The wasteland trembled as the Shadow Legion advanced. Dust rose like smoke beneath the synchronized march of black-clad soldiers. Their formation was tighter this time, disciplined, precise. Scouts had returned with reports of Kael's growing control — and General Kaelith had planned accordingly.
Kael and the wanderer stood atop a ridge, surveying the horizon. The boy's chest pulsed faintly with the rhythm of his mark. He had trained tirelessly, shaping his silver light, learning to control it — yet he felt the weight of the approaching army press against him even from afar.
"They're coming," the wanderer said quietly. Her hand gripped her sword. "This time, they'll be more prepared. You must stay focused, Kael."
Kael's fists clenched around his wooden sword, though he knew it was only symbolic now. His real weapon was the power coiled beneath his skin, waiting for his command.
From the distance, a horn sounded, low and resonant. The Shadow Legion split into multiple squads, fanning out across the terrain, cutting off escape routes. Their black armor gleamed faintly under the rising sun, and the ground seemed to shiver beneath the weight of their intent.
Kael swallowed, forcing his fear aside. "We fight," he said, determination flaring.
The first squad approached, advancing like a tide of darkness. The wanderer moved first, her sword flashing silver as it met theirs. Sparks flew, steel clashing against steel, each strike precise and deadly. Kael stood behind her, hands glowing faintly as he concentrated.
The lead scout lunged. Kael extended his hands, releasing a controlled wave of silver light. It surged outward like a ribbon of force, knocking the scout back, leaving him sprawled in the dust.
"Good!" the wanderer shouted. "Focus! Only where it matters!"
Another squad charged from the flank. Kael lifted his hands, forming small spears of silver light. They flew with precision, striking weapons from the soldiers' hands, hurling them backward without lethal force — at least not yet.
General Kaelith appeared on the horizon, mounted on a black steed, his eyes fixed on Kael. "Do not underestimate him," he said to his men. "Strike as one. Leave no opening."
The scouts hesitated, wary now. Kael's controlled power had grown since the last encounter. The boy was no longer a frightened child; he was a weapon in his own right.
Kael felt the pulse of his mark quicken, feeding on the urgency in the air. He drew a deep breath, focusing all his energy, all his will, into the next strike. The silver light surged, forming a spinning shield around him and the wanderer, deflecting incoming attacks with calculated precision.
The soldiers faltered. Sparks and dust filled the air as the wave of light pushed them back, creating space. Kael's chest heaved, but his control never wavered. He realized, for the first time, that the power was not just a tool — it was an extension of himself.
Kaelith's eyes narrowed. "So he has learned control," he murmured. "Then it is time to escalate."
From the back ranks, heavier soldiers emerged, clad in reinforced armor, their weapons longer, deadlier. Kael's heart raced. He had not faced this level before. The battle was escalating faster than he anticipated.
The wanderer placed a hand on his shoulder. "You can do this, Kael. Trust yourself. Trust the mark."
Kael nodded, feeling the pulse beneath his chest, steady now, guiding him. The next wave of light he released was sharper, faster, precise — striking down several soldiers, scattering the rest. The wasteland shook with the force of it, dust and debris rising like a storm.
Kaelith watched, lips pressed into a thin line. The boy's power was growing too quickly, controlled too well. The hunt was far from over, but the general realized one thing: the cursed star child was no longer defenseless.
And the battlefield was about to change.