The forest at night was alive in a way Kaelen had not expected. It breathed, whispered, and moved. Even the shadows of the Ashborn camp seemed restless, stretching toward the mountains where black rivers bled like open veins. Kaelen's shadow, curled tightly around his feet, throbbed in time with the shard in his chest. Every pulse was a reminder: the shard was not merely power. It was hunger. And hunger never slept.
"Stay close," Lira said, her cloak brushing his shoulder. Her voice was calm, but her golden eyes held steel. "The Shroudbound do not forgive mistakes, Kaelen. One misstep and they will take you… or worse."
Kaelen swallowed, tasting ash and iron in his mouth. His chest throbbed with a sharp pulse, and his shadow quivered, restless. The first trial had been hard, but that was only the beginning. The Shroudbound represented a threat not of skill, but of corruption, and Kaelen knew their mastery of forbidden magic would test him in ways the battlefield never could.
The path to their territory wound through gnarled trees and ash-choked hills, the air thick with the metallic scent of stone and fire. Lira led him silently, occasionally glancing over her shoulder as though listening to the pulse of the mountains. Kaelen's hand brushed instinctively against his chest, feeling the shard stir violently, whispering again:
Power. Obey. Take. Become.
He shook his head, forcing the whispers to the back of his mind. The shadow curled tighter around him, sensing his resolve, yet twitching at the edges as if it could not resist the shard's call. Kaelen knew it was learning — every hesitation, every act of restraint, feeding the dark intelligence embedded in the living darkness.
"Why do they call themselves Shroudbound?" Kaelen asked, breaking the silence.
"They bind themselves to shadows," Lira replied. "Not in servitude, but in symbiosis. They steal from the remnants of the gods — fragments of divine power, memories, even whispers of dreams — and in return, they are changed. Powerful, yes, but hollowed. Obsessed. They have lost the line between themselves and the forces they wield. That is why they are dangerous."
Kaelen's fingers clenched into fists. "And they want me?"
Lira did not answer immediately. Her golden eyes stared into the darkened horizon. Finally, she said, "Not just you. The shard. You are the key to awakening, or to destruction. They cannot allow a fragment to exist unclaimed."
Ahead, the forest thinned, giving way to a plateau where the ground shimmered with black frost. The Shroudbound were waiting. Figures cloaked in midnight blue, faces hidden behind masks etched with silver sigils, moved silently among the jagged rocks. Their eyes glowed faintly, pale as moonlight, and each step seemed to disturb the air itself.
Kaelen's shadow twitched violently. The shard pulsed hotter, its whispers more urgent, insistent:
They are weak. Strike. Show your strength. Take what is yours.
"Do not listen," Lira whispered urgently, pressing a hand to his arm. "The shard tests you. They are not your enemies yet. Restraint now will save you later."
Kaelen's hands shook as he stepped forward. The Shroudbound parted slightly, forming a corridor of dark-cloaked watchers. One figure stepped forward, taller than the rest, staff in hand, carved from obsidian and veined with black rivers that seemed to move like flowing liquid.
"Kaelen Duskbane," the figure intoned, voice echoing unnaturally, as though it carried the weight of stone. "You carry the fragment of a god. You walk with shadows, yet you claim to command them. Tell me… are you master or servant?"
Kaelen swallowed, shadow writhing at his feet. "I am neither," he said, voice steady despite the shard's thrumming. "I am myself. And I will not become the hunger."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the Shroudbound. The figure tilted its head, observing him carefully. "Bold. And naïve. Power obeys no master. It is a tide, and tides swallow the unwary. Tonight, we test you. Not as enemies… but as witnesses. See if your control is true, or a mask soon to crack."
Before Kaelen could respond, the Shroudbound surged. Shadows leapt from the ground, taking shape as ephemeral warriors, ethereal yet solid enough to strike. Kaelen's pulse quickened, and his shadow sprang to life, curling and striking in response, creating a dark shield that deflected the first wave.
The battlefield became a dance of darkness and whispers. Each Shroudbound warrior moved like smoke, phasing between solid and shadow, testing Kaelen's reflexes and control. The shard pulsed violently, pushing him to act, to strike, to let the shadow hunt, but Kaelen forced restraint. Each act of control drained him physically and mentally. His chest burned, his mind screamed, but he persisted.
"You resist too well," the leader intoned, stepping closer. "And yet… the shard hungers. You cannot control it forever."
Kaelen's shadow surged, stretching toward a specter, then recoiled, obeying his command. "I will control it," he whispered, teeth gritted. "Or I will die trying."
The Shroudbound paused, watching. "Then learn," the leader said. "But know this: power never asks permission. It does not obey morality, nor mercy. Only the strong survive its temptation… and the wise resist it long enough to live."
Hours passed. Kaelen moved in harmony with the shadow, pushing his own limits, resisting the whispers of the shard. The Shroudbound tested him endlessly, presenting illusions of violence, temptation, and fear. Each scenario sought to break his restraint, to tempt him into letting the shadow kill, to make him submit to the hunger.
Finally, as the first faint glow of red dusk bled through the clouds above the mountains, the Shroudbound fell silent. The leader stepped forward once more. "You have survived… for now. But remember this, Kaelen Duskbane: every restraint feeds the hunger differently. You are walking a path lined with shadow and fire. One wrong step… and it will claim not just your life, but your soul."
Kaelen fell to his knees, sweat and ash covering his body, the shadow at his feet curling in exhaustion yet ever-present. The shard pulsed violently one last time, whispering, insistent, patient.
Survive. Control. Obey. Become.
And Kaelen realized, with a weight that pressed down through every bone in his body, that the real choice had never been about enemies or allies. The true trial was inside him, in the heartbeat beneath his ribs, in the shadow that obeyed yet hungered.
He was alive. But the shard was still hungry.
And the mountains waited.