The moment Jackson stepped into the chapel, a strange calm washed over him.The cool air, thick with the scent of beeswax and old wood, pressed gently against his skin.Candles flickered on iron stands, casting soft golden pools across the worn stone floor.Before the simple altar stood an old man in gray robes — Father Bram.
Hearing the boy's steps, Father Bram turned, a warm smile creasing his weathered face.
"Young Master Jackson," he said, voice as soft as a well-worn cloak."May the Twin Gods bless your recovery."
He raised a hand in blessing, tracing a simple circle in the air before Jackson's forehead.Jackson bowed respectfully, feeling the strange but soothing pull of the moment.
For a while, Jackson knelt silently on one of the old pews, breathing in the heavy atmosphere.The stone walls seemed to hum faintly — as if old prayers still lingered there, whispering promises of strength and protection.
After a few more moments of quiet reverence, Jackson stood and turned toward the exit.Greta waited by the door, patient as ever.
The carriage ride home began the same way — jolting and rough.But halfway through the journey, something strange happened.
A sudden sharp sting at his neck made him slap instinctively — but he froze.Hovering near his ear was a mosquito, tiny and fragile, its wings a blur.
Jackson blinked.For a heartbeat, the world twisted.
Suddenly, he wasn't just seeing the mosquito — he was inside it.The bumpy road became a canyon, the earthy scent of the carriage horse became overpowering.He could feel the mosquito's fear, its hunger, its instinctive loyalty to him.
A connection.
It wasn't words exactly — more like feelings, clear and vivid, pressing gently against his mind.The mosquito trusted him. Obeyed him.
Confused but excited, Jackson concentrated.
Fly away.The mosquito obeyed, buzzing off into the cool afternoon air.
Jackson slumped back against the carriage seat, heart pounding.
What in the world is happening to me?
after reached the manor and fed the horse his blood, nothing happed
At the pigeon loft, Jackson selected a small gray pigeon — one of the trained messengers of the house.
He pricked his finger again, letting a droplet of blood bead at the tip.The pigeon hesitated, beady eyes blinking, before pecking carefully at the offering.
The moment it tasted his blood, Jackson felt the now-familiar tug of connection snap into place.
But this time, something was different.
The bird's mind, once dim and confused, blazed with sudden clarity.
Before, Jackson had only felt simple impressions — fly, carry, return.Now, a richer understanding pulsed from the pigeon.
Confusion.Realization.Purpose.
Before drinking his blood, the pigeon had flown because it was trained to, without knowing why — like a muscle memory, a blind compulsion.After drinking, Jackson felt the bird's astonishment: it now understood the reason behind its actions.
It knew it carried messages.It knew it served the humans.It trusted him. Obeyed him.
Jackson's heart pounded faster.
It was as if his blood had unlocked something in the creature's mind — a wisdom it had never possessed before.
He tested the bond, "asking" the pigeon, through images and emotions, about its training.The bird responded eagerly, not just following orders but understanding why.
Excited, Jackson immediately repeated the experiment with the ants .
The results were the same.
The ants, usually operating like tiny programmed machines, now showed flashes of individuality.A few of them remembered paths longer than they should have been able to.One even hesitated at a dead end, reconsidered, and chose a new path.
The mosquito, though still driven by instinct, now recognized Jackson as "Master" — a powerful new layer of loyalty that wasn't present before.
And best of all, Jackson discovered something extraordinary:
The connection wasn't limited by distance. and will not work on big animals like horses
Even when the pigeon soared high above the manor, even when the ants scattered across the garden, he could still feel their presence — faint threads of consciousness reaching back to him, like invisible strings tied to his heart.
Through them, he could sense danger, share feelings, even issue commands.
perhaps, even more complicated things.
His blood was not magic.This world had no magic as legends spoke of — no wizards, no grand spells.
But his blood was its own kind of miracle.A power that no one else knew.A secret weapon, born from within.
As the sun dipped behind the rolling hills, casting the manor in deep amber light, Jackson sat against the loft wall, breathing heavily but smiling fiercely.
This... this was the beginning.
A future built on unseen threads, a silent network stitched together by blood, loyalty, and awakened minds.
He would be patient.He would learn.And one day — when the time came — he would move unseen, commanding eyes and ears across the kingdom.
All he needed was time.
And blood.