The Contracter's Conquest

Chapter 3: The Return of the Prodigy

The sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays streaming into the bustling marketplace of Florence town. Stalls lined the streets, merchants hawking their wares to the lively crowd. Sylas stood behind the counter of his mother's shop, carefully weighing a bag of grain for a customer. Though his hands worked methodically, his thoughts were elsewhere, carried away by the rhythm of the marketplace and the ever-lingering unease within him.

It had been three years since his awakening—a day that should have marked the start of his journey, a day filled with potential and promise. But instead, it had left him hollow, grappling with a dormant Ring that refused to respond.

Sylas glanced at his wrist, where the strange tattoo remained etched—a silent reminder of his inadequacy. His lips pressed into a thin line as he watched the faint glow of its inscriptions, mocking him with its stillness.

"Violet to indigo, indigo to blue... " Sylas muttered under his breath, thinking of Lukas. His childhood friend had grown leaps and bounds, advancing his Ring to the blue realm within a year of his awakening. The bubbles Lukas once conjured, which could merely lift objects, now had the power to turn them invisible, and by the time he reached blue, they could explode with devastating force.

"The versatility... the power... and yet I'm stuck here," Sylas thought bitterly.

The truth was, even the secrets of how Rings evolved with practice and upgrades were beyond Sylas's reach. He had no abilities to hone, no way to explore his potential. Elder Marlowe's words three years ago had offered a glimmer of hope:

"Some Rings require a catalyst to awaken fully," the elder had said, his voice filled with the weight of experience.

Sylas's father, Mark, had clung to those words like a lifeline. Mark had taken it upon himself to find this elusive catalyst, venturing farther on his merchant trips and pouring their family's savings into the search. Sylas, left behind, could only watch as his father grew more desperate with each passing year.

He felt the pangs of guilt twist in his chest as he handed the bag of grain to the customer. He knew how much his father was sacrificing, all for him—a son who couldn't even use the gift that had caused such upheaval in their lives.

"Is something wrong, Sylas?" his mother asked gently, noticing his distant expression.

Sylas shook his head, offering her a weak smile. "Just lost in thought."

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps and raised voices filled the air. Sylas glanced toward the street, where a growing crowd was gathering near the marketplace entrance. The commotion sent ripples through the busy stalls, and merchants paused their dealings to crane their necks toward the noise.

"What's happening?" Sylas asked aloud, his curiosity piqued.

One of the townsfolk passing by stopped briefly to answer. "It's Lukas! He's returned!"

Sylas's heart skipped a beat. Lukas had been gone for months, traveling with a group of Ring-users to hone his abilities. The last time they'd met, Lukas had demonstrated the explosive power of his orange-ringed bubbles, and Sylas had been left in awe—and envy—of his friend's progress.

Without thinking, Sylas turned to his mother. "I'll be back in a bit, Mother."

She waved him off, her expression tinged with understanding. "Go on, Sylas. You've earned a break."

Sylas made his way through the crowd, weaving between curious onlookers and excited children. As he reached the heart of the marketplace, he saw Lukas standing tall, his presence commanding attention.

Lukas had changed in the months he'd been away. His once-boyish features had sharpened, and his posture exuded confidence. The blue-and-orange glow of his Ring shimmered faintly around his wrist, a visible testament to his strength.

"Lukas!" someone called out. "Tell us about your travels!"

"What new abilities have you gained?" another voice chimed in.

Lukas raised a hand, quieting the crowd with ease. His smile was warm, yet there was an unmistakable edge to it—a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Sylas stood at the edge of the crowd, watching his friend with a mix of admiration and resentment. He couldn't deny Lukas's talent or the awe he inspired, but it only deepened the ache in Sylas's chest.

As the crowd pressed closer to Lukas, Sylas hesitated. He wanted to approach, to greet his friend after so long, but a part of him held back.

"What would he think of me now?" Sylas thought bitterly.

But before he could dwell on the thought, Lukas's gaze swept over the crowd and landed squarely on Sylas. His smile widened, and he raised a hand in greeting.

"Sylas!" Lukas called out, his voice cutting through the chatter. "It's been too long!"

The crowd parted as Lukas made his way toward Sylas, his steps confident and measured. When he reached him, he clasped Sylas's shoulder firmly, his grin never wavering.

"You haven't changed a bit," Lukas said, his tone warm. "Still the same old Sylas."

Sylas managed a smile, though it felt forced. "And you've changed a lot, Lukas. You're practically a hero now."

Lukas laughed, the sound ringing out across the square. "Hardly. But I've learned a lot out there, Sylas. And I have a feeling you will too—soon enough."

Sylas's smile faltered slightly as Lukas's words sank in. The crowd around them erupted in questions again, but Sylas remained silent, his thoughts swirling.