A few hours later, Wynne finally stirred.

  When his eyes opened, he found himself surrounded — medics, knights, apprentices — all watching him with a mixture of awe and quiet fear. The air felt thick, as if no one dared breathe too loudly.

  Harven rushed to his side the moment Wynne shifted.

  “Wynne! Are you okay? What happened?”

  Wynne didn’t answer immediately.

  His gaze slid across the room…

  stopped on Reid…

  and in that instant, something flickered in his eyes.

  Fear.

  Raw, instinctive fear — quickly strangled and covered by an exhausted smile.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Wynne said lightly, waving a shaky hand. “I must’ve fainted from overworking myself. Long day. I guess age is catching up to me.”

  But even through the forced smile, his fingers trembled.

  Harven narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure, Wynne?”

  “Of course.” Wynne forced out a chuckle. “Nothing happened.”

  Harven hesitated, then asked quietly, “So… what did you see inside Reid?”

  Wynne’s breath hitched.

  His answer came too fast.

  “Oh—nothing. Nothing unusual.”

  He stopped himself, swallowed hard, calmed his breathing, and continued with a slower, steadier voice:

  “The beast inside Reid is a Bulgog.”

  Reid blinked. “A… Bulgog? What’s that?”

  Wynne folded his hands together, forcing his smile to stay in place.

  “A feline beast. Extinct now. They were incredibly fast — faster than cheetahs — and their strength rivaled that of the strongest jaguars. Agile, brutal, relentless. Very rare.”

  He paused. “It means you have quite the power in you, Reid.”

  His voice sounded proud.

  But his heartbeat thrashed in his chest.

  And nobody noticed.

  Harven studied Wynne carefully — the tone, the too-easy smile, the trembling fingers. Then he straightened.

  “Well… you seem tired. Let’s give you some rest, Sir Wynne. Excuse us.”

  Harven gently pushed Reid toward the exit.

  As they left the room, Wynne kept his eyes fixed on Reid’s back…

  watching him as one might watch a sleeping beast through the bars of a cage.

  Harven glanced at Reid’s arms and neck as they walked down the hall.

  Not a bruise.

  Not a scratch.

  Nothing but clean skin.

  “You heal fast, Reid,” Harven said, trying to sound casual — though there was a thread of wonder in his voice.

  Reid shrugged lightly. “Yeah. I was always like this.”

  “Well, it’s a good trait,” Harven replied, rubbing his chin. “Maybe because of your Bulgog. Fast and tough — fits you.”

  “I guess.” Reid smiled.

  Harven stretched his arms behind his head. “So… what now? Anything you want to do before school starts?”

  Reid paused. “How many days exactly?”

  “Six,” Harven said. “Why?”

  Reid took a slow breath. “I… want to go back to the tavern. Just once more. And see Arttu again. I think I can get there and return in six days, right?”

  Harven raised an eyebrow. “You can, yeah. But it’s a long road. Really long. Are you sure it’s worth all that trouble?”

  Reid’s eyes softened with longing. “I want to see them. All of them.”

  Harven watched him for a moment — and something like warmth flickered in his eyes.

  Then a grin slowly pulled at his lips.

  “In that case,” Harven said, leaning closer, “I have something perfect for you.”

  Reid blinked. “What is it?”

  “There’s a horse breed — faster than any normal horse. People call them Windsprints. They travel twice as fast as anything you’ve seen.”

  Harven scratched his cheek. “But they’re… a little pricey.”

  Reid’s face paled immediately.

  Harven chuckled softly. “Relax. I’m the vice commander of this kingdom, remember? I’ve got some money saved.”

  He reached into his coat, pulled out a small pouch, and placed it gently into Reid’s hands.

  “Here. One thousand rout.”

  Reid stared at the pouch as if it were something holy. “Harven… thank you. Really.”

  Without thinking, Reid stepped forward and hugged him.

  Harven froze — then smiled, patting Reid lightly on the back.

  “No worries, kid. You’re my student. If you ever need something, you come to me first, alright?”

  Reid nodded quickly.

  “The merchant you want is a man called Lonesome,” Harven continued. “He deals with the Windsprints. Quiet guy, trustworthy. You’ll find him near the tavern entrance. If you ask around, everyone knows him.”

  Reid’s excitement buzzed like lightning under his skin. “Got it.”

  But then another thought slipped in.

  “Harven?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will there be… many holidays at the Academy?”

  Harven squinted knowingly. “You just want to know how often you can travel back, don’t you?”

  Reid coughed and looked away. “…Maybe.”

  Harven laughed softly.

  “There are two term holidays, and another at the end of the year. So yes — you’ll have at least three chances to visit.”

  Reid’s eyes widened, brightening instantly.

  “Thank you,” Reid said again, sincerity glowing in his voice. “For everything. For the money, and— just… everything.”

  Harven’s smile dimmed slightly at the edges — a shadow of sadness slipping through before he hid it.

  “As I said… no problem,” he replied, turning away. “Take care, Reid.”

  He walked back toward the castle, shoulders straight, steps steady — yet something about the way he moved felt heavier than before.

  Reid watched him go, wondering for a moment why Harven’s silhouette looked lonelier than usual.

  But then he gripped the pouch in his hand.

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  Time to go.

  Heart full and steps light, Reid headed toward the tavern — ready to find the man called Lonesome.

  The tavern’s door creaked open, and the familiar mixture of heat, noise, and the earthy smell of ale washed over Reid like a wave.

  People were strewn across tables — laughing too loudly, arguing over cards, slamming mugs together, whispering in corners about debts or broken hearts. The hearth crackled at the far end, casting warm, flickering shadows that danced along the walls.

  Reid paused for a moment just to soak it in.

  It hadn’t been that long.

  Yet he had changed so much.

  He stepped inside.

  On the far end of the bar sat a man alone — shoulders slightly hunched, a half-empty mug of dark ale resting between his fingers. His hair was short and mostly brown, but streaked with threads of faint white. Not old, just weathered — like a man who’d seen too many roads and too few sunrises.

  His hat rested beside him, edges frayed from age, not fashion.

  Reid walked over and took the empty stool beside him.

  “Water, please,” Reid said.

  The bartender recognized him and chuckled. “Of course, kid.”

  He poured a glass and slid it toward him.

  Reid drank it in one long pull — nerves and excitement mixing in his stomach — then he turned to the solitary man.

  “Hello,” Reid said politely.

  The man raised his head slightly, studying him with a pair of calm, tired eyes.

  A soft smile tugged at his lips.

  “Well, hello,” he returned.

  His voice was smooth, low — the kind that carried stories in its tone.

  “Aren’t you a bit young to wander into places like this, boy?”

  Reid smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

  That answer seemed to amuse the man.

  Reid set his cup down and leaned closer.

  “Sir… do you know someone called Lonesome?”

  At that name, the man’s eyebrow arched upward.

  “Aye,” he said slowly. “I might. Why are you looking for him?”

  Reid swallowed. “I heard he has horses — Windsprints. And I’m trying to go from here to Promia.”

  The man’s eyes shifted with curiosity, something sharp and assessing glinting beneath his calm surface.

  “Who told you that?” he asked.

  Reid hesitated — then said the truth.

  “Harven Klutz told me.”

  The man abruptly laughed — loudly enough that two nearby drunkards turned to stare.

  He slapped the bar with a palm and shook his head.

  “So Harven sent you, eh? That explains everything.”

  Reid blinked.

  The man extended a hand.

  “Name’s Morty Schwartz,” he said. “Though most folks around here prefer to call me Lonesome.”

  Reid straightened instantly. “Oh — I mean, yes! That’s who I’m looking for.”

  Morty chuckled. “Relax, kid. I don’t bite.”

  Reid tried not to look overly embarrassed.

  Morty tilted his head, studying him more carefully now.

  “So,” Morty said, “you need transport to Promia?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you’ve got money?”

  Reid nodded and handed him the pouch Harven gave him.

  Morty opened it — and for a heartbeat, something in his expression changed.

  A flicker of sharpness.

  Caution.

  A bit of that uncanny aura a man gets when he sees something he didn’t expect.

  Then he exhaled slowly.

  “Kid,” Lonesome said, closing the pouch, “this is way too much.”

  Reid blinked. “It is?”

  “For a single ride?” Morty snorted. “Fifty rout is more than enough.”

  Reid’s eyes widened in shock. Relief washed over him immediately.

  “But hold on,” Morty said, raising a hand. “Are you coming back here? Or is this one-way?”

  “I’m coming back,” Reid said.

  “Well then,” Morty said with a thoughtful rub of his chin, “I’ll have to stay in Promia for a few days. That changes the price.”

  “How much?” Reid asked nervously.

  “Four hundred rout.”

  Reid’s face fell — but he still reached for the pouch.

  Morty laughed and gently pushed his hand away.

  “Don’t let people trick you so easily,” he said. “Four hundred rout is what I’d charge nobles.”

  He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And you’re not a noble yet. So tell me — how long are we staying?”

  Reid answered quickly. “I need to be back here in six days.”

  Morty nodded instantly.

  “Six days? Then… give me one-eighty. That’ll cover travel, stay, and food.”

  Reid’s face lit up like sunrise.

  “Really?!”

  “Really.” Morty rose from the stool, placing the pouch back in Reid’s hands. “Come on, boy. Don’t thank me. I’m just doing my job — and Harven’s recommendation counts for something.”

  Reid stood with him, full of energy. “Thank you, sir!”

  Morty picked up his hat, placed it over his head, and smirked.

  “Then let’s get moving. Windsprints aren’t patient creatures.”

  They walked out of the tavern together.

  Outside, behind the building, stood a caravan attached to two magnificent horses.

  Not just normal horses.

  Their manes flickered in faint streaks of silver.

  Their hooves dug lightly into the soil, vibrating with pent-up power.

  Their eyes shone bright and intelligent — almost as if they were daring Reid to try and outrun them.

  Morty tightened a strap, patted one of the beasts, and motioned to Reid.

  “Hop in.”

  Reid climbed onto the caravan, excitement buzzing beneath his skin.

  Morty took the reins.

  “Hold on tight, kid.”

  Reid tightened his grip on the side railing.

  Morty flicked the reins once.

  The Windsprints surged forward.

  The world blurred.

  The Windsprints were fast — too fast.

  Reid clung to the caravan rail with both hands, wind slamming into his face so hard that his cheeks flapped like flags in a storm.

  Morty glanced back, amused.

  “How you feelin’, young man?”

  Reid tried to answer, but another blast of wind shoved the words right back down his throat.

  “Oh — right,” Morty said casually. “Forgot to warn ya. Windsprints run a bit quicker than your usual horse. Might wanna br—”

  Before he could finish, Reid’s body went limp.

  He didn’t fall asleep.

  He fainted.

  Morty laughed hard enough that his shoulders shook.

  “Harven sends me the funniest kids… honestly.”

  The rest of the trip passed with the sound of hooves pounding like thunder across the earth.

  Reid’s eyes snapped open when the caravan slowed.

  He sat up abruptly, hair all over the place, mind hazy.

  Morty tipped his hat.

  “Rise and shine, lad. Promia is just ahead.”

  Reid blinked — and indeed, the familiar gate stood tall at the town’s entrance.

  Smoke rose from chimneys, merchants shouted over one another, and the same warm scents of bread and dust drifted in the air.

  “You slept — I mean, fainted — the whole journey,” Morty said, fighting a grin.

  Reid rubbed his eyes, cheeks warm. “I… did?”

  Morty chuckled. “Don’t worry. Happens to most people the first time.”

  He guided the Windsprints toward the side of the square.

  “Alright. If we’re going back to Aquilonis in five days, meet me here at noon on the fifth day. No earlier — no later.”

  “Got it.”

  “And kid?” Morty adjusted his hat, his expression softening into something almost fatherly.

  “Whatever your business is… I won’t pry. Just be safe.”

  Reid nodded.

  “Thank you… Lonesome.”

  Morty raised a hand in farewell and disappeared into the crowd like a ghost.

  Reid took a long breath and walked toward the lower district — the quieter part of Promia where simple folk worked, laughed, and argued all day long.

  At the entrance to the lower streets, he found exactly who he expected.

  Brog and Drool were leaning against the stone wall, talking absolute nonsense as usual.

  Brog was demonstrating some “battle stance” with wild arm swings, and Drool was nodding as if witnessing arcane brilliance.

  When they spotted Reid, their eyes nearly popped out.

  “Oi, Drool — DROOL! Look who it is!” Brog hollered.

  Drool squinted. His jaw dropped.

  “Oh Brog… if it isn’t our little knight!”

  Reid managed a tired, affectionate smile.

  “Hello, Brog. Hello, Drool. Nice to see you again.”

  Brog leaned forward. “You didn’t fail the exam, right? If you did, don’t worry, we’ll lie and tell everyone you passed.”

  Drool added, “Yeah, yeah — we’re great liars!”

  Reid chuckled. “No need. I passed.”

  Brog threw his fists into the air. “HA! We knew it!”

  Drool slapped him on the back. “Course he did! He’s our tavern knight!”

  Reid nodded gratefully.

  “I’m just here to visit the tavern.”

  “Ohhhh, the Tungstens will scream themselves silly,” Brog said with a knowing grin.

  “Give ’em our greetings, will ya?”

  “Yeah,” Drool added, puffing up proudly. “Tell ’em you missed us the most.”

  Reid snorted. “I’ll… tell them something, at least.”

  He waved goodbye and headed toward the forest path that led to the tavern.

  Behind him, Brog and Drool’s arguing resumed instantly:

  “You hear that? He likes me more.”

  “In your dreams! He said my name first.”

  Reid smiled to himself as their voices faded.

  The walk was long — hours through familiar hills and quiet woodland — but Reid didn’t stop.

  He knew every bend in the path. Every crooked tree. Every little patch of moss.

  And then he saw it.

  The wooden tavern standing at the end of the road.

  Home.

  He pushed the door open.

  Inside, a woman stood with Arttu in her arms, gently rocking him.

  Reid froze.

  Arttu.

  His baby brother.

  His heart wrenched, rising up his throat.

  He stepped forward, hands trembling, eyes already stinging with tears he didn’t want to blink away.

  The woman turned. “Ah— who are yo—”

  Reid didn’t wait.

  He reached out and took Arttu into his arms, pulling the tiny, warm body against his chest.

  Arttu stirred a little — confused, soft, and warm like sunlight.

  Reid’s breath broke.

  “Arttu…” he whispered, voice cracking. “Little brother…”

  The woman immediately bristled and snatched Arttu back.

  “Hey! Careful! This baby was entrusted to me. Who are you supposed to be?”

  Reid lifted his head, breath trembling.

  “I’m Arttu’s brother. Who are you supposed to be?”

  Before the woman could answer —

  A familiar voice shrieked:

  “REID!?”

  Betty barrelled through the hallway like a human boulder.

  Reid had a single instant to think Oh no—

  before she crashed into him and hugged him in a grip that could crush bone.

  “REID! MY SWEET BOY! YOU’RE BACK!”

  Reid wheezed, “B-Betty… can’t… breathe…”

  But Betty only squeezed harder.

  Then another set of footsteps.

  Fast, light ones.

  “BROTHER REID!”

  Fiona ran to him, arms flung wide, and wrapped him in a second hug — this one gentle, warm, and full of pure joy.

  Reid’s eyes burned anew.

  “Hey, Fiona… you’ve grown…”

  Then Roy appeared in the doorway.

  He froze.

  His eyes widened.

  His hands trembled.

  Then tears spilled openly down his cheeks.

  “Reid…” Roy’s voice cracked. “My boy… look at you.”

  He stumbled forward and embraced Reid last — his hug firm, full of pride and relief and love.

  Reid stood in the center of them all, surrounded by arms, warmth, and voices overlapping:

  “You’re taller!”

  “Did you eat enough?”

  “Did you miss us?”

  “You passed, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, he looks so tired, get the boy a seat!”

  Reid laughed — overwhelmed, shaken, and happy.

  He hadn’t realized how much he missed this.

  How much he needed this.

  The Wandering Flame wasn’t just a place.

  It was home.

  And in this moment, surrounded by the Tungstens, by warmth and noise and love—

  Reid finally felt whole again.

  Cambion’s Awakening — [A Lite-RPG Progression Fantasy Romance]

  by Rauxon

  Orphaned at six years old, Projo was raised as a blacksmith’s apprentice. Strange occurrences growing up led him to believe he may be cursed, until a reckless act of heroism nearly kills him and he discovers he may be half demon.

  Cambion’s Awakening is a Progression Fantasy adventure with a unique magic system. Come with Projo as he learns to control his abilities, discovers the dark secrets behind them, and achieves it all through love and violence.

  What to Expect:

  - Single-POV Storytelling: Journey with Projo as he unravels the mystery of his own existence.

  - A Unique Magic System: Magic isn't just fireballs. It's a mysterious, biological force that the characters work to understand.

  - Lite-RPG World-Building: No EXP or stat growth shown, but there are plenty of progression focused training moments. Each quest and every coin matters and they are meticulously tracked. Armor needs mending, every fight has consequences, and the sky is the limit on what Projo can achieve.