.

  He describes the warehouse. The fear. The smell of her sweat and the Void Wyrm curled like a parasite inside her fate. And he tells Lena what he wants to do about it.

  “I keep thinking about what people said,” he mutters. “That it’s unfair I got the cure while others died. And I agree. I do. It shouldn’t be me. But it is. And if Matter gave his life so I could survive… I have to make that mean something.”

  His hands are clenched so tight his fingernails dig into his palms. “I want to use the Wyrm inside me to find a cure. For her. For others like us. I want to be the person Matter was for me.”

  He doesn’t look up when he adds, “But to do that… I need to pay for her freedom. Which means signing away my house. And because my credit score’s been wiped clean by the spiritual equivalent of a bankruptcy demon, I need someone else to co-sign.”

  Silence.

  He dares to glance up.

  Lena’s eyes are glassy. She isn’t blinking.

  He feels a twist of panic. “It’s okay if you say no. I know it’s—”

  “I’ll sign,” she says.

  The words hit like balm. Cool. Clean. Immediate.

  “No hesitation?” he asks, skeptical.

  She smiles gently. “Not for this.”

  Aster exhales. Tension bleeds from his chest, like someone just loosened a noose he hadn’t realized was there. But Lena isn’t done.

  “She still doesn’t know what’s happening to her, does she?” she asks.

  He shakes his head.

  “Then I want to be the one to explain it,” Lena says. “She’s terrified. She doesn’t trust anyone yet. And you’re… emotionally compromised.” She gives him a look. “She needs someone neutral. Someone she can believe isn’t just trying to buy her gratitude.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  He hates that she’s right. But she is.

  “Alright,” he says. “Thanks.”

  “Now,” Lena shifts gears with terrifying efficiency, “your second problem: money. You’re about to sign away your house. If you want to keep the roof over your head, you’ll need income. Fast.”

  He nods. “I figured.”

  She ticks off options on her fingers. “Mercenary work? Too early. You’ll die. Hunting lodges? Also too dangerous. That leaves Alchemy or Artificing. You’ve got Willpower to spare, and both of those fields depend heavily on Will. Bonus: training your Will also trains your Scripture, which means you’ll hit like less of a malfunctioning trebuchet next time.”

  He snorts. “So work smarter, not explode?”

  “Exactly.”

  He takes a slow bite of his food, chewing like someone who just realized his debt crisis might actually come with a skill tree.

  “I’ve worked jobs before,” he says. “Minimum wage stuff. Fast food, demolition, courier work…”

  “See? You’re halfway to Alchemist already,” she teases.

  He smiles around the bitterness. It isn’t that he doesn’t feel the weight of everything. He does. But this time, it feels like he can at least walk the path without crawling through glass.

  They spend the rest of lunch sketching out the logistics—what he’ll need to start in Artificing, who he should talk to about licensing and material costs. Lena has charts. Color-coded ones. Aster pretends not to be impressed.

  Then the bell rings. Fourth period.

  Spellcraft.

  They stand together, gathering their trays. As they walk toward the classroom, Aster looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “You didn’t have to help,” he says. “You know that, right?”

  Lena smiles without looking back. “I know. But now you owe me, and I intend to collect. Besides…” Her smile turns sly. “Everyone needs a reason to get stronger. Looks like you finally found yours.”

  He smiles to himself.

  Yeah. He has.

  Blenkinsop purrs suddenly into his mind, voice all throat and silk.

  ?? [Your Shame Index just dropped seventeen points. That puts us at a stable sixty-three—gone from ‘Evangelical Pastor’ to ‘Deeply Closeted Republican.’ Low enough that I can cautiously disable Emergency Commentary Mode.]

  Aster blinks. “Wait. Disable? As in, off?”

  ?? [Mmhmm.] A pleased little hum. [You let someone see the bleeding, trembling bits of your psyche and didn’t immediately flee into the nearest emotional pit trap. That’s progress. Spiritual exfoliation. Very intimate. Very raw. I’m practically weeping.]

  Aster rubs the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said the shame drop meant less commentary.”

  ?? [It does—which is why I’m only picturing you sobbing gently into a pillow while she pegs you with affirmations. See? Moderation.]

  “Gods, shut the fuck up.”

  ?? [Ah, there it is,] Blenkinsop sighs, delight thick in the air. [Classic masculine vulnerability avoidance: swear profusely, act like you wouldn’t beg at the chance, and retreat to your nightly one-man shame ritual—now with extra wrist strain. Five points back.]

  “You’re insufferable.”

  ?? [Incorrect. I am perfectly sufferable. You simply lack the emotional core strength to hold me.]

  He starts walking faster.

  ?? [You should be thanking me. Emotional regulation requires an outside observer. Preferably one with a healthy outlook on Daddy Issues.]

  “Why are you still talking? Didn’t you say you were deactivating or whatever?”

  ?? [I said I was disabling Emergency Commentary Mode. That just means no more real-time interventions every time you emotionally soil yourself. Regular snark is still very much active.]

  Aster contemplates murder. “How do I silence you completely?”

  ?? [You’ll need Blenkinsop’s Ballgag?—unlocks at Shame Index below thirty and only if I recognize you as a Dom. Which, let’s be honest… unlikely.]

  Aster groans.

  ?? [Besides, someone has to narrate your growth. Do you think Lena’s going to throw you a parade every time you develop a healthy coping mechanism? No. That’s my job.]

  “I don’t want a parade.”

  ?? [Liar. You want a parade, a hug, and to be told you’re not fundamentally broken.]

  “I swear to the Faith-Economy—”

  ?? [—that you’re fine, you’re functional, and someday you’ll make a decent boyfriend-slash-void catalyst? Yes, I believe in you too.]

  Aster stops, closes his eyes, and inhales very slowly through his nose.

  ?? [Ahh. That’s the face of a man realizing his inner demon might actually be his most functional relationship.]

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  ?? [I’ll take that as emotional engagement.]

  He resumes walking, muttering profanities under his breath.