Dawn never came.
The Ashborn camp was alive with firelight and murmurs as Kaelen emerged from the circle of torches, shadow coiling tightly around his feet like a tethered beast. His body ached from the trial; his chest throbbed with the shard's pulse, louder now than ever. Each beat whispered:
Power. Kill. Take. Become.
Serenya Flameborn waited by the largest bonfire, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with quiet fire. Behind her, the Ashborn watched in tense silence. Today, Kaelen would face a choice: the trial of hunger, where survival alone would not suffice.
From the darkened forest that ringed the camp came cries — distant but piercing. The Ashborn warriors tensed, hands on weapons. Serenya nodded once.
"Go," she commanded. "The village beyond the woods is overrun. Hollow Crown scouts. Innocents will die if you hesitate. Your shadow hungers, yes? Feed it… or starve it. Choose."
Kaelen's heart hammered. The shard pulsed like a war drum in his chest. Its whispers were intoxicating: Kill them. Tear them apart. Show the Ashborn your power. You will be a god among mortals.
He took a shaky breath. No.
But the shadow at his feet twisted and surged as if testing him. It stretched forward, reaching toward the screams in the forest. The shard burned hotter, thrumming violently through his veins. Every instinct screamed to obey. Every instinct screamed to let it loose.
Kaelen gritted his teeth. "I will not become you," he muttered.
He forced the shadow to shrink, curling around his feet like a coiled serpent instead of a weapon of death. The whispers hissed in frustration, sharp as knives in his mind: Coward. Weak. Mortals will die.
Through the flames, he saw Lira standing at the edge of the camp. She raised her hand, silently urging him to focus. He drew a deep, ragged breath, feeling the shard pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. Slowly, deliberately, he wove the shadow into a shield, a living barrier of darkness that moved with his intent but did not strike on its own.
Kaelen charged into the forest, shadow stretching ahead of him like a living cloak. The Hollow Crown scouts were human, terrified, but armed. They raised weapons, shouting, and for a moment Kaelen's mind screamed to obliterate them — the shard tempted him with visions of power, of godhood, of blood.
Instead, he moved with precision, striking not to kill but to disarm, to block, to control. His shadow wrapped around a soldier's spear, yanking it aside; another raised a sword, and the shadow caught it mid-air, twisting it harmlessly into a tree trunk. Kaelen's muscles burned, every heartbeat synchronized with the shard's thrum, every breath a battle between survival and corruption.
When the last scout fled, screaming into the dawnless forest, Kaelen sank to his knees, chest heaving. The shadow receded, curling protectively at his feet, exhausted but obedient. The shard's whispers had softened, though still there, patient and insistent:
You resisted. For now. But every choice has a price.
From the edge of the clearing, the villagers — terrified, mud-smeared, wide-eyed — emerged. Some wept. Some stared in awe at the shadowed knight who had saved them without killing. Kaelen met their gaze, feeling both relief and the weight of their silent judgment.
Serenya appeared behind him, silent as smoke. "Well done," she said softly. "Many would have killed. Many would have fed the hunger. Few resist. But remember this: the shard will not be kind for long. Each act of restraint costs strength. Each choice builds the hunger. You are walking a knife's edge, Kaelen. Step wrong…" She let the words hang.
Kaelen exhaled slowly. He had won the trial, yes — but at what cost? The shard pulsed in his chest, insatiable, a constant reminder that power came with a price no mortal should ever hope to pay.
And somewhere, far above, the Veins of Stone pulsed in time with the shard, rivers of black stone bleeding down mountainsides, as if acknowledging him. The mountains whispered: Rise… or fall. Hunger waits for no one.
Kaelen lifted his eyes, the forest around him quiet except for the wind and the soft crackle of distant fires. I am no god. I am not yet monster. But every day, the choice becomes harder.
The shadow shifted at his feet, impatient, alive, waiting.
And Kaelen knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, that the real trial had only just begun.