Zhal trained me for days and weeks. The harsh routine barely gave me time to catch my breath. Before I knew it, two months had passed, each day more grueling than the last. My muscles had grown stronger, but the strength felt insufficient. I had learned the basics of swordsmanship, physical endurance, and magic, yet mastery of anything still eluded me.
In the early mornings, Zhal would wake me before the first light of dawn. We spent hours building my physical endurance—running, climbing steep hills, lifting heavy stones. The training was relentless, designed to push me beyond my limits. Despite the progress I made, it never felt like enough.
"You're still too slow, Carrion," Zhal would say, his voice as firm as the boulder I carried on my back during training.
By midday, I was exhausted, but that's when the real challenge began. Zhal believed that to unlock the true potential of my flame magic, my body needed to be stronger. Only then could I withstand the heat of the flames and direct them with more control. But I was far from mastering that control.
Despite Zhal's guidance, I struggled with my magic. The flames I summoned flickered weakly at best, barely more than embers compared to the roaring inferno I had hoped to wield. When I tried to conjure a flame large enough to defend myself in battle, it sputtered out, leaving nothing but a faint trail of smoke.
"Focus," Zhal would say during our evening training sessions. "The fire will only respond to a clear mind and a strong will. If you hesitate, it will falter."
But no matter how hard I tried, hesitation seemed to linger in every spark I summoned. The more I pushed myself, the more the flames resisted. They would either grow too wild, threatening to spiral out of control, or disappear altogether, leaving me feeling powerless.
Despite the frustrations, there were occasional small victories. My stamina improved, allowing me to hold the flame longer than I could two months ago. Zhal pushed me to integrate the fire into my combat training, urging me to use the weak bursts of flame to enhance my physical attacks. But even then, the magic didn't respond the way I wanted.
I was still far from mastering anything. Each time I tried to control my power, it reminded me how far I still had to go. I felt the fire's presence in my veins, but I couldn't wield it with the precision or intensity I needed.
Zhal never showed disappointment, though his silence after some training sessions stung worse than any critique he could offer. "You're improving, but you're not ready," he would say before leaving me to rest for the night.
By the end of the two months, I had grown physically stronger, but my magic was still unpredictable, and my sword skills were barely passable. Zhal continued to push me, but I knew deep down that I had much further to go before I could truly wield the power I had within me.
Zhal seemed to sense my frustration one evening after another long day of training. "You've learned a lot, Carrion," he said, standing beside me as we watched the sun dip below the horizon. "But true strength doesn't come quickly. Don't be disheartened by your progress. Every step forward, no matter how small, is still a step."
I didn't respond immediately, but his words resonated with me. I had come far, even if it didn't feel like it. But as much as I wanted to believe I was growing stronger, the doubt still lingered.
That night, as we prepared to close out another exhausting day, something strange happened. I had collapsed onto the ground, my energy spent, when I felt a sudden warmth radiating from the rune I carried with me. At first, it was a subtle glow—barely noticeable. But within seconds, the light grew brighter, casting an eerie, flickering glow over the training grounds.
"Zhal?" I called out, confused and unnerved by the rune's sudden reaction.
Zhal turned toward me, his expression darkening as he watched the light pulse from the rune. "Step back, Carrion," he warned, his voice low and cautious.
Before I could react, the light from the rune intensified. It wasn't just the light—it was as if the air around us had shifted, charged with energy. And then, without warning, the ground trembled beneath our feet.
"What's happening?" I shouted, panic rising in my chest.
Before Zhal could answer, the ground split open, and from the depths, dark forms began to emerge. Demons—uncontrollable and vicious—crawled out from the cracks, their glowing eyes fixed on us.
Zhal drew his blade, his posture immediately shifting into a defensive stance. "Prepare yourself!" he shouted, but I could barely hear him over the sudden roar of the demons.
I tried to summon a flame, but the magic wavered in my hands, flickering weakly. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to maintain control.
The demons surged forward, faster than I could react. Zhal fought them off with a skill and strength I could barely comprehend, but I was frozen in place, the rune still glowing fiercely against my chest.
Just when I thought I'd be overwhelmed, a strange sensation washed over me. Beneath my feet, the ground began to glow—not like the violent light of the rune, but a soft, steady pulse of light that seemed to beckon me.
"Carrion!" Zhal's voice cut through the chaos, but I barely heard him as I stared at the light beneath my feet.
Before I could make sense of it, the light enveloped me completely, and the world around me faded to white.