The encounter with Valeria in the hallway was a cold splash of reality. Her warning was a clear line in the sand: fall in line, be a weapon for the city, or become a problem. But Kaelen had already stepped over that line. He just had to make sure no one saw him do it.
He didn't go to the training grounds. He went to the one place he knew he could be alone with his new, volatile power: the abandoned shrine in the lower market. It was a risk. Isolde knew about it. But its silence and isolation were worth the danger.
The air inside was still and cool. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light cutting through the broken roof. This was where he had left the medical kits. This was where Elara had found him. Now, it would be his forge.
He stood in the center of the small space, closed his eyes, and reached for the energy within. Not with fear, not with anger, but with a new intent: understanding.
He remembered Lyra's words. Null Energy. The substance of the Veil itself. Your will shapes it.
He focused on the memory of the Lumina crystal—the searing pain, the violent conflict between light and dark. But this time, he didn't try to fight it or contain it. He tried to understand it.
He let a trickle of Umbral energy pool in his palm. It swirled there, a small vortex of living shadow. He focused on its nature. It was cold. It was quiet. It was hungry to become something else.
He remembered his father's theory, the equations Lyra had shown him. Balance. Not conflict.
He tried to pour a different intent into the energy. Not defense. Not attack. Stability.
The darkness in his hand shivered. It resisted. It wanted to be a weapon, a shield. It was what he always asked of it. He pushed harder with his will, imagining the energy not as a tool, but as a foundation. A base. Something neutral.
The vortex slowed. Its edges became less defined. The deep black lightened to a soft, smoky gray. It wasn't pushing against anything. It just... was.
A wave of mental exhaustion hit him, far greater than any physical effort. Holding the energy in this neutral state was incredibly difficult. It was like trying to hold water in the air without a container. But he held it. For a full minute, the gray smoke swirled in his palm, stable and calm.
Then, with a thought, he let it become a shield. The gray smoke solidified into a disc of dark energy, but it felt different. Smoother. More efficient. It required less effort to maintain.
He let the shield dissolve and tried again. This time, he pushed the neutral energy outward, forming a simple, smooth sphere. He held it, his concentration absolute.
A scuttling sound came from the entrance. A lone Gremlin, drawn by the faint energy signature, peered into the shrine, its beady eyes glowing. It saw him and hissed, preparing to charge.
Instinct screamed at Kaelen to form a sharp shard and throw it. But he fought the instinct. He held onto the neutral sphere.
As the Gremlin lunged, he didn't attack. He pushed the sphere of neutral energy toward it.
The effect was instantaneous and strange. The Gremlin passed through the gray smoke—and simply... stopped. It looked confused, its aggressive energy seemingly dampened. It shook its head, blinked, and then scurried back out into the alley, as if it had forgotten why it was there.
Kaelen stared, his heart pounding. He hadn't harmed it. He hadn't even threatened it. He had just... neutralized its aggression. He had used the Null Energy for what it was: a reset button.
The potential was staggering. This wasn't just about fighting better. This was about changing the nature of the fight entirely.
He spent hours in the shrine, pushing his limits. He learned that holding the neutral state was the key. The more he practiced, the longer he could maintain it, and the less draining it became. From that calm, neutral center, he could shape his power faster, stronger, and with far more control.
When he finally stumbled back into the Citadel as the artificial lights were dimming for night, he was utterly drained, but his mind was racing. He had found a new path to power. A path his father had envisioned.
He was so deep in thought he almost didn't see the figure waiting for him outside his room.
It was Corin, the initiate he had almost killed. The big young man was alone, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Kaelen stopped, his guard instantly up. He prepared for a threat, an accusation.
But Corin didn't move. He just looked at him, his earlier arrogance gone. "What you did on the wall," he said, his voice low. "During the Breach. Holding back that Behemoth... it saved a lot of people."
Kaelen said nothing, waiting for the punchline.
Corin shifted uncomfortably. "And what I did in the spar... that was cheap." He looked down at his feet. "I was jealous. Scared. I'm not... I'm not saying we're friends. But I'm saying I was wrong."
He met Kaelen's eyes again. "You're not just the Commander's pet. You're the real thing. And this city needs the real thing."
Without another word, Corin turned and walked away.
Kaelen stood in the hallway, stunned. It wasn't an apology. It was something rarer: respect earned through action, not fear.
He entered his empty room and sat on his bed. He looked at his hands—the hands that could unleash destructive shards or calming gray smoke.
He was changing. His power was changing. And how people saw him was changing.
He was no longer just a pawn in the Matriarchs' game. He was becoming a power in his own right. And the first move of this new player was to master the board itself—starting with the energy that made him who he was.
The forge of his will had begun its work. The steel was taking shape.