At night, Mira and Lucia left. Silently, like shadows, they melted into the forest and didn't return by morning, nor the day after. It seems ancient entities have their own migration schedules, and I'm not penciled in.

  The next morning, Tizor approached me. In his small hands was a crumpled envelope.

  — Elvindor asked me to give this to you when he was gone, — the little guy looked at me seriously, waiting for a reaction.

  I opened the letter. The old man's handwriting was uneven but confident.

  "Zenhald, the era of mages has ended. You are the last who will remind this world of the times when magic was as natural as breathing. Do not let this fire go out before its time."

  I read to the end, and a flame spontaneously ignited at my fingertips. The paper instantly blackened and crumbled to ash.

  — Fine, whatever, — I muttered, brushing off my hands. — Eras come and go. Mine's stuck on repeat, and it's no big deal.

  I sat on the sofa and fell into a heavy, suffocating sleep.

  A month passed. July hit with a heatwave, but for me, it brought something much worse than the sweltering heat. My teeth started to itch. And my bones.

  It wasn't an ordinary itch, but an unbearable, maddening desire to gnaw on something. To crush something. To clench my jaws until something cracked. My arms and legs twisted; the mana inside me thickened, demanding release through physical violence against objects.

  At dinner, when my plate was empty, I caught myself shoving a heavy iron spoon into my mouth.

  CRUNCH.

  The metal crumpled like cardboard. I methodically chewed the spoon, feeling the itch recede for a moment.

  — Zenhald... are you eating a spoon? — Alastor asked.

  I didn't answer. I bit everything: doorframes, table legs, dry branches in the garden. I needed to break bones, tear tendons. On walks, I stopped going around obstacles—I just smashed through them. In a month, I went to town five times for new clothes because the old ones simply burst on me with every sudden movement.

  Another week passed, and the situation finally spiraled out of control. I turned into a wild beast.

  At night, I went into the forest. I no longer used magic to get food—I needed to feel the resistance of flesh. I tore into the throats of deer, tasting hot blood, broke spines with my bare hands, ripped muscles with my teeth. The itch in my gums demanded sacrifices.

  Alastor and Aya watched me with mounting horror. I would return at dawn, covered in blood, with a crazed look in my eyes and tufts of fur on my jacket.

  — Greg... what is happening to you? — Aya asked.

  I looked at her. One of my eyes was completely black, and the other... the other pulsed with a toxic red light.

  — Nothing, — I rasped, wiping my mouth. — There will be some changes soon.

  That month turned into one endless torture. The itch in my gums became the background noise of my life, obsessive and merciless. But that was only the beginning. Another timer in my body clicked, triggering the process I hated the most.

  My teeth... they began to change. There were no more flat "human" incisors. Instead, sharp, triangular fangs pushed through my gums. I looked like a cross between a shark, a wolf, and a bear all at once. The moment I closed my mouth, I could feel them cutting the insides of my cheeks.

  I ate. Constantly. And I couldn't get full. Ordinary food flew right through me, leaving no trace of satiety.

  — Zenhald... — Alastor stopped in the doorway of the dining room, watching me grind sheep bones with my jaws. — Are you okay? Your teeth... they scare even me.

  He took a step back.

  — And not just your teeth. Your hair... The black color is fading. It's turning crimson, like a fresh wound. And your eye...

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I walked over to the mirror. My right eye—my Void—had begun to fill with a thick scarlet color. Now I looked like a legitimate member of the royal family, only with a very bad temper and the jaw of a serial killer.

  — Zen, you're scaring us, — Yara said quietly.

  — Deal with it, — I growled, and the sound came out more like a bark. — It'll pass soon. Probably.

  The next day, the process accelerated. The red color claimed my hair in whole strands. The itch became so unbearable that I went out into the yard, grabbed my musket, and without overthinking it, shoved the barrel into my mouth.

  BANG!

  The shot echoed right inside my head. The bullet, colliding with my new teeth, simply deformed into a pancake and flew back out. My jaw didn't even flinch. My irritation reached its peak—I just jammed my hand into my mouth, grabbed one of the most aching teeth, and ripped it out by the root.

  CRUNCH.

  In its place, instantly, with a whistle and sparks of mana, a new one grew. Just as sharp.

  — THIS IS SO ANNOYING! — I yelled at the sky.

  I picked up a thick oak branch and started chewing it relentlessly, like a rabid dog. It helped distract me from the internal fire for at least a couple of minutes.

  Summer ended, leaving behind scorched earth and my new reflection. My hair had become completely red—bright as blood. Both eyes burned with a scarlet flame. My teeth had permanently set into a predator's shape.

  I sat on the porch, watching the birds fly away, and methodically gnawed on another piece of wood.

  — Same thing every time, — I muttered, spitting out splinters.

  Autumn. The kids were sent back to the Academy, and the house once again plunged into a businesslike silence. The itch in my teeth finally began to subside, but something worse remained. My bones still itched.

  It felt as if too much power was locked inside my skeleton, cramped within these boundaries. I would go out into the yard and just hurl magic in all directions: summon gusts of wind, erect walls of fire, shatter rocks. I waged war with imaginary armies in my head, just to make my bones stop aching. I wanted to break all my own bones.

  In mid-September, a carriage rolled up to the gates. Aya came up to me on the second floor.

  — Zenhald, you have... old acquaintances here. And you know, — she squinted suspiciously, — they look like they're from the same litter as you.

  I stepped out onto the porch. Standing on the path were Alexia, Lianel, and Draconite. They smiled when they saw me, and Alexia had already opened her arms for a hug, but I took a sharp step back.

  — Distance, — I held up a palm. — I'm not a little boy anymore to be squeezed.

  Lianel stared at my red hair and scarlet eyes.

  — Greg? Did you... dye your hair? And transform your eyes?

  — Yep, — I lied without batting an eye. — Decided to change my image.

  — Now you really are indistinguishable from us, — Lianel muttered.

  Alexia smiled softly, ignoring my prickliness.

  — May we come in?

  I looked at Aya, who just threw her hands up, as if to say, your guests—you deal with them.

  — Come on in, why not.

  I shook hands with Draconite. He looked at me somewhat strangely—half with caution, half with respect. We sat down at the table, and then my gaze fell on their hands.

  I froze.

  — Is that... A WEDDING RING?! — My yell probably shook the chandelier. — You got married?! And you too, Lianel?!

  — Draconite and I registered right after graduation, — Alexia replied calmly.

  — And I married Alphus, — Lianel added, a shadow of tenderness flashing across her face for a second.

  — WHAAAT?! — I nearly fell off my chair. — What about Anna?

  — Anna is with Cael.

  I sat there, blinking.

  — What the... how?! Did I miss a whole season of this soap opera?

  I crossed my arms over my chest, offended.

  — And you didn't even invite me to the weddings. Very nice, I must say.

  — Greg, we were actually looking for you! — Alexia exclaimed. — Alastia told us someone dragged you away, and you didn't even resist. By the way, she is still wildly offended at you. Thinks you're a traitor.

  Alexia stood behind me and, out of old habit, reached out to pat me on the head.

  SLAP.

  I swatted her hand away backhandedly.

  — Don't.

  She frowned and tried again, sharper this time.

  — I said—don't!

  When her fingers almost touched the crown of my head, my hair flared up with real, furious flame. Alexia barely had time to pull her hand back, crying out in fright.

  — I warned you, — I said, extinguishing the fire. — I'm not in the mood for affection right now.

  Then Draconite stepped up. Silently, he placed his heavy palm on my head. The hair under his fingers hissed and caught fire again, but he didn't care—his scales withstood the heat.

  For a second, I felt my consciousness swimming, and I started to fall asleep... I seized control of my body and threw his hand off.

  — DON'T TOUCH ME!

  Draconite stepped back, thoughtfully examining his fingers.

  — Now I understand how the girls felt, — he said.

  We spent the next few hours talking. They talked about Ryan—the little guy is now studying at the Academy too, terrorizing the teachers with his "living sword." About Anna, who was accepted into some elite knightly order. About Alphus, who now helps his father manage their lands and has become suspiciously serious.

  — And also... those mannequins you made, — Lianel sighed. — They completely broke down. Started spouting some nonsense about "clay freedom" and then just crumbled to dust. We had to throw them out.

  — You all have such eventful lives, — I summarized. — And me... a little bit of this, a little bit of that, things spun around, and here I am. Everything is stable.

  Lianel looked at me doubtfully but didn't press the issue. Alastor walked in, and they exchanged polite greetings.

  — This is Alastor, my Aunt Aya's husband, — I introduced the demon.

  Alexia stood up and looked me straight in the eye.

  — Greg. We need to talk. Without extra ears around.

  I sighed, feeling my bones starting to itch again.

  — Fine. Let's go out to the yard.