Selene had always believed that fear had a scent. That it could be felt in the throat, between the bones, in the teeth. The fear of the cell where she had grown was not the same as being alone in the world, nor the same as seeing monsters approach through the mist. But this one, now, before Master Velro — this fear was old. Thick. An ancestral fear, as if her very soul recognized something too ancient to name.

  The field around them had been consumed by a purple mist, which did not come from the sky or the earth, but from the words Velro uttered, each one laden with symbolic power not to harm the body — but to sever the bond that connected Selene to Rukk. It was as if every syllable hit the points of contact between her thoughts. The binding runes that circled her wrist pulsed. The pain was almost physical.

  Rukk, in turn, growled low, as if holding something back. The monster’s rocky skin vibrated with the scarlet marks that bound it to Selene’s consciousness. But the creature hesitated, confused. Its nature instinctively reacted against Velro's emotional poison — a substance that could not be seen but penetrated to its very essence.

  Velro walked ahead of them, leaning on a staff carved with petrified human teeth. His body, draped in a dark purple cloak, seemed to exude the very pain he caused. His eyes were neither white nor black — they were opaque, like ashes about to fall in the wind.

  “Selene,” he said in a rough, vibrating voice, as though speaking directly inside her skull, “you carry a creature of suffering. But what you don't understand… is that its suffering is a mirror of yours. And I can break any mirror.”

  She responded with silence. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth where she had bitten her lip to avoid collapsing. But her gaze remained firm. She wouldn’t win with strength, and she knew that. She would win with remembrance.

  Rukk moved first.

  A muffled roar echoed, making the ground tremble. The creature’s strike was like a stone bolt against the earth: a massive paw thrown with unusual speed, aiming to crush Velro before he could finish another sentence.

  But the old man smiled.

  With a gesture, he opened his palm and released a black rune.

  [Emotional Contagion: Reverberation]

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  The air around Rukk grew heavy. The paw slowed in the air. The strike, which should have shattered the ground, fell limp, as if the monster’s very arm remembered the moment it was first chained — the screams, the steel, the smell of Selene’s blood, the enchanted chains forced under its living carapace.

  Velro hissed:

  “Even monsters feel. Especially monsters created to not feel.”

  Selene staggered, clutching the medallion she wore as a mental anchor to maintain the bond with Rukk. She saw her companion’s gaze tremble. She felt the anguish coming from him in waves.

  “Rukk,” she whispered, placing her hand on the earth, “you’re not alone. I’m here. I am still real.”

  Velro laughed.

  “Reality doesn’t save. It only delays the end.”

  He raised the staff and drew a line in the air with condensed blood. From it emerged a purple aura that expanded in concentric circles, like a field of torpor, paralyzing instincts, freezing intentions. Selene fell to her knees.

  Rukk hesitated, growling in frustration. Velro advanced with firm steps, his voice becoming more intimate.

  “How many have you seen die? How many couldn’t you save? How much of you was lost in that basement?”

  The pain was real. Images flooded Selene’s mind: her mother screaming as she was dragged away, her younger brother’s face erased by a silence seal, the sound of monsters behind the walls, being called by names that were not theirs.

  But among it all, there was also something more. There was the moment when Selene — small, weak, without magic — first touched the egg that contained Rukk and felt something vibrate. Something that wasn’t fear. Something that was… recognition. She raised her head.

  “You speak of pain as if it were your kingdom, Velro,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “But you only know how to use the pain of others. You’ve never felt yours. You’ve never known what it’s like to endure something nameless and still rise.”

  With effort, she dug her nails into the earth and activated a seal engraved on the pendant.

  [Root’s Call: Blood Bond]

  The bond between her and Rukk glowed — not blue, not gold. But red. Velro took a half step back, surprise painting his tired mask. Rukk roared and advanced with both fists raised.

  Velro tried to conjure another wave of trauma, but Selene raised her arms, absorbing the energy from the last illusion and redirecting it. The blow hit Velro with brutal force.

  The old man fell but rolled to the side, coughing up spells that no longer had rhythm. He rose, his clothes in tatters, his staff broken, the plague runes dancing like worms on his skin.

  “Damn… you don’t understand. Suffering is eternal.”

  Selene walked toward him, blood dripping from her nose, her eyes bloodshot.

  “No. Suffering is a choice. And I’ve already chosen.”

  Rukk charged, and Velro tried to escape — but his leg failed. The monster leapt.

  Two stone claws pierced the wizard’s chest, but Selene screamed before the third could hit.

  “Enough!”

  Rukk stopped.

  Velro bled, but still breathed. His eyes, opaque, stared at her with something between hatred and… relief?

  “You...?”

  “I choose. I always choose.”

  The old man laughed before he died.

  Selene collapsed to her knees.