The night was thick, almost viscous, as Kaelen stood at the edge of the Ashborn camp. Flames flickered in the dark, casting monstrous shapes that danced across the tattered tents and ash-strewn ground. The air smelled of smoke and charred wood, mingling with the acrid tang of fear and sweat. Every crackle of fire seemed to echo against the mountains, reverberating into the black veins that bled down their slopes.
Lira's voice broke the oppressive silence. "Tonight, the Ashborn will see if you are more than the shadow you carry. If you fail, the shard will not just consume you… it will become the instrument of your death, and the world will taste only ruin."
Kaelen swallowed, tasting ash on his tongue. He flexed his hands, feeling the shard thrumming violently beneath his ribs. Its pulse was insistent, commanding, whispering promises he did not want to hear:
Power. Kill. Obey. Become.
He wanted to scream, to run, to throw himself into the rivers of black stone bleeding from the mountains, but he knew better. To flee would be to give the Ashborn reason to execute him — and more importantly, it would prove that the shard had claimed him already.
The Ashborn gathered in a wide circle around him. Torches were held high, their flames reflecting in the golden eyes of the tall warrior who had welcomed him. Her name — though Kaelen did not yet know it — carried weight in every movement: Serenya Flameborn. She stepped forward, firelight dancing across the burn scars on her forearms, and spoke with the authority of someone accustomed to absolute obedience.
"Kaelen Duskbane," she said, voice ringing over the crackling of flames, "the Ashborn do not accept weakness. Tonight, your shadow will be tested. Your control will be measured. And your will… your will must be stronger than the hunger inside your chest. If you fail, the shard will devour not just your flesh, but the soul you claim as your own."
The circle tightened. Warriors began to chant, their voices low and rhythmic, building into a crescendo that seemed to shake the very ash beneath Kaelen's boots. His shadow trembled at his feet, growing longer, edges quivering as though sensing the trial to come.
"Begin," Serenya commanded.
From the circle, dozens of Ashborn warriors stepped forward, each carrying weapons forged in fire and tempered in ash. Kaelen's pulse quickened, the shard inside him roaring in response. He clenched his fists, feeling the black veins beneath his skin stretching as the shadow surged.
At first, he tried to hold it back, commanding the shadow to remain passive. But the shard hungered, whispering, urging him to lash out, to strike, to test its power. A sword swung toward him, and before he could move, the shadow lashed forward like liquid night. The soldier screamed as tendrils wrapped around him, throwing him into the dirt.
Kaelen staggered backward, shock washing over him. It obeyed… but it also fought me.
"Control it!" Lira shouted, running to his side. "Do not let it act on instinct! The shadow is a mirror of your own desires — your anger, your fear… your rage. If you lose yourself to it, it will kill everything and everyone!"
Kaelen shut his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, to focus, to separate his will from the shard's insatiable hunger. The shadow quivered, then slowly retreated to his feet, curling obediently around him like a coiled serpent. The Ashborn stepped back, murmuring among themselves, impressed but wary.
"Not bad," Serenya said, nodding once. "But the night has only begun."
She waved a hand, and from the circle emerged a creature cloaked in shadow — an Ashborn warrior transformed by fire magic into a beast of flickering darkness and molten eyes. Kaelen froze. This was no ordinary opponent. It moved like smoke, intangible, yet every strike left a searing pain where it touched.
The shard throbbed violently. It recognized the creature as a challenge — a reflection of his own growing darkness — and whispered: Crush it. Show them your power. Show yourself.
Kaelen hesitated. Each strike of the shadow could maim, kill, or corrupt. But to follow the shard's whisper was to lose a piece of himself. He lunged, not with rage, but with precision, forcing the shadow to obey only his intent. The battle unfolded like liquid night: shadow and fire, light and dark, Kaelen bending the shard's hunger without succumbing to it.
Hours seemed to pass in minutes. Sweat and ash coated his skin, his breath came in ragged gasps, and the shadow writhed constantly beneath him, whispering temptations, but also learning restraint under his command. When the last flicker of the shadow-creature dissipated into smoke, silence fell over the Ashborn circle.
Serenya approached him, eyes narrowed, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You survived. You did not succumb. That is rare. But remember — survival is only the beginning. Hunger grows with every heartbeat, every pulse of the shard. Tonight you learn control. Tomorrow… you will face temptation. And eventually… you will face choice."
Kaelen sank to his knees, chest heaving, shadow curling like a living thing around him, quivering but obedient. The shard pulsed once more, almost contemplatively, as if approving his restraint… for now.
Lira placed a hand on his shoulder. "The shard is part of you, Kaelen. But it is not all of you. Remember that. Remember who you are."
Kaelen lifted his eyes to the red-hued sky, black rivers glinting faintly from the distant mountains. Who am I? The question rang louder than the shadow's whispers.
And somewhere deep beneath the Veins of Stone, something stirred — ancient, vast, patient — as though the mountains themselves were waiting for him to rise.
The night stretched endlessly, a canvas of ash, fire, and shadow. Kaelen understood something terrifying: survival was not enough. He would have to master the shard… or it would master him.