The cold of the snow beneath his body was uncomfortable, but Ethan didn't care. He awoke slowly, blinking against the pale light filtering through the overcast sky. The pain that had overtaken his body before was gone, but something else remained—a dark, unsettling residue, like a silent presence lurking in the corners of his mind.
He ran a hand over his face, trying to organize his thoughts. His body felt… different. Stronger, firmer, and yet vulnerable. Something pulsed within him, something that didn't belong to his flesh. It was a faint whisper, an uncomfortable pressure nestled deep within his consciousness. He felt that if he tried to listen closely, he might hear words hidden in that void.
His fingers gripped the blanket covering him. It was thick, heavy, warm—a stark contrast to the hostile environment around him. There was a pillow beneath his head. That could only mean one thing.
The sorcerer had found him.
Anger surged in his throat like bile. He turned his head, searching for the lunatic, but the place he was in offered few answers. It was an old wooden structure, with cracked beams and marks of time etched into the walls. Perhaps some forgotten Nordic house buried in the ruins.
No sorcerer. No smoke rising from a cauldron, no mocking laughter.
Then something emerged from the floor.
The sorcerer's head slowly rose from the wood as if he were part of it. Ethan acted on instinct, pulling out his slingshot and aiming directly at the smug face materializing before him.
He was impressed by his own reaction.
He had felt it before it happened.
Was he like Seryne now?
The thought slipped away when the sorcerer's head tilted slightly, observing him like an intriguing experiment.
— "Ah, finally you're awake, Ethan. Good morning, good afternoon, good evening—whatever time it is. I lost track a long time ago. Oh, by the way, did you like the pillow? No need to thank me. I found it in a corner and gave it a good shake to get rid of the worst dust. See? I'm a great benefactor."
Ethan didn't lower the slingshot. The feeling that something was wrong was too strong.
— "Where are you?" he asked, ignoring the playful tone.
— "Oh, I'm in a… complicated situation," the head replied, smiling, its angle slightly impossible. "But don't worry, I made sure you were comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one can be in this freezing, creature-infested place. You always complain, Ethan. You need to learn to see the bright side of things!"
— "The bright side?" Ethan narrowed his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "What the hell happened to me?"
The sorcerer's expression shifted subtly. He sighed, as if pondering the best way to respond.
— "Well…" he began, dragging the word, his tone far lighter than the situation warranted. "Let's say you did something terrible. Not by choice, of course, but facts are facts. You freed the Book of Calamities. And it, as expected, cursed you. What bad luck, huh?"
Ethan's blood turned cold.
— "A curse?"
The sorcerer nodded enthusiastically, as if explaining a fun rule of a board game.
— "Yes, yes, a wonderful curse, straight from the book's heart. It wouldn't let you walk away unscathed after opening its pages. So, as a good agent of chaos, it gave you a gift: the drop of blood from an ancient god."
Silence settled between them, heavy and oppressive.
Ethan felt a chill crawl up his spine. He didn't need to be a mythology expert to know this was terrible news.
— "And what does that mean?" His voice was tighter than he intended.
The sorcerer grinned widely, his teeth too white against the dark wood.
— "Ah, boy. It means that, at some point, you won't be you anymore."
Ethan's heart pounded painfully against his ribs.
— "Explain properly, you bastard."
— "Alright, alright, no need for threats!" The sorcerer chuckled, though his eyes glinted with something more serious. "You see, the drop of an ancient god's blood isn't just a drop. It's a remnant, a seed. And like any good seed, it needs fertile soil to grow. Unfortunately, your mortal body is… let's say, a cracked vessel. It can't handle such vast power."
Ethan held his breath.
— "So, what happens now?"
— "Ah, now? Now your body will change. First, it needs to strengthen to withstand the weight of this divine blood. Your muscles, your bones, your organs… everything will be refined, enhanced. You'll become stronger, more resilient, faster. It'll seem like a benefit, a gift. But it's not."
Silence pressed down harder.
— "Then, the drop will spread to your soul," the sorcerer continued, tilting his head slightly, like a teacher explaining a complex topic. "Your spirit needs to mold itself around its presence. That means, little by little, you'll start to think differently. Feel differently. As if you're still you… but not exactly. Like a second voice whispering deep inside your mind."
Ethan's stomach churned.
— "And finally…" The sorcerer's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "The drop will consume your will."
Ethan couldn't breathe properly.
— "What do you mean by 'consume my will'?"
The sorcerer smiled again, but there was something dark behind it.
— "It means that when the process is complete… you won't be Ethan anymore. You'll be something new. Something… different. And the consciousness of Ethan Ward will be just a distant echo within whatever remains."
The world seemed to spin.
Ethan felt nauseous.
— "Is there a cure?" His voice was weaker than he'd like.
The sorcerer tilted his head, thoughtful.
— "Well… it exists. But it's difficult. You're just a mortal, and mortals are so fragile. Plus, this curse came from the Book of Calamities. That book has screwed over gods, let alone you. And, well… you're not a god."
Ethan clenched his fists, trembling with anger and despair.
— "Can you help me?"
The sorcerer laughed, amused.
— "Ah, boy, if I could, I would. But curses aren't exactly my specialty. That's more my cousin's thing. Unfortunately, he doesn't like me very much. And we haven't spoken in centuries."
Ethan felt suffocated.
But then, something clicked in his mind.
The sorcerer's words.
"Trade your will for his."
If the curse needed to take his will to replace him… that meant if his will was strong enough, he could resist.
He swallowed hard, his despair slowly replaced by determination.
If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to remain Ethan Ward, he'd have to strengthen his will.
And there was only one person who could teach him that.
Lian Xuan.
The cultivator.
Ethan took a deep breath.
He just had to survive long enough to find him.
And with the sorcerer around, surviving another day was already a miracle.