Aelin didn't know it yet, but by the time he finished a single meal, his name had already swept through every corridor and cold stone arch of Kaer Morhen.
The essence infusion's high faded slowly, like embers dimming after a fire. And when the last of it ebbed from his limbs, his gaze drifted—inevitably—back to the iron chest crouched in the corner of the room. It had sat there all along, silent, weighty, patient.
He walked toward it and knelt, the motion quiet, almost reverent.
No gods. Just ghosts.
He bowed his head—not in prayer, but in memory. To the dead boys who had once stood where he now did. Maybe, just once, they'd look back through the veil… and give him something more than silence.
Then, he opened the chest.
Ding! Drowner's Chest ×4 unlocked.
The system's whisper rang in his mind—faint, perfunctory.
Four thin flares of white light rose and died.
Rotten Meat ×1
Rotten Meat ×1
Minor Experience Orb ×1
He stared.
"…Seriously?"
He hadn't expected much. Anything labeled Drowner's Chest practically came prepackaged with disappointment. But somehow, the twin slabs of rotting meat still managed to offend him. Not in a dramatic, fiery way—just a quiet, weary sort of insult. Like being spit on by the wind.
With a dry exhale, he scrolled to the last item.
On the Culinary Applications of the Drowner: Twenty-Three Recipes
His eyelid twitched.
"…What?"
He said it aloud, more to the room than to himself.
"A cookbook. For drowners."
He picked up the tome gingerly, as if it might bite.
Drowner meat—edible? The very concept made his stomach recoil.
These weren't just monsters. They were bloated, pallid things, with bellies sloshing full of sludge and maggots. Sewer-haunting freaks whose skin peeled like wet bark and whose teeth gnashed on corpses and carrion.
And someone had written recipes?
He tapped the item window.
Name: On the Culinary Applications of the Drowner: Twenty-Three Recipes
Type: Miscellaneous
Function: None
Description: Second volume in the Delightful Little Creatures series.
Author's Note: Written by the legendary troll chef Longg. A best-seller for over three centuries.
Aelin blinked slowly.
A troll.
Of course it was a troll.
That explained… pretty much everything.
With a soft grunt, he tossed the idea into the mental bin labeled irrelevant nonsense and turned back to the other chests.
Three items in. All junk. The faint ember of hope he'd felt fizzled out entirely.
Ding! Drowner's Chest ×4 unlocked.
Three dull flashes—and then the fourth burst like a miniature sun.
Gold.
His breath caught. Shoulders stilled.
A drop of gold meant something rare.
He leaned in instinctively, as if nearness could somehow hold the moment longer.
From the light, a whale erupted—vast, silent, dreamlike. It swam through shadowless void, its echo rolling like a funeral bell through his skull. Then its form folded in on itself, collapsing into a scroll that drifted down like ash.
Acquired: Rotten Meat ×1, Minor Experience Orb ×2, Alchemy Recipe – Killer Whale
He opened it at once.
Name: Killer Whale
Type: Alchemical Potion
Crafting Requirement: Alchemy LV2 (Not Met)
Ingredients: Dwarven Firewine ×1, Berrisapples ×5, Sage ×6, Drowner Tongues ×5
Effect: Enhances breath capacity and underwater vision.
Note: Drowners dragging you down again? Pop a Killer Whale and show them who's top of the food chain.
His fingers tightened on the edge of the scroll.
It was the one. The same potion from the game.
And now… it was real.
"One month until the Trial of the Mountain," he whispered.
A trial no one spoke of lightly.
To pass, an apprentice had to cross the frigid lake at Kaer Morhen's base. Survive it. Sneak through the lair of a one-eyed ogre without waking it. Traverse the troll lands. Reach the Elemental Circle.
Only then would the medallion awaken—tuned to the world's magic and monsters alike.
Vesemir would eventually explain the rules. But Aelin hadn't waited. He'd already stolen every fragment of intel he could from older boys with broken eyes and half-healed scars.
And now he understood: the monsters weren't the real test.
The lake was.
It looked still from the surface. Peaceful, even. But beneath lay dozens—maybe hundreds—of drowners.
On land, they were sluggish. Predictable. But underwater?
They were nightmares.
They moved in packs. They struck without warning. They hunted by instinct, not fear.
And the swim… gods, the swim.
Three hours in glacial water. Three hours where every heartbeat counted, every kick could be a death knell. If even one apprentice slipped, breathed wrong, splashed too loudly—
The lake answered with death.
The Trial of Grasses had been worse in pain. But the lake? The lake buried more.
Forty boys had started in his batch. Four still lived.
And until today, Aelin had quietly assumed he wouldn't be the fifth.
But now?
Now, he held Killer Whale.
Vision. Breath. Control.
With it, he could see what others couldn't. Move like they couldn't. React before the drowners even closed in.
Unless the gods threw him headfirst into an ogre's maw… he might survive this.
The realization settled slowly—like warmth seeping into frozen limbs.
He reached for a final chest. One more pull, just in case.
Ding! Acquired: Minor Experience Orb ×10
Not gold, but not meat either.
"I'll take it," he murmured.
He opened his character panel.
Name: Aelin
Age: 13
Title: Child of Miracle
Witcher Rank: 2
HP: 100%
Stamina: 62 / 62
Attributes:
• Strength: 5.5 (+0.2)
• Agility: 5.6 (+0.2)
• Constitution: 6.2 (+0.6)
• Perception: 7.9 (+0.7)
• Arcane: 3.5 (+0.2)
Special Skills: Witcher Training LV1, Appraisal LV1
Combat Style: Wolf School – Two-Handed Sword LV2 (0/500)
Alchemy Recipes: Killer Whale (Unavailable)
Inventory: Drowner Heart Essence ×2, Rotten Meat ×3, Minor Experience Orb ×31, On the Culinary Applications of the Drowner
Assessment: Pathetic.
One exclamation mark had vanished.
From Pathetic!! to simply Pathetic!
"Huh," he muttered. "So I've clawed my way from third-rate trash to second-rate mediocrity."
The words tasted bitter—but somehow lighter than before.
He closed the panel with a sigh and turned toward the window.
Sunlight slanted low across the tower opposite, painting the stones in late-autumn gold. Evening was still a ways off. Dinner even further.
And time… time didn't wait.
But a whisper of hesitation crept in.
He could lay low. Just for today. Avoid the spotlight.
But no. That ship had already burned.
This morning had painted a target on his back. All he could do now was run faster than the arrows.
He rose.
"The more I prepare," he murmured, "the more I take back."
He dressed fast, strapped Elsa to his back, and moved toward the door.
"Aelin?"
The voice was faint. Behind him.
He turned his head slightly.
Hughes. Pale, trembling. Eyes cracked open like frostbitten glass.
"I've got something to handle," Aelin said without meeting his gaze.
"Oh… okay."
The boy's words were slurred. He blinked slowly, as though fighting sleep—or pain.
Wait. Had Aelin skipped lunch?
And how was he even walking?
The thought flickered.
But then came the pain.
Creak—creaaak—
The bed shook beneath Hughes as agony surged through him. Worse than before. Deeper.
He curled inward, breath torn in shallow bursts, knuckles white.
And whatever he'd been about to ask—
Vanished into the dark.