That night, Syryn was holed up in the alchemy room.
Darkness pervaded the shut and locked room. The heavy cotton curtains were all drawn, not allowing a single slice of light inside.
He sat in a corner of the room and meditated. Syryn looked inwards, tracing the lines of his magic through the mana pathways that were spread out in a pattern just as beautiful and intricate as the nervous system. He felt his mana core hum to the movement of magic that he circulated in a slow lazy current. Syryn was actually wasting time because he wasn't ready to face his demon.
Reluctance weighing down his mood, he freed the demon little by little. He grew a pair of horns, then allowed his canines to lengthen. And after much internal debate about the wisdom of what he wanted to do, Syryn opened his third eye.
It was in the middle of his forehead but the colour was off. The black coloured pupil was horizontal; similar to that of a goat's.
