The basement of Varkas's apothecary was a cramped labyrinth of brass pipes and hissing steam. Evelyn had already begun clearing a space for her surgical tools, but Alaric couldn't stay still. The air in the city was too heavy, too filled with the scent of grease and desperation.
"You need to rest, Alaric," Evelyn said, not looking up from a mortar and pestle. "The dragon lungs are still knitting themselves to your ribcage. If you rupture the stitches now, I won't be able to stop the internal freezing."
"I can't rest," Alaric growled, his voice vibrating in the small room. "The noise... it's like a thousand needles in my ears. I can hear the rats in the walls and the heartbeat of the guards in the street above."
Varkas limped toward them, carrying a heavy chain made of cold-iron. "That's the blood of the Chimera, boy. It's hunter's blood. It doesn't want to sleep; it wants to find a throat to tear." He tossed the chain onto a wooden table with a loud clang. "If you're going to stay here, you need to learn to dampen that signal. If a Sun-Caster walks past my door, you'll glow like a bonfire in the dark."
"What is that?" Alaric asked, staring at the chain.
"A limiter," Evelyn answered, stepping forward. She took the chain and began to etch runes into the metal using a glowing needle. "It's a temporary fix. It will suppress your mana output, but it will also make you feel... human again. Weak. It's the only way to move through the city without being detected."
Alaric hesitated. The strength he had gained was terrifying, but the thought of losing it made him feel vulnerable. Slowly, he reached out. As Evelyn wrapped the cold-iron chain around his right forearm, Alaric let out a sharp gasp.
The world suddenly went quiet. The heightened sounds faded, and the icy power in his chest retreated into a dull ache. He felt heavy—not with power, but with the exhaustion of a man who had been running for too long.
"It feels like a cage," Alaric whispered, his golden eyes dimming back to a dark, stormy grey.
"It is a cage," Varkas said, pouring a glass of murky green liquid. "But in this city, a cage is often safer than a throne. Now, about that Star-Steel. The tournament starts in three days. If you want that metal to forge a new blade, you'll have to fight in the pits. And you'll have to do it without showing your wings or your frost-breath."
Alaric looked at his hands. They were trembling slightly from the sudden loss of mana. He thought of the Iron Inquisition and the burning forest.
"I don't need magic to kill men," Alaric said, his Paladin training resurfacing through the haze of his transformation. "I was a ksatria long before you turned me into a monster. Give me a training sword. I need to see if I still remember how to be a man."
Evelyn watched him, a flicker of something like pity—or perhaps regret—crossing her face. "Don't lose yourself in the fight, Alaric. We are here for the steel, not for glory."