Page 3 of Daemon Master

“What I’vegotis a single bondstone to last me a month! How am I supposed to capture daemons that have lost their masters without bondstones to suppress them?”

Another infuriating shrug. “Just beat ‘em until they’re too weak to resist. Bondsick daemons can barely walk straight, let alone fight. Shouldn’t be too bad, even for…”

Gareth trailed off, clearing his throat.Even for you, he’d been about to say. The beginning of a headache throbbed in the back of Adrian’s skull.

“Come on Gareth,” he tried again. “Can’t you cut me a little slack?”

The quartermaster shrugged. Adrian wanted to scream.

“Don’t know if I can,” Gareth said. “New orders came in this morning. The whole lot’s been reserved for the Watcher Division.”

As if most of Serenity Corp’s bondstone shipments didn’t already go to the spirit-cursed watchers. Could Seymour be behind this? It seemed like exactly the sort of petty gesture he might make to get back at Adrian for his earlier defiance.

“Please,” Adrian said, hating how desperate he must sound. “Surely, the Watcher Division won’t miss a couple? I just spoke with Arbiter Janice, and she made it clear my duties were one of her top priorities.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, though he felt a twinge of guilt nonetheless at the exaggeration.

Quartermaster Gareth quirked an eyebrow. “Did she now? Well, I suppose so long as you’re willing to take any heat for this, we might be able to work something out…”

After a bit of haggling, Adrian left the supply room with a considerably lighter coin purse and a half-dozen new bondstones safely ensconced in his satchel. It was still less than half what he’d been promised, but he didn’t have it in him to argue for more.

At least, he should have enough bondstones now for this business at Crastley’s cottage. While he’d love nothing more than to crawl into his comfiest chair at home with a cup of tea, he owed it to the Arbiter to prove her faith in him hadn’t been misplaced.

He spared a parting glance at the cages scattered throughout the chamber. Most contained a daemon, their myriad bodies alight with blue aether broken only by the bondstones that pulsed within them like beating black hearts. The creatures huddled listlessly on the floors of their cells, waiting for the Keeper Division to either ship them elsewhere in the League or sell them right here in Hillvale to daemon masters looking for new servants to bond.

Seeing the poor beasts like that elicited a swell of sympathy. He knew what it was like to have control of your own fate stripped away. To feel trapped and helpless and utterly alone.

Get a grip, he chided himself as he exited the Serene Hall and tramped down its wide steps. Those daemons might look pitiable now, but without their bondstones to pacify them, they’d have ripped his frail body to shreds and devoured his aether. Better they remain safely detained until a daemon master could properly tame them.

He navigated across the town square past merchants still setting up their stalls for the day’s business and turned down the first street heading east. Hillvale might be small by the League’s standards—or so he’d been told—but he’d always appreciated its orderliness. Everything from the compact brick buildings to the cobblestone streets formed a neat grid, with the Serene Hall at its center. Here and there, a daemon cleaned windows, mended broken bricks, or performed other minor duties at the behest of its master. Most people, however, kept their daemons melded like him for convenience. No one wanted to navigate streets choked with azure monsters.

As he walked, he hunched his shoulders against the occasional stares of passing townsfolk. Though they were generally content to ignore him, their eyes flicking right past as if he didn’t exist, a few gazes always lingered. It certainly wasn’t his unremarkable appearance that drew their attention—not with his too-scrawny body, plain face, and muddy brown hair and eyes. Nor was it genuine concern. No, it was something far worse: pity.

Oh look, there goes Bennett and Lucile’s boy. Shame about his parents, spirits guide their souls. Perhaps it was the grief that stunted his growth?

His gaze caught on a poster plastered along an otherwise bare wall. It depicted two figures, one male and one female, facing off across an open arena full of cheering fans. Both blazed with aether while their daemons—a hulking bear for him and an armored crab for her—clashed. Bold text across the top read “THE DIAMOND CUP: A TOURNAMENT OF CHAMPIONS!” Tinier text beneath outlined the details, including the start date a few weeks from today.

He turned away, his stomach churning as he pictured Arbiter Janice’s sympathetic smile. Seymour’s bullying condescension stung, but in a way, he preferred it. For all her kindness, even the Arbiter had treated him like a wounded animal in need of protection.

One day, he’d show them all he could take care of himself. He’d overcome his stunted aether and become a legendary daemon master capable of winning any spirit-cursed tournament he wanted!

If only you actually believed that…

Lost to his brooding, he barely noticed as he passed the edge of town and entered the surrounding hills that gave the town its name. Crastley’s cabin lay to the east, so he set a course in that direction across rolling meadows where wildflowers bloomed in bright splashes of color.

Adrian couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Crastley. He’d arrived in Hillvale some six years ago, not long after Adrian’s parents had fallen in the line of duty. Since then, the old recluse had rarely ventured into town, preferring his solitude. With the soft breeze ruffling his hair and the sweet scent of flowers permeating the air, Adrian understood the impulse.

Eventually, he crested a rise and spotted Crastley’s cabin perched atop a knoll beyond a winding river. A single bridge offered a way across. Eying the vista, he supposed he should summon his daemon before he approached any closer in case he encountered a stray.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating on drawing out the extra aether melded with his flesh. Several long seconds later, his daemon materialized. Trailseeker was all sleek muscle, shaped like an azure hound with a stub for a tail and a narrow snout bristling with fangs.

Its crackling blue eyes regarded him blankly. The sight conjured a familiar stab of discomfort.This is the only way to combat the daemon threat, he reminded himself as he cut a path down the slope toward the river. Trailseeker followed, obeying his unspoken command to remain alert.If we hadn’t learned to harness their power, they’d have exterminated us.

He knew the history of the Daemon Wars and the ceaseless conflict that raged along the Bulwark protecting the League’s eastern border better than anyone. Yet, turning any creature into a mindless puppet still felt wrong, even if he’d done so himself out of necessity.

When they reached the bridge, he studied it skeptically. Cracked planks formed a precarious walkway held aloft by half-rotten beams that had begun to sag and warp. Worse, the river itself surged so high it threatened to churn over its banks, rendering it impassable on foot.

This is how I die, he thought with a resigned sigh.Not heroically fighting daemons like my parents but drowning in a spirit-cursed stream.