Vince crouched next to Eris, his eyes narrowing as he examined the boy carefully. The moment the old man had vanished, everything around them had gone eerily quiet, leaving Vince alone with his thoughts. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on him. He had seen the destruction that had just taken place, the strange phenomenon surrounding Eris, and the way his body had reacted to the overwhelming forces. Yet, now that the dust had settled, Vince found himself trying to piece together the enigma that was this boy—this "weak" awakened.
Eris lay unconscious, his face still pale, his body relaxed, though his chest rose and fell with the faintest of breaths. His raven-black hair, streaked with strands of silver, framed his youthful face, which held an expression of peaceful vulnerability. His skin, lightly tanned from the harsh conditions of the Wastelands, looked almost unscathed from the chaotic power that had raged through him moments ago. But there was something more beneath that calm appearance—something hidden, something Vince couldn't fully comprehend yet.
Vince's gaze drifted toward Eris' neck, where the glowing, crimson serpent crest pulsed faintly. The red glow emitted a soft, eerie light that contrasted sharply with the normal silver hue most awakened bore. The serpent, coiled around a lunar symbol, seemed to be alive with energy, its eyes flickering with a strange, vibrant power. The red glow was almost mesmerizing, but as he focused on it, Vince couldn't help but sense a strange weight to it, as if it were both powerful and unstable. The energy around it was thick, heavy, and unpredictable.
He reached out a hand, brushing his fingers lightly over the crest. The warmth of its pulse seemed to resonate against his touch, though the feeling was far from comforting. Vince withdrew his hand, his brow furrowed. The energy emanating from the crest—so strong, so vivid—was unlike any he had felt before, and the fact that it wasn't the usual silver lunar glow only deepened the mystery surrounding Eris.
Vince's eyes then shifted toward the boy's face, narrowing with a renewed sense of suspicion. He had already noted that Eris' Crest was strange, but now he began to focus on his unconscious form more intently, trying to read whatever he could about this boy's potential.
The resonance of Eris' Crest was weak. The pulse of energy radiating from it wasn't nearly as potent as the resonance of most other awakened. Vince knew from experience that those who had fully awakened were usually filled with a forceful, clear surge of power—something that marked them as capable and strong. But Eris was different. The red lunar energy around him was powerful, but it lacked the sharp clarity that usually accompanied the silver resonance. This was the mark of someone who wasn't quite in control of their power, someone whose connection to the Crest was not as natural or as refined as others.
He placed his hand gently against Eris' forehead, his fingers brushing against his skin, checking for signs of fever or any lingering aftereffects of the corruption. The boy was still cold to the touch, but there was no clear damage. Yet, Vince couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. The faint pulse of the Crest—it felt like it was struggling, fighting against something unseen, perhaps against Eris himself. This wasn't just a weak awakening, this was... something else.
"Variant," Vince muttered to himself, finally piecing together the clues. He had read of such things in ancient texts, though it was rare. Variants were awakened who carried the same elemental affinity as others, but the nature of their power was altered by personal traits—emotional states, past traumas, or even the environment they had grown up in. The boy's Crest, unlike most awakened with a silver lunar glow, was red. The red symbolized a violent nature, an inherent volatility tied to his personality and emotional state.
Vince's mind raced. Eris had grown up in the Wastelands—an unforgiving, brutal place where survival often required a fierce spirit and quick thinking. The harsh conditions of the land had surely shaped Eris' temperament, making him someone who was likely accustomed to violence and unpredictability. His emotional state, driven by the suffering of the Wastelands, had transformed his connection to the Crest. It was a reflection of his inner nature, a result of the harsh life he had led.
Eris' Crest, with its red lunar glow, was not just an unusual phenomenon—it was a clear indicator of his variant status. This boy wasn't simply a weaker awakened; he was a different kind of awakened altogether. His connection to the moon and its energies was shaped by his own personal experiences, his struggles, and his violent upbringing. The red glow wasn't just a symbol of his affinity—it was a sign of his turmoil, his rage, and the chaos within him.
The realization hit Vince hard. Variants were rare, though not entirely unheard of. They were often misunderstood or overlooked because their powers were so different from the norm. Some of the more established awakened considered them weaker, but in reality, variants could be far more dangerous than others gave them credit for—unpredictable and untapped in ways that made them all the more potent.
As Vince continued to observe Eris, something about the boy's condition struck him. His resonance was weak, yes—but it was also unstable, fluctuating between brief surges of energy and deep lulls of dormancy. The Crest seemed to struggle for balance. There was no clear harmony between the two forces within him, no obvious synchronization with his true potential. And that was dangerous.
He sighed, glancing back at the red glow that emanated from Eris. In his current state, the boy was far from being a threat to anyone—but that could change. He could feel it, deep in his gut. Eris was a time bomb, waiting for the right moment to explode, and when that happened, no one would be prepared for the force he could unleash.
For now, though, the boy was still unconscious, lying before him in an uneasy slumber, his Crest pulsing weakly with energy. But in Vince's mind, the pieces had fallen into place. Eris was a variant, one whose power was both shaped by the Wastelands and yet, still unstable, a ticking clock that would only be fully realized when he could tap into the full potential of his Crest.
Vince had no idea what the future held for Eris—but whatever it was, Vince would be ready to face it.
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As the morning sun rose over the Wastelands, Eris stirred, the haziness of unconsciousness lifting from his mind. His head throbbed, but there was something else—something strange—filling him with a newfound sense of sharpness. His senses felt heightened. His vision was clearer than it had been in years, the faintest details of his surroundings cutting through the fog in his mind. Even his hearing seemed sharper, the wind whispering through the cracks of the barren land, the distant echo of an unknown presence.
Eris slowly sat up, glancing around. The camp was unfamiliar—a rough, sparse place. No trees, no vegetation. Just the cracked earth stretching out endlessly in all directions. The stench of dust and death clung to the air. As he tried to remember how he ended up here, his mind drifted back to the previous night. The altar. The black bead. Flumen's flames. He recalled hiding behind the altar as flames licked the air around him, as his life had felt on the verge of slipping away. But now, the memory was blurry, like a foggy dream he could barely touch.
His heart raced as he touched his chest, his breath catching in his throat. He could feel something burning within him. The Crest.
Eris glanced down at his neck, where the Crest was now, its red glow casting an eerie light across his skin. He could feel the power inside him, thrumming with a strange intensity, but it was different. It was... wild. Untamed. His mind raced, but before he could think too much on it, a voice cut through his thoughts.
"You're awake," a man said from nearby. Eris tensed, eyes snapping to the figure standing several paces away. The man had dark features and an aura of quiet strength—someone who seemed to carry a weight, even if he didn't show it. His gaze was cold, assessing.
Eris's throat tightened as he tried to gather himself, but he felt a sharp sense of unease. He didn't know this person. "Where am I?" Eris asked, voice hoarse.
"The Wastelands. Camp," the man replied, his tone flat. "I found you after... everything that happened. The old man... did his work, and now here you are."
The mention of the old man brought fragmented memories flooding back. The altar. The bead. Flumen's flames. But nothing more. Eris's mind was clouded with confusion.
As he tried to get his bearings, the man, who introduced himself as Vince, took a step closer, his eyes narrowed. "Your Crest," Vince said, his tone hardening, "It's weak."
Eris's gaze flickered toward his Crest again. He could feel the energy inside it—the raw, untamed power—but it was different. It wasn't the calm, controlled energy he had imagined. It was dark, volatile. The red glow... it felt like it had been tainted.
"Your Crest resonance," Vince continued, "isn't like the others. It's weaker than most Awakened." He paused for a moment, studying Eris intently. "That red lunar glow... it's not like the silver, normal for those with moon affinity. Yours is... variant."
Eris's chest tightened at the mention of the word variant. He didn't fully understand, but he could feel that whatever had happened to him during the ritual, during the flames, had changed him.
"What do you mean... variant?" Eris asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Vince looked at him like he was sizing him up, as though weighing whether or not to explain. "Variants aren't unheard of. They're just... rare. It's when the Crest's resonance shifts, often because of emotional or personal factors. It's likely the rage or chaos from growing up in the Wastelands. The violence. It's all in your Crest now. That's why it's tainted, red instead of silver."
Eris absorbed the words in silence, but they left him with more questions than answers. The red energy, the power that flowed through him, felt wrong. It was volatile, like it could slip out of control at any moment.
Vince took another step back, his hands in his pockets, his face unreadable. "You're weakened. If you don't control it, that Crest could end up consuming you. The power's unstable, and right now, you're pathetic—just a shadow of what you could be." His voice was cold, as if he were assessing the boy as a problem to be solved.
Eris flinched, the sting of Vince's words digging into him. He felt the weight of the truth in them, but it did nothing to quell the rising tide of anger in his chest. That rage—it had been with him for so long.
Vince's eyes flicked over Eris one last time. "The other Awakened—they'll eat you alive if you don't get a grip. I don't know what you're capable of yet, but you'll need to figure it out—if you want to survive."
Eris remained silent, his thoughts swirling. He didn't know this man, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Vince was sizing him up, as if deciding whether he was a threat or just a waste of time. But for some reason, there was a cold edge to Vince's gaze, one that made Eris feel small in comparison.
Eris's mind wandered back to the events that had led him here—the Wastelands, the raid, the altar, the black bead—but it was all a haze, a blur. He had no answers, no understanding of what had happened to him.
Vince turned away, making a small noise in his throat. "Whatever. Just... don't die out here. You'll be more trouble than you're worth if you do."
Eris watched him leave, his thoughts tangled in confusion. Something had happened to him, something beyond his understanding, and it was tied to the Crest now, to the red energy coursing through him. He didn't know what to do with this power. Didn't know how to control it.
But one thing was clear: he was different. And he had no idea where that would take him.