Kael stood atop a cliff overlooking a ravine teeming with the dead. Their movements were erratic and unpredictable, a swirling mass of soul-light and decay. The Witch of Tallow appeared beside him, silent but imposing. "This is a test of everything you've learned," she said. "Control, judgment, restraint. Do not underestimate the abyss."
Kael descended carefully, extending the Sight, threading control through clusters of the dead, separating, redirecting, and stabilizing. Hunger surged violently, each pull demanding surrender, but Kael remained focused. Every soul moved in response to his command, yet remained whole, undiminished by consumption.
Hours passed, the sun dipping low. Kael's muscles ached, his mind strained, but the field of controlled souls before him was orderly. He had proven to himself that mastery was not only possible but necessary. Yet he felt the abyss within, the hunger whispering that any moment of weakness could undo all control.
By dusk, Kael ascended the cliff once more, breathing heavily. The Witch nodded, her eyes glinting with approval. "You are ready, Kael. But remember, the abyss is patient. It will always return."