Thirteen days wasn't enough time.
Davrin spent the next two days learning to not accidentally kill himself with his own power, which turned out to be harder than it sounded. The soul essence inside him wanted to be used, constantly pushing against his control like a caged animal desperate to break free.
"Again," Seraph said, watching him practice manifesting and dismissing the red energy around his hands. They'd moved to a different safe house, this one in the industrial quarter near the Forges. The air here tasted like metal and smoke.
Davrin pulled the power up, held it for ninety seconds, then let it fade. Sweat dripped down his face but he didn't collapse this time. Progress.
"Better. Your control's improving." Seraph tossed him a water canteen. "Tomorrow we hit the Reaper outpost. You ready?"
"No," Davrin said honestly, drinking half the canteen in one go. "But we're doing it anyway."
"Good answer." Seraph moved to the window, peering through the gap in the boards they'd nailed over it. "I mapped their patrol schedule. Four Reapers total, rotating shifts. Weakest point is the shift change at midnight, about a three-minute window where they're distracted."
"Three minutes to kill four Reapers." Davrin laughed, but it came out bitter. "What could go wrong?"
"Everything. That's why we have a backup plan."
"Which is?"
"Run very fast in opposite directions and hope they chase me instead of you."
Davrin stared at her. "That's a terrible backup plan."
"I know. So let's make sure we don't need it." Seraph turned from the window, her mismatched eyes serious. "Listen, there's something you need to understand about absorption. The more souls you take in quick succession, the harder it is to integrate them. Your mind can only process so many foreign memories at once."
"So four at once is..."
"Potentially fatal, yes. Your brain could just shut down trying to sort through four lifetimes of stolen experiences." She crossed her arms. "But there's a trick. Don't try to absorb everything at once. Take the essence, the power, but push back against the memories. Let them settle slowly over days instead of hours."
"And if I can't?"
"Then you'll spend the next week drooling in a corner while your mind reboots." Seraph said it casually, like discussing the weather. "Seen it happen twice. Not pretty."
"You're really selling this plan."
"I'm being honest. You want comforting lies, go find the Ember Coalition. They're great at those." Seraph grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair. "I need to scout the location one more time. You stay here, keep practicing. Don't burn the building down."
"Where are you going?"
"To talk to an old contact. Someone who might have information about Project Synthesis facilities." She paused at the door. "If I'm not back in four hours, assume I'm dead and get out of the city."
Then she was gone.
Davrin stood alone in the safe house, listening to the distant sounds of the Forges grinding away. Four hours. He could practice for maybe one more, then his soul would be too raw to manifest anything.
Or he could do something stupid.
The idea had been growing in the back of his mind since Seraph mentioned the outpost. Four Reapers would make him stronger, sure, but they were just soldiers. Pieces on the board. What he really needed was information, and there was one person in Iron Hollow who traded in exactly that.
Kael Varn. The Butcher.
Thirty minutes later, Davrin was walking through the fighting pits beneath Iron Hollow's east sector. The smell hit him first, sweat and blood and cheap alcohol, mixed with the electric tang of soul essence being burned for entertainment. Crowds of desperate people surrounded makeshift arenas, betting on fights between awakened individuals too poor or too criminal to work for the Empire.
This was where Davrin had learned to use his fists, back before his power awakened. Where Kael had given him work when the streets got too dangerous. Where he'd killed his first man in a fair fight and won enough money to eat for a week.
The main pit was active, two Sparked-class fighters tearing into each other while the crowd screamed. Davrin pushed through the press of bodies, heading for the back rooms where Kael kept his office.
Two guards blocked the door, big men with scars and dead eyes. They recognized Davrin, stepped aside without a word. Everyone here knew the Butcher's favorites got special treatment.
The office was cleaner than the pits, which wasn't saying much. Kael sat behind a battered desk, counting money with thick fingers. He looked up as Davrin entered, and something like surprise crossed his scarred face.
"Well, well. The dead man walks." Kael leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. "Heard you killed a Soul Reaper two nights ago. Didn't believe it."
"Believe it." Davrin closed the door behind him. "I need information."
"Everyone needs information. What you got to trade for it?"
Davrin held up his hand and let the red energy flicker around his fingers. Just for a second, just enough to prove the rumors were true.
Kael's eyes widened. Then he started laughing, deep and rough. "Soul Devourer. I'll be damned. I knew there was something off about you, kid, but this?" He whistled low. "Empire's got a bounty on your head already. Ten thousand credits, dead or alive."
"You planning to collect?"
"If I was, you'd already be in chains." Kael waved him to a chair. "Sit. Tell me what you need."
Davrin sat, keeping his back to the wall out of habit. "Project Synthesis. The Empire's running experiments on people, trying to create artificial Soul Devourers. I need to know where."
Kael's expression went carefully neutral. "That's dangerous information."
"I'm a dangerous person now."
"Fair point." Kael pulled out a bottle from his desk drawer, took a long drink, didn't offer Davrin any. "Project Synthesis. I've heard whispers. Nothing concrete, you understand. Just rumors from people who know people."
"What kind of rumors?"
"The kind that say the Empire's been collecting specific bloodlines for twenty years. Testing them, breaking them, trying to force soul compatibility where it doesn't naturally exist." Kael's voice dropped. "The kind that say most test subjects don't survive the first week."
Ice in Davrin's stomach. "And the ones who do?"
"Become something else. Not human anymore, not fully." Kael leaned forward. "I heard about a girl, maybe five years back. Brought in from Iron Hollow. Dark hair, young, fought like hell. Reminded me of someone."
Davrin's hands clenched. "Where did they take her?"
"That's the problem. Nobody knows. The Synthesis facilities aren't on any map, aren't in any official records. They're ghosts." Kael paused. "But I know someone who might know. Someone who used to work for the Empire, high enough to see things they shouldn't have."
"Who?"
"Her name's Vera Cross. Used to be a researcher in the Forges before she had a crisis of conscience and ran." Kael pulled out a data pad, tapped through screens. "She's hiding in the Scorched Wastes now, paranoid as hell. But if anyone knows where Synthesis operates, it's her."
He slid the data pad across the desk. Coordinates, a location marker deep in the Wastes.
"That's three days travel from here," Davrin said, reading the data. "Minimum."
"More like four if you want to avoid the monster nests. And that's assuming you survive the trip." Kael took another drink. "The Wastes aren't kind to Sparked-class kids playing hero."
Davrin looked at the coordinates, then at Kael. "What do you want for this?"
"Same thing I always want. A favor." Kael's smile didn't reach his eyes. "When you get strong enough, when you start making real moves against the Empire, you remember who helped you get there. You remember the Butcher."
"That's it?"
"That's enough. I've been running these pits for fifteen years, watching the Empire bleed this city dry. If you actually manage to hurt them?" Kael raised his bottle in a mock toast. "That's worth more than money."
Davrin stood, pocketing the data pad. "I'll remember."
"One more thing." Kael's voice stopped him at the door. "The girl you're looking for. The one the Empire took. You sure you want to find her?"
"She's my sister."
"That's not what I asked." Kael's expression was serious now, stripped of all pretense. "I've seen what the Empire does to people in their experiments. What they become. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let the dead stay dead."
"She's not dead."
"Not yet, maybe." Kael looked away. "But after five years in their hands? Kid, you might not like what you find."
Davrin's power flared involuntarily, red light crackling around his clenched fists. The air in the room went cold.
"I'll find her anyway," he said quietly. "And then I'll kill everyone who touched her."
Kael met his eyes and nodded slowly. "Yeah. I believe you will."
Davrin left the office, walked back through the fighting pits toward the exit. The current fight was ending, one fighter down and not getting up. The crowd roared, exchanging money and curses.
He barely noticed. His mind was already racing ahead, calculating. The Reaper outpost tomorrow night would give him strength. The Scorched Wastes would give him information. And if Vera Cross could tell him where Mira was being held...
His communication crystal buzzed. Seraph's voice, clipped and urgent.
"Change of plans. Get back to the safe house now. We've got a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"The kind where the Empire just moved up their timeline." Static crackled through the connection. "Your sister's integration isn't in thirteen days anymore."
Davrin's heart stopped. "How long?"
"Four days." Seraph's voice was grim. "Davrin, if we don't move fast, we're going to be too late."
End of Chapter 4