The Greed

The noise pulls me from the void.

At first, it’s faint—like wind through a crack in a sealed tomb. Whispers brushing the walls of my mind. But it grows louder. Closer. Relentless.

“Elara! Elara!”

The sound grates against me, like metal across glass, tearing through the peace I had carved for myself in silence.

“What happened, Maa?” More footsteps. Too many. Pounding like war drums.

“Thud. Thud. Thud.”

My fingers twitch. My breath deepens.

Consciousness slithers back into my bones, slow and foreign. Not a return—but a rebirth.

I open my eyes.

The world bleeds into focus—dim and dusky, the scent of old wood and bitter herbs thick in the air. The ceiling above me is cracked and uneven. Faint candlelight flickers somewhere to my left. The low hum of voices carries from below—distant, panicked, human.

Darius’s home.

But it doesn’t feel like home.

No. That word no longer belongs to me.

I sit up slowly. The sheets fall away from my chest. My muscles stretch, but I don’t feel pain—only a strange strength, like something deep inside has finished sharpening itself while I was away.

The voices continue.

Overlapping. Pointless.

Elara’s trembling worry.

Anara’s clipped tension.

Darius’s calm instructions.

So loud. So slow. So small.

I plant my feet on the cold wooden floor. I rise. My legs don’t wobble.

I don’t stagger.

Why would I?

I am not that boy anymore.

I steady myself with one hand on the wall. Its surface is rough, splintered from years of wear. My fingers trace it with idle interest as my gaze finds the mirror resting on a crooked table.

The boy in the glass looks back at me—but he’s different.

Not just the eyes. Not just the posture.

Everything.

He’s... awake.

The faint glint of gold dances in my irises as the candlelight catches. Something feral flickers there. Controlled. Caged. Watching.

The world outside hasn’t changed.

Still loud.

Still crawling.

Still clinging to meaning where there is none.

I walk to the door. My footsteps are silent, deliberate. The old floorboards creak beneath my heel, and still, they don’t notice. The voices carry on like insects humming near a carcass.

“This is too sudden,” Elara’s voice says, cracked by emotion.

“He’ll be alright. He has to be,” Anara says, trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

“His body’s recovering unnaturally fast,” Darius mutters, analytical. “But his mana levels... They’re not the same.”

No. They’re not.

The stairs spiral downward like a throat ready to swallow me.

I descend.

One step at a time.

Each creak is louder than their words. Sharper. A warning.

Still, no one notices.

No one turns.

Not yet

This place… these people…

They cling to their noise. Their chaos. As though it gives their lives meaning.

But meaning doesn’t come from sound or struggle.

It comes from control.From power.

I pause halfway down the stairs. One hand rests lightly on the wooden railing. Dust clings to the old banister like forgotten memories. Below, their voices drift upward—too loud. Too soft. Too human.

They don’t know.

They don’t understand.

But they will.

I continue downward, each step deliberate. The faint golden light from the hearth below throws my shadow long against the wall. Elongated. Twisted. Honest.

And then—
Silence.

Their voices stop. Mid-sentence. Mid-breath.

They’ve seen me.

I step into the room. Calm. Straight-backed. Silent.

Darius is the first I notice—his stance rigid, his jaw clenched, eyes wide beneath furrowed brows. One hand hovers near the sword at his hip.

Good instinct. Too slow.

Anara’s fingers tremble as they press against her chest. Her lips part, but no sound comes. She's not breathing right. Fear, or maybe disbelief. Doesn’t matter which.

The girls are worse. Elara stands there frozen, tears already welling in her wide, glassy eyes. Aria clutches her wrist, knuckles pale.

Their faces say everything they can’t.

Ah, there it is.

The silence.

Finally… they listen.

Elara moves first. Of course she does.

Her bare feet slap the floor, her arms out, crying my name like it still belongs to someone else.

“Ori!” she sobs.

She collides into me.

Her small arms wrap around my waist, clutching like I’m air in a drowning sea. Her forehead presses against my chest. Her tears soak into my shirt. I don’t move.

Then Anara reaches me. Her steps are hesitant. A single tear escapes down her cheek before she buries her hand in my hair, whispering my name like a prayer.

“Orion…”

Darius follows—he doesn’t speak. Just pulls me into his arms, firm and steady like always. But I can feel it. His breath shudders. His fingers grip too tight.

And now they surround me.

Their warmth presses in from every side.

I don’t resist.

The silence is gone now. Replaced by soft sobs. Trembling hands. Relief so heavy it fogs the air. I let it happen. I let them cling, let them cry.

For now…

This is enough.

The noise doesn’t grate. Not this time.

It’s muffled. Distant. Like echoes in a deep vault.

I let my arms hang loose, my expression unreadable.

But deep inside—

They don’t see the hunger coiling behind my calm.

They don’t feel the storm simmering just beneath my skin.

They don’t understand… yet.

But they will.

They all will.

This world...

I tilt my head slightly. My golden eyes lift, settling on the door. Faint light spills in from the crack—sunlight, wind, freedom. Everything beyond that frame.

This world...

No.

Everything in it...

...will soon belong to me.

A faint smirk curls at the edge of my lips.

And if it doesn’t bow—

I narrow my gaze, the glint in my eyes sharp as blades.

—it will break.