Black flames rolled over Aiden's skin like gentle waves, their once-searing touch now as comfortable as a warm bath. His breathing was steady, measured—a far cry from the trembling, pain-wracked gasps of two months ago.
He had mastered this particular hell, made it his own. The dark fire that had once threatened to consume him had become an extension of his will, as natural as breathing.
His eyes snapped open suddenly. "Master—!"
A familiar chuckle resonated through the darkness as the crimson-eyed man materialized, his elegant form coalescing from shadows. Each time Aiden saw him appear like this, he couldn't help but marvel at the casual display of power—how the darkness itself seemed eager to serve his master's will.
"Good job," he said, genuine approval coloring his tone. Coming from someone who considered being bitten by shadow-wolves a "warm-up," the praise carried significant weight.
