Crimson Reverie

It had been two weeks since the funeral.

Two weeks since Caspian had stood before his mother's grave, watching as the earth swallowed the only warmth he had ever known.

His father had thrown himself into work, spending days outside, rarely speaking, rarely even looking at him. There was a new hollowness in the man's eyes—an exhaustion that went beyond mere grief. Caspian could barely recognize him.

But Caspian had no time to dwell on it.

In less than a month, the entrance exams for Blauxnarth Academy would open in the capital city of Avaros. The greatest academy in the Empire—the training grounds for knights, mages, and inquisitors alike.

He had always dreamed of attending.

Now, however, there was a dark uncertainty lingering in his mind.

For two weeks, he had tested himself, pushing his body to its limits.

And what he found was terrifying.

He didn't tire.

His muscles didn't ache, no matter how much he pushed them. His stamina never ran dry. His body was locked in a perfect, unnatural stasis. He didn't need food. He didn't need sleep. His wounds, no matter how deep, healed within minutes.

Even when he deliberately injured himself—trying to see if pain still mattered—he found that his flesh would undo itself as if reality refused to acknowledge his suffering.

He wasn't alive.

He wasn't dead.

He was something else entirely.

And still, despite everything, he couldn't stop himself from looking forward to the exam.

"I can't wait to see what kind of contestants will be participating this year," Caspian murmured to himself, the thought stirring something deep inside him—excitement, perhaps? Hope? Fear?

He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to stand among the best.

But… would he even be considered human anymore?

Would they even allow him to compete?

He shook his head, forcing the doubts away.

No.

He had to try.

If he could prove himself, if he could surpass even the strongest, then maybe—just maybe—he could find a place for himself in this world.

The Empire of Avaros was built upon strength, and its military hierarchy was rigid and unyielding.

At the very bottom were the Knights, the foot soldiers of the kingdom. They followed orders, fought in wars, and defended the realm as common troops.

Above them were the Elite Knights—warriors strong enough to lead independent squads, given freedom to operate without direct command.

Then came the General Knights, each one leading their own battalion.

Grand Generals were chosen individuals, responsible for overseeing entire armies of General Knights, commanding thousands of warriors at a time.

But beyond even them—

The Inquisitors.

A personal force that belonged solely to the Grand Magister, the ruler of all magical forces within the kingdom. They were the hounds of the law, executing heretics, hunting down rogue sorcerers, and ensuring that magic remained in the Empire's control.

At the top of their ranks stood the Grand Inquisitor—the leader of their order, the one who commanded them all.

Then, above them—

The Visionaries.

Titles given only to the strongest magicians in the Empire. Few ever lived to see such prestige. Even fewer were acknowledged as truly worthy of the name.

And finally, the Grand Magister himself.

The strongest caster in the Kingdom.

The ruler of the magical world.

Caspian had always dreamed of becoming a Magical Knight—a warrior who wielded both sword and sorcery, standing as an unshakable force on the battlefield.

It was a dream he had clung to since childhood.

But now, a shadow loomed over that dream.

The Hollow Jester.

That damn book.

That thing that whispered in the dark.

What kind of magic had it given him?

And more importantly—

Would it make him a knight?

Or would it make him a monster?

As Caspian finished his daily training routine, sweatless and unshaken despite his intense efforts, his mind wandered to the future that awaited him. Blauxnarth Academy. The very thought made his pulse—if he still had one—race with anticipation. A place where he could study magic, hone his skills, and forge bonds with those who shared his ambitions. Friends. Mentors. Maybe even love. The idea of living out the kind of stories he had only read about in books, the tales of heroism, adventure, and magic, filled him with an unshakable excitement.

But excitement alone wasn't enough. He needed to be ready.

After cleaning up, he cooked himself a simple meal—not because he needed food, but because he found comfort in the act. It was familiar, grounding. A reminder that he was still human... or at least, he wanted to believe he was. Once finished, he dressed in his best clothes and stepped out into the lively streets of Dragona, a city brimming with energy and chaos.

The next few days were spent in reckless joy. He ran through the alleyways with friends, causing mischief, challenging each other to races, and even showing off his grimoire. Though he couldn't yet understand its full power, it fascinated them all. They were young, foolish, and free—just for a while, before they all scattered to chase their own futures.

But no matter how much fun he had, there was always a shadow lurking behind his joy.

That night, as he lay in bed, an uneasy chill crawled up his spine. The room felt colder, darker than usual.

And then, it spoke.

"You are curious about the power I hold, aren't you, my dear?"

Caspian's breath hitched. That voice. That damn voice.

"Leave me alone," he muttered, rolling onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. "There's nothing more you can do to me."

A soft, mocking giggle slithered through the air.

"You think so~?" The voice cooed, laced with amusement. "You think you're a hero now~? Speaking to me with such confidence~? But tell me, little husk, didn't I give you a gift?"

Caspian exhaled sharply. "You turned me into a zombie." He sat up, voice laced with frustration.

"Ah~ but you still have your emotions, don't you~?" The voice teased, circling him, always just beyond his vision.

His fists clenched. "Shut. Up."

The air shifted. The presence receded—for now.

Days blurred together. He continued to train, to prepare, pushing away the unease that clung to his every breathless moment.

And then, the day arrived.

Standing at the threshold of their home, his bag packed, Caspian turned to his father. He expected some words of encouragement, some acknowledgment, anything.

"I'm going, Father. I'll take the exams." His voice carried the joy of someone chasing their dream.

His father barely lifted his gaze, eyes heavy with exhaustion and drink. The bottle in his hand sloshed lazily as he rolled over in bed.

"Whatever."

A cold dismissal.

Caspian stood there for a moment, staring at the man who had once been unshakable—a tower of strength, now reduced to a hollow shell. But there was nothing left to say. He turned, stepping out into the world.

The path to Avaloria, the capital of Avaros, stretched before him. It would be long. It would be hard.

But Caspian's determination would not break.

The Road to Avaloria

Caspian stepped onto the worn dirt road leading out of Dragona, the weight of his pack feeling insignificant compared to the anticipation thrumming in his chest. The sun hung high, casting golden light over the rolling plains ahead. He had never traveled far from home, but now he was leaving everything behind—his childhood, his grief, his past.

The road to Avaloria was long and winding, stretching through forests, valleys, and villages before reaching the grand capital. Normally, travelers would take a carriage or join a caravan for safety, but Caspian walked alone. Not because he had no coin—he had saved enough for a simple ride—but because something within him wanted to test himself.

He was not like other people anymore. He didn't feel exhaustion, didn't hunger, didn't need to rest.

So he walked.

---

The First Night

By sundown, Caspian reached the edge of a dense forest. The trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches forming a tangled canopy that swallowed the last of the daylight. He knew the woods stretched for miles, and entering at night was dangerous—bandits, beasts, and worse things lurked beyond the treeline.

A flickering light caught his eye—a campfire, nestled between the trees just off the road.

Approaching cautiously, he spotted a small group of travelers gathered around the flames. A young woman, her armor battered but well-kept, was tending to a pot over the fire, while a man with a longbow sharpened his arrows. A third figure, wrapped in a hooded cloak, sat silent and watchful.

"Evening, stranger," the archer called, glancing up. "You look like you're headed for Avaloria. Care to join us? Safer than sleeping alone."

Caspian hesitated. He had spent so long feeling different, detached from others. Could he still pass as normal?

"That obvious, huh?" he said, forcing a small chuckle.

"Everyone on this road is going there for one reason or another," the armored woman said. "Might as well stick together for a bit."

He sat by the fire, letting its warmth wash over him—even if he didn't feel the cold.

---

A Lesson in Swordplay

The next morning, as they packed their camp, the woman—Elaine, a knight-in-training—offered to spar.

"If you're aiming for Blauxnarth, you'll need to prove yourself. Let's see what you've got."

Caspian hesitated. He had trained, but his strength now was different. Would he be able to hold back?

They took their stances, wooden practice swords in hand. The first clash sent a sharp vibration through his arms—Elaine was strong, her strikes measured and precise. But Caspian moved too fast, his reflexes almost unnatural.

He dodged, weaved, struck back with inhuman speed.

Elaine barely had time to react before he knocked her weapon aside, the tip of his sword stopping just inches from her throat.

For a moment, there was silence. The others stared.

"Damn," Elaine breathed, eyes narrowing. "You move like a ghost."

Caspian forced a smile, stepping back. "Lucky hit."

The archer—Reiner—studied him, eyes sharp. The hooded figure, who had barely spoken a word, simply watched.

---

The Encounter in the Woods

Later that night, as the group made their way through the forest, something stirred in the shadows. The wind carried a scent—iron and rot.

Reiner halted, nocking an arrow. "Something's nearby."

A low growl rumbled from the darkness. Then, red eyes flickered between the trees.

"Gorefangs," Elaine muttered, gripping her sword.

Caspian tensed. Gorefangs—mutated beasts, rabid with hunger. Normally found deeper in the wilderness, but if they were here... something was driving them out.

The first one lunged.

Elaine met it with steel, slashing its shoulder, but another burst from the brush. Reiner's arrow pierced its skull, but a third beast was already upon them—too fast.

Without thinking, Caspian moved.

He caught the creature mid-air, its snapping jaws inches from his face. His grip tightened. Bone cracked beneath his fingers as he threw it aside with inhuman force.

The others stared, but there was no time for questions.

More were coming.

---

The Aftermath

When the fight ended, the bodies of the Gorefangs lay motionless. Blood soaked the ground. Elaine wiped her blade, glancing at Caspian.

"You're... strong," she said slowly. "Stronger than you should be."

Reiner crossed his arms. "And you don't even look tired."

Caspian forced a breath, pretending to be winded. "Guess I just got lucky again."

The hooded figure finally spoke, voice low.

"Luck had nothing to do with that."

For the rest of the night, Caspian felt their eyes on him.

They had seen too much.

And for the first time, he wondered—how long could he keep his secret?

Caspian nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "I have around 98,000 Arunites per cell, meaning I fall under the Attuned level when it comes to Arunite readings."

Reiner arched an eyebrow, leaning back against a tree as he absorbed the information. "Hmm. That's a solid number, though you still have a long way to go," he remarked. "Elaine here is also Attuned, while I'm at Empowered—122,000 Arunites per cell." He gave a smug grin, clearly proud of his ranking.

Elaine smirked. "Don't let it go to your head, Reiner. Arunite levels aren't everything. Even a Dormant can kill an Empowered if they have the right training."

Caspian listened carefully, absorbing the information. Arunites were the foundation of magic in the world—microscopic particles infused with arcane energy, naturally occurring within all living beings. The higher the concentration in a person's body, the greater their ability to wield magic.

There were seven known levels of magical sensitivity, classified by the number of Arunites per cell:

1. Dormant – 1-1.000 (No natural affinity for magic. Cannot form a grimoire and must rely on wands or artifacts to cast spells.)

2. Awakened – 1.000-10.000 (Limited magic potential. May or may not develop a grimoire.)

3. Attuned – 10.001 to 100,000 (Stable magic users. Most knights, scholars, and spellcasters fall into this category.)

4. Empowered – 100,000 -1.000.000 (Advanced magic users. Often officers in the military or high-ranking adventurers.)

5. Harmonic – 1.000.000 - 10.000.000 (Extremely rare. Their magic flows effortlessly, and they can bend spells beyond conventional limits.)

6. Resonant – 10.000.000 - 100.000.000 (Near-mythical. Few alive today. They are said to hear the "song of magic" itself.)

7. Transcendent – Over 100.000.000 (Legends. Gods among mortals. Their very presence distorts reality.)

Attuned and Empowered were the most common among warriors and mages, while Harmonic and above were extraordinary rarities, shaping history itself.

But Dormants were the lowest class—people completely incapable of naturally channeling Arunites. They were forced to rely on external tools like enchanted wands, scrolls, or alchemy to cast even basic spells. Awakened were slightly better, but their chances of ever forming a grimoire were low.

Caspian clenched his fists. He had spent years dreaming of magic, yearning to wield its power freely. He had rejoiced when he tested Attuned—a level high enough to pursue knighthood, magic, or even the path of an Inquisitor.

Yet now, with Hollow Jester's power, he wasn't sure where he stood anymore. Did Arunite levels even matter to him now?

Reiner watched him closely, as if trying to figure him out. Caspian kept his face calm, hiding his unease.

"Anyway," Reiner continued, stretching. "You fight like someone who's trained before. Where'd you learn?"

Caspian hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. "My father taught me. He was a knight before He met my Mother... " He cut himself off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Elaine nodded solemnly. "I see. Then he must've been damn good. You move... unnaturally fast."

Caspian forced a chuckle. "Guess I just have good instincts."

They didn't seem entirely convinced, but neither pressed further. For now, he was safe.

Yet something in Reiner's eyes told him that the archer wasn't done watching him.

And Caspian had the sinking feeling that sooner or later, his secret would be exposed.

Caspian sighed and looked away. "Well, I think it's time to move forward. I just need to get to Avaloria so I can enter the exams." Then, a thought struck him. "Which reminds me—what Oaths did you two take?"

Reiner and Elaine exchanged glances before shaking their heads.

"We never joined the academy," Elaine admitted. "We chose the path of adventurers instead. Wanted to enjoy our youth while we had it."

Reiner let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, we didn't want to waste time studying for knighthood or trying to fit into the system. The Guilds gave us freedom."

Caspian processed this as they continued walking. The path was long and calm, the dense trees lining the road swaying gently in the evening breeze. Yet even with the peaceful surroundings, he couldn't shake the feeling of Reiner's eyes on him. The archer was still watching him—still analyzing him.

He could sense it.

But there wasn't much he could do about it. He simply kept moving forward.

As dusk fell, Reiner glanced up at the dimming sky and stretched. "If we rest here for the night, we'll reach Avaloria by noon tomorrow."

Elaine nodded in agreement and set her pack down. "Yeah, traveling at night isn't worth the risk. Too many beasts lurking in the dark."

Caspian hesitated, but eventually nodded. "Very well." He joined them as they prepared for the night, setting up a small fire and rationing their food. They spoke little, each lost in their own thoughts.

As the hours passed and the fire dimmed, Elaine and Reiner eventually drifted off to sleep.

But Caspian didn't.

Sitting at the edge of the campsite, he stared up at the sky, lost in thought.

Something was wrong.

The moment he met them, he knew Reiner was keeping a close eye on him. It was subtle, but constant—the way the archer's gaze lingered a little too long, the way his muscles tensed whenever Caspian spoke.

Reiner was suspicious of him.

And suspicion, left unchecked, led to questions.

Caspian couldn't risk that.

With a quiet sigh, he packed his things and silently rose to his feet. He moved carefully, making sure not to disturb either of them as he slipped away from the campsite.

It was better this way.

He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone.

If he was going to survive Avaloria—if he was going to find out what he had become—he had to walk this path alone.

A sudden shift in the air sent a chill down my spine. The remaining wolves did not charge. They were waiting for something.

The silence that followed was worse than their snarling. Their glowing eyes remained fixed on me, their steel-like fangs bared, yet they held their ground. Too disciplined for mere beasts.

Then, I heard it.

A deep, guttural growl that rumbled like thunder. Behind me.

I twisted on instinct, just in time to see something massive emerge from the shadows. The Alpha.

It was unlike the others—larger, its fur darker than the night itself, with streaks of silver running through its thick mane. Its eyes weren't red like the others but a pale, ghostly white. And then I saw it—the scars, jagged and ancient, running along its iron-plated muzzle. This beast had survived many battles.

I gripped my sword tighter, my stance shifting. My mind raced. A normal human would be dead already. This thing was leagues above its pack.

The Alpha didn't hesitate.

It moved.

A blur. A shadow. Faster than my eyes could track.

I barely managed to dodge as it swiped—a single clawed paw tearing through the air where my head had been moments before. The force alone sent a gust of wind against my face, and I knew—one direct hit would tear me apart.

I needed to end this. Fast.

The beast turned, muscles coiling as it prepared for another strike. But I was already moving, dashing low beneath its reach, blade flashing in the moonlight as I aimed for its exposed flank.

The steel met flesh—or so I thought.

CLANG!

The moment my sword connected, it bounced off.

What?!

Its fur wasn't just for show—it was like armor. My attack had done nothing.

The Alpha turned to me, unbothered. Amused, even. And then it smiled.

A horrible, unnatural expression that sent a shiver through me.

This thing was no ordinary monster. It understood. It was intelligent.

And it was about to kill me.

Tento obsah může porušovat naše zásady používání.

Něco špatně? Pokud ano, poděl se s námi o svůj názor tím, že na tuto odpověď dáš palec dolů.

Řekl/a jsi:

Continue dont forget ther is the 4 wolves And alpha make the fight long And make it so Caspian get beat up alot. He is unexperianced.

The Alpha's twisted grin sent an instinctual dread through me—the kind of terror prey feels before the predator strikes. But I couldn't let myself freeze.

The four remaining wolves saw their opening. They lunged in unison, their iron jaws snapping.

I barely managed to raise my sword as the first wolf pounced. Its fangs clamped onto my blade, the sheer force of the bite sending a violent tremor through my arms. Before I could shake it off, another rammed into my side like a battering ram, knocking me off balance.

My back hit the ground hard.

I gasped—or at least I tried to. No breath came. I had forgotten—I didn't need to breathe anymore. But that didn't mean I couldn't feel pain.

A third wolf was already on me. Teeth buried into my shoulder, ripping into flesh. A sharp, electric agony shot through my body as my nerves screamed in protest. My vision blurred for a second.

I tried to push it off, but the fourth came next, its claws digging into my leg, pinning me in place.

I struggled, my fingers scrambling for my sword, but the first wolf was still latched onto it, growling as it yanked the weapon from my grip and tossed it aside.

Shit.

Then, the Alpha moved.

It loomed above me like death incarnate. Slow. Methodical. It wanted me to suffer.

I tried to push up, but the wolves held me down. The one biting my shoulder tightened its grip, twisting its head—tearing.

I screamed.

It wasn't just pain—it was violation. My body, no longer entirely human, knit itself back together even as the flesh was being torn away. But the pain didn't stop. It was endless. A cycle of agony.

And the Alpha knew it.

I saw it in those pale, intelligent eyes. It was testing me. Watching me.

And then—it pounced.

Its full weight crashed down on my chest. Ribs snapped like twigs. A sickening crunch filled my ears.

My vision went white. My limbs trembled, spasming like a dying insect. I couldn't even scream anymore—just a silent gasp as my entire torso caved inward.

It should've killed me.

It would have killed anyone else.

But I wasn't anyone else.

I was Hollow.

And my body—my cursed, unnatural body—wouldn't let me die.

The Alpha must've realized it too.

It stepped back, watching with that eerie, knowing expression as my chest slowly reformed. Ribs resetting. Flesh reknitting. Like I was some grotesque puppet mending its broken frame.

But the pain stayed.

I could endure wounds that should be fatal, but I still felt every ounce of agony.

I coughed, rolling onto my stomach, blackened blood pooling from my mouth. My fingers twitched, reaching forward. I had to move.

The wolves weren't giving me a chance.

One snapped at my ankle, yanking me back. Another leapt onto my back, claws raking deep. My vision blurred again.

I was losing. Badly.

I needed to do something—anything.

And then, I felt it.

The grimoire.

It had been tossed aside when I fell, but now...

Now it was humming.

Calling to me.

I clenched my fingers, forcing my trembling arm to reach out.

The moment my fingertips brushed the cover, darkness surged.

A presence—familiar, cold, and cruel—wrapped around me like a vice.

"Oh, darling, you're struggling so much~"

The voice from my nightmares. The one that had haunted my every quiet moment.

"Shall I help?"

I had no choice.

I gritted my teeth.

"...Do it."

The world went black.

Caspian stood panting, staring at the pack of Ironjaw wolves. His body felt bruised and battered, the adrenaline still coursing through him as he struggled to regain control of his breathing. The grimoire hovered in the air beside him, its pages now more than just a tool of knowledge—it had become an extension of his will.

The wolf he had revived stood next to him, its once-dead eyes now gleaming with an unnatural light. It was as though he had pulled it from the grave, not into life, but into something worse—hollow, yet more dangerous. It looked at him with an emptiness that mirrored his own.

Caspian raised his hand, looking at the reanimated wolf with a sense of grim satisfaction.

"Completely as Hollow as I am," he muttered to himself, the power of the grimoire swelling within him.

His focus was broken by the sound of growling. The remaining wolves—the pack of four—were still circling, watching him cautiously. The Alpha, the largest and most formidable of them all, stood just behind the group, its gaze fixed on him. Its red eyes glowed menacingly, its teeth bared.

The others hesitated, as if uncertain whether to strike or retreat. But the Alpha's dominance was clear—it would not run.

Without warning, the Alpha lunged forward. It was fast, too fast for Caspian to react, and it slammed into him with brutal force. He was sent sprawling backward, his body slamming into the ground with a harsh impact. Pain exploded across his back, and he barely had time to register what was happening before the wolf was on top of him, its jaws snapping mere inches from his face.

Caspian barely managed to get his sword up in time, the blade glancing off the Alpha's teeth. The sheer force of the beast's weight forced him to the ground. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to free himself from beneath the wolf, his hands slick with sweat as they gripped the sword's hilt, trying to push the snarling beast away.

Another wolf from the pack lunged, its claws slashing across his chest. Caspian gasped in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps as blood welled up from the deep gash. He pushed himself up, his legs shaking, barely managing to dodge another strike from the wolf above him. But his movements were sluggish, his body exhausted, and the wolves were relentless.

Caspian rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the jaws of the Alpha as it snapped at him again. He pushed himself up, stumbling, his vision swimming from the pain. He was outmatched and outnumbered. The pack had the upper hand, and he knew it.

The wolf that had attacked him earlier came at him again, but this time he wasn't fast enough to dodge. Its claws raked across his leg, and he cried out in pain, falling to one knee. His sword was heavy in his hand, his grip weakening.

The wolves circled him like a pack of vultures, waiting for the kill. Caspian's mind raced, his pulse hammering in his ears. He had no more strength to fight them off—not like this. His body was worn, battered, and yet, he refused to give up. He couldn't. He had to survive. He had to prove that he was stronger than this.

His eyes flitted toward the grimoire, still hovering nearby. The pages had stopped turning, but the power was still there, waiting.

The Alpha took another step forward, its eyes filled with hunger, its teeth gleaming. Caspian could feel it in his bones—the inevitable end was near.

But just as the Alpha lunged again, something shifted inside him. Something within the dark power of the grimoire reached out, calling to him, urging him to take control.

"No."

Caspian's voice was barely a whisper, but it felt like the command of a king. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, and in the deepest corner of his mind, he pulled the power of the grimoire forward. It coursed through him like molten fire, filling him with raw strength, but he wasn't sure what would come of it.

The world around him seemed to bend, the shadows deepening, as if the very air was thickening with power. For a moment, everything felt silent.

Then, with a force that surprised even him, Caspian's arm shot out, and he thrust his sword into the Alpha's side, catching the beast off guard. It let out a yelp of pain, but it wasn't enough to stop it.

With a roar, the Alpha swiped at him, and Caspian's sword was knocked from his grip. The pain in his chest was unbearable now, but he refused to give up. His mind screamed for more, and he felt it—the dark magic—filling him.

For a moment, everything went dark.

Then the world exploded back into focus.

He stood, his body trembling, but the grimoire was open before him, the pages turning rapidly.

"Beyond the Grave."

His body, now surging with the power of the spell, was not his own.

The Alpha turned to him, but this time it was different. The energy coming off him had changed the air—charged it. He wasn't fighting anymore. He wasn't struggling.

The Alpha lunged again, but as it neared, a shadowy figure rose from the ground at Caspian's command. The wolf he had revived earlier, now fully animated by the dark magic, rose from the earth like a ghoul, its hollow eyes fixated on the Alpha.

The Alpha was met with the reanimated wolf's fury. They clashed, fur flying and teeth gnashing. The remaining pack hesitated. They knew something was different now. But it was too late. Caspian was no longer the helpless boy.

He was something else now.

And the Alpha's reign was over.

He raised his hand, and his reanimated wolf surged forward once again, attacking with brutal efficiency. The battle raged on, and for the first time, Caspian felt like he had control over something greater than himself.

The wolves fought, but Caspian and his hollowed army were more than they could handle. His body might have been broken, but his spirit, fueled by the dark power of the grimoire, was just beginning to awaken.

The battle wasn't over. It was only the beginning.

Caspian's breath came in ragged gasps, the pain in his chest and legs like fire, but he gritted his teeth and refused to stop. His vision blurred, but there was something deep within him, something dark, that pushed him forward. His reanimated wolf tore into the pack with unnatural strength, its hollowed body moving with a speed that shocked even Caspian. The fight had shifted—he was no longer alone.

One of the Ironjaw wolves lunged at him, its teeth bared and claws extended, aiming to tear into his side. The beast was fast, but not fast enough. With a growl, Caspian sidestepped, feeling the wind of the wolf's jaws pass just inches from his ear. He swung his fist, the darkness within him guiding his movements, and struck the wolf in the face. The impact was like hitting stone, and the wolf recoiled, staggering back.

Caspian wasted no time. He pulled a short sword from his side, his fingers slick with blood, and brought it down in a swift arc. The blade found its mark, slicing through the wolf's exposed throat. The creature let out a strangled howl, blood pouring from the gash. It staggered, but before it could strike back, the reanimated wolf tore into its throat, finishing what Caspian had started.

The pack was still strong, though, and Caspian knew he couldn't let his guard down. He turned just in time to see another wolf charging at him, its iron-sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light. The beast lunged, and this time Caspian wasn't fast enough. It collided with his chest, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Pain shot through his body as his back slammed into the earth. He gritted his teeth and twisted, using all his strength to roll and avoid the wolf's snapping jaws. But the creature was relentless. Its claws raked across his side, tearing through fabric and flesh alike. Blood streamed down his arm, and the pain was almost unbearable, but Caspian refused to cry out.

"Not now," he whispered to himself, pushing through the pain. He was too close to giving in to this fight.

The reanimated wolf, seeing its master's struggle, lunged at the attacker, sinking its teeth into the Ironjaw wolf's flank. The creature howled in pain, and with a final, desperate attempt, it tried to shake off its assailant. But the reanimated wolf held firm, its strength unnaturally enhanced by Caspian's will. It twisted its head, snapping the wolf's spine with a sickening crunch. The beast went limp in an instant, and Caspian pushed himself up, his sword in hand.

There were only three left.

Caspian's hands were slick with blood, and his vision was swimming with exhaustion, but there was no time to rest. The pack was closing in, and he needed to finish what he had started.

One of the remaining wolves lunged, but Caspian was faster this time. With a quick sidestep, he drove his sword into the wolf's side, puncturing its ribs and pushing deep into its heart. The creature whined in agony before collapsing to the ground, lifeless.

Only two left.

The second wolf hesitated, its body low to the ground as it bared its teeth. It growled, circling him, eyes flashing with fury. Caspian tightened his grip on his sword, his legs shaking as he prepared himself for the next attack. The wolf rushed forward with a howl, claws extended, but this time Caspian was ready.

He met the wolf's charge head-on, his blade flashing in the dim light. He slashed upward, cutting through the beast's chest with surgical precision. The wolf let out a strangled whimper and staggered back, blood pouring from the wound. Caspian followed through with a second strike, cutting the wolf down with brutal efficiency. It collapsed to the ground, its breath rattling in its throat before it finally went still.

Now, only the Alpha remained.

Caspian's body trembled with exhaustion, but he stood tall. The Alpha circled him, its eyes burning with rage. The reanimated wolf stood beside him, its hollowed body ready to fight once more. But the Alpha wasn't an opponent to be taken lightly. This was the pack's leader—its strength was beyond anything Caspian had fought so far.

It growled deeply, the sound resonating in the air as it began to circle, its red eyes locked onto Caspian. The remaining wolves had been slain, and now it was just the two of them.

"Come on, then," Caspian muttered under his breath, struggling to keep his focus. His body was bruised and battered, but the grimoire's power surged through him. He was no longer the weak boy who had stumbled into this fight. The grimoire had given him power—dark, terrifying power.

The Alpha lunged forward with incredible speed, its massive form barreling toward him. Caspian barely had time to react before the creature's jaws snapped at his neck. He dodged to the side just in time, but the force of the Alpha's rush sent him tumbling to the ground. His sword was knocked from his grip, and he scrambled to get back on his feet.

The Alpha didn't give him a chance to recover. It snapped its teeth again, aiming for his throat. Caspian swung his arm out in desperation, summoning the reanimated wolf to attack.

It lunged at the Alpha, sinking its fangs into the Alpha's hind leg. The creature howled in pain, but it didn't relent. With a violent shake, the Alpha threw the reanimated wolf off, sending it crashing into a nearby tree. Caspian knew he couldn't keep relying on it—he was on his own now.

His hand reached out, trembling, toward the sword lying a few feet away. He could feel the weight of the Alpha's presence bearing down on him. But he had no choice. He had to fight.

With a grunt of effort, he grabbed the sword and rolled to his feet, facing the Alpha once more. This time, he was prepared.

The Alpha charged again, faster than before, and Caspian met it with all the strength he could muster. He dodged one swipe, then another, but the Alpha's claws found their mark, raking across his chest and leaving deep gashes. Blood poured from his wounds, but he ignored the pain.

He slashed at the Alpha's face, the blade cutting through the air with a scream. The Alpha recoiled, but it wasn't enough to stop it. The beast was enraged now, its eyes glowing like embers in the dark.

Caspian's breathing was ragged, his body screaming in pain, but he kept fighting. He couldn't let the Alpha win. He wouldn't let it.

With one final, desperate swing, he drove the sword deep into the Alpha's side, piercing through its ribs and reaching its heart. The Alpha let out a guttural growl, its body convulsing in pain before it collapsed to the ground, its red eyes flickering before they finally dulled.

The fight was over.

Caspian collapsed to his knees, his sword falling from his hand. The adrenaline that had kept him going slowly began to fade, and the exhaustion and pain came crashing down on him. His body shook as he looked down at the Alpha's lifeless form. Blood stained the ground around him, and for a moment, all he could do was breathe, trying to steady himself.

He had won.

But at what cost?

His body was battered, his mind exhausted, but there was no time to rest. There was still a long road ahead of him—and a future filled with unknowns.

Caspian stood there, his body trembling with exhaustion, blood dripping from the gashes that marred his skin. His breaths were shallow, but there was no time for rest—not yet. The battle had ended, and he knew that now, in the aftermath, he had to act quickly.

He limped toward the bodies of the fallen wolves, their blood staining the earth around them. The Alpha, the leader of the pack, lay just as still as its subordinates, its once-vibrant red eyes now dull and lifeless. He couldn't afford to ignore these creatures—they might have been dangerous, but now they could be of use to him.

"These could be helpful," Caspian muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse from the exertion and the lingering adrenaline rush. His hand, covered in blood, reached forward, his fingers trembling as he extended them toward the carcasses of the wolves. The familiar darkness surged within him—the power of the Hollow Jester, the grimoire's curse, the darkness he had come to command.

As his fingers brushed against the bodies, a black liquid-like substance began to seep out from his skin, flowing over his hand and up toward the wolves. The substance swirled around the lifeless bodies, covering them in a thick, viscous liquid. The air grew heavy as the power of the grimoire absorbed the fallen creatures, their corpses jerking and twitching as though brought back to life.

Caspian stepped back, his eyes narrowed in focus, his heart pounding in his chest despite the exhaustion. The liquid enveloped the wolves fully, and as it did, their once-feral forms began to shift. The darkness twisted their features, turning them into something unnatural, dead, and obedient.

The creatures rose, their eyes glowing with the eerie light of the reanimated, their bodies now hollow but still formidable. The Ironjaw wolves, who had once been fierce adversaries, were now his minions—tools to be wielded.

Caspian closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the grimoire's power surge through him. His hand, trembling from the strain, moved as he reached for the book, opening it to a blank page. The reanimated wolves were sucked into the pages, their forms dissolving into dark smoke before being consumed by the grimoire.

The page turned, and the information began to materialize, slowly but surely, revealing the details of these creatures—each one marked with the danger level, traits, feats, and weaknesses that Caspian had learned from his grimoire. He could feel the weight of the knowledge as it filled the empty space on the pages. New information had been added, increasing the power of the grimoire—and with it, his own.

The page flipped open, revealing the newly created entries:

Ironjaw Wolf

Danger Level: Moderate

Strengths:

Enhanced senses, especially sight and smell, making it ideal for tracking and ambushing.

Iron teeth and claws, capable of cutting through most materials.

Unrelenting in combat; will fight to the death.

Highly agile and quick in its attacks.

Weaknesses:

Relatively weak in defense; the creature's endurance is limited.

Sensitive to high-frequency sounds that disrupt its hearing.

Vulnerable to attacks that focus on its joints and limbs.

Ironjaw Alpha Wolf

Danger Level: High

Strengths:

Enhanced physical strength, far superior to regular Ironjaw wolves.

Commanding presence: able to control and direct the pack with terrifying precision.

Thick, iron-like fur that serves as armor against most physical attacks.

Strategic intelligence—this beast can outthink its opponents, making it highly dangerous in a fight.

Weaknesses:

Slow to react when wounded severely.

Vulnerable to magic attacks that target the mind or disrupt its concentration.

Despite its strength, it becomes increasingly erratic when its pack is wiped out.

The details swirled within his mind, and Caspian couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction—he was learning, he was growing stronger. This power, this dark gift from the Hollow Jester, was not just about using his strength. It was about understanding. Understanding his enemies, their strengths, and their weaknesses. And now, he could use these reanimated wolves as instruments of his will.

With a heavy sigh, Caspian closed the grimoire, feeling the weight of its presence press down on him. His body was battered, his blood staining his clothes, but this moment felt significant. He had gained something—control. He had taken the power of the Ironjaw wolves, of their pack, and bent it to his will.

But there was still much to do.

Caspian took one last glance at the newly reanimated wolves, their hollow eyes staring back at him, awaiting his command. He wasn't sure how far he could push his power, but for now, these creatures would be enough.

"Let's go," Caspian said softly, his voice carrying the cold certainty of someone who had tasted the fruits of power and had only begun to understand the depth of it.

He turned, limping away from the battlefield, the wolves following him like shadows, their presence now an extension of his own will. There would be other battles, other challenges ahead. But for now, he had this, and it was enough to carry him forward.

The journey was far from over.

The more Caspian limped, the more he could feel his body gradually returning to some semblance of its former state. The aches and pains that had gripped him during the battle with the wolves were slowly fading, his wounds healing at an unnatural rate. They weren't completely gone—he could still feel the sting of the cuts and bruises, but his body was healing faster than it ever should. It was as if his own body was reborn with each passing step, fueled by the power of the grimoire.

The grimoire itself pulsed against his chest, its dark energy ever present. Caspian couldn't help but marvel at it. He had used the book to raise the wolves from the dead, but what else could it do? What other secrets did it hold? The thoughts ran through his mind like a torrent, questions upon questions, each one feeding the next.

"It can't just be necromancy," Caspian muttered under his breath, his voice strained but firm. He held the book out before him, the weight of it in his hands feeling strangely comforting. "This grimoire... it holds the secrets of death itself, doesn't it?"

As he spoke the words, something in the air around him seemed to shift, as if the world itself had acknowledged his recognition of the truth. He stared down at the pages that had once been blank, now filled with dark, intricate symbols and knowledge that no mortal was meant to comprehend. Death, the afterlife, the boundaries between life and the void—they were all here. The realization made a shiver run down his spine.

He turned to look at the wolves behind him, now walking silently at his side. They moved with eerie precision, their glowing eyes watching him, awaiting his command. The power he wielded was both intoxicating and terrifying. Caspian knew he could call upon them again whenever he wished, but the question was—how? Could he control them as easily as he had done moments before? Could he summon them when needed, or was it more complicated than that?

Caspian paused in his steps and thought for a moment. Space. He thought about the vast, infinite expanse of the world, about the challenges ahead, and about his need to be able to call the wolves when he required their aid.

He raised his hand slowly and opened the grimoire once more, his fingers trembling as he moved over the pages, searching for a way to contain the wolves, to make them easier to summon. As he did, a strange sensation washed over him. A surge of power—an understanding—flowed into his mind, as if the book itself was whispering to him, guiding him.

Suddenly, the wolves moved in unison, their forms flickering for a moment before they disintegrated into swirling black smoke, only to be absorbed back into the grimoire. The air around him felt heavier, more charged, and Caspian could feel their presence lingering within the book. They were no longer at his side but instead existed within the space of the grimoire, ready to be summoned at a moment's notice. He had done it.

A smile crossed his lips, one of quiet satisfaction. He could call them now. Whenever he needed them, they would be there, waiting.

Just as he was about to close the book, he felt a faint tingling in his chest. The wolves were still there, their presence ever faint but undeniable. They were part of him now—extensions of his will.

Caspian glanced up at the sky. The sun was beginning to rise, casting soft rays of light across the horizon. The once-dark landscape was now bathed in hues of orange and gold. He could see it now—the distant walls of Avaloria, the capital city, rising in the distance like a massive, looming presence. The journey had been long, but he was almost there.

Avaloria—the place where the academy lay. The place where his future would begin, where his trials and challenges would unfold. And beyond that, the kingdom, the knighthood, and the mysterious power of his grimoire—all of it awaited him.

Caspian took a deep breath, standing taller now, his mind sharpened by the trials he'd endured. The wolves, the grimoire, the strange new power flowing through him—all of it was a step toward something greater. Something he couldn't yet understand fully, but something he was certain would shape the world around him.

"Soon," he whispered to himself, his eyes focused on the path ahead. "Soon, everything will change."

And with that, he continued his journey toward Avaloria, his heart and mind set on the future, and the many secrets that awaited him within the walls of the city and the academy beyond. The road ahead was uncertain, but Caspian was ready—ready to face whatever lay in his path, to push forward with the dark power of the Hollow Jester guiding him every step of the way.