The day had left me in ruins.
Kane's "warm-up" laps had gone straight into weapons drills, into mana-control sparring, into Adrian wiping the floor with us until even breathing felt like a punishment. My arms were jelly, my legs numb, and by the time Kane called it a day, I wasn't sure if I should thank him or curse him.
Even the ride back to the penthouse had been silent. Lyra collapsed on her bed the moment we got home. I tried. I did. But sleep refused me.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Adrian's smirk when he parried me like I was a child. Kane's sharp bark every time I slipped my focus. Their disappointment pressed against my ribs heavier than any bruise.
So I got up.
The penthouse was quiet, only the faint hum of the AC breaking the silence. Anakin was snoring somewhere down the hall. Lyra's door stayed shut. I walked barefoot to the private training space.
The mats were cold beneath my feet, the city lights muted behind floor-to-ceiling glass. Midnight painted the room in silver and shadows.
I didn't reach for my swords. Not tonight.
I sat cross-legged on the mat and let out a long, shaky breath.
Kane kept saying it wasn't enough to train my body. I had to master my mana. To feel it like blood in my veins, not just a tool I called when convenient.
So I reached inward.
Mana. The current beneath everything.
At first, nothing. Then, a thread smooth, familiar, almost comforting. Time.
The moment I touched it, the world tilted. My heartbeat slowed, echoing like a drum in an empty hall. Every sound stretched into clarity, each second peeled open like I could see the threads holding it together. It was… easy. Too easy. Like I was meant for it.
I released it quickly, afraid that if I clung too long, I would never let go.
Then I reached again. This time, for space.
The difference was immediate. Where time had welcomed me, space resisted. It was sluggish, heavy, like trying to push a mountain uphill with bare hands. The harder I pulled, the more it slipped away, scattering like sand between my fingers.
I clenched my jaw, tried again. And again. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My teeth ground together until my temples ached.
Still nothing.
I slammed my fist against my thigh, frustration burning hotter than fatigue. Lyra made teleportation look effortless. For her, space bent like it wanted to. For me, it stayed stubborn, immovable.
"Why… won't you… move?" I hissed under my breath, dragging again at the mana.
Then the room went still.
Not the normal stillness of midnight, but something deeper. Heavier. The kind of silence that pressed against the lungs and made every breath sharp.
I froze.
The presence.
I knew it instantly, the same vast, indifferent weight that had crushed me months ago, when I'd sworn my first desperate Oath. The thing that had turned me away without a word.
And now it was back.
My vision blurred at the edges, silver bleeding into black. The mats under me dissolved into haze. My breath caught, a single whisper escaping.
"…Not again."
The weight deepened. The silence grew teeth.
And then the floor dropped away.
I fell, not through air, not through stone, but through something deeper. My stomach lurched, my chest hollowed, and then—
Stone met my feet.
I staggered forward, eyes snapping open.
The penthouse was gone.
A barren battlefield stretched in every direction. Cracked earth bled pale dust into the air. The sky above was endless gray, no sun, no stars, no horizon. Just emptiness.
The wind cut cold across my face, sharp enough to sting.
I turned in a slow circle. No walls. No doors. Just an expanse of desolation.
And beneath me… a glow.
A faint boundary pulsed from where I stood, circular, woven from light so dim it was almost invisible. Not drawn, not carved, simply felt.
A circle.
My circle.
Before I could move, the silence stirred again. It wasn't sound, not really. More like thought pressed into my skull from outside.
You reach again, little one.
The voice was vast, layered, echoing like it came from the core of the world itself.
Last time, your words rang hollow. Tonight, we see if your soul carries weight.
The glow beneath me pulsed brighter, as if answering.
My mouth went dry. My hands curled into fists. I wanted to demand answers, to shout questions into the void, but the words stuck in my throat.
The entity lingered a moment longer, then receded, leaving only its weight behind.
And then, from the cracks in the ground around me, something began to rise.
Dark shapes stretched from the stone, outlines of bodies that weren't whole, eyes that weren't real. They twitched, jerking unnaturally as they pulled themselves free.
Dozens. Then more.
Shadows.
Watching. Waiting.
I had swords in my hands. My pulse thundered anyway.
The circle beneath me pulsed once more.
And the trial began.
---
Far beyond the gray battlefield, where mortal sight could not reach, something stirred.
It was not form, not flesh, not bound by space or time. It simply was. An ancient will woven into the foundation of reality.
It watched the boy step onto the fractured plain, his breathing uneven, his eyes hard with defiance even as fear trembled in his chest.
For a long moment, the entity said nothing. It simply felt.
'The same child who begged to go home, ' it mused, its voice no louder than a thought against the endless dark. 'The one whose oath crumbled because it reached for what was not his to claim.
The faint circle of light beneath Zane's feet pulsed, fragile but alive.
'And yet, he returns to the forge. His hands shake, but they do not release the blade. He doubts, but he does not flee. This one… still chooses to stand.'
The entity's presence folded closer, not hostile, not gentle. Watchful.
'Your time has not yet come, little one. But you are not unworthy. Let this trial temper you. Let it carve away the weakness. If you survive, the circle will no longer be borrowed light… but your own.'
The battlefield quivered as the shadows began to rise.
The entity's final thought echoed faintly as it withdrew:
'Do not disappoint me, Zane Blessborne.'