It wasn't that they failed to notice the stares or couldn't feel the weight of judgment pressing down on them. They could—very clearly. Adrian simply chose not to let it bother him.

  That was largely thanks to Carrera.

  With her there, the murmurs faded into background noise, dull and powerless. As long as she walked beside him, the rest of the world felt distant, irrelevant.

  Before long, they arrived at her house.

  Carrera's father was a traveling peddler whose work kept him stationed in the great city of Dallas. If he had attempted to establish his business in the town instead, Adrian knew exactly what would have happened. The people of Degan would have destroyed his livelihood without hesitation—simply because his daughter openly associated with a half-blood.

  They stopped in front of the modest stone house.

  "Here we are," Adrian said. "Can you get off me now?"

  Carrera hesitated before sliding down from his back. "The ride home was fun," she remarked casually.

  Of course it was, Adrian thought. She wasn't the one doing the walking—or the carrying.

  Still… he wasn't complaining.

  "And my latest edition of Crusader Elliott?" Adrian reminded her pointedly.

  "Oh, right. That." She smiled. "Follow me."

  Carrera led him inside. The building was a clear reflection of ancient European architecture, much like the rest of Degan. Stone walls, wooden beams, narrow corridors—everything about the town was rooted in the medieval age.

  "Mom? Dad?" she called as soon as they entered.

  There was no response.

  "Come on up," she said. "It's in my room."

  Adrian hesitated at the base of the stairs, briefly surveying the living space before following her upward. He moved carefully, as though he were somewhere he didn't quite belong.

  Carrera's room immediately reflected her personality. It was tidy, orderly, and neatly arranged—one of the few places in town where Adrian felt no sense of disorder or unease.

  She hurried to her bed, where the article had been placed neatly on top of the covers. Picking it up, she turned and held it out to him.

  "Here it is," she said. "Your precious article on Crusader Elliott."

  Adrian rushed forward and swiped it from her hands without ceremony. He dropped onto the edge of her bed and began flipping through the pages with eager focus.

  The cover page displayed a striking image.

  A broad-shouldered man with blonde hair stood proudly, a sheathed sword resting against the ground at his side. His faint yellowish pupils—barely noticeable—hinted at something more beneath the surface. He wore an intricate robe that emphasized his powerful, well-built frame.

  Crusader Elliott.

  The strongest human in all of Aldrion.

  And yet, he was not a full-blooded human.

  Like Adrian, Elliott was a half-blood. Unlike Adrian, his inhuman lineage stemmed from ancient Elven blood, evident in the long, pointed ears that marked his heritage.

  Adrian admired him deeply—not just for his strength, but for what he represented. Crusader Elliott was one of the very few half-bloods to rise through the ranks of the Crusader organization. More than that, he had reached the highest echelon, earning the title of Legend.

  A symbol of hope.

  Sitting quietly beside Adrian, Carrera watched him pore over the article, her presence seemingly forgotten. Her expression grew troubled as his attention remained entirely fixed on the pages in his hands.

  She debated with herself, uncertainty knotting her chest. She wanted to tell him—but the fear of his reaction made her hesitate.

  "Listen to this, Carrera!" Adrian suddenly exclaimed, excitement lighting up his voice as he turned toward her. "It says here that Elliott single-handedly fought and slayed a Chimera!"

  His eyes gleamed as he read.

  Chimeras were among the most dangerous creatures known to exist. They varied in size and strength—smaller ones required at least five average-ranked Crusaders to defeat, while larger variants were considered catastrophic threats. A fully grown Chimera could wipe out a town of hundreds without effort.

  Their regenerative abilities made them especially difficult to kill.

  But for a Legend-ranked Crusader like Elliott, even a Chimera was no match.

  Adrian's admiration deepened further.

  "I can't wait to awaken," he muttered, flipping the page as he neared the end of the article. "When I do—tomorrow—my first goal will be to journey to Edagon, the capital city, and enlist as a Crusader. And one day…" He clenched his fist tightly. "I'll fight alongside Crusader Elliott."

  He raised his fist into the air, sealing the promise in his heart.

  Carrera felt sick.

  "You won't be awakening tomorrow, Adrian."

  The words burst out of her before she could stop them.

  She shut her eyes as if bracing for impact.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Carrera had tried—but she couldn't bring herself to lie to him. Not about this.

  Adrian stared at her, stunned. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "Why wouldn't I awaken tomorrow?"

  The awakening ceremony was sacred. When a child turned thirteen, they gathered in the town square to awaken their soul core—the astral connection to the land itself. Everyone possessed this connection in theory, but only a minority had enough resonance to harness the land's energy.

  Those few became something more.

  Adrian had never doubted he would be among them.

  So her words made no sense.

  Carrera took a deep breath, pushing aside her hesitation. "When my dad came back yesterday," she said slowly, "I told him about the awakening ceremony—for you and me."

  She paused, struggling to continue.

  "Car…" Adrian urged.

  "He explained some things to me," she continued, forcing the words out. "He said that half-blooded humans don't awaken a soul core. That it's impossible."

  "That's a lie!" Adrian snapped, rising to his feet. "Crusader Elliott is a half-blood like me—and he awakened."

  Carrera met his gaze, her eyes heavy. "Elliott's human side is dominant. That's why he awakened." She swallowed hard. "But you're different, Adrian. Your Demi-kin side is stronger than your human side. That means you're more Demi-kin than human."

  "Lies," Adrian said harshly. "You're lying."

  He turned and stormed toward the door.

  "Adrian, wait!" Carrera called, chasing after him. "Where are you going?"

  "To my aunt," he said without slowing. "If there's anyone who can clear up your misconception, it's Aunt Mira."

  And with that, he was gone.

  Chapter Six: What It Means to Be Both

  What did Carrera mean by saying his Demi-kin side was superior?

  Adrian had never heard of such a thing.

  He was a hybrid—a half-blood. Not one thing, yet not two separate beings either. He existed in between. Neither fully human nor fully Demi-kin, but both at the same time.

  That was what it meant to be a hybrid.

  Each race in the world possessed traits unique to them, defining their place within the natural order. Elves were gifted with the ability to commune with spirits, their affinity for the unseen world unmatched. Dwarves were unparalleled craftsmen, capable of forging weapons and armor so deadly and precise they were said to carry the soul of their maker. The Iliodians ruled the waters, creatures born of the sea with extraordinary aquatic abilities that no land-dweller could hope to rival.

  The Demi-kin, however, stood apart even from them.

  They possessed raw physical might—strength so overwhelming it surpassed the combined prowess of the other races. Their bodies were weapons, honed by nature itself.

  And humans?

  Humans awakened.

  Their power lay not in muscle or bloodline, but in the soul core. The awakening marked their connection to the land, the invisible thread that allowed them to draw upon the world's energy and wield it as their own.

  Adrian possessed the physical might of the Demi-kin. That much was undeniable. He had lived with it his entire life, felt it in every step he took, every weight he lifted, every blow he struck.

  So why wouldn't he also inherit the human gift?

  Why wouldn't he awaken?

  That was what being a hybrid meant. Having both. Carrying two legacies instead of one.

  That was what made him special.

  That was what Aunt Mira had always told him.

  Adrian refused to believe otherwise. Not until he heard it directly from Aunt Mira herself. Until then, Carrera's words were nothing more than a fable—an unfounded claim meant to frustrate him, even if she hadn't intended it that way.

  He rushed back home without slowing, his pace sharp and urgent. Carrera followed closely behind him, refusing to let him go alone.

  His home sat at the edge of Degan, isolated from the rest of the town. A four-room wooden cabin tucked away in a secluded stretch of land, with no other residences nearby. It was quiet there—peaceful, even. Usually.

  Adrian stormed inside.

  "Aunt Mira!" he shouted the moment his foot crossed the threshold.

  She appeared almost immediately, stepping out from the corner of the cabin, startled by the volume of his voice. "Adrian? You're back already."

  "Adrian," Carrera said softly, entering just behind him.

  He turned briefly to look at her, disappointment flickering across his face, before shifting his attention back to Aunt Mira. She was already watching him closely, her sharp gaze telling him she sensed something was wrong.

  "I need you to be honest with me," Adrian said.

  The sudden seriousness in his voice caught her off guard. "O–Okay…" she replied, drawing out the word cautiously.

  "Is it true that I won't be able to awaken tomorrow?"

  "Who told you that?" Aunt Mira asked.

  Even as she spoke, her eyes moved to Carrera standing behind Adrian. The girl's head was lowered, her gaze fixed on the floor, shame written clearly across her posture.

  "So it's true," Adrian said quietly. "I can't awaken because I'm half-blooded—with a stronger inclination toward my Demi-kin side."

  He scoffed, though the sound came late, as if his mind had struggled to keep up with the weight of the realization. The truth—or what he believed to be the truth—settled heavily in his chest.

  Aunt Mira stepped closer, her expression softening as she leaned toward him. "Adrian, it's not—"

  "No," he interrupted, taking a step back. "I understand it now."

  He forced a hollow smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not human. Only humans awaken. And I'm not one. So of course I wouldn't awaken. Honestly…" He let out a dry breath. "What was I even thinking?"

  He spoke as though he were explaining something trivial, as though this revelation meant nothing. As though it didn't shatter the future he had envisioned for himself.

  The room fell silent.

  Neither Aunt Mira nor Carrera knew what to say. They watched him, unsure of what was passing through his mind, unable to tell whether he was calm—or on the verge of breaking.

  "I'm going to train," Adrian said at last. "I think I need to work on my sword skills even more."

  He walked past Carrera, brushing by her as she stood frozen in his path, and exited the cabin without another word.

  Training had always been his refuge. Whenever things became too heavy, whenever thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, he swung his sword. Movement dulled emotion. Repetition quieted the mind.

  He walked through the town streets with an even stride, his face carefully composed. No one needed to see what he was feeling.

  Showing weakness—showing sadness—was the last thing Adrian wanted. The people of Degan would revel in it. They would smile behind his back, whisper with satisfaction.

  He wouldn't give them that pleasure.

  He passed through the town gate and headed straight for the woods bordering Degan. The familiar scent of earth and leaves greeted him as he ventured inside. There, he found a sturdy tree and took his stance, gripping his wooden sword tightly.

  He swung.

  Again.

  And again.

  The blade struck the bark with sharp, hollow thuds as he poured his frustration into every movement. He focused on his form, his breathing, the motion of his arms—anything to drown out the thoughts clawing at his mind.

  He understood.

  He truly did.

  There were laws to the world, rules written into nature itself. The five races were different for a reason. Each possessed a unique way of tapping into the forces that governed existence.

  Humans awakened.

  If he was more Demi-kin than human, then it made sense that he couldn't do what humans could.

  That was logic.

  That was truth.

  Adrian struck the tree harder. Each swing grew fiercer, more reckless, until control slipped away entirely.

  "Argh!" he shouted.

  He attacked the tree relentlessly, blow after blow landing in the same spot. Bark chipped away, splintering under the assault, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

  Then—his next swing never landed.

  A hand caught the tip of the wooden sword mid-motion.

  Adrian froze.

  Aunt Mira stood behind him, gripping the blade firmly, her expression calm but resolute. "I don't think the poor tree deserves such harsh treatment," she said gently. "Wouldn't you agree?"

  Adrian didn't look at her. His eyes remained fixed on the damaged bark, now scarred and broken where he had struck it repeatedly.

  "I'm frustrated," he admitted quietly, lowering his gaze to his palms. They were sore, reddened from gripping the sword too tightly.

  "I know," Aunt Mira replied.

  She didn't release the sword even after Adrian let go.

  "I'm angry," he said, his voice tightening.

  "You should be."

  A dry chuckle escaped him as he finally looked up at her. She stood nearly a foot taller than him, her presence steady and unyielding. "Tell me, Aunt Mira," he asked, "what should I do?"

  She was silent for a moment.

  Then she knelt before him, lowering herself until they were eye level. Her gaze met his, unwavering.

  "What do you wish to do?"