Chapter 5: The Cost of Power
Kaylen leaned against a crumbling wall in the alley where he'd materialized, his breath ragged. The artifact's glow had faded entirely, leaving it cold and inert in his pocket. His body felt drained, his limbs heavy, and his vision swam as he fought to stay conscious. Whatever he'd just done had pushed the artifact—and himself—beyond their limits.
He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. The streets were unfamiliar, quieter than the chaotic Lower Quarter. Faint light spilled from distant lamps, casting long shadows over the cracked cobblestones. He didn't have long. The Hunters would regroup and track him again. He needed to rest, to think, but more than that, he needed answers.
Kaylen fumbled with the artifact, pulling it from his pocket. Its intricate surface was dim, the runes etched into it barely visible. For something so small, it had turned his life upside down. But it wasn't invincible. If it could help him teleport across the city, why did it feel like it was breaking him apart?
A sharp cough escaped his lips, and he doubled over. Blood speckled the ground beneath him, stark against the stone. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his pulse quickening. The artifact wasn't just draining energy—it was hurting him.
"Can't stop now," he muttered, forcing himself upright. "Not after this."
---
Kaylen stumbled into a quiet district near the edge of the city, where the buildings were older and the streets were empty. The faint hum of the artifact had returned, weak but steady, like a heartbeat. He needed to figure out its limits before it killed him—or got him killed.
He found a secluded corner behind an abandoned warehouse and slumped to the ground. The night air was cold, but it helped clear his mind. He pulled the artifact out again, cradling it in his hands.
"All right," he whispered to himself. "You've got to work with me here. What are you?"
The artifact remained silent, its faint glow offering no answers. Kaylen sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. The memories it had shown him earlier—the techniques, the Signatures—they weren't random. They were like fragments of a manual, glimpses of what the artifact could do. But every time he tapped into it, it felt like he was burning himself away to fuel its power.
He held out his hand, focusing on the flame he'd conjured before. It flickered into existence, weaker than before, but steady. He waved it gently, watching the way it danced across his palm. The power felt fragile now, like a thread ready to snap.
Kaylen extinguished the flame and closed his eyes, trying to recall the sensation of the teleportation. It had been different—chaotic, overwhelming, like diving into a storm. He shuddered at the memory but knew he'd need to master it. Running was the only option until he figured out how to fight back.
---
The next morning, Kaylen awoke to the sound of distant voices. His heart leaped into his throat, and he scrambled to his feet, clutching the artifact. He peeked around the corner to see two figures talking near the entrance of the warehouse.
"...said they saw something strange near the Lower Quarter last night," one of them said, their tone hushed. "Some kind of light. You think it's him?"
"Has to be," the other replied. "A Blank using a Signature? The Enforcers are going to tear the city apart looking for him."
Kaylen's breath caught. They were talking about him. He pressed himself against the wall, gripping the artifact tightly. His escape had bought him time, but not much. The city was already buzzing with rumors, and the Hunters wouldn't stop until they found him.
The voices faded as the figures moved away, but Kaylen knew he couldn't stay hidden for long. He needed information, allies—anything that could help him survive. The Hunters weren't just after the artifact; they were after him.
---
Later that day, Kaylen found himself wandering through the quieter parts of the city, keeping to the shadows. His body still ached, but the artifact's faint hum gave him a strange sense of reassurance. It was dangerous, yes, but it was also his only weapon.
As he passed a small market square, a stall caught his eye. An old woman sat behind a table piled with trinkets and oddities, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd. Her stand was lined with charms, ancient coins, and weathered books—all the sorts of things people in the Lower Quarter dismissed as junk. But one object drew Kaylen's attention: a small, glowing crystal that pulsed faintly, like the artifact.
He approached cautiously, his hood low. The woman's gaze snapped to him immediately, her expression unreadable.
"Looking for something, boy?" she asked, her voice raspy but sharp.
Kaylen hesitated. "That crystal. What is it?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Not for sale."
"I'll pay," he insisted, though his pouch of coins was nearly empty. "I just need to know what it is."
The woman leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "That's not something you can buy. But if you've got something worth trading..." Her eyes flicked to his pocket, where the artifact's faint glow peeked out.
Kaylen stiffened, his grip tightening. "I'm not trading this."
"Smart boy," she said with a crooked smile. "Then let me give you some advice instead. Power like that doesn't come cheap. You think it's helping you, but it's taking something too."
"What do you mean?" he asked, his heart sinking.
She chuckled darkly. "You'll find out soon enough. Just remember: the brighter the flame, the faster it burns."
Kaylen's stomach churned as he backed away from the stall. The woman's words echoed in his mind as he disappeared into the crowd. He had gained a weapon, but at what cost? And how long could he keep burning before there was nothing left of him?