Night returned to Aetherhold like a velvet noose—silent, constricting, and heavy with judgment. The duel with Renth had ignited a storm. Cain could feel it in the whispers that followed him, the sidelong glances from faculty who once pretended he didn't exist.
In the eyes of the Academy, he had crossed a threshold. The moment he stood, victorious and unscathed, against a ranked cadet, Cain ceased being a non-entity. He had become an anomaly. And anomalies didn't go unnoticed.
---
Inside the administrative tower, nestled behind mirrored runes and sigil-encoded doors, Chancellor Elowen Maerith reviewed a floating report. Her silver-threaded robes shimmered with protective enchantments, and her voice—when it finally broke the silence—was soft but precise.
> "Reactivation of a bloodless subject... spontaneous mimicry of a ranked bloodline... unauthorized engagement in the dueling ring... and survival."
She turned toward the man standing in the shadows.
> "You told me Cain Everheart was dead."
Professor Varn, head of Bloodline Theory, looked uncomfortable. "He was clinically gone. His vitals ceased and I also checked him personally. There was... residual resonance. But no known bloodline could've—"
> "And yet he stands," Elowen interrupted. "Wielding something that isn't on our registers."
Her eyes narrowed. "Find out what it is. And if necessary—contain it."
---
Meanwhile, back in Dorm Null, Cain was adjusting.
The system remained unstable—sporadic glitches, vague interface prompts, and an ever-present decay timer on every copied trait. But even broken, it was a weapon. One he intended to sharpen.
He studied Renth's copied ability—Force Buckle. It was raw and inefficient, but useful. He practiced the reflexive timing until he could hurl weighted strikes from basic movements. The mimic node shimmered with afterimages each time he pushed too far.
> System Warning: Node integrity at 42%. Overuse may cause cellular trauma.
Cain smiled through the warning.
"Pain reminds me that I'm not dead yet, not until I get what I want and give what they gave me."
---
The next day, invitations came.
Not official missives, no golden seals or arcane parchments—just nods, gestures, and curious glances from cadets who had never spoken to him. Cain knew better than to trust them. Attention in Aetherhold was a double-edged sword.
Marrik appeared with a message scribbled on a rune card:
> "Outer Ring, Praxis Lounge. Midnight. Come alone."
Cain studied the glyphwork. Hidden ink, anti-spy enchantment. Whoever sent this wasn't a novice. That intrigued him.
At midnight, he slipped through the courtyard shadows, his senses on high alert. The Praxis Lounge was usually reserved for Bloodline Societies—arrogant cliques of prodigies. He expected a trap.
What he found was... opportunity.
Five cadets waited in a circle. All ranked. All dangerous. Their bloodlines pulsed like beacons—fire, frost, gravity, shade, and mind-thread.
> "You don't belong here," said a violet-eyed girl with spectral tattoos. "But neither do we."
They introduced themselves as The Fringe.
Bloodlines deemed impure, unstable, or politically inconvenient. Their gifts came with prices—madness, decay, uncontrollable hunger. And yet, they survived.
> "You're like us," said the frost user, a boy named Haldrin. "But Only more volatile." said non chalantly
> "You copied a bloodline. That's unheard of. But if it's true... we want in."
Cain raised an eyebrow. "You want to be copied?"
The girl smirked. "We want to see what happens when you copy us."
A dangerous proposition. And the kind of research Cain needed. The Cloneblood System had limits—but he hadn't yet mapped them.
> System Ping: Rare bloodline signatures detected. Compatibility test initiated.
He stepped forward, extending a hand.
"Let's gamble" Said cain.