Sorcerer's Shadow

Chapter 5: Hatching

Nevertheless, this new reality presented an imminent challenge: how to sustain my livelihood, not just in the immediate future but also in the long term. My grandfather proposed a partnership in his Sorcery business. However, it was evident to me that the enterprise barely provided enough for him to manage solo. Liora offered to tutor me in her line of work, but as a Terran thief, it was hard to secure good deals from Imperion fences. Besides, my grandfather disapproved of thievery.

Despite the unresolved issue, I proceeded with the sale of the inn and survived on the earnings for a while. I won't disclose the sum I received, as I was still inexperienced at the time. With the new proprietor claiming the quarters above the inn, I relocated to a new residence.

Additionally, I invested in a sword - a relatively lightweight rapier, custom made by a Vorgan swordsmith who significantly overcharged me. It was sturdy enough to fend off the aggressive strikes of a heavy Imperion sword, yet light enough for quick ripostes, thereby surprising an Imperion swordsman who likely knows nothing beyond basic attack-defend-attack maneuvers.

With my future still uncertain, I dedicated my time to taking care of the egg.

* * *

Roughly two months after selling the inn, I found myself seated at a card table in a gambling establishment that accommodated Terrans. That night, I was the sole human presence amid four active tables.

A commotion from the neighboring table caught my attention, but before I could turn, something crashed into my chair. Fear surged through me as I nearly crushed the egg against the table edge. Rising to my feet, the fear transformed into rage, and on impulse, I swung my chair at the person who'd stumbled into me. He collapsed onto the floor, motionless. His aggressor eyed me, undecided between gratitude and hostility. Still holding a chair leg, I raised it, anticipating his move. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I felt an ominous chill at the back of my neck.

"We don't tolerate brawls here, kid," a voice sounded near my right ear. My adrenaline levels were soaring, and I was seconds away from swiveling around to land a blow, despite the knife at my back. But my self-training intervened, and I found myself responding calmly, "My sincere apologies, sir. I assure you, it won't repeat." I lowered my arm, letting the chair leg drop. Arguing my case to the knife-wielding man seemed futile. If he hadn't seen the incident unfold, explaining it would be pointless. And even if he did witness it, the blame would invariably fall on the Terran involved. I held my ground.

The chilling sensation of the knife on my neck eventually lifted.

"You're right," the voice asserted. "It won't happen again. Leave, and don't return."

I offered a single nod in response. Leaving my cash on the table, I exited without a backward glance.

The events of the evening lingered in my thoughts as I walked home. I found myself regretting my actions; I should never have lashed out. Fear had taken the reins, leading to an impulsive reaction - this was unacceptable.

Climbing the steps to my apartment, the old dilemma resurfaced: What would my future hold? I had left almost a gold Imperial's worth on that table, equivalent to half a week's rent. It seemed my only skills were Sorcery and the ability to fend off Imperions - neither of which had a great market demand.

Entering my apartment, I slumped onto the couch. Seeking comfort, I reached for the egg, but froze upon spotting a tiny crack. Presumably, it happened when I bumped into the table, even though I thought the egg had remained unscathed.

That moment, at the age of sixteen, I truly understood anger. A wave of white-hot fury coursed through me as I recalled the Imperion who had instigated the chain of events leading to my egg's damage. I felt a dangerous urge to hunt him down, to end his life.

Convinced of his imminent doom, I rose and moved towards the door, clutching the egg.

Then I paused.

Something felt off. A peculiar sensation, hard to define, cut through my rage. What was it? I glanced at the egg and then it dawned on me, with a rush of relief.

Unbeknownst to me, I had developed a psionic connection with the creature within the egg. I was picking up on its emotions, which meant my Vorgan was still alive.

As swiftly as it had flared up, the anger drained from me, leaving me shaky. I returned to the center of the room, placing the egg gently on the floor.

Probing this link, I discerned the emotion emanating from it: sheer determination. The intensity of focus startled me; such a tiny creature manifesting such a potent feeling.

I retreated a few steps, instinctively providing it "space", and observed. I could barely make out a "tap, tap" sound, and the crack widened. Then, all at once, the egg burst open, revealing a small winged fox amid the shell fragments.

Its wings were tightly pressed against its body, eyes shut. The wings were no larger than my thumb.

The creature - No, I corrected myself. He tried to move, but couldn't. His eyes opened but didn't seem to focus on anything. His head lay on the floor, his movements feeble.

I tapped into our connection and sensed confusion and a hint of fear. I tried sending back feelings of warmth and safety. Gradually, I approached and reached out to him.

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