The valley was bathed in the dim glow of the iridescent river, the water shimmering with soft silver light that seemed to pulse in rhythm with Edrin's heartbeat. The shattered remnants of the Beacon's runes had left traces of silver threads across the valley floor, faintly humming in a cadence only he could feel. Every breath he took was heavy with the residue of the Harvester's astral fire, the silver pulse within him now a living thing, coiling and writhing like an independent heartbeat.
Selene stood across from him, her pale fingers tracing patterns in the air above the river. The water rippled as if it had a mind of its own, responding to her gestures with swirling tendrils of light that rose from the surface and twisted into intricate glyphs. "Focus," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. "The light is not yours to wield—it is yours to understand. It will test you, push you, and expose every weakness. Only when you control it can it protect you… and only then will you survive what the Council has planned."
Edrin clenched his fists, feeling the pulse of silver energy surge along his veins. He lifted his hands slowly, almost tentatively, and extended them toward the river. The threads of light responded immediately, crawling up his arms like liquid silver, weaving along his fingers and wrapping around his wrists. They were not merely light—they were conscious, testing him, probing his intent, teasing him to fail.
Liora remained close behind, her eyes scanning the valley nervously. "It's… alive," she whispered, barely audible, as she watched the silver tendrils coil around Edrin's hands. "And it's… terrifying."
Selene's gaze was sharp, her tone edged with both warning and expectation. "It is neither beautiful nor terrifying. It is neutral. Its only concern is balance. You must decide how to interact with it. Any hesitation will be exploited. Any doubt will become your chains. The Council senses all disturbances. Every flicker of uncertainty in your control is another thread they can follow to your heart."
Edrin's chest burned as he concentrated, the silver pulse in him flaring like a star trapped beneath his ribs. Slowly, cautiously, he shaped a fragment of the energy into a crude blade, its edge sharper than any mortal steel, humming faintly as if eager for purpose. Sparks of silver arced from the tip when he moved it.
"Good," Selene said. "But that is only the beginning. The light you wield is not static. It changes, adapts, and grows in response to your will. Now, try something else. Let it take form beyond mere weapon. Shape it into protection, into a barrier. Shape it into the unexpected."
Edrin nodded, taking a deep breath. He imagined the silver energy flowing outward, surrounding him like a cocoon of light. The threads surged eagerly, weaving themselves into a dome around him. It wavered at first, thin and fragile, then thickened as his concentration strengthened. The pulse in his chest aligned with the rhythm of the dome, syncing in a resonance that made him feel… powerful, but also exposed.
Liora's eyes widened. "It's… a shield," she said, awestruck. "It reacts to you. It's like it's alive."
Selene inclined her head. "Exactly. You do not merely control it. You must coexist with it. The light is a mirror of your spirit. Its strengths are yours, and so are its weaknesses. When you fail, it will not hesitate to punish you as the Council does."
Edrin focused, raising the dome higher, letting it expand around both him and Liora. The silver threads throbbed with a soft hum, almost musical, resonating through the valley. A wind rose, carrying the scent of ash and ozone, and Edrin realized that the valley itself was reacting to the Beacon's residual energy. Every leaf, every rock, every ripple in the river responded to the pulse of light he now wielded.
"Good," Selene said again, voice sharper now. "Now we move to motion. Stand still, and you will die when the Council comes. The Harvester was only the beginning. You must learn to wield the light while moving, while under pressure, while the world itself tries to destroy you."
Edrin's pulse quickened. He stepped forward, the dome stretching to encompass him as he ran along the riverbank. The silver threads flowed and shifted with him, forming a shield in front of him when he turned, extending a blade when he swung his arm. The light responded to his instincts, yet at every moment, it tested his control. One misstep and the energy would lurch, tangling around him, constricting like chains.
Liora followed closely, keeping pace as the valley shifted under their feet. "This is… insane," she muttered. "I can't even imagine what it will be like when the Council sends something bigger than the Harvester."
"You don't have to imagine," Selene said, voice low. "They are preparing. They always are. And what they send next will not be merciful. Your control must be absolute, or you will fail—not in battle, but in survival."
Edrin felt the pulse within him surge as if in agreement. It wasn't just power—it was awareness, intelligence, and hunger. When he focused on shaping a blade, the energy tested the edges, slicing against itself, probing his intent. When he tried to extend the shield, the silver threads flickered, stretching to their limit before snapping back to him. Every motion demanded focus beyond human capability, every breath synchronized with the pulse in his veins.
Hours passed, though time felt meaningless in the valley. The sun rose, casting faint gold across the water, yet the silver pulse within him seemed to shine brighter against the morning light. Selene observed silently, rarely intervening, letting Edrin push his limits, while Liora supported him, offering encouragement, caution, and presence.
Finally, Selene raised a hand, and the river stilled, the silver patterns freezing midair. "Enough for now," she said. "You have taken the first steps. You have shaped the light, yet you have not fully learned it. There are threads you cannot yet perceive, threads that the Council will exploit. But progress has been made."
Edrin exhaled, collapsing to his knees, sweat streaming down his face. His chest burned as the pulse slowed, returning to a steady thrum. "I… I think I can do it," he whispered, almost to himself. "I think I can control it."
Selene's gaze was sharp. "You will control it—not think. The light does not yield to hope, to faith, or to desire. Only mastery matters. And mastery comes through trial, through pain, and through the threat of annihilation. The Council will test you. They will exploit every weakness, every fear."
Edrin's hands clenched, silver threads flaring in response. "Then I will not fail," he said. "I will master it… and I will not let them take anyone else like they tried to take me."
Liora placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice firm. "Then we face them together. No matter what comes, you're not alone."
Selene nodded slowly. "Very well. The next stage begins when you are ready. But beware—what grows inside you is not just power. It is awareness, judgment, and hunger. If you misstep, the light will punish you as the Council would."
Edrin rose, feeling the silver pulse surge with renewed intensity, the energy flowing through him like a living river. He lifted his hands, watching as tendrils of light swirled and formed shapes—blades, shields, even intricate geometric forms he couldn't name. The pulse was teaching him, testing him, responding to his intent.
"Good," Selene said. "But the Council watches. They already know what has happened here. You are marked. Every moment you spend shaping the light is also a signal to them. You must be ready when they strike."
Edrin's jaw tightened. "Then I will be ready."
The valley seemed to hum in response, a low vibration that echoed through stone and water alike. The threads of the Council's presence flickered faintly at the edge of his perception, like shadows dancing just beyond the treeline. They would come. They always came.
But for the first time, Edrin felt… prepared.
The trials had begun.
And when the Council came, they would not find a boy trembling under the weight of destiny. They would find a force of living light, sharpened by struggle, tempered by purpose, and unyielding in resolve.
Above the valley, the river shimmered, threads of silver light weaving across its surface, calling out to something older, something unseen. Edrin reached out, letting the pulse flow into his fingers, letting it speak. He understood now—this was not merely power. This was life, memory, and intent, bound to his soul and his will.
And he would not let it be taken from him.