Kael left the enclave before dawn, the pale glow of his Sight illuminating threads of souls that flickered in the cold morning air. Today, he was not practicing within the safety of the Witch's circle. Today, he would hunt.
The wasteland stretched before him, a landscape of cracked earth and shifting ash. Small groups of the dead moved in the distance, scattered and disorganized. Kael extended the Sight, feeling their intentions, the faint tug of residual memories, and the whispers that sought to seduce him.
He approached slowly, silent as the wind, guiding the souls with precision. Each step demanded control. Each wave of hunger tested his resolve. A misstep could mean losing himself, yet Kael moved with purpose, weaving the threads of the dead, bending their motions without consuming them.
The first target a gaunt, skeletal figure faltered under his control. Kael adjusted the flow of his Sight, nudging the soul into the direction he desired. The creature moved with unnatural coordination now, obeying his subtle commands, yet remaining intact.
Hours passed as Kael worked through group after group. By midday, the exercise became instinctive, the Sight and hunger forming a partnership rather than a battle. He had begun to understand that mastery meant integration: the hunger, the Sight, and himself were no longer separate forces.
By evening, Kael returned to the enclave, exhausted but triumphant. The Witch awaited silently, watching him approach. She nodded approvingly. "The hunt is not about death. It is about control, understanding, and preparation. You are learning to shape the world, Kael, rather than simply survive within it."
Kael entered the enclave, the wind carrying whispers of the dead that no longer demanded but observed, their presence a reminder of both his power and his responsibility.