When they touched down, Simma clambered down from Goody's back.

First, he looked at himself as he heaved a sigh. He felt heavy, so heavy, as though he carried the weight of the world.

First, there was his curse, which he had no idea how to amend, no clue how to seek redemption for what he had broken. Second, his parents' death, he somehow knew the murderer was still alive and might even be nearby, close enough to be watching him.

And that same person seemed to want him dead. The masks he had seen on their faces matched the one Draco had worn when he attacked him during the Wood Hint Tournament.

"It can't be Draco. No, it can't be him. Maybe he was manipulated… or poisoned to kill me."

He heaved another sigh. He had failed to kill and take vengeance for Sonja.

And now… now…

He wasn't leveling up.

"What is wrong? I should be leveling up!"

He shook himself, flexing and stretching his body, but nothing happened. Then, closing his eyes, he tapped gently into his core sigil.

======

[Total kernel evolved: 174]

[You absorbed 58]

[Zelihuth O'Connor:]

[Kernel essence: 82/100 (+58)]

[Soul core aspect: Blue]

[Azren rank: Fluxborn]

======

"I don't understand. I thought the max-out was fifty kernels. Why am I seeing a hundred? And I evolved 174 kernels yet I merely absorbed sixty?"

He pondered, confused. But as if his core sigil sensed his state, it spoke again, its words inscribed into his mind.

=======

[Core Trait: Ascendant "Reveal"]

=======

Without thinking twice, he focused on "Reveal," and the words expanded.

=======

[An Ascendant Core Trait takes more energy and needs more of that same energy to rejuvenate an Azren. For that, an Ascendant has to absorb 100 kernels to energize its soul core.]

[Appraisal: You have leveled up your Maltheron "Mr. Paws"]

[Kernels absorbed by Maltheron 58/50 / "Next level-up is at /100: (8/100")]

[Shadow-walking affinity increased]

[Shadow-blending velocity increased]

[Strength, agility and ferocity increased]

[Inner Beast Kernel: 58/100 (+58)]

=======

Just then, Simma understood. Out of the 174 kernels he evolved from the Singriths, the energy had been split between his Inner Beast and his Maltheron.

Nodding in understanding, he turned to Goody and rubbed his hand over his scaled snout.

"You did well today, buddy."

Goody blinked heavily, and slowly, he faded.

Simma exhaled and, with slithering steps, walked toward the elevator to head back inside the tower.

Ding.

The elevator chimed and Simma stepped out of it, heading directly to the newly recruited wing.

But on getting there, everywhere was empty.

"Fuck, where did they go this time?" he muttered as he made for his room.

Wherever they were, he needed to freshen up before joining them and also take off the clothes he was wearing since he was completely a mess.

He strode to the door of his room and ignorantly shoved his key into the lock, but it didn't respond.

"What is this?" he asked as he looked at his key. It was the same golden key he had been using.

Maybe he hadn't tried it well. He shoved it back, but yet the door stood there, stubborn.

Simma lost it and slammed his hand on the door angrily, his breath rising and falling.

But then he looked at the place his hand had hit.

His name should have been there, a bold "Simma" written in golden italics with a little dragon drawn beneath it.

He squinted.

"What?" he barked. "Was I expelled because I went against Zolomon, who said I shouldn't fight the Singrith, or what?"

He moved over to the neighboring door and felt a bit relieved, his name was there no more as well.

So also throughout the whole wing their names were off their doors, and this only meant one thing: since they were now Azren...

"We've been assigned to the Fluxborn sleeping wing."

With a smile on his face; one that washed away his worry for a while, he turned and headed out of the place, going to search for their new sleeping wing.

He took a left turn into a winding corridor and headed straight until he reached the end, which branched like a T into two directions. Taking another left, he found himself at a clear space ahead of a hallway with an entrance that said Xenon. The place was buzzing and loud with both male and female Azrens filing to and fro along the hallway.

"Maybe since Xenon is on this floor, maybe Fluxborn will be below it."

Then, taking his right, he entered an elevator that was there and moved down.

With a chime, the elevator opened and he slipped out of it.

He reached another space similar to the one above. Ahead was a hallway, but unlike the one above, this one read Fluxborn, and unlike the one above again, the place was empty, no sign of a Fluxborn.

A smile flitted on his face as he walked into the hallway. Both walls flanking him were lined with doors, and on those doors were the normal golden italic letters their names were written in. They were arranged alphabetically.

But then the smile left as he wondered where everyone was.

As he passed the door that held Draco's name, he paused for a while. His heart throbbed and he clenched his fist.

He wanted so badly to go in there and kill him.

But no, he couldn't. He was still a mess and he needed to calm his nerves first, then meet him to talk, not to kill.

He was about to walk past when he heard a muffled sound coming from within the room.

He felt the urge to eavesdrop. Maybe they were talking about him; how Draco had attacked and tried to kill him during the tournament.

But...

"Come off it," he said to himself. "Stop being paranoid, Zelihuth."

He sighed. Maybe Draco was there with his three jerks of friends. No big deal.

He made to walk away but then he heard another muffle, but this one sounded clearer.

"Only one job… and yet fluresdiserrt…"

Well, he didn't hear the last word or maybe statement clearly. He heard it as "fluresdiserrt" and it made no sense.

But the ones he heard clearly made him press his ears to the door.

Crouching there quietly so as not to make any sound or make the door creak, he listened.

Because the hallway was empty for a reason Simma was yet to find out, he heard the discussion inside—not very clearly, but he paid utmost attention.

"…he is not to know. No one is."

Simma blinked. Where had he heard that voice before? The fact that it was coming out not so clearly made him unable to place it, but it still sounded very familiar.

"…the day someone knows, Draco… will mark your end because I will know. Yes, I will know once you tell anyone."

Simma just wished he knew the rest of their talk—and also maybe he could see the person Draco was talking with. Maybe that was the person he should suspect as the one who manipulated Draco to kill him.

"Of course it should be a manipulation," he said to his doubting subconsciousness.

He was threatening Draco not to tell anyone something. Who knew what it was?

But Simma was cut off from his thoughts when he heard:

"…have a good day, Draco."

That statement meant one thing:

"He is about to come out," Simma pondered. He should not allow himself to be seen when the man came out.

Quickly he hastened to the next door as fast and as quietly as he could and hid there, back against the door, flattening himself on it.

The corridor had recessed doorways; the kind where each door is set back in a little alcove instead of being flush with the wall. These little square alcoves were deep enough to let someone stand inside, hidden in the shadow, if they pressed themselves flat. That was where Simma slipped now, invisible unless someone looked closely.

When the man came out and looked around, he saw no one. Then he started walking away, away from the hallway.

Simma peeked from where he hid but he could only make out the man's back and the white robe he wore before he disappeared toward the elevator.

Simma breathed out.

"That was a close one," he muttered.

As he walked down the hallway in search of his door, which should be way down since his name fell under "S", his key materialized into his palm.

But it was as though he didn't even care or look surprised because a bigger thought was inside his head.

The man he had seen wore a white robe, the type normally worn by White Elders and Sentinels, and the way he spoke to Draco was terrible, like a blackmail or even an evil mind.

And since the man, whether a White Elder or Sentinel, chose the time when everyone was not around to shout at Draco, that meant it was something secret and indeed evil. Not because maybe Draco had faltered or done something wrong. If so, he should have come when everyone was around and not hide in shadows. And that left Simma with more questions.

"Why would a White Elder or a Sentinel threaten Draco…? Something is wrong."

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