Alex felt it throughout his whole body — an energy that hadn't been there before, something warm and vast that didn't feel like anything he had a word for. Not the warmth of a fire. Older than that. Quieter.
Slowly, the realization of what had just happened settled over him. A cruel smile broke across his face.
"Come on. Why are you scared now?"
The Walker hadn't moved. It stood exactly where it had been, those hollow sockets fixed on him, as if taking a single step forward would seal its fate and some part of it understood that.
It didn't seem nearly as large as it had a moment ago. Alex wasn't sure if that was the power or just the fear leaving him, but either way the thing that had nearly ended his life looked smaller now, diminished. He understood, for the first time, why faction members called Walkers routine. It was all clicking into place.
If every miserable year of his life had been leading to this moment, he would live them all again without hesitation. He had never felt anything like this.
He looked up at the sky, the smile still on his face.
"Thank you."
He brought his eyes back down to the Walker and began moving toward it slowly, testing it. The Walker retreated, one careful step for each of his, but Alex was gaining ground and they both knew it.
There was one problem.
He had no idea how to use any of this. The energy was there — he could feel it sitting in him like something waiting — but feeling it and using it were entirely different things. What was the point of having it if he couldn't do anything with it?
As if sensing the shift in his focus, the Walker abruptly stopped. Alex, mid-thought, didn't register it fast enough. He took one step too many, closing into its range without meaning to.
He caught himself — but the clawed hand was already swinging.
He threw himself back but not far enough. The claws caught him across the ribs, and a searing pain tore through his side, sharp and burning, like the cuts themselves were on fire. He hit the wall and steadied himself, teeth gritting, almost back where he had started.
How do I kill this thing.
He pressed a hand against his ribs and thought. Getting close was the only option — he couldn't strike from range, didn't know how, and something in him said a punch was the way. He didn't know where the certainty came from. He trusted it anyway.
Then an idea came to him.
The smile returned.
"Might as well."
He approached the Walker the same way he had before. It retreated, just like before. He let it think the pattern would hold.
Then it stopped.
This time Alex was ready. The clawed hand swung at his face and he twisted right, letting it pass close enough to feel the air move, and instead of landing he planted both feet flat against the wall. For a half second, he was nearly parallel to the ground. Then he drove himself off it — straight at the Walker, low and direct, while it was still off-balance from the swing.
He channeled everything he could feel into his right fist. All of it — every bit of that warm, vast energy coiled in his body — compressed into the point of impact as he drove his fist into the center of the Walker's chest.
There was a flash of light. Brief and cold, gone almost before it registered.
In the same instant, his hand felt like he had plunged it into the surface of a star. Not pain exactly — something beyond pain, a heat so total it had no edge to it.
His fist passed through the Walker like it was made of nothing.
He stood there on the other side of it, arm extended, breathing hard. The Walker stayed upright for a moment longer than made sense. Then it collapsed forward — directly onto him.
He shoved it off and stepped back, staring down at what was left of it.
There was a clean hole straight through the center of the Walker's chest. No blood — just ash, as if that was all it had ever been made of.
Alex stared at the body on the ground, half expecting it to get back up. It didn't.
Eventually he walked out of the alley, doing his best to look like nothing had happened. His ribs weren't making it easy. They weren't bleeding but hurt badly enough that each step reminded him they were there — the burning sensation hadn't fully faded, and his shirt was torn clean where the claws had caught him.
He looked down at it and sighed.
"Great. My only shirt."
He found a small park not far from the alley and dropped onto a bench, letting his body rest for the first time all night. After a moment, a question surfaced.
How do I view my Codex?
A Codex was something only an Awakened had. He was Awakened now — so it had to work, didn't it?
He felt faintly ridiculous as he said it out loud.
"Codex."
A panel of pale light appeared in front of him, unhurried, as if it had always been there and was only now choosing to show itself. It was white — not blinding, more like moonlight given shape. Translucent enough that he could see the park through it if he focused, but solid enough that the text forming across its surface was perfectly clear. No light bled from the edges. It simply existed, quiet and precise, visible only to him.
He had heard rough descriptions of Codex's growing up. He had never once expected to have his own. He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary before he started reading.
[Name: Alexander Starr]
[Affinity: Star]
[Aspect: Unknown]
[Imprints: 1]
[Titles: None]
[Relics: None]
He had never heard of anyone with a Star affinity. He focused on it and the panel shifted, a description filling in beneath the entry.
The light of dying stars — cold, vast, and patient. Records of this affinity are scarce. What little exists has been lost to time.
"Huh."
He wasn't sure what to make of that. It seemed like he was the only one to have carried this affinity — or at least the only one in a very long time. He wasn't sure how he felt about that yet.
He moved on to his Aspect.
[Aspect: Unknown]
He turned the word over in his head, trying to remember what he knew about Aspects. They weren't the affinity itself — they were the expression of it, the specific angle through which the power moved. Two people with the same affinity could have entirely different Aspects, which meant entirely different ways of fighting. It was what made each Codex user distinct.
So what did Unknown mean for him? That he couldn't use his affinity at all? Or that Star simply didn't have one — that it had no fixed expression, no defined limit? He found himself hoping it was the latter. A Star affinity with no locked Aspect would make him one of the most versatile fighters in The Dominion, in theory.
He looked back at the panel.
[Imprints: 1]
One. The Walker. Imprints were how growth worked — each monster killed strengthened the affinity and sharpened its control. The more you accumulated, the stronger you became.
He skimmed past Titles for now. He knew the broad shape of how they worked — each affinity had a pinnacle title waiting for the right person, something like God of Flame or God of Lightning. Whoever earned that title gained a mastery of their affinity that nothing else could replicate. He didn't let himself think too hard about what God of Star would mean.
He looked at the last entry.
[Relics: None]
He had never heard of relics. It wasn't something he remembered from anything he'd been told growing up. Recently discovered, maybe. He filed it away — he'd find out eventually.
He closed the Codex and leaned back on the bench, staring up at nothing in particular.
The real question was what he did next. A faction would want to know about him — Awakenings weren't common, and an affinity nobody recognized would draw attention fast. Part of him recoiled at the idea of handing himself over to an institution that had never once acknowledged he existed.
"Why should they get to have me?"
He sat with that for a moment. Then, reluctantly, he thought it through properly.
He could keep going alone — hunting Walkers, accumulating Imprints, figuring out his power by trial and error. It would work, slowly. Or he could leave The Dominion entirely, head beyond the mountains, see what was actually out there. The thought pulled at something in him the way it always did.
He pushed it back down. Not yet.
A faction meant warm food. A place to sleep that wasn't a bench or a pile of crates. It meant training under people who actually knew what they were doing — a captain, maybe, the strongest fighters the Dominion had. His combat instincts had gotten him through tonight, barely, with a Walker that faction members handled before breakfast. He needed more than instinct.
He could always leave if it got bad enough. The door didn't close just because he walked through it.
That thought settled something in him.
"Joining a faction it is."
He closed his eyes and let himself rest for the first time in what felt like a very long night.