The cell door clanged open before dawn.
Caden stirred on the stone floor, eyes gritty from a night without sleep. The whisper of the void still clung to him, coiling through his dreams like smoke. He pushed himself up, squinting against the torchlight spilling in.
Ravel stood in the doorway. No guards this time, no sneers or muttered prayers, just him. Scar catching the light, expression flat.
"Up," he said.
Caden's stomach knotted. "What now?"
"Your trial."
The words froze the boy where he sat.
Before he could protest, Ravel tossed him a bundle of cloth. Caden fumbled it open, a tunic, dark and rough, better than the rags he wore. He looked up in confusion.
"Put it on," Ravel ordered. "The warlord wants to see what you can do."
Caden's throat went dry. His mind flashed to yesterday's chaos, the soldiers screaming as the courtyard bent inward, the whispers calling him devourer. "No. I can't—"
"You don't have a choice."
Ravel's tone wasn't cruel, but it cut sharper than any blade. Caden swallowed his words, pulled the tunic over his head, and followed.
They led him out of the fortress into the gray light of morning. The city still slumbered, but smoke rose from cookfires and the distant sound of hammers carried from the workshops. Soldiers escorted them through the streets, pushing aside the few citizens awake early enough to see. Murmurs followed "that's him… the black hole boy… curse-child…"
By the time they reached the outer walls, a crowd had already gathered. Not just soldiers, townsfolk, ragged men and weary women, faces lined by hunger. They pressed close, whispering prayers or curses, their eyes wide with both fear and fascination.
Beyond the gates, the world stretched open into wasteland. Fields once fertile now lay in ruin, ash-charred and cracked. And there, tied to a post in the dirt, knelt three men. Prisoners. Their clothes marked them as raiders from a rival faction, their faces bruised and bloodied.
Caden's heart slammed against his ribs.
The warlord himself stood nearby, armored in scavenged steel, his broad frame like a tower of iron. His eyes gleamed as he saw Caden approach, and his scarred lips curled into a smile.
"Ah. The curse-child." His voice boomed, carrying easily over the murmurs of the crowd. "Let us see what your void is worth."
Caden froze, staring at the prisoners. One of them lifted his head, blood dripping from his lip. Their eyes met and in them, Caden saw the same terror he carried in his own chest.
"No," he whispered.
The warlord tilted his head. "No?" He turned to Ravel. "Did you not say the boy devoured a Summoning whole?"
"He did," Ravel replied evenly.
"Then let him devour again."
The crowd murmured louder, hungry for a show. Soldiers grinned. Children clutched their mothers, wide-eyed.
Caden shook his head violently. "I won't kill them. I won't!"
The warlord's smile thinned. "Then you're useless to me." He raised his hand. "Archers."
Soldiers atop the wall drew bows, arrows aimed at Caden's chest.
The boy's breath hitched.
Ravel's voice cut through the tension. "He won't learn with a blade at his throat."
The warlord glared, but after a pause, lowered his hand. The archers relaxed, though they didn't put their weapons away.
Ravel stepped closer to Caden, his voice dropping low, for him alone. "Listen. It's not about them. It's about control. Touch the void. Hold it. Show them you can command it, even for a breath."
Caden's eyes burned. "And if I can't?"
Ravel's gaze didn't waver. "Then the void eats you instead."
The prisoners moaned weakly, straining against their bonds. Caden's pulse roared in his ears. He wanted to run, but soldiers ringed the ground. He wanted to refuse, but the archers' arrows glittered above. He wanted to scream, but the crowd's silence pressed down like a weight.
He shut his eyes.
Darkness. Endless. The whisper slithered back at once, eager, familiar.
Hungry.
"No," Caden whispered, shaking.
Feed.
His hands clenched. The void stirred. The air trembled, a faint tug pulling the dust at his feet. The crowd gasped, shuffling back.
Caden's heartbeat hammered. He fought to breathe, fought to push the hunger back. But it surged, swelling like a tide, eager to claim the prisoners, the soldiers, everyone.
"No!" He forced the word through clenched teeth. His knees buckled. His chest ached as if the void were clawing its way out of him.
Ravel's voice cut through the storm: "Caden! Focus! Don't let it choose for you, you choose!"
The boy's eyes flew open. His vision swam. For an instant, he saw not the prisoners, not the soldiers, but the vast dark hole in his mind, spinning, gnawing, endless.
He screamed, not in surrender, but in defiance. He yanked at the void as if it were a wild beast on a chain, pulling it inward, pulling it down, locking it inside.
The pull stopped. The dust fell. The world steadied.
Gasps rang through the crowd. The prisoners were untouched, still bound, still breathing. The void had not swallowed them.
Caden collapsed to the dirt, chest heaving, sweat soaking his tunic. His whole body shook, but for the first time, the hunger's whisper was faint. Not gone, never gone, but faint.
The warlord's smile widened. "Good," he rumbled. "Very good."
The crowd roared, half in awe, half in terror. "Gifted! Gifted!" they cried.
Caden lay trembling in the dust, wishing he could vanish into it. He didn't feel gifted. He felt hollow.
Ravel's shadow fell over him. The man didn't offer a hand, only a quiet nod. "You caged it," he said softly. "Remember that. Next time, it won't be prisoners. It'll be you or the enemy."
The warlord barked orders, soldiers dragging the prisoners away. The crowd dispersed in a storm of whispers.
And Caden, still on his knees, whispered to himself as the void stirred faintly once more:
"I'm not your weapon. I'm not."
But deep inside, he feared the warlord was right.